I have a 2013 Honda CR-V EX 2.4 I4 AWD where the AC suddenly stopped blowing cold and now is only blowing warm air. There was initially a strong chemical odor when the AC stopped working. I've also observed that the radiator and AC fans are not turning but the engine is not showing that it's running hot on the temp gauge, nor is the check engine light on or any codes showing on an OBD2 scanner. Looking for troubleshooting steps at this point. Thanks for answering.

Complicated question...
How many of you have successfully gone totally off grid and avoided permits?
Our situation is this: We've purchased 5 acres (at least we're in the pending stage at this point) with a very well constructed home on it. The guy who is the previous owner really did a first class job, however, he chose to not get the proper permits to do it. This seems to have been a deliberate move on his part because he didn't want the county to have anything to do with his life or family... Okay, I guess that makes sense..
The home does have wiring throughout it, but again without permits, no solar company will come out to install. This is totally understandable as I can see their concern about safety regarding everything being a proper set up according to code. There's also no electrical box (we could install this on our own or hire a contractor to help). The previous owner has the home currently hooked up to two tiny little panels. We'd like to upgrade this to an entire professional system that can handle normal energy use (money isn't an issue, we could invest up to 30k to have this done). Still, we'd like to keep the whole thing entirely off grid like he did, not getting the county involved.
We'd still like to push the envelope here and get solar any way - I've heard about UNBOUND SOLAR, out of Mount Shasta, who will supposedly help you design and install solar on your own without permits (I think? Maybe I heard wrong)...
Has anyone ever run into this issue regarding permits? What can we do?
Sure, we could apply to have an electrical and building inspection done to get permits for an already in place structure - but then the issue is that this is welcoming the county onto your land. Once you invite them onto the land, they could hit us with giant fines for living in an unpermited structure, request to have it torn down, or insist that we spend 100's of thousands of dollars in updates just to get everything "perfect" according to code in order to get the permits...
Any advice on setting up with solar without the drama of the county and permits?

Hi guys,
From Canada.
Bought used car at 130,000, taught myself stick. So definetly put more wear on clutch compared to the average, experienced stick shift driver.
1)clutch isn't slipping (tested in 6th gear and pedal to the metal I can still accelerate without rpms jumping up) 2) clutch does however feel a little "softer" and easier to push in, since when I first got it. (Could be clutch wear?)
I wouldn't be surprised if i need a clutch replacement within the next 3-4 years.
I have set aside $3,000 in cash,
Question is, how much did your clutch replacement cost in Canada.

Coming face to face with people in suits always makes me hyper-aware of how badly I dress. Since I knew I was going to meet up with Mary Markov today, I intentionally put some more effort into my appearance. I picked out a pressed shirt to wear over my leggings. Since it was far too big for me, I threw my wide yellow belt into the mix. Thus satisfied, I called up Elijah Carter and asked whether he wanted to come along. He agreed readily enough so I had him pick me up and drive us over to Mary's office. It was nowhere near the hospital and not in the vicinity of her news channel headquarters either. It was located in a slate gray concrete building that was quite confusing to look at.
No outside observer could have mistaken it for a residential house, for there was hardly a less homely or comfortable place imaginable. It was utterly repellent in its rough, dreary nature. It couldn't have belonged to some kind of business either, though. There were no marked parking spaces for employees, no signs or advertisements. Altogether, it reminded me of something out of a cheap or unfinished video game.
"Sketchy," Eli remarked, eyeing the slab of concrete with a similar lack of enthusiasm. "Looks almost abandoned. How weirdly fitting for a semi-secret government operation."
I nodded. The warm air had taken me by surprise and I found the weight of my jacket suffocating, so I took it off to leave in the car. "What is it?" I asked, noticing the way Elijah squinted at my outfit.
"What are you wearing?"
"Clothes."
"You don't say." He snorted. "Looking kinda funny there, Shirley."
"I look professional," I corrected him.
"I suppose." He grinned to himself. "Depends on the profession, though."
We rang the bell and a highly official-looking security guard let us in through the heavy double doors after confirming that Mary Markov was expecting us. He gave the necessary directions, sending us down several flights of stairs. The better part of the building was in fact underground, like with an iceberg. Eli made a remark about how it'd be safer if outsiders weren’t allowed to roam the place by themselves. It seems to be a habit of his to vaguely analyze and point out flaws in the structures of government institutions. Then again, maybe it's just flaws in general he's fascinated with.
Upon arriving outside Mary's office, we were called inside to find her sitting behind her desk. She lifted her head, giving us a polite, if cold, smile. "Good morning. You're on time. Wonderful."
"Would you please give me an honest appraisal of my outfit?" I asked.
The newsreader frowned in confusion, her eyes briefly roaming my form. "You put effort into your appearance today," she concluded. "It's appreciated."
"Wait, what do you mean today?" I inquired.
"Note also how she did not actually answer your question," Elijah added.
I huffed, flinging myself into one of the chairs in front of Mary's desk. Eli sat down beside me, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back. "Thanks for letting me come with Shirley," he told her.
"Naturally. I assume you're her emotional support human." Mary Markov's lips curled slightly. "At any rate, you had contact with the Collective yourself, so this does concern you. As far as I'm concerned, it can't hurt having an ex-cop in the mix, anyways. Despite the regrettable reasons you had for leaving the force."
Elijah's brows lowered, the muscle in his pronounced jaw twitching. "How do you know about that?"
Mary looked innocent. "It's very important that I'm fully informed, of course. Don't worry. We don't need to go into it, and I don't judge you, either. The effect the incident at that highschool had on you is completely understandable."
"I didn't ask for your assessment." My friend's voice had sharpened. "Can we move on from this?"
"Of course." If the sudden shift in tone had rattled the agent, she wasn't letting it on. Sifting through the neat stack of papers on her desk, she pulled out a thin brown file which she slid over to me. "Miss Shirley, you remember the female member of the Collective we took into custody? She has already been questioned by the local police. Unfortunately, I don't have the authority to lead such an interrogation, but I was present for it and I want you to have this transcript."
I perked up and began leafing through the folder.
"You may take that with you to read in peace," Mary told me. "But don't expect too much, lest you'll be sorely disappointed. The girl hardly said anything at all. The most helpful information she gave us was a name she kept referencing. Jewel. At first, we thought it was a sort of code word, but it seems to be what the other person she was with calls themself."
“Jewel,” I echoed.
“Sadly enough, that’s all we have. We’ve never provided our services to anyone of their physical description. There are a couple clues, but they don’t amount to anything helpful. There’s the fact that you met them at a convenience store with relatively high prices. Maybe I’m just grasping at straws, but that could indicate a cushy financial situation. On top of that, the store is rather far away from here, so they might be an out-of-towner. They also might be able to influence the way others perceive them, considering the way they seemed to hypnotize you in the woods merely by holding eye contact.”
“How come they couldn’t do anything to Frank Preston?”
Mary Markov twinkled at me. “They couldn’t? Huh. That rather intrigues the philosopher in me. Jewel works through eye contact and it is said that the eyes are the window to the soul.” She cocked her head at me.
“Are you saying Blondie doesn’t have a soul?” Eli asked, raising a skeptical brow. “Is this one of those Plato-Schopenhauer-whatevers?”
The newsreader shrugged artfully, watching my reaction. “We could discuss this for hours on end. I only meant to draw attention to the implied distinction between an organically born entity and a being who was originally an inanimate object.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said slowly.
“Oh, nevermind; that’s neither here nor there.” Her tone told me that she did, in fact, consider it to be both here and there. Not wanting to go further into this with her, I made a mental note to ask Frankie later.
“There’s more,” I added, trying to gently prepare her for what I was about to say. “I want to get Kit Sutton back.”
Mary’s lips thinned. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean for the town to get flooded in the process. I think we can find a solution to help her, if we work together. I’m convinced we can figure something out, but I don’t believe in abandoning her anymore. Which is essentially what we’re doing if we leave her to her fate.”
“You do realize what you’re asking of me? Your former roommate isn’t some kind of minor water spirit. Her father appears to hold tremendous power over the seas, or at the very least our part of it. He has countless similarly dangerous individuals at his service so he might be considered a ruler of sorts, if not a deity.”
“So Kit’s the little mermaid, basically?” Elijah asked, equal parts joking and genuinely intrigued.
Mary grinned an actual, amused grin. “I must ask you to take this seriously, Mr Carter.”
“I am!” he chuckled, raising his hands. “I swear.”
“Anyways, Miss Shirley, the point you make is an individualistic one, but I see why you’re invested in the girl’s fate. I want to help, I do… But we need to proceed with caution. If you can suggest to me some kind of sensible approach, then I’ll do what I can. That’s all the promises I can make at the moment.”
I thanked her and got up, Eli following me as I headed for the door. “Miss Shirley,” Mary called out and I stopped, turning back around to face her. “If you like my style, we could perhaps meet up to go shopping sometime? I could show you some quality stores. It wouldn’t be anytime soon since I’m currently swamped, but I figure—well, just in case you might like to.”
I nodded. “That sounds pleasant enough.”
She smiled brightly and waved us out the door. “Excellent. I’ll be in touch.”
Back inside the car, I tossed the file onto the backseat to read later. “Would you like to go to the beach?” I suggested.
“Why not. Wait, is this for a stroll and ice cream or do you want to kickstart the mermaid-rescue-operation?”
“I can’t see why it shouldn’t be both,” I replied comfortably. “We’ll need to take your flashlight, though.”
"You know I don't like getting myself into trouble unless it's paid."
"Yes, but you also find me endearing and want to protect me from danger, which you can only do by accompanying me."
"You're a terrifying tentacle beast from another dimension. I don't know that I'm all that scared for your safety," he grunted.
I gave him an affronted look. "You have now hurt my feelings."
"Have I?"
"Plenty, but I'll forgive you if you come with me."
Elijah Carter sighed deeply but started driving anyway. I let my arm dangle out of the open window, allowing the warming spring air to wash over my skin. The closer we got to the shore, the stronger the scent of salt mixed into the breeze. The cries of seagulls became audible over the sounds of the road and the streaming wind and was finally joined by the crashing of waves when we pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car. Taking along the heavy duty flashlight he always kept in the passenger seat footwell, I led Eli to the mouth of the cave, explaining what Nettie and I had seen along the way. He looked commendably calm, simply turning on the torch and entering alongside me.
The tunnels were just as damp, dim and quiet as the last time. Before long, we had reached the spacious canyon room with the lake at the bottom. "I want to go across and see if there's anything important in the rest of the grotto back there," I reminded him. "Please hold on to your bearings."
"I'm not repeating your mistakes," he replied gamely. "What do you think? This oughta be connected to the ocean somehow." He let the beam of the torch roam the mirror-like surface of the lake. It seemed almost deceptively quiet. My eyes followed the lengthy stone ledge. Eli stepped close, and after receiving a nod of approval, he grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me onto the rocky protrusion. I straightened up, instantly pressing my back against the wall. A wave of nausea hit me as I glanced at the water below. "Chill," Elijah muttered, climbing after me with ease. "Nothing will happen. You're not gonna fall."
I merely shook my head. "You didn't see what's down there."
"And I won't, because we'll be careful," he answered steadfastly.
I started walking, the warm light of the torch upon my back, illuminating the path ahead. The shelf narrowed as we reached the end. I swiftly clambered down, relieved to place my feet on wider, solid ground once more. Now looking over the lake from the other side, it had an entirely different feel to it. It seemed darker somehow, but also less big—I attributed it to the change in perspective. We were standing in a cramped little nook with two passageways leading off into separate directions behind us. Elijah Carter eyed them pensively. “Which do you reckon?”
I pursed my lips. “The right one. Because it’s right.”
“Makes sense.”
We proceeded into the passage, the tight space pushing us closer together. He had to duck his head, uncomfortably hunching his shoulders, and for once, I was grateful for my own short stature. The corridor seemed to go on forever. The darkness and silence created a feel of unnatural solitude, and for more than once, I got the distinct impression that I must have jumped dimensions again. It was as though Elijah and I were enclosed in some kind of bubble, cut off from everything outside; a place where time was a foreign concept and the only sun was our flashlight. Needless to say, I was distinctly uneasy. I allowed myself to lean back, brushing against Eli’s chest whenever I could. Eventually, I cleared my throat.
“Could you touch me?”
“What?”
“Just so I still know you’re there.”
His palm came to rest on my shoulder, his thumb digging into one of the tense, painfully rigid muscles of my upper back, forcing it to soften. “Good?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He hummed. “You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“Me, too.”
This caused my resolve to falter. “Maybe we should turn around after all,” I said quietly. “Who knows how much longer—”
“Look.”
I perked up. Before us, the tunnel grew wider, opening into a large, spacious room. We picked up our pace, tackling the remaining distance in a light jog, and finally found ourselves standing in another hall. The beam of light traveled the floor and high walls, revealing a sight that took our breath away. We were standing in front of another lake, only slightly smaller than the last. The water glittered in violet hues and strange, pale plants climbed up the walls, some of them looking rather like starfish. Multiple rocky protrusions formed an almost complete bridge across its middle. With a bit of light climbing, we'd undoubtedly be able to get to the other side. Wordlessly, Elijah Carter swung himself up onto the platform closest to the edge of the water, pulling me up after him. The flashlight switched hands a couple times as we maneuvered ourselves along.
Soon, we reached the middle of the lake. I risked a glance at the water below. All was still and perfectly quiet. Eli was about to take on the next rock when suddenly, I felt something heavy and gooey drip onto my head from above. I flinched, then slowly pointed the torch up to the ceiling. My stomach dropped. My throat had turned paper-dry, and I frantically tugged on Eli’s arm. He tipped his head back, following my pointing finger. His eyes blew wide and his face fell.
There was a creature clinging to the high walls, its pale, enormous body describing a streamline curve as it pressed itself against the hollowed stone. The closest thing I can compare it to would be a sort of olm, except probably a hundred times larger. Its snout looked large enough to swallow either of us whole. It hung open, secreting a thick fluid that slowly dripped down to hit the rocks or create ripples upon the water. Its blind eyes seemed to be trained on us, and I could spot tiny, sharp teeth lining its maw. It wasn’t moving, not even an inch, but somehow, I knew it was aware of us.
I looked up at Elijah, the panic in his eyes mirroring mine. Both of us had freezed up mid-motion, not daring to take another step. My mind was running wild; I was thinking feverishly. We’d have to turn around for sure, but how? The olm was already highly alert, if we were to start scrambling back to solid ground, it would undoubtedly hear us straight away. Eli looked equal parts terrified and furious, and I could tell he was scolding himself for not thinking to check the entirety of the room before proceeding across the lake. I could understand the sentiment, we’d definitely made a grave mistake. I figured it had been the misleading beauty of the cave hall that had taken our edge off. Glancing over into the direction we’d come from, I found myself wishing to be back in the endless dark corridor. The entrance to the passage seemed miles away.
The olm lifted a three-toed foot, shifting its massive form to a lower spot on the wall. It was taking a tentative step towards us, extending its snout as its body bent into our direction. Elijah had grabbed onto my arm, his fingers clamping around it like a vice. He stayed silent and unmoving, but he held my gaze with clear, sharp eyes.
“Don’t move,” I mouthed, and he gave me a curt nod.
Slowly, I reached around to push my shirt out of the way of my unfurling tentacles. Elijah took a quiet step back to make room for my changing form, something of a resolute expression settling on his face. I opened my mouth, relieved when my teeth acted according to my will and elongated. I didn’t know to what extent I would be able to defend against this absolute giant of an amphibian, but at least it would give us a chance. I took a deep breath, trading glances with Eli once more before darting off to the side, bounding onto the platform next to our current one. Elijah followed suit, grabbing onto one of the limbs I extended to him for support. Despite the swiftness of our movements, we were anything but quiet, and the olm reacted in an instant. It slithered down from the wall, sinking into the lake below to make its way to the rocks we were standing on. As we headed for the next stone, it darted out of the water, splashing wildly as its snout breached the surface. Its jaws snapped at us, missing me by a mere foot as I jumped across the gap between the protrusions. Droplets flew as the creature dropped once more, but instead of retreating, it swam around the platform. Its massive, snake-like body was bobbing up and down as it circled us.
“Oh fuck,” Elijah breathed, his chest heaving. “Keep going! Move, move!”
I took a short running start, then flung myself onto the next rock, using my extra limbs to land safely. I then helped him cross again. The olm rose from the depths of the lake once again, and I lashed at it with one of my tentacles, hitting it on the snout and forcing it to dive underwater again. We kept working our way back towards the other side of the lake, slipping and sliding as we went. The water surrounding us seemed to hum with unrestrained energy, the white salamander’s tail whipping up waves and splashing around. We were finally getting close to solid ground again, or at least it looked like we were for a moment. That’s when the creature took a massive leap, draping itself over the final stepping stone, effectively blocking our path.
“Shit,” Eli hissed beside me as we came to a skittering halt.
I’d have to try and fight this thing. There was no way around it now. I clenched my sweat-laced palms into fist, trying to slow my rapid, shallow breaths. I can do this, I said to myself. All I’d have to do is send it back into the lake for long enough so we could run back into the tunnel. There was no way the olm would fit through the passage—once we were in there, we’d be relatively safe. I stared at the dripping, writhing animal; stared at its bared needle teeth, and the less hopeful, more realistic part of my brain told me that I would, indeed, probably not be able to do this. Just as I was contemplating the degree of our screwed-ness, an unseen someone called out from behind us. I didn’t understand a word they were saying, but I recognized the language, and more importantly, the voice.
It was bright as a bell, girlish but with a rough, warm edge. Even before I could turn to face her, I knew who it was.
The gigantic amphibian perked up at the sound, lowering its head and withdrawing into the murky depths with a splash. Elijah Carter let go of a long-held breath, dropping his shoulders before tensing up again, realization setting in. He shot me a look of utter disbelief.
“Wow,” the newcomer spoke up again, this time not in the tongue of the deep ones. “You two have to be actually crazy or something to show up here.”
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner
17: government work
18: something in the caves
19: shopping cart

I've made an f-string LAMBDA function in Excel very similar to Python's!
It takes two parameters, and .
can take three formats:

1. Unordered: "The {} {} {} the {}."
2. Ordered: "The {1} {3} {4} the {2}."
3. Labeled: "The {subject} {verb} {adverb} the {object}."

can take three formats as well, according to the type of :

1. Unordered: any one-dimensional array (vertical or horizontal). Example: {"quick brown fox", "jumps", "over", "lazy dog"}
2. Ordered: a vertical one-dimensional array (first item gets index #1). Example: {"quick brown fox", "lazy dog", "jumps", "over"}
3. Labeled: a vertical array with 1 column (alternating labels and values). Example: {"subject", "quick brown fox", "object", "lazy dog", "verb", "jumps", "adverb", "over"} or 2 columns (1st for labels and 2nd for values). Example: =VSTACK( {"subject", "quick brown fox"}, {"object", "lazy dog"}, {"verb", "jumps"}, {"adverb", "over"} )

Example

+	A	B	C	D	E
1	labels	values	f_string	formula	result
2	subject	quick brown fox	The {} {} {} the {}.	=f_string(C2, VSTACK(B2, B4, B5, B3))	The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
3	object	lazy dog	The {1} {3} {4} the {2}.	=f_string(C3, B2:B5)	The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
4	verb	jumps	The {subject} {verb} {adverb} the {object}.	=f_string(C4, A2:B5)	The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
5	adverb	over	The {subject} {verb} {adverb} the {object}.	=f_string(C5, VSTACK("subject", B2, "object", B3, "verb", B4, "adverb", B5))	The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

^{Table formatting brought to you by ExcelToReddit}

Code

=LAMBDA(f_string, values, LET( is_labeled, NOT(ISNUMBER(FIND("{}", f_string))), is_numbered, ISNUMBER(FIND("{1}", f_string)), value_pairs, IF( is_numbered, HSTACK(SEQUENCE(ROWS(values)), values), IF( COLUMNS(values) = 1, WRAPROWS(values, 2), values) ), pair_rows, SEQUENCE(ROWS(value_pairs)), unlabeled, REDUCE(f_string, values, LAMBDA(string, value, IFERROR(SUBSTITUTE(string, "{}", value, 1), string))), labeled, REDUCE(f_string, pair_rows, LAMBDA(string, pair_row, LET( label, INDEX(value_pairs, pair_row, 1), value, INDEX(value_pairs, pair_row, 2), IFERROR(SUBSTITUTE(string, "{" & label & "}", value), string) ))), IF(is_labeled, labeled, unlabeled) )) 

I hope you like it! If you improve it, please let me know! :-)

I wanted to draw people's attention to this because with all the discussions lately about open source hardware and alternatives to Ledger, Rabby is getting a bit of a push as well.
For those that don't know, Rabby is a fork/alternative to Metamask. A lot of people are preferring it over Metamask as it has additional features and supports more hardware wallets, things like that.
If you check the Rabby homepage, you'll see they proudly claim to be audited and Open-source. And indeed, they have a github page that appears to have the source code available. Great, right?
Well not so fast. The whole idea of being open source is that anyone can review the source code and most importantly, anyone should be able to build it. And that's exactly what I tried to do - build it from source.
Except it doesn't work, you can't build it because a large chunk of that source code is missing. This is what you get if you try to build this yourself: https://i.imgur.com/JQcSk9n.png
If you're not a developer, this might not mean much to you but I'll try to explain: Modern software isn't usually just one chunk of code, it's lots of chunks of code all glued together. The developers of Rabby, for whatever reason, have decided to take an integral chunk of code and hide it entirely. Trying to build it produces an error saying "Sorry, I can't find that crucial bit of code, I can't build this". This is bad.
I'm not the first person to notice this, it was raised with them last october that you could suddenly no longer build Rabby. That issue has been ignored again and again.
But at least it's audited, right? Except according to their homepage, the last audit was over a year ago - March 2022. So fuck knows what could have changed between then and October when the developers decided to hide a huge chunk of the source code from their "Open source and audited" extension.
Don't use Rabby until they fix this.
This is particularly troulbesome as some hardware wallets are only supported by Rabby, since Metamask stopped adding new hardware wallets years ago. I myself have a Bitbox02, which relies on Rabby to grant it support for lots of altcoins and I'm now stuck without an alternative.

Hello all! I'm a screenwriter and longtime lover of horror prose, taking some time during the strike to polish up old unpublished pieces and maybe embark on some new ones. This is the first I'm sharing publicly -- it's a nasty piece of work, about a nasty little man who receives a power he really shouldn't have. Most of my stories aren't like this, but Lyle Hereford insisted upon himself, and I haven't yet managed to forget him. It's also a bit lengthy, about 8600 words (30ish manuscript pages). I'm posting it in two parts.
WARNING: This story contains depictions of non-consensual sex and gun violence.
​
GHOST WORD
By Jonathan Redding
-----------
ghost word
1. (noun) A previously unknown word appearing in a dictionary or list of words, often by error--but sometimes by design.
-----------
Lyle Hereford laid there, slick and frightened, and thought about the Word.
He rolled his head to the right, to the nightstand beside his narrow bed, saw the flat green numerals pronounce it 3:17AM. On another night he might have thought of the Gospel According to John, at that hour, or more obscurely, of the Weird Sisters, of the Walpurgisnacht. Sleeplessness was a condition of his pinched, brittle being*.* Tonight he lay there sweating, insomnia buzzing in his thighs, his hamstrings. The inevitable heartburn seethed in his concave chest, and he thought about the Word.
The Word was not with him.
He thought about it sitting, inert, on the small rolling desk, in his office, across the city. Thought about the urban glow, blotting out the stars, seeping in the window, slanting though the low-bid venetian blinds the first contractors must have installed and none of those cheap bastards at the University ever bothered to replace, the blinds that always tear at their thin top fixtures, that Lyle mends with tight sleeves of Scotch tape. He thought about the city’s ambient nightlight seeping in, and falling, across the side desk, across the Word. He thought about the binding. Cream, once, probably, soft and blameless. Faded to no-color, now. An old traveler. But what was it? And how had it come to be there? How did it come to rest on that shelf, that groaning, overburdened, mid-century plank?
Lyle imagined someone slipping into the library, furtive, mounting the stair, the tome swinging against them, tucked in a messenger bag. Some faceless someone, head down, hood up, sunglasses in the dim. Lyle pictured them skirting around the encyclopedias and the medieval histories and bypassing the long rows of technical manuals and the corridors of Euclidean geometry and enzymology and theoretical economics and arriving at the neglected, quaint, neat rows of purest Reference: the Dictionaries.
Lyle had gone to consult the Oxford English Dictionary. Specifically the 1989 Second Edition, magnificent in twenty volumes; a tool with which he insisted each of his students familiarize themselves. On this day he had sought out the second volume specifically, the one beginning with B.B.C.
James, that young Turk, had challenged his interpretation of a passage of Taming of the Shrew. It turned on the etymology of the word bonnie.
Tried to score off me, in front of the whole class, that smug little prick.
James, graduate student par excellence. James of the falling black hair, perpetually obscuring his face, terminating above his perfect smile. James who was such a favorite among the bouncing, giggling undergraduates. James who found it easy to excel, in any environment, who found it very difficult to accept Lyle’s criticisms, Lyle’s guidance. James was many things Lyle was not, had never been, and Lyle knew it. But James had not yet learned to survive in academia. James was going to discover that you did not score points off Lyle Hereford, Ph.D., and Lyle would see to it that it happened painfully. In the town square, as it were. It would have to be just a touch humiliating.
`Darby, especially, Lyle thought. She has to see it. Yes. Just the right amount of condescension to really cut into him, to make it memorable.
Only Lyle never found his ammunition in the second volume beginning with B.B.C. because his interest was diverted. He never queried the etymology of bonnie in the compressed italics of lexicalese, never perused the examples from John Donne and Sir Thomas Aquinas and the Cursor Mundi behind their truncated century marks, because something else caught his eye. Something that shouldn’t have been there. Tucked in between the seventh and eighth volumes (Interval and Look, respectively, he knew) was a tattered book, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred pages, grayed to nothing, the color of a shroud. Lyle reached down, placed his index finger atop the book’s spine, and drew it from the shelf. He gave it a cursory glance—the cover lettering had been savaged by time, but fragments of the lower half survived:
PART A—ANT
#
OXFO D
1877
“What in the world,” Lyle said. The library swallowed the sound, took it into the mute stillness of itself, into its hush. What he held in his hands was not genuine—could not be genuine. The original OED was printed like this, piecemeal, in what were called fascicles.
But not this soon, God, not this soon! They hadn’t even started!
The first fascicle of the OED, the very first product of their seventy-year odyssey, the publication that made the London philologia realize they had bit off quite a bit more than they could chew, was designated A-Ant. It was a rare bird, a thing to be coveted. It was valuable.
It was first printed in 1884.
Lyle had always thought it a clever, tiny nod of Orwell’s, lost to the mass of readers: that the OED should rule for a century, before Newspeak replaced it. This, then, if it was what it purported to be, what the front cover claimed it to be, was early. Seven whole years early.
A misprint, he thought. Has to be. That would change the valuation—this could be one-of-a-kind. Not that Lyle would dream of selling such a book. Before this moment, he wouldn’t even have allowed himself to dream of holding such a book. He checked for a barcode, a borrower’s card. He found neither. What is it DOING here?
He had let it fall open at random, there, among the stacks, a single water-damaged page stood up like a cowlick, he gingerly pressed it flat. The type within was much more preserved than the weathered front-plating. He scanned, gliding over the forms: aglist, aglitter, aglomerular, aglopened, aglossal, aglow-
That was when he had seen the Word.
Though it wasn’t the Word itself, that had drawn his attention. It was the empty white, beneath it. The dictionary game was all about spatial economy. Column inches and abbreviations. In forty-seven years of nebbish quietude, forty-seven years of slow vanishing into a wilderness of text, Lyle Hereford, Ph.D., had never encountered empty white space in the body of a dictionary. Thus, first, the white. Then he had looked above it.
The Word did not begin with the letter “A”.
The Word did not conform to any structural schema that Lyle recognized. There was no easily discernible root in the Romance lineage, nor the Germanic, nor even the primordial Oriental or Sanskrit Anglicizations which the casual peruser of the Mahabharata or of Patanjali’s Sutras might intuitively place. The Word began with the character “X”, and proceeded from there to a feral enjambment of consonants and choked, almost Hebraic “Y’s”. It possessed no other vowels. Merely the Word, this strange word, had greeted Lyle. No origin, pronunciation, part-of-speech. No definition. Merely the Word, and the white beneath, there in the stacks.
Lyle brushed his thumb across the Word. Looking back, now, he couldn’t really say why. It was the sort of automatic, immediate impulse that you don’t question until it’s complete. It came over him like a yawn. He felt the thin whisper of the paper beneath his skin, he traced the Word from its first syllable to its eighth and final and
“FUCK— “
A kind of WRETCH, a spasm, behind his eyes, within his temples, his core, the cilia of his inner ears. His stomach flopped over queasily in his abdomen and he clenched his ass, just ahead of a hot dart of pressure, a hot sharp dart of pressure, gas and a tincture of liquid, a foul egg smell, he fought to hold it—
“fuckfuckfuck— “
Tremoring in his calves, his whole body strained, the feeble musculature flared from his neck, his weak chin pressed down and his gorge rose. Warm coppery blood pattered and trickled over his lips. Lyle’s nose was bleeding. The fit—whatever it was—began to pass, and Lyle looked down through watering eyes to the object in his hands.
“What in the Christ-?”
The library remained silent, the book remained still, the Word remained inscrutable. He noticed the spatter, low on the page, of his blood, obscuring the column inches, smearing over agnathous. He gathered up a shirt cuff in his hand, squeezed it to his nose—*that’s never coming out—*and awkwardly sat, pooling the book in his lap. He reached down with his other cuff to dab at the page, mitigate the damage. That is when, Lyle now thought, he may have gone mad.
The beads of blood began to crawl up the page.
The traversal of the droplets wasn’t smooth, wasn’t a rolling. They jerked upward in spurs—they forked, like lightning. They crept laterally, then cut upward again, the spastic scribbling of an unseen hand. Lyle became aware that his body was rigid, his breath held, his eyes dry and pained, he stared unblinking. Sweat stood out on the crenellations of his widow’s peak, his acne-scarred brow. His ruptured sinus oozed, his sleeve was warm and sodden. The bloodbolts reached the inexplicable white gap. Swirled into the emptiness. Beneath the Word the blood swirled. It arranged itself.
It formed shapes.
It formed letters.
Lyle had made a sound, then, something between a sob and a laugh and a scream—
—snakebit it’s a snakebit sound—
*—*rupturing the stillness, a harsh throaty sound, reeding through the library, and then he clapped the book shut and fled.
“But I didn’t drop it, did I?” he asked the green numerals. They showed 4:07AM. Time always slid, on sleepless nights. He thought it one of their worst qualities.
“I ran. I ran from it*.* But my hands… my hands wouldn’t let it go.”
Lyle sat up in bed. Only when the sheets peeled away from his back did he realize he was perspiring. He stripped the damp bedclothes and shambled across the room, to his small closet. He bent to his hamper, deposited the sheets inside, closed the latch with a discrete click. He took a fresh button-up and crisp slacks down from their hangers, and he began to dress.
#
Lyle barely heard as the starter of his aging Acura chugged, and whinnied, and finally caught. He floated across town, the CD player in the dash resumed Rachmaninov’s Prelude in C sharp minor, the volume hovered at the bottom edge of audibility. It did not pierce the veil of Lyle’s exhaustion. His memory, the vision of the mounting blood, felt unreal. The marine layer had rolled in with the night’s cool, heightening the strangeness. Occasionally headlights swam up out of the fog, the vague shapes of alien drivers flickered and were gone. Lyle had passed through a membrane—*a glass, darkly—*and everything normal was rendered strange, as though the laws underpinning the universe had grown suddenly elastic. His fatigue coupled with the new fact of the Word to cast a surreal pall over the familiar streets. He wondered, at each car he passed, about the journey of the driver. Was it possible that just beneath the frequency of his attention there was a whole world of men on grim, predawn errands? Men confronting mad and impossible things, men fallen through unsuspected cracks in their comfortable facade? And just where in the wild blue fuck had it come from?
Lyle made it, not without difficulty, to the faculty lot. He parked askew—someone’s sure to bitch about that he thought, and tittered*—*and walked his scuttling walk across the plaza toward the Humanities complex, fumbling for his keycard. His footsteps seemed to echo off of nothing but haze. The fog encroached, he felt as though it watched him.
His office was a shabby, cramped afterthought on the fourth floor. He turned the bolt behind him as he entered, resting his weary head against the door. He thumped it, once—his forehead, that is—against the wood. He crossed to his chair, the brown faux leather cracked and peeling, and sat heavily. The office was cheaply appointed, but pristine. No tchotchkes or personal touches were in evidence, with the exception of some of Lyle’s own (stark, black-and-white) photography. The book he had found, the impossible book, was not alphabetized on his shelves with the others. It sat alone. Nothing shared, with it, the small rolling side-desk, which Lyle pulled to himself. He reached for the book, heart pounding, hands tremoring. He breathed deeply, closed his eyes. Mastered himself. By and by, the shaking passed. He opened his eyes to look, again, upon the Word.
First there’s fear, of course there’s fear, but then... but then....
Then, perhaps, there was room for curiosity. He had found this thing, this extraordinary thing, or perhaps, just possibly…
“It found me. Maybe it was--meant. For me.”
And if it were, that might make it—would make it—the first thing, the first special thing, that had ever been meant, for Lyle Hereford, Ph.D. He opened the book, the tremor in his hands barely perceptible, now. He sought out the Ag’s—aglow, aglist, aglitter—and found them easily enough. He stared, eyes bulging, straining, at the page.
The Word was gone.
Nothing. No fractal X’s and Y’s, no phantom space, no broken line. Smooth, black column inches, the rhythms of the dictionary, nothing out of place.
“No—no, no, no—” Lyle flipped the page, aggressively, almost tearing it from the binding, another, another, flipped them, faster and faster, scanning, rapidly scanning, seeking white space.
“No, fuck you, no, it was here, you were just here, I didn’t imagine you you cocksucker come back here and talk to me— “
He flipped forward, the opposite direction, toward the front of the fascicle, when he felt something under the pad of his thumb. It was—a shift in the texture, a vibration—a definite, awful, sly little movement. He felt the thing change, somehow. Lyle froze. He held perfectly still—*snake, snake in my hands, subtle subtle snake—*then he slid his thumb, just his thumb, the tiniest hair, a fraction of an inch, over the page-ends. Rasped his thumb, along the margin of the book. *Something, there’s something, right there—*he rasped again. Felt it. Toward the back. A water-damaged page. Lyle seized on it, almost eagerly, letting the book part around it. It stood up like a cowlick. He pressed it carefully down, closed his eyes. Lyle felt a curious swirl of anxiety and hope. He was afraid. Afraid to see it again.
He needed to see it again. He needed to know.
He opened his eyes. He scanned the page, now, a completely different section of the fascicle. Amputee, ampyx, amrel, amrita, amry, amsel. Faster, faster…
There.
Crowded into the bottom-right corner. An empty, white space. Above it, a Word.
A different Word.
This one began with an LN, and to the litany of Y’s had been added double-Us. The same layout: no explicatory text below, nothing else. The single, unpronounceable Word.
“There you are,” Lyle whispered. He turned to his computer, felt for the green button along the back of his monitor, pressed it. He thumbed the spacebar on his keyboard. The desktop awoke mid a staccato burst of tiny electronic clicks, followed by the usual cheery synth-tone. Lyle set a yellow legal pad on his lap, popped the well-chewed end of a mechanical pencil into his mouth, clenched it between his teeth. He tugged open a gray metal desk drawer, hideous and utilitarian, pawed around inside until he found what he wanted, closed it again. He turned back to the Word.
“Tell me a secret,” he said. His voice was queerly pitched, hollow. He hardly recognized it. He held up the small object taken from his desk, held it up above the page, showed it to the Word. It was a pushpin. Tell me. Lyle pricked the ball of his middle finger, blood welled into a fat bead. He turned his hand over, held the blood above the white, watched it distend, watched it fall. This time there was no lightning, no crawl. This time it sizzled, as though he had dropped it on a skillet. It sizzled, bubbled, on the white, then separated, it raised blood-red letters below the Word. Characters. This time, Lyle was ready.
It’s Attic Greek, he realized. The characters stood out in the elegant script of the Septuagint, the language of Alexander the Great. The language that, at one time, had conquered the world, and had later been conquered in turn. A language of emperors, and of slaves. Lyle sucked on his bleeding finger as he hunched over the legal pad, copying out the unfamiliar letters:
ύπνος
It was a matter of a few moments to download a keyboard for ancient Greek characters on the desktop. A few more to pull up Google, find a translator widget, and hunt-and-peck his way to the answer. The cursor blinked beside the translation. The word beneath the Word, the Greek extraction written in blood, fat and placid and banal:
sleep
Lyle felt a flush of disappointment. He had expected something, he realized. Some kernel of an answer. The name of a daemon, or of a god. A celestial body, perhaps. And why Greek? If it was printed in the nineteenth century, printed in English in the nineteenth century? Lyle turned back to the fascicle but the blood was gone. He brushed a cautious knuckle across the white gap and found it dry.
Thirsty, he thought. You feel thirsty.
The language of Alexander, and of Oedipus Rex, and of Aristotle. He considered the Word. Sleep. A definition? Was the book itself carrying some kind of, what, repository, fragments of a lost language, preserved by some oblique arcana? The work of a secret society, or a cult? Some Rosicrucian gimmickry? He looked down at the white space, the secret-keeping space, awakened by blood. Considered, again, the crooked syllables, the LM, the double-X, the Y’s and double-U’s.
Sleep.
Sleep was a word with a certain beauty. Especially for the chronic insomniac. A beauty and a kind of longing. Sleep. The LM, the double-X, the Y’s and the double-U’s. Strange, riotous Word.
“Sleep is a beautiful word.” Lyly was unaware that he had spoken aloud. The LM, the double-X, in the middle, the double-X. It occurred to him that this Word, too, was beautiful.
Beautiful and possessed of a kind of interior sense, Lyle realized. A kind of logic. When you think about it.
The double-X, a kind of sluggish, sloughing sound in the middle. A collapse, to link the long consonants, as if the effort of producing the Word were too much for one’s throat, all at once. The LM, the double-X, the double-U’s. Lyle opened his mouth, still unaware. The Word intensified, in his field of vision, came into a sharp focus. The rest of the page somehow fell around it. Lyle wondered if he was being hypnotized. There was no more color in the world, he knew how to say the Word, the Word was teaching him, patiently, to say it, he opened his mouth not knowing and he said the Word that meant Sleep and—
#
Lyle awoke on the floor of his office. He shook his head, once, experimentally. He winced—his left temple was sore; a bruise was coming on.
Did I fall? Black out? The fascicle was still on his side-desk. It was closed, now. His computer was dark and quiet, hibernating. All at once he remembered—*oh, my God—*it wasn’t a definition or a repository or a code—
“It’s a command,” he croaked, his voice husky in the stillness. Everything clicked, almost audibly, like tumblers turning in his head. It was a command, and that made the book something else, that made the book something very much else indeed, oh, oh God, that makes it something else.
What time is it? The sun hadn’t risen, the streetlights still slanted through his shitty, frail blinds. Traffic had picked up though, he could hear it outside, and he felt—incredible, I feel incredible—fine, other than the bump on his noggin and a few cricks in his shoulders, his neck, Lyle felt like a million bucks. He pawed at his phone. He carried it in his front-left pocket, and if he had fallen on it it might have—
The phone showed 9:44PM. He had slept, all right. He ran the math. He had been at his desk, it had been maybe five thirty…
It put me to sleep for sixteen hours? Lyle have never slept that long in his life, to the best of his knowledge*.* It was enough to make him want to weep. He’d been just an anxious little bedwetter when his long war against insomnia began, and the notion of simply saying a Word, a beautiful Word, and dropping off like a stone—
He crossed to his office door, turned the bolt. Opened it. A sticky-note was affixed to the outside:
Dr. L, wasn’t able to get ahold of you today, hope you feel better. Walked the class through Act III, reiterated their assignments re: Marlowe comparison & cut them loose, will check in tomorrow first thing.
It was James’s fluid cursive. Even his penmanship was pretty*.*
Lyle turned his attention back to the fascicle. He picked it up carefully, reverently. He felt a surge of glee, an unbridled joy at the power in his hands. When he closed his eyes he could still see the sleep-Word, the constellation of unwieldy letters stood out bright and vivid. His heart raced with the implications of his discovery—something else something else it’s something else—
The term Grimoire drifted hazily across his consciousness.
He rasped his thumb along the margins and felt immediately the bristle of the damaged page, somewhere in the center. He held the book upright and let it fall open, the single page left standing. He smoothed it carefully down. He looked upon the book.
The empty white stood out easily, in the center column, the exact mid-point. Above it was yet another Word, this one shorter, beginning with an A and three O’s, a sound meant to be moaned. Lyle rummaged for another push-pin in his desk. He pricked his ring-finger, this time—*spread the love, I might be doing this a lot—*and smeared a sizzling patina of blood onto the white paper. The red letters formed on the page, he couldn’t wait for them, he was greedy for them—
That isn’t Greek, Lyle realized. The new Word was explicated in a much more familiar—and, curiously, more recent—tongue. The new Word was translated in Latin.
libido
Was the first Word I saw translated into Greek? he wondered. When I ran from the library, from the blood, the first time, were those Greek letters? He couldn’t be sure, it had happened so quickly, and hysteria warped the memory.
He couldn’t be sure, no. But he didn’t think so.
“Libido,” he pronounced into the quiet of the office. “Lust. Desire.” He stood there a long moment, lost in thought. Finally he reached beneath his desk and pulled out a slender leather briefcase. He wouldn’t leave it at the office again, not—
Not knowing what it can do.
He placed the fascicle inside, locked the briefcase, and killed the grating fluorescents overhead. As he left the office he crumpled James’s sticky note in his fist and let it fall.
​
​
CONTINUED IN PT. 2:
https://www.reddit.com/Horror_stories/comments/13wyq9j/ghost_word_pt_2/

Sometimes while driving my 2008 Honda Civic makes a sound rather like a kid sucking on an empty milkshake. the EVAP canister valve was replaced and after four months the P0497 code returned and the sound began to be noticed.
Should I be concerned?

I bought a new leather cover to replace the center console of my 2008 Honda Accord EX-l. I have yet to take the other apart, but it looks simple enough with folding and stapling and what-not.
My questions is, what padding should go under the leather cover? The old one is squished and flattened as hard as a board.

How’s it going guys, I’ve been keeping up with this sub for a while now, and obviously everything has their own methods they use and probably have tweaked according to what suits them.
I got hired as a helper 2 summers ago to work with a company. It was just me and the owner, he had a pretty nice setup. After about a month of me working a learning, it started as a here why don’t you take the truck home and you keep it for the week, and we will see how you do on your own (handing off the contracts. ) least to say it went well, and from there on out we would meet once a week and exchange contracts/and money from the week before.
It was actually turning out to be a great thing, and was getting to close to actually talking about being a partnership. Unfortunately life happened and I had to relocate to take care of family.
I now live in the Richmond area. I cleaned on average 4-5 houses a day, typically all were between 3,000-4500 SQ feet. We also did pools, patios ect and wood. I’d say I was submerged in the field and learned a lot, obviously enough where I continued running the jobs and customer interaction myself, and he lined them up.
I’m going out to try my own thing, going to build same setup I was used to. Honda gtx 3500, 8gpm. 250Gallon buffer tank ect. When I used to pick up the chemical, he was getting 5 gallon blue jugs of chlorine at $20 a jug.
We would assess the house, and then mix accordingly in a 5 gallon bucket for the Chem hose. We never had issues, but I don’t see people talking much about straight chlorine in here? (It was from a pool supplier)
This was all done in Northern Virginia.
Any advice on why this would be a bad idea to use would be great.

I have a Honda Accord 2011 and the AC doesn’t seem to work when it’s hit outside, only blows how air. When it’s cold though, it blows cold air. I thought maybe it needed more refrigerant but it did not do anything after using one.
Anyone knows what else it could be?

​

The struggle of the Royal Draco Sentien vampire overlords against Psychiatrists and Catholic priests.

I am not fully human a part of my genome descends from the Anunnaki which devolves back to the Royal Scythian houses roughly 80 generations ago. I am member of the ancient Elven, Dragon race. Ancient Dragons used to dwell in the forests of France and Britain and we practiced a form of Royal Communism as part of our Grail code. In the earlier days of the Anunnaki it was possible to freely practice the Grail Code via an empathetic consciousness which was particularly strong enough for the foundation of the Grail Code within the family of the Gods. The peoples' selfish , individualistic motivations stood in direct opposition to the Grail Code of Royal Communism and community service. The motivation of Elves was driven by our transcendent consciousness , which can only operate in an environment of truth and empathy. If one desires only truth and empathy and gives instinctively for the common good, one becomes a target for deceivers and opportunists.
A reversal has taken place in the Western world where the warrior class has usurped or replaced kings as leaders of the people. In times of trouble they leveraged their position to take over.
Having a taste of power, greedy and treacherous warrior captains decided they would either go it a lone or take over by force of arms. They opened up the door for an even more stupid class of people to poison their way to the top. Who were they exactly ? That is right the settled warehouse tinkers -- the scumbag cheating peasants with no money . They were the ancestors of the middle and upper classes today.
You might think that because someone has an aristocratic title e.g. Duke or Earl or Lord that they are the genuine aristocracy. However you would be dead wrong since they inherited these titles because their ancestors were merchants or traders who had enough money to buy them from Christian kings who were also elevated peasants circa the time that the Merovingian Dragon kings were deposed of. And you wonder why the earth is in such a state ?
When society is run by tinker peasants, as it is right now, the tinker mentality leads to every single thing as having some kind of price tag on it. In the world run by tinkers everything has to become a “marketable commodity” and its importance becomes linked to superficial “marketing potential”. We have been so accustomed to such values and buzz words that we are blind to the dangers and inherent immorality behind them. We now have a situation where “Doctors” can diagnose people with middle class tinker euphemisms , such as ‘mentally ill” or “schizophrenic” with a bible that is a modern day pseudo-scientific Malleus Maleficarum. Also, where people calling themselves “doctors” can visit indigenous peoples, take dna samples from them by drawing blood and then patenting their genes.
Faced with the violence and hostility of a group of myopic animals hell bent on pursuing their own selfish interests and unable to see the larger picture the pure Elves had no chance of survival , whatever other states of affairs might have transpired. This is how the mayors of the Palace took over and deposed of the Elven/Dragon Royal Merovingians. They exploited the innate trust and complacency etc.. of the Merovingian Kings.
Dragon culture was scientific and we can perform magic inter alia so we attracted the hostility of the Catholic church. The Catholic Church forged a Document known as the donation of Constatine which replaced the Merovingians with the Carolingian dynasty (if I remember correctly) then the Catholic church waged a thousand year Elven holocaust chasing the French Dragons and Pendragons deep into the forests of France and Britain. For over a thousand years the Church initiated a consistent policy of genocide that is still unrivaled in human history in terms of relentless violence and hatred.
This genocide continues under psychiatry but Draco Sentiens are by no means their only target because Dragons were once part of a genetically clear sighted Elder race that looked over and protected the peasants from such abuses as we see in current day psychiatry.
so one day I was a happy Pendragon frolicking in my native habitat of Cornwall/Devonshire. Then a black cloud appeared on the horizon and three banshees or banhees descended upon me. Who were the banshees or banhees? The three horseman of the Pendragon apocalypse : the tyrannical sadomasochistic automaton genetic turnip peasants Emil Kraepelin, Freud, and Wilhelm Wundt. Freud came with his pet frog Charcot and they all stood behind the fascist kraut Kraepelin who uttered that I had the pseudo-scientific nonsensical diffuse label of schizophrenia. His German arrogance blinded him from the fact that genetic turnip peasants are not qualified to pontificate on a Draco Sentien's (Pendragon's) state of mind since I enter transcendental perception via the unity of the godhead through an elaborate royal rite with my red headed virgin grail maidens called the Derkesthai vision (perception). The peasants proceeded to poison their way to the top so I could not guide humanity via my superior Derkesthai perception. Now all of humanity is suffering as a result but ironically the peasants are hardest hit by this tragedy of epic proportions.
Transcendental Derkesthai perception :
After a consensual royal rite ritual with my red headed virgin grail maidens, where I consume their blood, the right chemicals go into my brain receptor sites so I achieve transcendental perception.On the this Dragon "path" one is imbued hereditarily with Dragon capabilities in varying measures. As one progresses along the path these capabilities wax and wane according to necessity. The Derkesthai is the main process, in which information is "channeled" through the conduit of the Dragon archetype; specifically the heightened the racial consciousness of those of the Dragon blood. Through this process I pick up naturally, all sorts of information relating to varied aspects of the Dragon tradition in its many manifestations and branches. This is all backed up academically through the work of Pierre Proudhon, Dr. David Barker; George Woodcock; Lysander Spooner; Professor Miranda Green; ; Professors Pierpaoli and Regelson; David Anderson; The Oxford English Dictionary and last but not least Mr. C. Murray Hall M.A. ( Sussex University).
The apprehension of the Noumenal realm through the Derkesthai process :
The great philosopher Immanuel Kant demonstrated that the world homo-sapiens experience is not the real world. That world does not embody homo-sapiens’ concepts of time, space and causality. Homo-sapiens perceive things through a three-dimensional scaffolding, in a tense of past-present-future, and within a framework of casual connections. As a philosopher from that time period could not have known, that 20th century physics has confirmed, these constructs are not even a component of the world that homo-sapiens can measure with special instruments and maths. Isaac Newton’s concepts of time and space do not apply to the macro world of special and general relativity or to the micro world of quantum mechanics. The real world different from what homo-sapiens measure and experience. Kant concluded that the deepest level of reality is inaccessible to the thoughts of homo-sapiens and their so-called knowledge. The ultimate reality is in the perceived world of the Noumenal realm. Only Draco Sentiens are able to percieve this reality through the Derkesthai process.
Whence Homo-Sapiens ? :
From the Oxford English dictionary we see that the prefix homo has two meanings. There is the Latin meaning (from whence comes man ) and the Greek meaning as in homo-genous, which means "the same", "common", "average", "mediocre". The word Sapiens is itself derived from a latin word i.e. "sapienta" meaning understanding. However it was also used in the Middle English period -- explicitly in the sense of artful, deceitful, contrived or would-be (wannabe) wisdom; meaning ex concessis dialectcal sophistry or low cunning and hypocrisy. We derive the term 'sap' from from sapienta, which has been used throughout the English speaking world to taunt idiots and fools.
Therefore, jocularly , in contemporary currency the phrase homo-sapiens defines a common sansculotte-esque undistinguished homonid species. You homo-sapiens think the same self-deluding thoughts, relating to each other through a veil of deception, within a limited field of conscious (non-derkesthai non-transcendental) reponses and conditioned reflexes like sheep.
Don't confuse me for a homo-sapien as I am a Royal Draco Sentien vampire supported by Sarkeny rend and the illuminati.
Now being a Draco Sentien I have a different number of the correct axon membranes in the right type of synaptic receptors and an increased number of dendrites connecting the appropriate brain cells across both hemispheres. In layman’s terms Dragon princesses have round pegs and Dragon Kings have lots of round holes, in stark contrast to non-dragons, who seem to have different shape pegs and holes , and less of either. The Church and modern day psychiatry do not respect this neurodiversity and they hate the fact that they can't use “Dragon magic” so they attempted to destroy it so no one else can use it either. They hope to level the playing field so the stupidity of their own political ruling clients won’t be noticed in comparison to the hopefully exterminated and unobservable wisdom of the true Pendragon kings.
If one thinks they have the right to be acknowledged as a fellow “Draconian” of the ancient Elven, Dragon race then you are welcome to submit a geneology that devolves back to the royal Scythian and Mitanni houses at least 80 generations ago to the Imperial Royal Dragon court and Order or Sarkany Rend.

Hi all,
Last night my car was vandalized in my own parking space. Two other neighbor cars were also targeted. We all have Honda Accord 2003/2006. Catalytic converter was cut and stolen in all three cars. I only have collision coverage and no comprehensive coverage in my auto insurance.
Please see pictures. How much is this going to cost me to get it fixed? What are my options? Thank you! I appreciate all your inputs.
https://imgur.com/a/xPODZXq

Three days ago, my housemates were alive.
And I wasn't losing my fucking mind.
Three days ago, I awoke to my housemate, Misty, shaking me.
“Get up!!”
Misty was usually the last to roll out of bed out of all of us, so I figured it was something important. My housemate wouldn’t get out of bed for nothing. She valued her sleep—often comparing her bed to a safe haven. Her place of solitude. I was right there with her, until she startled me out of slumber. I opened my eyes to find her face roughly three inches from mine, her expression lit up with excitement I couldn’t justify this early in the morning.
She smelled of toothpaste breath and her raspberry scented body wash. Her thick black curls framing her face were still damp from what I presumed was a shower, hanging in tangled knots in front of wide, almost unseeing eyes. When I first met her, Misty Kang had been my crush for a while. With a Korean father and a Texan mother, she definitely caught eyes when we hung out. We had a thing in freshman year, which quickly fizzled out once we started living together. Never date your housemates.
I will just say that.
Over the last few years, Misty has become one of my closest friends.
When she knew I was at least conscious, my housemate was grabbing my arm and yanking me out of bed. “Get up!”
I was barely awake, and those were the only words I could fully distinguish.
I shooed her away for a moment and swung my legs out of bed, taking a minute to blink sunlight out of my eyes coming through the blinds. “Sam.” Misty was in front of me again.
I don’t think she understood the concept of being half asleep.
She wouldn’t leave me alone, waving her arms wildly. Her shadow under the soft morning light almost reminded me of one of those inflatable tube guys.
“Huh?” My voice was a low croak, and her smile widened.
“Guess who’s just scored tickets for an actual screening of the first five minutes of gameplay for the most anticipated game of the decade?”
“What?” Her string of words wasn’t making sense in my caffeine deprived mind. It just sounded like gibberish to me, initially.
Like we were in some cheesy commercial, she was the lead, and I was the confused NPC with the WTF expression. But when I went over it in my head, words started to slide together like a jigsaw puzzle. Misty didn’t get excited about video games. Well, she did. Though, my housemate was one to get excited on behalf of someone else. After living with her for a while now, I had concluded she was a follower.
By that, I mean whatever others thought or did or said, she copied it. If her Twitter followers were mad at bad takes, she would drop all of her own opinions on said follower and focus on what other people said. We had Korean barbecue for takeout the other day, and Misty clearly did not like it from the creased look on her face, and her very obviously spitting it politely into a napkin.
Jay, my other housemate, liked it.
And so did I. So, naturally, Misty announced she wanted more.
I had to watch her suffer through two more portions before she excused herself—presumably to throw up. Blinking at my housemate who was clearly excited for Jay, I resisted the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes.
“Slow down. What game? What are you talking about?”
I got out of bed and threw on my robe, half aware of the mess from last night on my desk. Another attempt to finish an essay which just wasn’t happening. The monster energy cans and takeout Chinese wrappers were embarrassing. I got a basic run-through as I headed downstairs with Misty right behind me, practically breathing down my neck. From what I understood, there was a Reddit post.
That was all I got from Misty’s squealing. She leapt down the stairs after me with a spring in her step. The clock above the front door told me it wasn’t even 9am. The smell of bacon, however, was quick to arise me from the dead.
Jay was in the kitchen making breakfast. I noticed his laptop was open on the table, and every so often he’d peer at it with wide, almost disbelieving eyes. Jay and Misty were complete opposites, which made them great people to live with. Jay was a quiet book who was slightly on the pretentious side, routinely quoting something philosophical to piss me off.
He had rich parents on the other side of the world, but the guy himself was fairly humble and had mostly detached himself from said family.
My housemate was usually well put together. In fact, I barely saw him in his pajamas, excluding game nights. That morning, however, he was a disheveled mess, still in yesterday’s clothes.
He offered me a grin. I glimpsed sauce from last night’s dinner still staining his chin. Jay hadn’t brushed his hair or even put on deodorant.
I caught a whiff of BO when he ducked in front of me, his gaze glued to his MacBook. It was rare when Jay ignored basic hygiene, so yeah, I was going to guess this was a pretty huge thing. “I did tell her not to wake you up, y’know.”
His slight aussie accent was always refreshing on a morning. Born in Australia and moving to the states when he was ten years old, Jay still had a slight tinge in his accent. I had seen pictures of his family, and the guy had definitely gotten most of his dad’s genes, thick brown hair, and freckles. While his dad was built like a pro wrestler however, Jay was leaner like his mom.
I shrugged. “I was already awake.”
“Liar.” He didn’t look away from his laptop.
Looking closer, I glimpsed the Reddit homepage.
“So, you have won something.”
Jay didn’t answer. I could tell he was excited by the way he could barely keep still, bustling around the kitchen, barefoot. “Coffee?”
His voice was more of a Misty-like squeak, and I half wondered for a moment if they had switched bodies, or he had at least become one with my other housemate through a chemical explosion. In our kitchen, which was yet to be cleaned after a cooking disaster several nights ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if something was living on the countertop. I nodded, slumping into a chair. “What’s going on? Why is Misty freaking out?” I nodded at his laptop. “She said you’ve won something?”
As if my housemate couldn’t hold it in anymore, he nodded, turning his screen towards me. “You know____, right?”
“Yes.” I sipped my coffee, eyeing a toaster strudel sitting on the countertop. "You mean the game which has been coming out for a decade."
He ignored that. “Well, what if I told you one of the developer’s posted on the official sub this morning?”
“For _____?"
He nodded with a grin, and I wondered it this was one of those rare times when Jay was blindly looking through a red flag to see what he wanted. I had heard of these types of scams, and Reddit was a breeding ground for them.
Gamers were pretty intense. I didn’t realize I was pulling a face until I caught his lips curving into a smile. Jay was usually the skeptical one.
“You don’t believe me.”
I downed my coffee to avoid replying. When I had drained the cup, he was still staring at me with amused eyes.
“What?”
“You think it’s bullshit.”
I shrugged. “You said it,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that game isn’t even partway through development. Didn’t Twitter leak a still last year? Also, they’ll be bringing out a new console before that game comes out.”
I leaned back in my chair. “It’s more of a pipe dream, at this point.”
“The leaks were fake,” Even he didn’t look sure. “Anyway, that’s not the point. One of the dev’s posted on the official sub this morning. He asked if we were all excited for the new game, asked if we could post some of our favorite NPC dialogue, and he’ll DM winners.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded at the screen. I had already checked my phone for an internet meltdown concerning this post, but there was nothing. “And where is that post now?”
Jay didn’t look at me. “It was deleted. So it only reached a certain number of people.”
“Oh, it was deleted?” I couldn’t resist a smile. “What a coincidence.”
When I laughed, Jay scowled, showing me his screen—navigating his trackpad to his Reddit DM’s.
To my surprise, there was actually a message from what I guessed was a throw-away account.
While I was skim reading the DM, Misty hurried in, all dressed and ready for the day. I peeked at her outfit from Jay's laptop. Cute.
Extravagant, but cute. My housemate cranked the radio up before bouncing between us, a toaster strudel hanging out of her mouth.
Misty was a living animated character. Ignoring her wide smile, I turned back to the screen. “Congratulation!!” The DM started with capitals.
It took me reading it twice to realize there was a clear spelling mistake. I sent Jay a pointed look, but he was too busy practically vibrating with excitement. If the guy had any more caffeine, he was going to explode. “Since when did winning DM’s start with a typo?”
“I knew you were going to say that.” Jay curled his lip. “They were clearly excited when typing the message.”
“But this is supposedly an official,” I said. “Surely they would make sure it’s professional?”
My housemate didn’t reply, shooting a look at Misty, who rolled her eyes.
“Wow.” I squinted at the screen. “I am so sorry for caring about your safety. You do realize these types of scam’s usually end up with you being sold on the black market, right?”
I shuddered. “I’ve heard horror stories about underground markets specializing in illegal organ harvesting.”
“Or…” Jay’s eyes were glued to the screen. “You could be happy for me?”
I frowned at the rest of the message, which was just a capitalized freak-out about the upcoming release of the game, before inviting Jay (and a friend!) to a five-minute preview of gameplay, as well as a Q&A. There was a location and a time, which was brow-raising. “10 at night.” I said. “Who hosts a gaming convention at 10pm?” I leaned my chin on my fist. “Unless they wanted to lure as many gullible people as possible, and ship them to some organ harvesting factory on the other side of the world.”
Jay scoffed. “That’s dark.”
“You’re actually considering going to a 10pm gaming convention in the middle of nowhere. I’m trying to wake you up.”
Jay nudged me that time. “It’s real. Relax.”
“And.” I pointed to the screen. “No phones? Why would they ask you not to bring your phones?”
“To stop us filming content,” Misty sang. “Duh.”
I groaned, leaning back in my chair. “You’re on his side? This is clearly shady!” I didn’t get mad unless something was seriously pissing me off, and this was one of those times. Jay was a smart guy. There was no way he was falling for this bullshit. I thought he was joking around when he spent the day tracking the location on Google Maps. I went to class like normal and got updates through text. At lunch, Jay agreed with me and said it was in fact shady, and he wasn’t going. By afternoon classes, he was texting me in paragraphs explaining his own skepticism but had found several “friends” on an online forum who were also going and had changed his mind once again. The guy couldn’t make up his mind. He was driving me crazy.
Misty sent me several videos of Jay pacing the kitchen with his MacBook in his hands. She was broadcasting his mental breakdown via Instagram stories. But then she started to send me pictures of herself in different outfits, asking me for my opinion on each one. At that point, I turned my phone off. My housemates had lost their fucking minds. I did my own research though, just to make sure I wasn’t actually going to lose them to a shady cult.
I searched for the game itself, but just as I thought, it was shown as still in development. Every “update” was just fan speculation.
There were YouTube videos and TikTok’s of fake leaks, but nothing was real. It was either AI generated, or badly edited. By the time my classes had ended and I had turned my phone on, I had a barrage of missed calls and texts.
Most of them were from Misty with her outfit changes, and Jay changing his mind again.
This time he was convinced it was all a scam, his texts full of typos and crying emoji's which he never used. Before it hit me that Misty was most likely using his phone to text me.
I was right. When I walked through the door, I was greeted by both of them sitting on the stairs. Misty was scrolling through Jay’s phone, while the boy had his head in his hands. According to Misty’s last text, he was back to being excited to go.
From the look on his face, eyes shadowed with sleep circles, light brown curls slipping from under his hood, I wasn’t sure what Misty meant by “excited”. The guy looked the complete opposite. His mind had been consumed by the game, and the idea of seeing new content.
When I dropped my bag and folded my arms, fixing the two of them with my best disapproving parent look, Misty jumped to her feet. “Sam!” she waved Jay’s phone at me. “Did you get my texts? We’re actually going now!”
The 100+ texts on both messenger and iMessage said otherwise.
I nodded, my gaze on Jay. “Both of you do realize it’s a scam, right?” I softened my tone despite growing progressively more irritated. We were grown adults, not kids. I could understand a group of teenagers falling for it, but two twenty-three-year-olds?
This time, I ducked in front of Jay. “Hey.” I pulled down his hood, and he groaned, burying his head in his knees. “I don’t want to freak you out, so listen to me, okay?”
I exhaled out a breath. “I’m not saying something bad is going to happen to you, because it most likely won’t—and yes, I admit I’m being paranoid.” When he lifted his head, blinking through bedraggled curls, there was a faint smile on his lips. “But.” I said. “You are most likely going to end up disappointed. Which I don’t want, because you won't shut up about it for weeks."
I was only partly joking.
For a moment, I thought my housemate was going to wake up, and nod, laughing at how crazy it was.
Before shook his head and jumped up.
“I’m going to take a shower, alright? I should start getting ready."
I admit, I exploded at him.
We argued while he was in the shower, and I paced up and down the hallway, coming up with multiple reasons why he was definitely going to die, and only two positives if it was in fact real. In the end, I gave up worrying all together. I didn’t say anything when the two of them were hurrying around looking for shoes and missing car keys. I didn’t realize they were gone until the door was clanging shut, and a text was coming through. I didn’t look at it until an hour later, and I had calmed down.
Jay: 1h ago: Stop worrying, lmao. We’re good! I’ll keep my phone just in case. I’ll make sure to avoid the organ harvesting 😉
Another from Misty a few minutes later: “Love you! Chillll, kay? 😭😭 It’s going to be fun! I’ll take pics!”
…
Followed by: “Oh shit, we can’t. I’ll try to sneak some!"
Attached to the text was a photo of the two of them. Misty with a wide smile and a peace sign, and Jay who looked like he was mid-shout, his eyes on the road.
Those texts were… at least comforting, I guessed. Maybe they were right. I figured I was paranoid, and they in fact would really be okay.
But that didn’t stop the anxious coil in my gut when I tried to force down takeout pizza. I attempted to focus on my essay to distract myself, but I couldn’t stop glancing at my phone, and checking Twitter. There was a hashtag on the DM, which was just “PlayStationGO.” When I searched for it, however, nothing came up.
Sure, it was a private convention and only a select few knew about it, but nothing could escape Twitter.
Somewhere, someone must be talking about it. After scrolling through endless tweets though, I realized I was wrong. There was nothing.
That put a bad taste in my mouth.
10pm came, and I held my breath all the way through a Netflix TV show I was forcing myself to watch, half asleep, slumped at my desk.
I could barely distinguish the plot.
I just had a vague idea of the character names, and some of their motivations.
Midnight passed, and I was struggling to stay awake.
I glanced at my phone.
No messages, just a notification from Spotify reminding me my favorite band was playing nearby.
1am.
Still nothing. I fell back to sleep.
2:48am.
This time, I stayed awake for a few minutes glaring at my phone before my eyes grew heavy.
3:16: am.
My phone buzzed with a text from Jay, but I could barely desipher it: "can't feel help my head hurts Canshdhsn727272_6798mi/!! _&go home please. (Sent from: PlayStationGo™️ BETA)."
3:27: am.
3:54: am. I was wide awake, blinking at a notification which had popped up from an unknown number. I was trying to figure out what number it was, when my phone vibrated again and I almost jumped out of my skin.
After a moment of hesitation, I answered it.
I was trying so hard not to think of the possibility of it being the emergency room, or even worse, the cops.
All of my worst nightmares had come true in a single second.
“Hello?” I whispered in a croak.
“Are they in the house with you?” The stranger’s voice came through in a hiss of interference.
His words sent my mediocre dinner lurching back up my throat. “What?” I managed to get out. “Who?”
“Your friends.” He said, and I leapt to unsteady feet, my gut twisting and turning.
“No.” I found myself taking slow strides toward the window, brushing back the curtain and peering out into the night. “Why? Did something happen to them?” I paused.
“How did you get my number?”
“That does not matter.” His voice rattled in my ear as I rushed downstairs, almost stumbling down the bottom two. “I need you to get out of that house. Now. Get as far away as possible.”
I could hear his rapid breaths.
He was driving. I could hear the rumble of the engine. With my phone pressed to my ear, I obeyed his instructions, pulling open the door and stepping out into the cool night, a brisk breeze grazing my bare arms was just enough to stop my thoughts spiraling.
I was barefoot, in nothing but a robe, staggering down the driveway. The night was calm and silent; our neighborhood was asleep, each window drowned in darkness. I couldn’t breathe, my clammy fingers wrapped around my phone, as this stranger broke down over the phone. “Whatever you do,” he gasped out.
“Do not, I repeat DO NOT remove the PlayStationGo—shit!! He hissed out, static rattling the call. The guy seemingly got ahold of himself, and the wheel, and continued. I started to walk—where I was going, I had no idea.
The stranger lit a cigarette. I heard the click of a lighter and his exhalation of breath. “It was a BETA version, but we had to rush it. This was not my idea. My boss is a greedy man. He wanted to release the game last year, which would have meant widespread infection. Luckily, that did not happen. We did manage to delay it, but only by a year.” His words barely made sense to me as I struggled to get a word in, peering in the dark. “It was supposed to be a virtual experience of the game—a whole new angle of gameplay. But testing was difficult. First, on monkey’s, we lost multiple subjects. Tonight was supposed to be a…well, I guess you could call it out first attempt on human subjects,” his laugh was bitter. “I knew the tech wasn’t finished. And I tried. Believe me, I fucking tried. I tried to blow the whistle, but these bastards know where my parents live."
Something squirmed its way down my spine.
“So my friends were lab rats?” I said stiffly. “You used them?”
I fucking knew it.
I knew it was too good to be true.
“Yes and no. Listen to me, the people I work for are hunting them down. Trust me, I don’t want my bosses to find them because a life of experimentation will await them. Torture. Do you hear me? It does not matter if subjects fail. They don’t care. As long as there is at least a light at the end of the tunnel for them, they will see it as a win, and bring the publication date closer. They will not be treated as humans. Your friends signed a contract before trying out the tech, where the small print stated that, under section 3, player engagement, all subjects must agree to offer themselves as participants in later updates. I silently cursed Jay for always skipping the terms and conditions when buying games." The man stopped to breathe.
“I have told you multiple times, and I won’t say it again. Get as far away from that house as possible. I will take care of them. I will make sure of it." The sound of squealing engines, and I stopped power walking, coming to an abrupt stop. The silence of the night around me, compared to the sound of the highway he was on, traffic horns and the wind rushing through the window was an eerie contrast, a disturbance to the heavenly bubble we were trapped in.
“What do you mean ‘take care of them?” I had to swallow a yell. “Hey! What are you talking about?
“I’m sorry.” Was all he replied with. “I’m afraid it is too late. There was once an opportunity to save the mind during the initial level of the demonstration. However, once the PlaystationGo has been fully attached to the base of the subject, we no longer have control of it. Once integrating itself into the cerebral cortex, the PlayStationGo can only be removed by signing out of the player’s account,” his breath was heavy. “On this unfortunate occasion, however, your friends are unable to navigate the system due to a malfunction which scrambled their brains,” He trailed off. “Which has left them stranded in the game."
I let out a breath. “Right.” I said. “That’s.. bad. I mean, it’s a fucked-up piece of technology, but they’re just playing a game, right?”
There was a pause, before the man laughed.
“Young man, I don’t think you understand,” he said. “The PlayStationGo was created to give the player a full virtual experience of our game. The PlayStationGo is not a physical object. Created with nanotechnology, it attaches itself to the subject’s brain and is supposed to create a personal gaming experience for each player. As I said, however, it is not finished. It is yet to be released to the public, and of course, we are expecting certain ethical arguments due to the controversial—”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, shaking my head. I didn’t need to hear his attempts at trying to save his own skin.
“You need to help them,” I whispered. “Do you hear me? Can you do that? Can you help them?!”
“That is what I am trying to tell you,” He said.
“I know you are upset and confused, and believe me, I offer my apologies. But you need to listen to facts. During initial testing, our subjects were conscious enough to know where their home was. We are unsure why this happens, though we have linked it to territory, as well as the main character of the game heavily influencing their actions. I have been tracking them from the testing facility, and they are incredibly close. Please get as far away from there as possible. If you are no longer in the vicinity of the house, I can end this quickly and quietly before we gain attention.”
I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Maybe start fucking screaming at him, because he was talking about getting “rid” of my friends, after their mistake.
“Do you understand me?” He said, when I couldn’t reply. “Your friends are lost causes!”
Before I could answer, though, headlights were suddenly coming around the corner, and I found myself paralysed to the spot. The car which swerved twice, crashed into several trash cans, before reversing and coming straight towards me, was not Jay’s car. Jay’s car was an old hunk of junk he’d gotten from a scrapyard. Jay’s car had doors which were practically hanging off, and a stereo which exclusively played either static gibberish, or old tapes I had no idea how to use. This car was bright yellow, and definitely had an option to drive itself. When the car came to a stop, inches from careening into me, I lost all control of myself.
I was vaguely aware of my phone slipping from my fingers and hitting the sidewalk. But I was too busy staring at the two shadows in the front of the car. The driver, and the passenger.
And the muffled screaming coming from the trunk.
When the door swung open, a figure stepping out, I did not recognise my housemate.
The stranger told me I wouldn't, but I didn't believe him.
Jay had left the house in casual jeans and a sweater, bearing the game's logo.
Now, I found myself face to face with a man with my housemate's face and features, his smile and eyes-- but something had been severed in his eyes and twisted in his expression. For one, Jay was wearing a suit I knew he couldn't afford, the sleeves torn, collar pulled open, smears of red staining the front.
His pants had cufflinks, and the Rolex on his wrist had definitely been pulled off someone's corpse.
The silver was stained a revealing scarlet. Drinking in his face, he looked like Jay. His curls hung in front of his eyes, freckles speckling his cheeks, but everything else wasn't. It wasn't until I was glimpsing what was moulded into the flesh of his hand, did I remember how to move. But then I was taking all of him in, everything my mind had intentionally skipped, because I didn't want to believe the stranger on the phone. Nanotechnology, the man had said in a hiss.
Fiction, I had thought.
Before I saw the reality of it, a writhing metallic like substance glued to the guy's temple, and slowly, very slowly, inching down his cheek, already forming around the bridge of his ear, a very faint blue light flickering.
Something must have alerted him. His cavernous eyes left mine, and he twisted his head—and I heard the sound of his neck snapping, his head lolling to the left slightly, his eyes flickering. I watched his whole body seem to sway back and forth, ready to fall forwards.
Before the newly formed device on his ear turned red, then green.
It was almost like he was… rebooting. As if coming back to life, Jay lifted his head at an awkward angle, before looking straight through me. The blood vessels in his eyes had popped, rivulets of red beading down his face. He should have been dead, I thought. No. No, he was dead. That… that thing was keeping him alive. “Well, shiiiittt,” he said. I could sense the game dialogue which had taken over him, forming on his mangled tongue.
“I’m a man on a mission.”
In jerking movements, he turned and marched back towards the car, opening the door, and sliding into the front seat.
I remembered how to move, ducking to grab my phone, before something slammed into the back of my head—and I saw stars.
I didn’t remember hitting the floor, only the soft sound of her voice, a seductive murmur repeating NPC dialogue, and her kitten heel sticking into my spine, forcing me onto my face.
Misty. I was expecting her to get it over with. But when she dragged me to my feet, sticking the barrel of a gun into the flesh of my neck—I figured she was still playing the game.
Twisting around to meet her eyes, lifeless and empty, only filled with light from the device which had taken over half of her face, I felt sick to my stomach. This thing wasn’t a games console or a virtual reality headset.
It was an attempt at coercing and programming something you already don’t understand, to do something impossible.
I could see that in the way the things had visibly chewed and eaten through her flesh, devouring her from the inside and out. I could see what was left of the dress she had worn earlier, but something must have gone wrong with her too. Because Misty had thrown on another outfit over the top, a diamond necklace hanging from her neck.
I caught a thin river of red pooling down her right temple, trying to ignore the twitchy way she moved, just like a character. From the way Misty walked, stumbling, I already knew she was gone. My housemate had newly acquired strength, throwing me in the trunk of the car where three other hostages were, and slamming it shut on my attempts to reason with her. She didn’t tie me up or restrain me.
In the dim light I could just make out though passing streetlights, I could see the trunk opened from the inside. Which was too easy.
Still though, Jay was driving recklessly, and every time I tried to throw the damn thing open, I was knocked backwards, rolling into a screaming girl, who was bound by her hands and feet. It took me multiple attempts before I had the trunk open, freezing cold air blasting me in the face. I untied the other hostages, but when I told them to come with me, they just stared blankly at me, and continued begging for their lives—and it only took me glimpsing what was attached to their temples, a familiar writhing metal plate, for me to understand. They too were playing the game. This time, as NPC hostages.
I found myself gingerly touching the trembling metallic flesh of the girl's fingers bound in rope. It had a slimy consistency, and I swore, I felt something bite into me.
No way, I thought.
This thing was sentient, yes. But it wasn't living.
Listen, I wish I could tell you what it was like to jump out of a moving car, but I can’t.
I remember it as lunging out of the trunk, hitting the freezing cold air, before hitting the ground head first, neutron star collisions exploding in the backs of my eyes.
What I do remember is waking up on the side of the road. Hours later. The sky was bright blue, a scorching sun blinding me when I managed to force my eyes open.
The early morning rush hour flew by as normal, and I wondered how ignorant American people had to be to ignore someone knocked out on the side of the road.
It’s not like I was nowhere near civilization. There was a fucking Subway right next to me.
When I had gathered myself, I remembered I had no phone. I couldn’t go home in fear of running into my rogue housemates playing their own fucked up version of _____ in their head. My plan was to try and find my phone, get in contact with the stranger who blew the whistle on my friends being dangerous, and find them. They couldn’t be far., right? And even if they weren’t themselves… someone would be able to save them.
If someone could do this to them, surely they could reverse it.
I felt sick, tired, and I was starving.
So, with some loose cash I’d found in my pocket, I bought a Subway and a Coke.
The woman at the counter smiled widely at me. She leaned forward, with a wink. “Nice cosplay!”
Cosplay?
I didn’t understand what she meant until I swore I felt something… move its way up my pant leg. I ignored it, and it happened again, this time it felt like something was… biting.
A bug, maybe? I had been laying on the side of the road for around six hours.
When I went to the bathroom, though, I found myself staring at an all too familiar glint of silver creeping its way across my temple. Like it was sentient, parts of it sider webbed towards my ear while the rest writhed into my hairline.
I pulled up my pant leg again, and there it was, a fungus-like metal substance which had already formed in two solid metal masses on my knees. I remember grazing two fingers across the thing beginning its slow feast of my flesh. I remember trying to pull it off, hissing in pain when I risked ripping off my own skin with it. I remember shaking my head and being in denial, even when the lights dimmed above me, and the bathroom door in front of me became more of a shadow. When I strode back through the Subway store, I began to see slight flickers of light above each person, highlighting something not quite there yet.
I could see it already starting, beginning to take over my thoughts. Cars which sped past were suddenly highlighted, and at the corner of my eye, if I concentrated, the outline of a map was starting to appear. Even now, when the room is almost completely taken over by shadow, and my thoughts are half my own, and half not—when a metallic device is beginning to form over my eyes—I know if I hold on, this thing won’t take me. I have considered killing myself, but that wouldn’t… be right.
How could I kill myself when there is so much left to do?
This developer was right. I don’t even know where I can sign out. There’s what looks like the beginning of some kind of index when I look up, but it’s not… finished. I can still see entangled pieces of code struggling to load what I’m guessing was log out. Whatever this thing is, it’s taking over me. Fast. Like a fungus, like a virus, it will not stop until it’s dragged me into the game, until it's leeched itself onto me.
I can feel it happening right now. It's been slow.
Almost painfully slow.
But maybe that is the point. Maybe part of the game is to feel my own thoughts beginning to unravel in favor of something else entirely.
Fuck.
Time is going by…. Fast.
Five minutes ago… I was trying to get home. But I can’t remember where I live.
I can’t concentrate.
I can’t think straight.
I have a phone—but I don’t know how I got it. Did I steal it?
Every time I move, the slowly emerging map comes to life at the corner of my eye jerks with my movement. There is a car parked nearby.
I know it belongs to the man with a child.
But a confusing blur of light is highlighting it to be something of importance. Reality is crashing in front of me, replaced with contorting shapes and bursts of color I have to blink through.
I keep hearing... sirens.
Jay is messaging me.
On what, I'm not sure.
But I need to find him.
I’m sure one mission won’t hurt, right?

Hey guys! I'm trying to find a way to limit how much, or how often, I can get coins when playing MAME games.
If you are not familiar: I map a key, let's say Enter, to add a coin. However there is no challenge when you can add unlimited coins. I wonder if I can somehow set a timer and while it's counting, the Enter key does not register. When it expires, I can press it, and restart the timer again.
An example code would be greatly appreciated. I've been trying to write code according to guides and tutorials, and it almost never works.