Jules thin crust north wales

I felt the cold wind slice into my thinning hair as if it were comprised of ethereal razors. I gripped my wounded extremities to the back of a cold metal frame built onto the atv as a ramshackle "oh sh*t handle." In a crude attempt to remain stable on the quaking apparatus as its tires found purchase on the uneven ground, truth be told, I would have wrapped my arms around my liberator for balance, and I am not wholly convinced he would have made sure I had not remained on the chariot for much longer after a move so bold. He remained silent for the entirety of the short trip and seemed to operate the vessel with a decisive focus similar to that of a student who had recently connected with a previously incomprehensible portion of a lesson. The ride concluded moments before nightfall, and what lay before me, illumined by the lights fixed to the front of the vehicle, was a derelict home that seemed out of place within the forrest. as if left there by some incongruous carpenter to be reclaimed again by the earth. Vines had grown up the dwelling in such a way that the strands of plant matter seemed sentient, and they seeped into the cracks and holes that had grown onto the home as scars do on an aging body. The home looked almost as though it was stricken with an unknown infection that only affected inanimate objects. What few windows the shack had were boarded up by scrap plywood, with small dances of flickering light visible through the gaps. A pungent odor leaked from the pores of the cottage, which mixed with the smell of gasoline from a stationary engine placed just to the right of the home's door, creating an olfactory calamity that nearly caused me to wretch immediately after coming into its range. I stared up at the shack in disbelief; this could hardly be called a structure, and judging by the generator placed outside, there was no world in which there was an instrument inside capable of connecting to the internet to send emails back and forth. It didn't take much thought to conclude this was not the Fairhaven Community but instead perhaps an outpost, or, God forbid, this is where I was supposed to stay. Before I opened my mouth to make my grievances known, the man swung his leg over the side of the ATV and motioned me to follow him. "Best we go inside," he muttered, pointing up at the sky. "Ain't the best time to be hangin' round outside." I hopped off to follow and responded, "That's what I keep hearing." I had been warned before of dark forests on other jobs, mostly due to wondering animals or the locals' fear of some long-told story of a cryptid passed down as a warning to children for years. Most of the time I took these warnings with a grain of salt, as they were normally given by any given town's designated drunkard or wise old orator in a typically playful manner during a night of backwoods revelry to welcome me. However, something about the warnings of this forest seemed much more grim and all too real. Perhaps it was my anxious nature, but as the sun fell into the horizon, I began feeling not only uneasy but I had this indescribable feeling of...impending dread, as if the world beneath me was just about to collapse and if I didn't find the warm glow of light before the cosmic radiance of the sun disappeared completely, I wouldn't ever make it to see the next day. In this moment, I would have done anything or gone anywhere to get out of the darkness for a brief moment. I ignored my aforementioned discomfort and followed the man to the door of a home I never would have entered in any other situation. The maker turned and yanked a few times on the cord of the contraption meant to provide power to the home until it let loose a roar that echoed through the valley. It slowed to an idle sputtering, and the home was illumined with an array of eclectic lights securely fixed to surfaces all around the home, wrapping me and my savior in a blanket of light that stood out in the darkening woodland. I could now see the man standing upright in vivid detail. He has a thin frame; however, his arms protruded with bulbus knots that spoke volumes of his physical capabilities. His hairline fell back on his forehead, revealing a deep scar that span its length, and his glasses seemed to not quite fit the way they were supposed to on his withered skull. He wore large boots that looked to be much too large and had been commandeered from a man who had long since lost use of them, and his face carried a sort of aversion. A look that I had come to understand was similar to mine—one that developed from being thrust into a place I had no interest in being. He extended his hand towards me, and I in turn grasped his. His calloused and overworked hands grinded into my blistered hold with an expected grip that could bust open an aluminum can with ease, causing me to wince a little in pain. "Harridson Demp" be muttered upon shaking my hand. "Caleb Hayes," I coughed back through gritted teeth. He pushed at the door, which opened with a droning creak punctuated with a sharp crack when the squeak reached its apex, revealing a dimly lit vestibule that was just big enough for the two of us to fit simultaneously. The walls were decorated with mold and peeled wallpaper, and a slight drip of water could be seen coming from a faucet just an arm's length from the floor. As I stepped inward, I felt my foot sink a little into the decomposing foundation the room was built on, almost as if it were made of half-dry clay. The potent aroma of ammonia formed a poignant wall that sat midway through the room; the air was humid and nearly thick enough to reach out and grasp. I looked over toward the man with an apparently indisputable face of disgust formed by nearly three long decades of comfortable living. "Put your purse down; it's better in here than out there," he said with an offended glance. "Do you live here?" I choked out through my lips, pursing them, preparing to release what little I had eaten in the past 24 hours. He stepped slightly toward the second door placed in the hellish airlock and spoke, "Not just me; family's here too." I was floored at the thought of a family living in the squalor I had seen, not to mention what had yet to be seen. Understand, I've been in plenty of questionable family living situations prior to this poor excuse of a home, and it looked as though it had been not only neglected but purposefully mistreated by anything it had come into contact with. I made contact with the abysmal interior of the dwelling and was instantly greeted by a compact space that acted as a kitchen as well as a living area, with a makeshift cot placed in front of a rusted stove. The walls were covered in off-putting paintings and portraits of varying quality, ranging from childlike to outlandish renditions of common things that covered my skin in goosebumps. Refuse and filth littered the ground in all but a few pathways to a different door. From my count, there were 3 doors in total, two of which were shut, however, and sitting slanted on brittle hinges. The other door on the wall adjacent to myself was opened wide and presented something akin to a bathroom. Inside of the chamber stood a woman dressed in a stained white button-up and a dingy yellow apron who was emaciated in stature with netted locks of auburn hair that fell much too far down her crooked spine. She carried herself with a submissive and reserved posture—not that she was shy or skeptical of me, but as if she were broken and mortified. The woman didn't lift her head as we walked in but simply gave a trembling nod as she rushed to the room on her right and gently tapped at the decaying wood frame of the door. The door flew open, and three children walked out from within it. The oldest of the children looked to be a boy of about 15 draped in a large set of ill-fitting and torn rubber waders with brown hair that sat awkwardly just above his large ears, the middle child was a young girl with hair similar to the woman who welcomed me into the loathsome palace; her face, however, displayed a wide smile of unkempt teeth as she brandished a still-dripping paintbrush, and the youngest of the children was a boy who couldn't have been more than 6 years old; he wore a trucker cap tightly sque Every one of the brood stood like some extraterrestrial being horribly attempting to appear human; their eyes were all tired and filled with thousands of years' worth of experience that I would prefer to distance myself from. The scene before me was disheartening, and it did not help the state of confusion I had been in at every waking moment since I arrived at the gas station. I had thought perhaps that Harrison initially was the father of the family, but the way their looks, their clothes, and their states of being contrasted with his own drove me to think otherwise. Harridson cleared his throat, motioned towards the children who had filed out of the threshold, and announced, "Oldest there is Carl, but we call him Gator on account of his love for animals, middle one is Lucille, she's the artist around here," he said, motioning to the walls before continuing, "and that there are the twins." I gave him a questioning eyebrow that broke him from his rant. "Twins?" I broke the silence. He nodded, saying, "It's like he's got two people living inside of him." not just like mood swings but as two completely separate personalities. "The one you see right now is Dale, and the other is Wiley." I had a thousand queries about the youngest child alone, but opted to keep the majority of them to myself before stammering, "Are..do..how long have you guys lived here?" Lucille perked up and raised her brush to speak, but was immediately intercepted by Harridson. "I'd say about 5 years now?" For five long and assuredly horrid years, the family had stayed in a four-room home that was moments away from falling into the crust of the earth. Was I supposed to inhabit this contaminated vivarium as well? The very notion of remaining here for just a single night showered me with a rain of traumatic feelings. Was this the family I was meant to teach? If so, then why was I not informed or introduced properly, and why was the patriarch of the family so vastly different from the animalistic paupers he claimed as his kin? My vision began to flatten, and my heartbeat picked up to a machine gun pace as the archaic lights illuminating the room started to heat my skin, causing cold beads of sweat to form in my violently shaking hands. My breathing twisted into a brisk and labored wheeze as though I'd run a mile in seconds. My hearing floated in and out as I heard the Gator speak in an overly high-pitched and nasally whine. "You alright, mister?" is the last thing I remember hearing before feeling Harridon's iron grip close around my shoulders, which have started to plummet to the cluttered floor. I was surprised in the moment at how Harridson had yet again come to my aid during a tragic moment, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed. I had been in situations where the families I was teaching were unclean, disorganized, or impoverished, but my current predicament, accompanied by sleepless exhaustion, must have humiliated the man, who was most likely presenting himself in a better light to net a better quality of life. It was sometime between the end stages of my panic attack and the floor that I lost consciousness that night, and if I can be transparent only for a moment compared to now, it was the best night's sleep I would have for a very long time.

I felt the cold wind slice into my thinning hair as if it were comprised of ethereal razors. I gripped my wounded extremities to the back of a cold metal frame built onto the atv as a ramshackle "oh sh*t handle." In a crude attempt to remain stable on the quaking apparatus as its tires found purchase on the uneven ground, truth be told, I would have wrapped my arms around my liberator for balance, and I am not wholly convinced he would have made sure I had not remained on the chariot for much longer after a move so bold. He remained silent for the entirety of the short trip and seemed to operate the vessel with a decisive focus similar to that of a student who had recently connected with a previously incomprehensible portion of a lesson. The ride concluded moments before nightfall, and what lay before me, illumined by the lights fixed to the front of the vehicle, was a derelict home that seemed out of place within the forrest. as if left there by some incongruous carpenter to be reclaimed again by the earth. Vines had grown up the dwelling in such a way that the strands of plant matter seemed sentient, and they seeped into the cracks and holes that had grown onto the home as scars do on an aging body. The home looked almost as though it was stricken with an unknown infection that only affected inanimate objects. What few windows the shack had were boarded up by scrap plywood, with small dances of flickering light visible through the gaps. A pungent odor leaked from the pores of the cottage, which mixed with the smell of gasoline from a stationary engine placed just to the right of the home's door, creating an olfactory calamity that nearly caused me to wretch immediately after coming into its range. I stared up at the shack in disbelief; this could hardly be called a structure, and judging by the generator placed outside, there was no world in which there was an instrument inside capable of connecting to the internet to send emails back and forth. It didn't take much thought to conclude this was not the Fairhaven Community but instead perhaps an outpost, or, God forbid, this is where I was supposed to stay. Before I opened my mouth to make my grievances known, the man swung his leg over the side of the ATV and motioned me to follow him. "Best we go inside," he muttered, pointing up at the sky. "Ain't the best time to be hangin' round outside." I hopped off to follow and responded, "That's what I keep hearing." I had been warned before of dark forests on other jobs, mostly due to wondering animals or the locals' fear of some long-told story of a cryptid passed down as a warning to children for years. Most of the time I took these warnings with a grain of salt, as they were normally given by any given town's designated drunkard or wise old orator in a typically playful manner during a night of backwoods revelry to welcome me. However, something about the warnings of this forest seemed much more grim and all too real. Perhaps it was my anxious nature, but as the sun fell into the horizon, I began feeling not only uneasy but I had this indescribable feeling of...impending dread, as if the world beneath me was just about to collapse and if I didn't find the warm glow of light before the cosmic radiance of the sun disappeared completely, I wouldn't ever make it to see the next day. In this moment, I would have done anything or gone anywhere to get out of the darkness for a brief moment. I ignored my aforementioned discomfort and followed the man to the door of a home I never would have entered in any other situation. The maker turned and yanked a few times on the cord of the contraption meant to provide power to the home until it let loose a roar that echoed through the valley. It slowed to an idle sputtering, and the home was illumined with an array of eclectic lights securely fixed to surfaces all around the home, wrapping me and my savior in a blanket of light that stood out in the darkening woodland. I could now see the man standing upright in vivid detail. He has a thin frame; however, his arms protruded with bulbus knots that spoke volumes of his physical capabilities. His hairline fell back on his forehead, revealing a deep scar that span its length, and his glasses seemed to not quite fit the way they were supposed to on his withered skull. He wore large boots that looked to be much too large and had been commandeered from a man who had long since lost use of them, and his face carried a sort of aversion. A look that I had come to understand was similar to mine—one that developed from being thrust into a place I had no interest in being. He extended his hand towards me, and I in turn grasped his. His calloused and overworked hands grinded into my blistered hold with an expected grip that could bust open an aluminum can with ease, causing me to wince a little in pain. "Harridson Demp" be muttered upon shaking my hand. "Caleb Hayes," I coughed back through gritted teeth. He pushed at the door, which opened with a droning creak punctuated with a sharp crack when the squeak reached its apex, revealing a dimly lit vestibule that was just big enough for the two of us to fit simultaneously. The walls were decorated with mold and peeled wallpaper, and a slight drip of water could be seen coming from a faucet just an arm's length from the floor. As I stepped inward, I felt my foot sink a little into the decomposing foundation the room was built on, almost as if it were made of half-dry clay. The potent aroma of ammonia formed a poignant wall that sat midway through the room; the air was humid and nearly thick enough to reach out and grasp. I looked over toward the man with an apparently indisputable face of disgust formed by nearly three long decades of comfortable living. "Put your purse down; it's better in here than out there," he said with an offended glance. "Do you live here?" I choked out through my lips, pursing them, preparing to release what little I had eaten in the past 24 hours. He stepped slightly toward the second door placed in the hellish airlock and spoke, "Not just me; family's here too." I was floored at the thought of a family living in the squalor I had seen, not to mention what had yet to be seen. Understand, I've been in plenty of questionable family living situations prior to this poor excuse of a home, and it looked as though it had been not only neglected but purposefully mistreated by anything it had come into contact with. I made contact with the abysmal interior of the dwelling and was instantly greeted by a compact space that acted as a kitchen as well as a living area, with a makeshift cot placed in front of a rusted stove. The walls were covered in off-putting paintings and portraits of varying quality, ranging from childlike to outlandish renditions of common things that covered my skin in goosebumps. Refuse and filth littered the ground in all but a few pathways to a different door. From my count, there were 3 doors in total, two of which were shut, however, and sitting slanted on brittle hinges. The other door on the wall adjacent to myself was opened wide and presented something akin to a bathroom. Inside of the chamber stood a woman dressed in a stained white button-up and a dingy yellow apron who was emaciated in stature with netted locks of auburn hair that fell much too far down her crooked spine. She carried herself with a submissive and reserved posture—not that she was shy or skeptical of me, but as if she were broken and mortified. The woman didn't lift her head as we walked in but simply gave a trembling nod as she rushed to the room on her right and gently tapped at the decaying wood frame of the door. The door flew open, and three children walked out from within it. The oldest of the children looked to be a boy of about 15 draped in a large set of ill-fitting and torn rubber waders with brown hair that sat awkwardly just above his large ears, the middle child was a young girl with hair similar to the woman who welcomed me into the loathsome palace; her face, however, displayed a wide smile of unkempt teeth as she brandished a still-dripping paintbrush, and the youngest of the children was a boy who couldn't have been more than 6 years old; he wore a trucker cap tightly sque Every one of the brood stood like some extraterrestrial being horribly attempting to appear human; their eyes were all tired and filled with thousands of years' worth of experience that I would prefer to distance myself from. The scene before me was disheartening, and it did not help the state of confusion I had been in at every waking moment since I arrived at the gas station. I had thought perhaps that Harrison initially was the father of the family, but the way their looks, their clothes, and their states of being contrasted with his own drove me to think otherwise. Harridson cleared his throat, motioned towards the children who had filed out of the threshold, and announced, "Oldest there is Carl, but we call him Gator on account of his love for animals, middle one is Lucille, she's the artist around here," he said, motioning to the walls before continuing, "and that there are the twins." I gave him a questioning eyebrow that broke him from his rant. "Twins?" I broke the silence. He nodded, saying, "It's like he's got two people living inside of him." not just like mood swings but as two completely separate personalities. "The one you see right now is Dale, and the other is Wiley." I had a thousand queries about the youngest child alone, but opted to keep the majority of them to myself before stammering, "Are..do..how long have you guys lived here?" Lucille perked up and raised her brush to speak, but was immediately intercepted by Harridson. "I'd say about 5 years now?" For five long and assuredly horrid years, the family had stayed in a four-room home that was moments away from falling into the crust of the earth. Was I supposed to inhabit this contaminated vivarium as well? The very notion of remaining here for just a single night showered me with a rain of traumatic feelings. Was this the family I was meant to teach? If so, then why was I not informed or introduced properly, and why was the patriarch of the family so vastly different from the animalistic paupers he claimed as his kin? My vision began to flatten, and my heartbeat picked up to a machine gun pace as the archaic lights illuminating the room started to heat my skin, causing cold beads of sweat to form in my violently shaking hands. My breathing twisted into a brisk and labored wheeze as though I'd run a mile in seconds. My hearing floated in and out as I heard the Gator speak in an overly high-pitched and nasally whine. "You alright, mister?" is the last thing I remember hearing before feeling Harridon's iron grip close around my shoulders, which have started to plummet to the cluttered floor. I was surprised in the moment at how Harridson had yet again come to my aid during a tragic moment, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed. I had been in situations where the families I was teaching were unclean, disorganized, or impoverished, but my current predicament, accompanied by sleepless exhaustion, must have humiliated the man, who was most likely presenting himself in a better light to net a better quality of life. It was sometime between the end stages of my panic attack and the floor that I lost consciousness that night, and if I can be transparent only for a moment compared to now, it was the best night's sleep I would have for a very long time.

I felt the cold wind slice into my thinning hair as if it were comprised of ethereal razors. I gripped my wounded extremities to the back of a cold metal frame built onto the atv as a ramshackle "oh sh*t handle." In a crude attempt to remain stable on the quaking apparatus as its tires found purchase on the uneven ground, truth be told, I would have wrapped my arms around my liberator for balance, and I am not wholly convinced he would have made sure I had not remained on the chariot for much longer after a move so bold. He remained silent for the entirety of the short trip and seemed to operate the vessel with a decisive focus similar to that of a student who had recently connected with a previously incomprehensible portion of a lesson. The ride concluded moments before nightfall, and what lay before me, illumined by the lights fixed to the front of the vehicle, was a derelict home that seemed out of place within the forrest. as if left there by some incongruous carpenter to be reclaimed again by the earth. Vines had grown up the dwelling in such a way that the strands of plant matter seemed sentient, and they seeped into the cracks and holes that had grown onto the home as scars do on an aging body. The home looked almost as though it was stricken with an unknown infection that only affected inanimate objects. What few windows the shack had were boarded up by scrap plywood, with small dances of flickering light visible through the gaps. A pungent odor leaked from the pores of the cottage, which mixed with the smell of gasoline from a stationary engine placed just to the right of the home's door, creating an olfactory calamity that nearly caused me to wretch immediately after coming into its range. I stared up at the shack in disbelief; this could hardly be called a structure, and judging by the generator placed outside, there was no world in which there was an instrument inside capable of connecting to the internet to send emails back and forth. It didn't take much thought to conclude this was not the Fairhaven Community but instead perhaps an outpost, or, God forbid, this is where I was supposed to stay. Before I opened my mouth to make my grievances known, the man swung his leg over the side of the ATV and motioned me to follow him. "Best we go inside," he muttered, pointing up at the sky. "Ain't the best time to be hangin' round outside." I hopped off to follow and responded, "That's what I keep hearing." I had been warned before of dark forests on other jobs, mostly due to wondering animals or the locals' fear of some long-told story of a cryptid passed down as a warning to children for years. Most of the time I took these warnings with a grain of salt, as they were normally given by any given town's designated drunkard or wise old orator in a typically playful manner during a night of backwoods revelry to welcome me. However, something about the warnings of this forest seemed much more grim and all too real. Perhaps it was my anxious nature, but as the sun fell into the horizon, I began feeling not only uneasy but I had this indescribable feeling of...impending dread, as if the world beneath me was just about to collapse and if I didn't find the warm glow of light before the cosmic radiance of the sun disappeared completely, I wouldn't ever make it to see the next day. In this moment, I would have done anything or gone anywhere to get out of the darkness for a brief moment. I ignored my aforementioned discomfort and followed the man to the door of a home I never would have entered in any other situation. The maker turned and yanked a few times on the cord of the contraption meant to provide power to the home until it let loose a roar that echoed through the valley. It slowed to an idle sputtering, and the home was illumined with an array of eclectic lights securely fixed to surfaces all around the home, wrapping me and my savior in a blanket of light that stood out in the darkening woodland. I could now see the man standing upright in vivid detail. He has a thin frame; however, his arms protruded with bulbus knots that spoke volumes of his physical capabilities. His hairline fell back on his forehead, revealing a deep scar that span its length, and his glasses seemed to not quite fit the way they were supposed to on his withered skull. He wore large boots that looked to be much too large and had been commandeered from a man who had long since lost use of them, and his face carried a sort of aversion. A look that I had come to understand was similar to mine—one that developed from being thrust into a place I had no interest in being. He extended his hand towards me, and I in turn grasped his. His calloused and overworked hands grinded into my blistered hold with an expected grip that could bust open an aluminum can with ease, causing me to wince a little in pain. "Harridson Demp" be muttered upon shaking my hand. "Caleb Hayes," I coughed back through gritted teeth. He pushed at the door, which opened with a droning creak punctuated with a sharp crack when the squeak reached its apex, revealing a dimly lit vestibule that was just big enough for the two of us to fit simultaneously. The walls were decorated with mold and peeled wallpaper, and a slight drip of water could be seen coming from a faucet just an arm's length from the floor. As I stepped inward, I felt my foot sink a little into the decomposing foundation the room was built on, almost as if it were made of half-dry clay. The potent aroma of ammonia formed a poignant wall that sat midway through the room; the air was humid and nearly thick enough to reach out and grasp. I looked over toward the man with an apparently indisputable face of disgust formed by nearly three long decades of comfortable living. "Put your purse down; it's better in here than out there," he said with an offended glance. "Do you live here?" I choked out through my lips, pursing them, preparing to release what little I had eaten in the past 24 hours. He stepped slightly toward the second door placed in the hellish airlock and spoke, "Not just me; family's here too." I was floored at the thought of a family living in the squalor I had seen, not to mention what had yet to be seen. Understand, I've been in plenty of questionable family living situations prior to this poor excuse of a home, and it looked as though it had been not only neglected but purposefully mistreated by anything it had come into contact with. I made contact with the abysmal interior of the dwelling and was instantly greeted by a compact space that acted as a kitchen as well as a living area, with a makeshift cot placed in front of a rusted stove. The walls were covered in off-putting paintings and portraits of varying quality, ranging from childlike to outlandish renditions of common things that covered my skin in goosebumps. Refuse and filth littered the ground in all but a few pathways to a different door. From my count, there were 3 doors in total, two of which were shut, however, and sitting slanted on brittle hinges. The other door on the wall adjacent to myself was opened wide and presented something akin to a bathroom. Inside of the chamber stood a woman dressed in a stained white button-up and a dingy yellow apron who was emaciated in stature with netted locks of auburn hair that fell much too far down her crooked spine. She carried herself with a submissive and reserved posture—not that she was shy or skeptical of me, but as if she were broken and mortified. The woman didn't lift her head as we walked in but simply gave a trembling nod as she rushed to the room on her right and gently tapped at the decaying wood frame of the door. The door flew open, and three children walked out from within it. The oldest of the children looked to be a boy of about 15 draped in a large set of ill-fitting and torn rubber waders with brown hair that sat awkwardly just above his large ears, the middle child was a young girl with hair similar to the woman who welcomed me into the loathsome palace; her face, however, displayed a wide smile of unkempt teeth as she brandished a still-dripping paintbrush, and the youngest of the children was a boy who couldn't have been more than 6 years old; he wore a trucker cap tightly sque Every one of the brood stood like some extraterrestrial being horribly attempting to appear human; their eyes were all tired and filled with thousands of years' worth of experience that I would prefer to distance myself from. The scene before me was disheartening, and it did not help the state of confusion I had been in at every waking moment since I arrived at the gas station. I had thought perhaps that Harrison initially was the father of the family, but the way their looks, their clothes, and their states of being contrasted with his own drove me to think otherwise. Harridson cleared his throat, motioned towards the children who had filed out of the threshold, and announced, "Oldest there is Carl, but we call him Gator on account of his love for animals, middle one is Lucille, she's the artist around here," he said, motioning to the walls before continuing, "and that there are the twins." I gave him a questioning eyebrow that broke him from his rant. "Twins?" I broke the silence. He nodded, saying, "It's like he's got two people living inside of him." not just like mood swings but as two completely separate personalities. "The one you see right now is Dale, and the other is Wiley." I had a thousand queries about the youngest child alone, but opted to keep the majority of them to myself before stammering, "Are..do..how long have you guys lived here?" Lucille perked up and raised her brush to speak, but was immediately intercepted by Harridson. "I'd say about 5 years now?" For five long and assuredly horrid years, the family had stayed in a four-room home that was moments away from falling into the crust of the earth. Was I supposed to inhabit this contaminated vivarium as well? The very notion of remaining here for just a single night showered me with a rain of traumatic feelings. Was this the family I was meant to teach? If so, then why was I not informed or introduced properly, and why was the patriarch of the family so vastly different from the animalistic paupers he claimed as his kin? My vision began to flatten, and my heartbeat picked up to a machine gun pace as the archaic lights illuminating the room started to heat my skin, causing cold beads of sweat to form in my violently shaking hands. My breathing twisted into a brisk and labored wheeze as though I'd run a mile in seconds. My hearing floated in and out as I heard the Gator speak in an overly high-pitched and nasally whine. "You alright, mister?" is the last thing I remember hearing before feeling Harridon's iron grip close around my shoulders, which have started to plummet to the cluttered floor. I was surprised in the moment at how Harridson had yet again come to my aid during a tragic moment, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed. I had been in situations where the families I was teaching were unclean, disorganized, or impoverished, but my current predicament, accompanied by sleepless exhaustion, must have humiliated the man, who was most likely presenting himself in a better light to net a better quality of life. It was sometime between the end stages of my panic attack and the floor that I lost consciousness that night, and if I can be transparent only for a moment compared to now, it was the best night's sleep I would have for a very long time.

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The floor of the cell is covered in decades of mildew and dust. This disgusting carpet does nothing to dull the pain as I skip across it, thrown in by someone with the intention of making a point.
My Name’s Mike, and if any of you are the types to go on a deep dive, you probably know A little about me already.
For those of you that don’t, Jesus I don’t know exactly where to begin.
The Cliff’s notes would be that I spent a little over a decade either being a serial killer or a vigilante. I won’t try to justify my actions, both of those are just sides of the same shitty coin. I’m not a person to be idolized or emulated, so I choose not to plead my case.
Now, while I thought that was just about as screwed up as life could get, one day, out of the blue, after burying my best, fuck, my only friend I found myself, somewhere else. A world that looked and felt like mine, but one where the things that go bump in the night actually existed.
Where I came from, I’d seen monsters, to be sure, but only the kind that happen when people break.
Since I’ve been here? Got caught up in some demented gameshow for demons or something, threw a massive shit in the punch bowl of the thing running the production, and got the world’s unluckiest man his freedom.
And that leads me to my current situation, staring down the rage filled, mildly bruised face of that asshole, that fucking, demonic Ted Turner, Art.
He runs a hand aggressively through his slicked back hair, standing at the door to my cell.
“Looks like your little plan didn’t work, exactly as I predicted, you fuck.
I mean, great try with the little cat thing you had, honestly didn’t see that coming. But, Jesus, Mike, what was your end game? “ Art gloats.
“Cards on the table? It was a lot better, but shit fell through, that whiskey abomination, it was the one that ratted me out I assume?
That being said, still got Kev out. And you can’t really ‘flip off his lightswitch’ if he didn’t let you screw around with his wiring, can you? “ I grin, I keep it, even as a Gucci shoe slams into my face.
Am I scared? Of God damn course I am, I’ve been pissing myself (metaphorically speaking.) since I realised that the rules of reality don’t really apply any more.
Every new grain of sand on the beach of hell my life has become, tosses me further down the road of mental failure. Shit, that’s half of what fucked up my last plan in the first place.
If I could have just kept my shit together long enough, I’d be sipping a beer with Kev in some shit hole town somewhere. But the only thing harder than trying to stamp down fear in the face of God’s and monsters, is trying to do it while projecting some kind of ‘death fears me ‘ persona.
Between you and I? Death doesn’t fear me, in fact, it seems to love to hang around. And every day I have to stare down that grim spectre, the closer I get to losing the tenuous grip on reality I have .
“Oh, fuck Kev. He’s smart enough to stay off my radar, and too stupid to figure out a way to come back at me.
He's got a 1 bedroom in Idaho or something? Salud, good on him.
You, I had high hopes for, and then you decide to wipe your ass all over my carpet, cost me more than I could even explain, and even, get me a little roughed up. My favorite shell, anyway.
I want to recoup some loses Mike. So, you, get to be a part of another one of my projects.
You thought The Path was bad? Oh, you literal, fucking clown, you haven’t seen anything.
I won’t spoil it for you, the devil’s in the details and all, but you know what everyone loves?
Prison.
Not being in it themselves, of course, but seeing others, especially those they hate in there.
This place isn’t fair, the path was a boxing match with Queensbury rules, this is a handcuffed knife fight.
And I can’t wait to see you figure out, all the little surprises it has in store for you. “ Art laughs and tosses me a battered, ancient looking smartphone, “ Feel free to drum me up some good press online if you want. “
My heart is pounding, I have to use every bit of will I have to stop from shaking, to roll my neck and sit against the cold, padless cement bed behind me.
I feel sick, my stomach boiling and gurgling.
“For the love of whatever the demonic equivalent of Christ is, why not just kill me? I’m right here, I have no way of fighting back, and you know damn well that if you give me enough time, I’m going to find a way to wipe my ass on your doorframe next. “ My tone is flippant, or at least, I hope it is.
“The ego on you kid, you think you’re that guy don’t you?
They exist, don’t get me wrong, probably a couple thousand folks capable of taking me out, but trust me, you are not one of them.
This isn’t some ‘Arch’ idiocy where I leave my greatest rival alive. This is me watching you squirm because I can, and making a little profit on the deal.
Don’t flatter yourself. “ Art has produced a long thin knife as he talks, he spins and rolls it absently.
“Before your guys dragged me off, I met something. A corner store, I don’t know if it was haunted, possessed, or if it was some kind of creature that just decided to look like a knock off 7-11.
Point being, it was out there, ethereal, I couldn’t hurt it, outwit it, even slow it down. I ran from that thing as fast as I could. It gave me some serious Lovecraft vibes.
You, Art, are not that guy. “ I notice myself tapping my finger nervously on the slime covered floor, I focus, stopping the tic.
The tip of Art’s knife glows, the sick, grey sheen isn’t heat, but something that makes me start to back up.
“I am, but you will never see that. You’re not worth the effort.
I want to give you a little something though. “ Art stalks toward me, I stand as I back into the farthest corner of the cell, “ Proud of your face paint were you? “
Art grins, and for a moment lets some of his true self slip through. For just a moment I see timeless horror in his eyes, a dark black void of consumed souls and unrestrained evil.
That knife parts my flesh with pain like a whip. Without even using the blade, it’s presence flenses my face, opening up raw, textured furrows in my flesh.
He leaves after he is done, laughing to himself.
The pain makes me black out, my stomach is boiling, I come to dry heaving, the effort sends me back into the oblivion of sleep.
I don’t know how long has passed, my face feels like it is on fire, and the thick steel bars of my cell door are closed.
It takes me two minutes of cupping my hands under the grime laden steel tap to get enough water to clear off a spot on the rusted, old, wall mounted steel mirror.
No mortal hand could have scarred me as accurately as Art did. The wounds, not healed, but cauterised as to not make me bleed out, used depth, and width, to create a colorless replica of my makeup.
I know trauma, physical as well as mental, and these are scars that will never heal. As the fact sinks in that my face is literally no longer my own, I scream, heart pounding, I split open my knees on the cold cement floor.
Pain flares, threatens to send me back to the bliss of unconsciousness, but I don’t care.
I read Kev’s journals, and they paint me in a really… positive light, in a sense.
What I mean is, going by what he thought he saw, I’m some kind of supervillian or something. Tossing three hundred pound air conditioners ( it was the outer shell, seventy pounds, physics and luck did the rest.), wrestling Art ( I was clinging on for dear life, had it not been for Jr and the mass of denizens, I’d have been killed with a flick of his wrist.), or appearing like a ghost (people, even immortal are very unobservant. Especially in an emergency.).
I’m great at seeming horrifying, and that’s a weapon in and of itself, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is.
Kneeling in my own blood, vision blurry with pain, I realise how small, vulnerable, and unarmed I truly am.
By the time daylight shines through the yellow reinforced glass window, I’m already awake. I’ve spent an hour and a half calming myself, trying to find some focus, some centre to keep me going.
I’ve been in prison before, back home, first and last time I tried plying my trade outside of America.
Being the stupid payaso gringo that I am I bit off so much more than I can chew that I wound up choking on it for 2 months in a Mexican prison.
The routine of, count, lineup, chow, remained the same.
The demographics of the population on the other hand…
Being observant is one of my main skills and as I was brought into the absurdly sized cafeteria, I was taken aback at just how many people were here.
Tens of Thousands, easily, maybe a hundred. I try and think of how many missing person cases this accounts for, and even that math doesn’t quite add up.
I quickly inventory the groups that make up the place, not that it wasn’t obvious.
The first, of course are the guards. Some, the majority, appear to be human, well geared up and in intimidating physical condition.
But a handful, they are clearly, something else. Some are smooth featured ebony skinned giants, carrying truncheons that could crush a car engine. Others are grinning, pale skinned bad attempts at human copies, wild eyed and twitching.
Second would be what I called the cultists. They all appeared to style themselves after certain tropes and urban legends, clearly human, but dressing, tattooing and mutilating themselves to appear like, myths, legends, and monsters.
The subtle violence I see tells me I’ve found the gangs.
Third are the Everymen, I can’t see any kind of pattern to them, but they seem to make up the majority of the population. They keep their distance from the guards and the cultists, but on more than one occasion I see then stand, united against attempts at extortion.
The last group, I call the candles, people that are clearly on their way out mentally and physically. Sunken eyed, and set upon from all angles, at any moment these folks could be simply snuffed out.
I keep my distance, and stay respectful, the meandering, twisting line seems to take hours to get me my thick slice of crumbling yellow bread, and thick red slurry that reminds me of porridge masquerading as meat.
My coat is gone but I’m left with the majority of the clothing I fashioned back in the path. I see a mix of unwashed orange uniforms and ‘civilian’ clothing, some of the cultists, bordering more on costume than wardrobe.
As the massive, butchers apron wearing man in smeared clown makeup sits down, I wish I’d have been issued something more generic. I saw this coming the second I noticed a lump of Chlorophiles in blood stained getups.
“You sit with us. “ I can’t tell if it’s an accent or speech pattern, the clown sounds strange, either way.
I eat a spoonful of the red sludge.
“No disrespect intended, I’m not one for clubs. I’m going to make no waves, no plays, nothing. I’m a ghost. “ I say, levelly, avoiding eye contact.
Why, you might ask, having been told about my adventures in murder.
Well, that’s just it. Murder is easy, and any time you saw me end a life, it was just that.
A fight, that’s another thing entirely, especially against someone with a significant weight and height advantage.
“Not asking. You got friends. “ The massive clown moves his bulk closer, it’s like sitting next to a forklift.
I eat the bread, it tastes amazing until I swallow, then has a foul, chemical aftertaste.
I drink some tepid, burgundy fluid that might be caffeinated.
No weapons nearby, no one watching that might step in. I’m full of bruises and sprains, and probably anemic from blood loss. Not to mention one eye is running at about fifty per cent. Art didn’t sever the optic nerve last time, but he wasn’t gentle. My heart races.
“I don’t play well with people who take clowning and slap a coat of dark paint on it.
You guys are Clown Killers. You are good at killing, I’m sure, but the clown part, it’s tacked on.
Myself, I’m a killer clown…. “ I had a really good rant planned, honestly, it was a corker, douche bags would have used it in memes for a decade.
But before I can react, with one massive hand, he bounces my face off of the pitted steel table.
It rings my bell, but not as much as I let on. In clowning terms, what I do Is called a pratfall.
For those of you that don’t speak nerd, I oversell the hit, falling backwards, eyes fluttering.
I tip backwards, reaching out my left arm, as if to steady myself. The meat mountain is unbothered, knowing I have no chance unarmed, in this close, he let’s me grab one shoulder of the butchers apron. The material is thick, and matted in stains that will never come out, literally or metaphorically.
If you want to take someone out, in a relatively harmless way, you don’t want to choke them. It takes forever, usually ends up killing them, and generally is a bad idea for everyone involved.
Your goal is go cut off blood flow to the brain as quickly and fully as possible.
I hook my thumb around the opposite shoulder strap, and snap my body backward, the apron acting as an impromptu Garrotte.
His right arm is knotted through my left, as he tries to struggle, to put his murderous intent and ability to work, the choke only becomes tighter.
I don’t want enemies here, and I only have so many tricks to play before things come to a knock down drag out fight, so I leave the clown unharmed.
I do need friends, but the look I get as I take a seat at a loose collection of men is cold and fearful.
A red haired guy, five foot nine or so, makes eye contact, “Anything we can help you with? “ he says, fearless.
“Yeah, despite the face work I’ve had done, I have fuck all in common with any of those penny wise, Icp, Gacy dressed, assholes.
I need a tribe guys, you all look like the unlucky ones around here, but I don’t want to get involved in bloodshed.
I’m Mike “ I know, that’s only mostly true, but I mean it, either way. I extend a hand.
“Chris. “ the red haired guy says, he wears a white dress shirt and surprisingly blue jeans, “Those stains around your cuffs tell me otherwise.
If you’re telling the truth, that’s great. If you are lying, and still sane enough to keep your word, that’s even better. “ Chris’s tone is mirthless, I read him easily. He’s been here a long time for a short life, he looks thirty max, and I shudder to think how young he may have been when he came in.
Chris catches me up on the ins and outs of this place, beyond what a general knowledge of prison would give.
Everyone here has crimes they were not convicted of, that would, otherwise put them in jail for life. A large amount, obviously are murderers, torturers, real bastards.
But a significant minority are just regular folks, maybe a bit thoughtless, but that have collected a litany of small, petty, in cases almost victim less crimes.
No one seems to be aware of the… reality t.v. Meets demonic fast food aspect of things, but there is a Doom cherry on this fear Sunday.
There is a single way someone can get out. To earn 20 tokens.
And how does one earn these tokens you ask?
Each day the prison holds an event, to call it a challenge would insinuate a level of fair play that is simply not there. The events range from somewhat fair, a fight or game of chance, to esoteric rituals complex enough to rip someone’s soul from their body.
These tokens are also the sole form of currency in the prison, they can buy everything from commissary snacks to literal free passes from guards.
The economy has created a cut throat society, the heads of the cults not even taking advantage of being able to be free, but simply reveling in the power of being psychotic and enabled.
The weak are enslaved, their lives traded on the off chance at tokens.
So, of course, braindead asshole that I am, I signed myself right up. Feeling a little more confidant after climbing Mount Bozo.
It's 8pm and the volunteers are rounded up and brought to a massive room that has all the trappings of a gymnasium, but the scale is large enough easily hold the focus of tonight’s events.
In tiered bleachers all around us, our fellow prisoners cheer and scream. The smell of thousands of unwashed, men is overpowering, the din of excitement is deafening.
But my attention is focussed on the small, single floor home, sitting out of place in the middle of the polished wood floor.
What I wouldn’t give for Demi to appear right now, give me the low down on all the supernatural bullshit that is heading my way. But the longer we stayed in the mountain the less and less the most useful voice in my head could, or would, make an appearance.
I study each of my fellow volunteers, the goal seems simple, last the longest in the home. Men enter and leave within minutes. They come out looking shaken, with minor lacerations, and a general sense of shell shock.
By the time my turn arrives, I think I know what I’m in for.
I’m wrong.
As the baby blue door closes behind me, nothing immediately in the home causes me concern. The fixtures and furniture is a bit out of date, the lighting is, not inviting, and there is a general fog of gloom hanging around.
I smile, I’ve felt this before. Granted I had Demi feeding me supernatural errata at the time, but, I’m positive I can wing it.
“So, I think I may have met one of you guys before. Back in New York, a Happy-Face corner store, anyone you know?
Scary dude, took a couple of pieces out of me.
But this, it’s more like an MMA fight, right? I tap out when you start kicking my ass? “ I stretch, trying to see if I’m getting any kind of reaction.
I inventory the objects around me, last time everything that wasn’t nailed down, shifted, changed and tried to take me apart.
You may have noticed by now, I love using the phrase ‘ last time’, and that’s because up until this moment, I haven’t learned a fucking thing here.
Mike’s first rule of paranormal survival, last time means nothing.
“It’s you” the voice is young, late teens, and male.
I spin, expecting violence, then, wishing violence.
I know the young man, not this pale, older, revenant with a self inflicted gunshot wound, but I know him none the less.
I’m not being metaphorical when I say my heart misses a beat, I almost fall over, pounding at my chest to stop it’s arythmatic pounding.
I knew what happened to him, found it out long after I could do anything about it. And wasn’t in the best of places when I did.
I’ll call him a ghost for simplicity sake, but this kid, he’s my first, and biggest mistake.
I based who I turned into on finding what I thought was one of the worst people on earth. This kid’s father.
I did things to him worthy of what I knew he did. And to top it all off, I had him die by his wife’s hand.
Well, a decade later I find out, the guy wasn’t a Saint, but he didn’t do anything worthy of the twisted shit I put him through.
I got wind of some false information put out there in a moment of rage by a tech savvy ten year old. The kid never intended it to see the light of day
“I found out about you Mike, I saw that you were a hero. “ The voice is thin echoes like a stuck record.
“No kid, don’t think that. “ I mumble, I’m shaking, the air is freezing, each breath comes out as white mist.
I’m sitting on the flower printed couch now, and it hits me.
I’d assumed because Art couldn’t screw around in my head last time, the same went for everything here.
Remember what we said about last time.
“My told me what happened one night, what I made you do.
I destroyed her memory of him, I made a real Hero kill him, I couldn’t keep hurting people. “ I can see images, flashing in my mind, memories that are not mine.
I’m counting seconds, trying to focus, trying to stay long enough to get the token. It has to have been fifteen, twenty minutes at least.
I try to work up a smirk, to convince myself that I’m just being played by the paranormal equivalent of a heckler.
That’s not it though, This place, this house, is reaching inside me and finding places to look. As I stare into the young man’s rotted eyes I know this is some part of him, torn away from whatever rest he was entitled to.
The lights dim, then turn off. The house is silent.
Hollywood gets being both a lunatic and a hitman wrong in equal measure. No matter how much morality you want to inject into the profession, there are going to come times when you make mistakes.
As the lights slowly turn to a dull orange glow, I’m surrounded by the hovering, mutilated forms of mine.
Those that died that could have been spared, those that died because of my inaction, or stupidity. I’ve never forgotten them, I use them to make sure I never make the same mistakes again, but having them looming, screaming, all demanding I hear their stories, their accusations, their placations.
It's too much, I stumble from the couch, trying to avoid the icy touch of these phantoms. For a moment I find some last scrap of courage, I close my eyes, shut out the shrieking din of the dead.
The silence hits like a truck, I focus, trying to calm my burned out nerves.
Then they are reignited like a fucking welding torch.
“This place didn’t bring us here.
We’ve been right next to you for years Mike. We can’t leave. “ The voice of my first mistake.
Like a toddler I try to run with my eyes closed, I trip over a glass coffee table, clawing my way up the door, grasping at the handle.
I can feel a slight pull now, almost magnetic, trying to drag me backwards.
My hands shake too much, I have to steady my right wrist with my left hand, the floor becomes slick, I see the door, escape start to move further away as I’m pulled backward.
I've taken a hit or two, and had a couple of three day benders that have made me piss myself. But as I stumble, trying to make progress on the nearly friction less floor, I have another unpleasant first experience.
I grab the handle, pulling myself out of the house, launching my body into a skin peeling tumble across unforgiving plank flooring.
I’m a shaking, fetal wreck, by the time I’ve pulled myself together enough to take in my surroundings, I see the red Led clock displaying my time.
42 seconds. Bottom of the barrel. The jeers and booing from the crowd do nothing for my frayed nerves or the storm of fear and anxiety going through my mind.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep, it has nothing to do with the concrete slab that serves as my bed.
My stomach has been knotting and cramping, with each passing second I get more worried I blew some internal gasket in one of the many life or death struggles in the past months.
When I finally manage to vomit, the urge is strong enough I get no where near the filth crusted hole in the floor that serves as my toilet. And my worst fears are confirmed as I see the massive pile of vomit is mostly blood.
… and bones? Is that an eyeball? A piece of fur?
The mass begins to pull itself together, bits and pieces forming the most rudimentary attempt at a face.
“Junior? “ I say, stunned.

It had been two nights since the attack, but Dale's pain wasn't to stop with the Starbreaker. Upon his arrival at the gates of Highpoint, the castellan had been whisked swiftly away to Maester Alwyn, who had insisted on immediate treatment of the break in his nose.
Even with a strong dose of milk of the poppy, the pain had been agonizing; first he cauterized the inner nostril, and next he took to straightening Dale's nose. The pain was enough for him to fall unconscious, by fortune, and he awoke the next day with cotton-stuffed nostrils.
"Don't dare remove those," he recalled Alwyn saying, "or you'll regret it."
His hands were in similarly grisly shape; their deep gashes still stung at him mightily, and he could scarcely bear to hold a quill. Most of his time had been spent bedridden, at any rate, and it was early in the morning when Alwyn paid him another visit.
"How do you feel?" he asked, arms crossed.
"As well as you'd expect. How do I look?"
The corner of the old maester's mouth curled in a wry smile.
"As well as you'd expect."
Dale rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed. He crossed the room, grabbing a hand mirror from his desk.
Alwyn made no lie; half of Dale's face had blackened and swollen beyond recognition, one eye forced nearly to closing. He set the mirror down with a grunt.
"That one really gave me a beating. I'm surprised that I made it out in one piece."
Alwyn's eyes moved to the castellan's left hand; noticing the maester's gaze, Dale rolled his eyes and lifted his hands.
"I know, I know. That was my least favourite pinkie anyhow."
Alwyn let out a restrained chortle, earning a cocked eyebrow from Dale.
"What is it?"
The old maester sighed.
"Dale... you've been summoned to meet with the remainder of the family."
Dale felt a wave of confusion come over him.
"What's this? What do you mean, remainder?"
Alwyn let out a softer sigh, this one accompanied by a grimace.
"I... believe that it would be best to allow the council to explain. We should go; they're expecting us."
Dale followed Alwyn to the meeting chamber, outside whose entrance they found the brothers Wendell and Walder Warrick, swords at their hips. They bowed their heads respectfully, more cordial by far than Dale had ever known them to be.
"Dale." said Walder, some hesitance evident in his tone.
"I'm sorry. We're glad to see you safe." he continued, Wendell nodding beside him in solemn agreement.
"I suppose it's what I deserve for leaving without the two of you in tow."
They followed Alwyn and Dale as they entered the [meeting chamber](https://on.soundcloud.com/M5gLMpabVbXN4AFZ9), which had been occupied already by a handful of his kinsmen; taking a quick count, he tallied six in all – making seven with Dale's arrival.
Pairs of the elite household guard stood vigil at each entrance, each resting his offhand on the pommel of their sword. The Whitehills too wore swords at their hips, an uncommon sight. Stranger yet, another guard offered Dale a blade of his own – which he responded to by holding up his bandaged hands. The man nodded, handing the blade to Walder instead.
Taking a seat, Dale cast a quick glance to the ceiling; sunshine came down in beams from seven stone-etched stars, revealing specs of dust floating through the air, accompanied by a familiar morning chill.
Before him sat a hot cup of tea, steam rising restlessly above it. He turned it awkwardly and slid it nearer with his right hand, carefully servicing the handle so as not to pain his palm before taking a sip.
When Dale set down the cup, his uncle, Ser Conan – the justiciar of Highpoint – cleared his throat, glancing about the table dourly at the men in attendance.
"Now that the castellan has arrived, let us begin."
Conan gave Alwyn a glance, opening his mouth again to speak.
"Have you given Dale the details?"
The old man shook his head.
"No; I suspected that it would be best he hear it from another member of the house."
Conan sighed.
"Very well, then. Dale, how well do you recall the attack?"
He shrugged.
"Well enough. I was discussing productivity with a handful of my foremen when those fanatics stormed the village. I made for the stables in flight, but two of them intercepted me."
He waved his hands over his own features.
"I managed to kill them and escape, and after that I rode here."
Dale's twenty-year-old cousin, Delwen, raised an eyebrow in response to Dale's recollection.
"You dispatched two men by yourself? I can't recall ever seeing you at the sparring grounds, cousin."
Dale glared back at him.
"Steady now. You'd be fighting with rusty blades were it not for my work, lad."
Delwen's face twisted in a scowl.
"That's *ser*, pinchpurse. Perhaps you'd have put up a better fight against that rabble if you took to a real man's 'work'."
In a fit of rage, Ser Conan brought his fist down hard on the table, spilling his own tea over its ironwood surface. Grown red in the face, he barked out as if he were drilling the keep's garrison.
"Shut your fucking mouths, or I'll shut them myself!"
Dale sighed, taking another sip of his tea; Dafyn – Delwen's father – and Daniel, the elder of his sons, stared indignantly at the justiciar, while Conan's son Connor and their cousin Waltyr sat in silence.
His expression having lessened in anger by a hair, Conan continued.
"Your account matches an eyewitness report I received during my investigation of the attack – a man who called himself 'Twiggy'. You know him?"
Dale nodded.
"Aye, that's one of my foreman – and what of the others?"
Connor shook his head sullenly.
"It was a slaughter. What few weren't cut down burned in the torching."
Dale grimaced.
"Gods... those were some of our best craftsmen. You say they cut down everyone in the village? There were at least a hundred people there; how did the Starbreakers kill them all?"
Conan's brow furrowed at Dale's question.
"Perhaps you took note of their weaponry; that was not rabble you faced. Those men armed themselves with Whitehill steel, stolen from our own armoury."
Dale looked incredulously at the justiciar.
"Stolen, you say? Then there are Starbreakers within our walls? I know not of a man among us ascribed to the old ways."
Conan shook his head.
"Those were not our men that attacked the village; we tallied no desertions, and of the dead Starbreakers, none were identified among any of our settlements."
Dale frowned.
"Passing strange. They come from afar, then – but why here? The faith is nothing new in these lands."
Waltyr chimed in next, offering a shrug.
"These savages grow emboldened by the day. Lord Domeric has killed plenty of them; perhaps they sought revenge on an easier target."
This time Dafyn cut in, giving a resolute shake of his head.
"How in seven hells would a random assortment of rabble infiltrate our keep and pilfer our barracks? We examined the wounds of the dead villagers; these were trained killers. Whoever sent them was out for blood."
Dale puzzled as his uncle spoke. The more he learned, the less sense it made.
"But why Pinewood, of all places? The Pine and Poplar was the only reason for anyone to make the trek there."
Conan gave Dale a nod.
"Aye, I'm told it served the cheapest ale within leagues of Highpoint – and that one man was known to frequent the establishment regularly."
Dale's eyes widened.
"Me."
Conan nodded again.
"Aye, you. Whoever ordered that attack wanted you dead."
With a groan, Dale took another sip of his tea.
"Lovely. I don't recall anyone threatening my death of late, though."
Conan's lips thinned in a frown.
"We have discussed a number of explanations. We suspect that your cancellation of the ironwood contract did you no favours with Lord Tarly."
Daniel groaned.
"If the Tarlys were behind it, they could afford their own swords. Besides, they wouldn't have gained anything. It was a shit deal, and I'll wager they knew that."
Dale snorted. Daniel had always been the wiser of Dafyn's children. Waltyr offered his thoughts next.
"It must have been someone else in the North. I think we should address the obvious – the Forresters envy us! Our power grows by the day, while theirs subsides with the wind. They wish to sabotage our castellan in order to drag us down to the dirt alongside them."
None of the other men seemed to question the idea. The Forresters' envy for the might of Highpoint was no question, after all. Dale had known the spawn of Ironrath to be neither honourable nor noble.
"Aye, I would not put such a thing past the Forresters. But why would they risk so bold a move? It is Lord Corin demands the spread of the faith – and his wife is a Forrester, if you've forgotten. They're spineless, the lot of them; they don't have enough assurances to take such a risk."
"Nor would they be wise to," said Conan, "but that question is the key to it all – or half, at any rate."
Dale raised an eyebrow.
"Half? What do you mean?"
Conan closed his eyes with a grimace.
"There is something you must know, Dale. The attempt on your life is not the true reason for our assembly this morning."
Dale looked about the room; it was a strange gathering, in truth. Conan and Dafyn were the only council members present, aside from Dale.
"Will Lord Willas be joining us, then?"
The room grew silent.
"No. Lord Willas..."
Conan sighed.
"It appears that some of these assailants infiltrated the keep in advance of the attack; while I investigated the torching at Pinewood, much of the family sheltered within the sept in prayer. There were plenty of guards inside – more than enough to protect them all.
"But the cowards didn't face our men head on. They barred the doors tight, and they set the sept alight."
Dale could scarcely believe it. He had always been a black sheep at Highpoint, but he could not begin to fathom committing such a crime.
"I see. How many were there?" asked Dale glumly, looking to the chamber doors.
"And who else has yet to arrive? Wilmer, Glendon, and Alvin? This is early an early morning, after all. Perhaps they are paying their respects to Willas? I would join them–"
Conan shook his head stoically.
"They're dead, Dale. All of them. Glendon, his wife, his children. Irma. Alvin, his wife and little Arthur. Wilmer and his wife..."
The eyes at the table moved to Waltyr, Wilmer's only son.
"And Waltyr's wife as well."
Dale's cousin wore a morose expression.
"And your daughter, Jessica...?"
"Is unharmed," said Waltyr, "for she has been ill. She was resting when the attack occurred – as was Irma's bastard, Simon. I kept watch over them with a handful of men during the attack."
When Waltyr finished, Conan continued with a sigh.
"My... wife was there, as was Dafyn's – and their daughter, Doris."
Daniel and Delwen looked as sullen as their father. Dale leaned forward
"What of Cormac and Conrad?"
Conan gritted his teeth.
"Cormac stood guard outside the sept when the attack took place; the assailants shot them down before burning it.
"As for Conrad... he was a brave lad. He was always a brave lad. He managed to break down the door when the fire was discovered, but... when he tried to rescue the children, the rafters gave in to the flames. He died with all the rest."
Dale knew naught what to say. He had never been a nurturting man, after all. Silence took the table for what felt like an eternity.
"All told, that leaves nine of us. Ten, if you count the bastard boy." said Conan in a tired tone.
Dafyn cleared his throat.
"Eleven, if you count our father. He draws breath yet in Crowtown, last I heard."
Conan shook his head.
"It doesn't matter. Father's duty is to the Watch now; I will not trouble him with our failings. What matters now is that we maintain the strength of Highpoint, and that Lady Alice is protected at any cost."
Conan looked to Waltyr.
"I shall trust you with the safety of our lady and your daughter. See that our most elite men remain with them at all times."
Waltyr nodded.
"Of course."
"We are all the men remaining to the house in this very room," said Conan, "and we must be vigilant. There could be another attack any day now."
Dale's ears pricked up at Conan's last statement.
"Wait, uncle."
The room's eyes turned to face the castellan.
"There is one Whitehill you've forgotten."
Conan seemed confused. Dale look first to the justiciar, and next to Dafyn.
"Your brother – Gared."

I was wondering which crust was vegan? If I ordered cheeseless pizza with lots of veggies, robust tomato sauce, and possibly thin crust (looks like only vegan option), would this work? I have vegan cheese I can add at home. TIA

I'm a 28 year with a very thin to average built and I live in Toronto.
I'm looking for a genuine connection with someone, connect emotionally, hangout/cuddles/go on dates with the intention of a relationship.
I work from home, in Finance. I promise, i'm not a crazy finance bro or anything like that. Working from home is lowkey boring, cause even though I'm introverted and everything, I just miss having those small interactions with people, and just listening to people. I'm a pretty good listener.
What am I looking for:

• Someone to talk about just anything
• Enjoy the simpler things in life like just enjoying each others company, going to restaurants, long walks, cuddling and maybe someday travel the world
• Geeky/Introverted

When im not working, you can find me lost in thoughts, at the gym , cooking a comforting meal for myself, Playing Video Games or watching Office for the 100th time.
So if you read this post, maybe include your favorite food in the message
Some other things

• Please be between 24-32
• I do prefer someone from Toronto, but do not mind any where in North America

Hope to hear from you

HeadGames is the concept story behind my novel Eternal Convictions.
​
PART 1
The sound of people talking was loud in the hallways as men went about their daily business. As background noise it was a confusing jumble that faded to a dull roar, but if one listened closely to individual voices, picking them out of the din, actual conversations could be heard. Deals were being made as men jockeyed for position while rumors spread and gossip was shared. People discussed hopes and dreams as they planned for a better future.
Michael opened his eyes and looked up at the heavy wire mesh of the walls around him. He was in a holding cell in the high security wing of the prison and the constant noise was a welcome change. His own cell was more like a closet where he was hidden away from the world and the only sounds were the constant blowing of the air vents and his own breathing. Occasionally, a guard would rap on his cell door with a night stick as he looked in to make sure Michael was still alive, but even this was rare.
The cell was six feet wide and eight feet long with walls made of solid concrete. The only openings were the steel door he received his meals through and the air vents in the ceiling. He was allowed to leave only if he had a visitor or for one hour of exercise each day in the exercise yard. Some yard, he thought. The exercise yard was actually a twenty by twenty atrium surrounded on all four sides by the walls of the prison. Overhead, steel mesh, not unlike that on the walls around him now, was laid across strong steel beams and welded in place to prevent any chance of escape. Highly unlikely in any event, considering the mesh ceiling was some eighteen feet above the paved ground.
His world had devolved into cold concrete and steel ever since that fine spring day he had gone to the bank. Thinking back, Michael remembered the four long days he had spent in the holding cell of the courthouse waiting for the jury to deliver a verdict. Each morning he was shackled, marched to the courthouse and placed in the holding cell where he waited for the verdict and each evening he was shackled and marched back to his cell at the city jail. His lawyer had been there most of the first day, expecting a quick decision but he was called away on business early in the afternoon.
After that, he would show up in the morning and talk with Michael a while before giving his cell phone number to the court clerk and leaving to do other business as they waited for the outcome. His lawyer was just about to leave on the fourth day when word came a verdict had been reached.
For a brief moment, Michael relived the joy he had felt when he knew there was a verdict. While he was terrified beyond belief that he would be convicted of the crimes he was accused of, he felt sure that God would not let him take the blame. His joy was short lived.
The jury found him guilty of all charges, sentencing him to multiple life sentences to run consecutively. It meant there was no hope for parole, ever, as he would be dead before having served a fraction of the sentence. The judge declared Michael to be a menace to society, incapable of rehabilitation and ordered him to be confined in a maximum security prison.
When it became clear that he would not be free any time soon, Michael authorized his attorney to liquidate what little remained of his assets and place the money in trust to be drawn upon as Michael needed it and to pay for continued attorney fees through the appeals process. Money was of little concern to him now, though. Other than personal toilet articles, he was not allowed to have anything else in his cell other than periodicals and books provided by the prison.
Two men began to scuffle in the hall outside the holding cell and Michael got up from the table to see what was happening. Leaning his forehead against the wire mesh, his vision was relatively unobstructed as he watched the men fight. The guard outside the cell, looked anxiously up the hall as he waited for others to come and separate the men as he was not supposed to leave his position by the gate.
He had never been interested in boxing, nor any other violent sports, but Michael found himself fascinated by the fight and rooting for the man he felt was the underdog. He noticed the thin white stripe on the men’s prison shirts and realized they were trustees, prisoners who are allowed extra privileges for good behavior. He laughed to himself as he realized they were putting their elevated status at risk with this fight, even as he silently cheered them on.
One of them kicked a mop bucket over at the other and Michael turned his face to avoid the spray of soapy water. Looking back at the fight, Michael was aware he was now wet and felt the water running down the mesh to his fingers where he was holding on. It traced small streams down his hands and arms to wet his shirt sleeves, but he didn‘t care.
A surge of electricity caused him to stiffen and Michael wondered what was happening as his vision turned white and he lost all control of his muscles. Even though his legs sagged and he could feel his face contorting, he could not let go of the wire.
“Hey buddy, you alright?” the guard asked him over the sound of the fight.
Michael heard him but could not answer.
“Aw hell. Somebody help me here!” the guard yelled. “I think this guy is getting electrocuted!”
Michael heard the words, but they made no sense as his vision faded to black except for a small pinpoint of white. The pinpoint grew larger and he began to see a face coming closer. The face was laughing cruelly and Michael could only stare in disbelief. Then the vision changed and it was as if he was looking at the bank robbery he had been convicted of from one of the security cameras. He could see himself talking to the girl and the man with the gun as the robbery started. It was as if he was reliving it from outside his own body and Michael wondered if he was dying as he had heard that one’s life flashes before their eyes as they die.
He heard the gate to the cell open and felt a hard shove as someone used something to push him away from the wall. Falling to the ground, his vision cleared immediately and he was confused, but felt fine otherwise. He got to his feet and moved to the chair by the table. The guard was talking to him, but he was thinking about what he had seen and didn’t register the voice.
“Hey buddy, just sit right there while I get a medic,” the guard said as he used his radio to call the infirmary. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Michael heard a familiar voice and looked to see what was happening.
“What’s going on here?” Phillip Johnson asked, looking from Michael to the guard. “Michael, are you alright?”
“Yeah, I think so,” he said quietly.
The guard proceeded to tell Phillip what had happened, speculating that the water from the bucket must have hit the floor outlet and charged the mesh. They were quickly joined by a medic who checked Michael out thoroughly and pronounced him to be fine. It all seemed to happen very fast and Michael wondered what was going on. He was aware of the conversation between the guard and his lawyer, but it made no sense to him. He had lost all sense of time.
When the medic asked him questions, he was apparently giving the right answers but in thinking about it, he couldn’t remember what was said or even what it was about. Sitting there dazed, he watched the medic leave and the guard resume his post outside the door after closing it and locking them within. Then he realized Phillip was talking to him.
“So how have you been, Michael?” Phillip asked as he opened his brief case and took out a legal pad and pen.
Looking at the pad, Michael was reminded of their first meeting in the city jail.
“Not too bad, Phillip,” he said. “My concentration has improved since I don’t have any distractions in my cell.”
Phillip looked at him puzzled for a moment before he realized Michael was being mildly sarcastic. He couldn’t blame him. Being locked up like he was would drive anyone mad with boredom.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” Phillip looked him in the eye. “I wish there was more I could do for you.”
“Well, just get my conviction overturned and I’ll buy you dinner.” Michael smiled as he thought about being free.
“That’s why I’m here, Michael.” Phillip looked grim.
“You got my conviction overturned?” Michael asked.
“No, I’m sorry to say,” Phillip began. “The courts have over ruled your appeal and upheld your conviction.”
“Then let’s get busy filing a new appeal.”
“We have exhausted all of the appeals processes, Michael,” Phillip looked down at his bare notepad. “There is absolutely nothing more I can do except be here if you need me for something else.”
“You mean there are no more appeals, no chance of getting this damn wrongful conviction overturned?” Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Phillip, I have been patient throughout this whole ordeal. I’ve been good even when the injustice has driven me so crazy that I actually wanted to resort to violence and now you’re telling me that there is nothing that can be done?”
The guard turned to watch the conversation as he heard what was being said and the tone of Michael’s voice. He had seen inmates go off on their lawyers in the past and waited to see if he would need to intercede.
Michael was aware of the way he sounded and of the guard’s renewed attention. He took several deep breaths to try and calm himself. Phillip had done everything for him. It wasn’t his fault.
“I wish there was something I could do, Michael.”
“I know, Phillip,” Michael looked at him with tears in his eyes. “I have begun to think God hates me.”
Phillip almost wished Michael would turn violent. At least then he could leave here knowing he had tried to help and was rejected. It would be far easier to leave a man he cared nothing for to such a fate, but this was killing him inside. He had come to like Michael very much and understood him to be a kind and gentle soul. There was no doubt in his mind that he had not done the things he was convicted of, but he could do nothing. He felt helpless.
“God doesn’t hate you, Michael,” Phillip said quietly. “As you’ve told me all along, God has a purpose for you and we are not privy to what that purpose is.”
“You know, Phillip,” Michael wiped his face dry with his sleeve. “I always believed and I guess I still do, somewhere deep inside, that God has a plan for all of us and we are but part of some grand design. But for the last two years, as I’ve waited for the appeals process to bear me out, I have seen nothing that could be accomplished by my being taken from the world where I was helping people and placed in a cold concrete and steel box where I have no contact with anyone whatsoever for twenty three hours of each day. How could I serve even the smallest purpose here?”
He looked at Phillip for an answer neither of them had.
“I was always fond of saying that no one is worthless, as they could always serve as an example of what not to do but even that has no meaning here.”
“Michael, when we met, I was skeptical of your story but as I checked it out and found what you were telling me to be true, I learned to not take things only as I saw them.” Phillip put the notepad back in the briefcase. “I have never been a religious man, but watching you through this ordeal has given me hope. You have demonstrated such faith and patience as I never witnessed before and it shows me there is a higher power at work in our lives.”
“Will I see you again, Phillip?” Michael asked. “If I have no reason for legal counsel, will you still visit?”
For the first time in his life, Phillip found he did actually want to return to visit with one of his clients even if his legal services were not needed. Money was not the concern here. He had found something in Michael that had been missing in his life and he felt that, even though he had failed to free an innocent man, he had made a true friend.
“Yes, Michael.” Phillip swallowed hard. “You have given me hope and perhaps even faith. I can’t say when or how often, but I will visit and I will answer any letters you send.”
“Thank you, Phillip.” Michael reached out and squeezed his hand. “For everything.”
There was no need for good bye. Both men had reached an understanding of what they needed from each other and the moment left them filled with emotion that threatened to overwhelm them. Phillip grabbed his briefcase and turned to leave as the guard opened the gate for him.
Michael sat for a few minutes looking at the area around him as he waited for the guard to take him to his cell. It was standard procedure for visitors to clear the holding area so the gates could be secured before prisoners were allowed to move about. There was nothing new to see, but still he studied every detail of his surroundings Once he was back in the cell, there would be nothing to look at or distract him from the endless hours of nothing. He had already read the book he was given so many times he had committed it to memory and there was no telling when he would receive a new one.
“All right, Chaste. Let’s go.” The guard held out his hand to take Michael by the elbow and lead him down the hall.
Michael resigned himself to his fate and trudged along silently until they came to the entrance of his wing and walked on past.
“Where are we going?” he asked, looking around.
“You’ve been transferred to a new wing,” the guard said and continued to lead him.
They seemed to walk forever before coming to a gate where he was halted as the guard on the other side opened it. The guard who was leading him guided Michael through but did not follow. Instead, he pulled the gate shut and locked it as the new guard led him down this new corridor. It had no openings on either side but he could see a small point of light at the very end. As they drew closer, Michael could see that the door actually led outside the building and he wondered just how far he was being transferred.
His senses were assaulted as he stepped outside into the sunlight. For two years he had seen only the sky above the exercise yard and no hint of sun as the large structure of the prison kept the yard in shadows all the time. Now he smelled a wide variety of plants and marveled at how the sun felt on his face. It was like being born anew and Michael let himself revel in it.
He was guided onto an electric cart and driven across the compound. He no longer cared where they were going as he was busy looking at the world. In the distance, he could see the mountains with their snow covered peaks, but he did not let himself sink into despair with thoughts of never being able to go to them. Instead, he studied them and everything else he could see to form images in his mind. Once he was led back indoors, there was no telling when he would set foot outdoors again, if ever.
The cart came to a stop outside the steel door of another building and Michael was led from the cart. For the first time since he had been first arrested, Michael resisted the guard and stopped walking halfway from the cart to the door.
“Let’s go, Chaste,” the guard said menacingly.
“Just a second, buddy.” Michael thought quickly. “Do you think maybe I could have a quick smoke before we go in? I haven’t had one in over two years.”
Michael didn’t smoke, hadn’t for years, but he had seen the cigarettes in the guard’s pocket and knew it would give him ten more precious minutes outside.
“Yeah, sure. Why not.” The guard offered him a cigarette and raised the pack to show a guard in a nearby tower. “I was about to go on break anyway. Now don’t try anything, Chaste. There are guards on the towers around us and this is a shoot to kill zone.”
“I won’t,” Michael said calmly.
He had no intention of trying to escape and, in fact, the thought had never crossed his mind. He sucked at the cigarette as the guard lit it for him and found himself in a violent coughing fit as the acrid smoke seared his throat and lungs. He wondered why people would do this to themselves and claim they even liked it.
“I guess it has been a while, huh.” The guard laughed. “Take it easy. It’ll come back to you.”
It seemed to take forever to get his breathing calmed down but once he did, Michael continued to smoke the cigarette. The taste was nasty, but he did enjoy the light buzz he was getting from the nicotine and decided that this must be what smokers liked about cigarettes. He let the sensation wash over his senses as he looked around, taking in the scenery.
The prison was a very large complex. The fences in the distance looked very small, but he remembered from his arrival that they were at least twenty feet tall and topped with razor wire. The main prison building he had just left was nearly half a mile away but still loomed very large, giving perspective to its size. To the east he could see the yellow fields of the plains stretching away toward Kansas and to the west were the mountains. He seemed to be located in a large bowl as the mountains curved around to encompass part of the north and south.
He took one last drag of the smoke and dropped it to the ground where he crushed it out. The guard had also finished and nodded toward the door. Silently they walked over to the steel door and waited for the guard on the other side to open it. As Michael entered, he noticed a sign beside the door which read “Medical Receiving” and wondered why he was being led through a delivery entrance.
Michael looked around at the holding cell he was placed in after arriving at the new prison building. It was small, about three feet by three feet with a barred door. It was like a broom closet in which a bench had been placed and there was no room to lie down or even stretch his legs unless he stood. He hoped he wouldn’t be in here for long.
Across the hall was a well lit room with medical supplies and an examination table. It was clearly some kind of clinic or infirmary and the open door was directly across from his cell. Occasionally, he would see a nurse enter through a door at the back of the room to do something out of his sight before leaving the way she came. His view was very restricted and he could only see about eight or ten feet to either side of the cell he occupied. He was aware that the air smelled of disinfectant and clean linens.
He recalled his old cell and the silence there. That had been loud compared to this place as there was not even the sound of air being moved mechanically. He could hear his breathing and, though he was calm, it sounded very loud. Listening carefully, he thought he could even hear his own heartbeat but dismissed this, realizing he must be hearing his own pulse in his ears.
Michael thought about his meeting with Phillip and the strange event which happened just before he arrived. The guard said he was electrocuted but, as a technician, Michael had been subjected to many electrical shocks over the years and this was nothing like that. There had been a current running through his body, but it was not electrical in the sense he knew. It was more like his blood was on fire and had grabbed hold of every muscle in his body. The vision of the bank robbery was confusing but, knowing he had been at the bank during the robbery and seen the videos during his trial, he decided he must have been reliving it.
The only logical explanation was that stress from waiting to hear about his appeal had triggered some type of seizure. He remembered how his vision had went all white and then faded to black before he saw the vision. The only thing he couldn’t explain was the man’s face he had seen as it looked like no one he had ever known or could recall seeing.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall and Michael looked to see who was coming. A small man in a white lab coat, who he presumed was a doctor, accompanied by the guard who led him here, stopped in front of his cell.
“Chaste.” The guard spoke evenly, but firm. “The doctor needs to examine you for long term incarceration in this facility. We’re going to go into that room across the hall. Normally I would have to handcuff you, but you’ve been cooperative so far. Can we keep it that way?”
Michael nodded and stood up. “Yeah, thanks.”
The guard opened the gate and allowed Michael to step out. He motioned with his arm to the room across the hall and Michael went where directed.
“Have a seat on that examining table,” the doctor said as he turned to retrieve a cart with medical instruments.
Michael sat on the table, feeling like he would slip off as the white paper covering it moved under him. He looked at the cart the doctor was pushing. There was a blood pressure machine, digital thermometer, a jar of tongue depressors, a box of latex examination gloves and several other items he recognized as general practitioners’ tools. The only thing that seemed out of place was the hypodermic syringe, but the needle was a very small gauge and he decided it must contain a flu shot or something similar.
“Please remove your shirt,” the doctor said as he put on his stethoscope.
Michael did as asked and handed the shirt to the guard who laid it on a chair for him.
For the next thirty minutes, he was poked and prodded and blood was drawn with a much larger syringe he had not noticed behind one of the machines on the cart. He wasn’t afraid of needles, but the large gauge had unsettled him. He watched as it was inserted and a vial was attached to collect his blood. The doctor pressed a gauze pad to the wound when he was finished and instructed Michael to keep it there with his other hand.
As they finished up, Michael heard footsteps in the hall and looked up to see a tall man in a suit enter the room. He was very self confident and moved around looking at things as if he owned them.
“We’re ready, sir,” the doctor said and stepped aside so the man’s view of Michael was unobscured.
“My name is Warden Dempsey, Mr. Chaste.” He looked Michael straight in the eye. “You are here because you were convicted of crimes against society so brutal that a judge deemed rehabilitation impossible and every appeals court which heard your case upheld the decision. There are no more appeals and no chance for you to ever leave this prison during the course of your natural life. Therefore you were transferred here, to me, to be entered into the Eternal Convictions program.”
Michael was already completely aware that he had no chance to ever leave prison, but the cold tone of the Warden drove the fact into him once again like slivers of glass. He knew that there was no escape from this nightmare and hoped at the very least to be treated civilly as he served his sentence. There was no use proclaiming his innocence any more. As the man had said, all appeals were exhausted. He felt as though the Warden’s words had sucked the life from him as the judge’s had when he pronounced his sentence.
“This facility is operated entirely autonomous from the main prison where you have been to this point. Here, there are no visitors, no computers, nor any other contact with the outside world. For all practical intents and purposes, you are deceased. Even the IRS will not contact you here so you may take joy in that fact.” The Warden smiled at his own joke. “What there is, though, is order. I run an orderly prison here with no problems. You have been cooperative thus far and I expect it shall remain so as I have no tolerance for any disobedience. Can I count on you for this, Mr. Chaste?”
Michael looked at the man for a moment and knew immediately that he despised him. Far beyond the fact that he, himself, was a convicted felon and expected to be treated poorly, this man was the type who thought himself above the rest of the world and carried himself as such. Michael respected his position, but not the man.
“Yes sir,” he said quietly.
“Very well,” the Warden continued. “In order to preserve order, we take certain precautionary medical measures to prevent aggression. The doctor is now going to give you an injection to facilitate this.”
Michael was aware the doctor had picked up the small syringe from the cart and was tapping air bubbles from it as he squirted some of the liquid into the air. He held it at the ready, waiting for the order to continue.
“Proceed doctor,” the Warden said and turned to leave. Reaching the door, he turned back as if having forgotten something. “This will be the last time we meet, Mr. Chaste. Please enjoy your stay with us.”
As quickly as he appeared, the Warden was gone and Michael was left to the doctor and guard. He looked from one to the other as if expecting an apology for the Warden’s intrusion, but neither man even changed their expression. It was time for the injection and he made himself relax as the doctor approached.
He felt the needle enter his upper arm and wondered just what he was receiving. The Warden had said it was to prevent aggression and Michael wondered if he was being injected with hormones to inhibit testosterone production or perhaps it was estrogen to enhance his inner calm. He really hoped it was neither as self gratification was one of the only releases he had in prison and he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of growing breasts as the other guys might take an undesired liking to him.
He had no more than completed this thought and was about to ask what he was injected with when he realized he knew already. His vision blurred and a deep fog began to settle over his mind. Suddenly he was very tired and could feel his entire body relax. As he passed out, Michael realized he had been given a sedative.
Everything seemed to be moving slowly and he couldn’t understand why everything seemed out of place. Michael looked up from the bench where he was working to see his girlfriend coming toward him through the door. She was carrying something that looked like plans and he wondered why as she had never had anything to do with his work. In fact, he had not even seen her since before he began doing electronics work and wondered why she was here, but decided he didn’t care. He was happy to see her.
She laid the plans on his desk and told him to hurry up or they would be late picking up the kids. She seemed upset and he wondered why, while at the same time, he wondered what she was talking about as neither of them had children.
He followed her through the door and into a large area he could only describe as an inner courtyard with driveway passing through it. In the center was a large fountain made of very old white marble and water streamed down from the center in a heavy flow, cascading over terraced ledges to the catch basin which was overgrown with weeds.
Looking around, he realized the landscaping had been long neglected as grass protruded randomly in tall yellowing bunches at joints of the pavestone sidewalks and driveway. The area was surrounded by a red brick wall of some ten feet in height and this also was overgrown with vines and weeds. The mortar seemed to crumble in places and small bunches of plants sprouted from the cracks. In a far corner, a faded white gazebo stood in a shroud of plant life with its grey wood roof shingles covered in moss. Atop at the peak, a wind vane shaped like a rooster pointed it’s scaly green arrow at the gate where the driveway entered. Beyond the gate and along the outside of the brick walls, heavy forest shut out the sun.
“Come on or we’re going to be late,” she called to him. “Mother wants to rebuild this place and has decided to rip out all of the sheetrock in the east wing to make sure the structure is sound.”
He followed her across the courtyard and through a set of double doors, back into the house. He had no idea where they were going or even where they were, but felt the need to continue following.
“This room is going to be the new family room,” she said, walking around a large wooden structure in the middle of the room.
Michael looked down and saw that there was no floor here but rather bare earth with a rough sandy texture. The floor was uneven as well with the outer edges raised where they walked and dipping down in the center under the wood framework. None of this made sense and as he looked at the large structure in the middle of the room, it looked to him like the skeleton of a large boat which had been either built here or unearthed as the building was erected around it. As he walked around the end and saw her moving toward the back, her mother entered through a set of French doors to his left followed closely by several children.
He did not recognize the children and heard her say something about rebuilding the house since her husband had died. In his mind, he knew this wasn’t right as his girlfriend’s mother had passed long before her father and they had lived in a very small house. None of this made any sense, but he suddenly felt an urgent need to talk with his girlfriend, if she would ever stop walking away from him.
“I need for you to talk to me,” he said pleading.
“We have plenty of time to talk. You’re not supposed to be at the prison until Thursday.” She smiled and continued to walk around the framework away from him.
“That’s not right,” he said. “I’m going to be gone before you even realize and I don’t know if I will ever be able to see you again.”
Michael heard the words he was speaking, but had no idea what he meant or why he felt it so urgently. One part of his mind knew that he had parted ways with her years before, but another part said he needed her to stay with him now because he was about to face something terrible and she was the only one who had ever understood him.
“Don’t be silly.” She smiled coyly. “I’ll always be here.”
She walked around the back of the framework and he went back the other way to intercept her. Coming face to face he put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep in to her eyes. It was strange, but he could not see the love he knew should be there. Instead he felt she was mocking him.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get through this,” he pleaded. “I have done everything I could, but nothing seems to work.”
“It’s all being taken care of,” she reassured him.
“What’s being taken care of?” he tried to ask, but the words would not come.
Suddenly Michael’s neck was sore and he couldn’t speak. She started to walk away from him again and when he tried to follow, he found he couldn’t move. In fact, he couldn’t even turn his head to see where she was going, but had to follow her with his eyes until she was out of sight. He tried to call to her, but no words came and he wondered what was happening.
“There. That should do it,” he heard her say.
“Doctor, we have rising activity on the EEG. The patient is waking up”
Michael tried to look and see who the doctor was and who was talking to him, but still could not move his head. He was stuck looking out of an old multi-paned wooden window at the overgrown garden.
“I got it,” she said and then everything went black.
​
​
Part 2 https://www.reddit.com/DrCreepensVault/comments/11y08t7/headgames_part_2/
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Eternal Convictions / HeadGames
Steven Knies (c) October 23, 2009

TL;DR:

• For a pay deal that restores pay to the purchasing power of 2010 levels we require an additional 4.5% increase this year (on top of 5% already granted) and then 9.5% next year.
• For a pay deal that maintains the purchasing power of English teacher salaries compared to Scottish ones we require an additional 2% this year (on top of the 5% already granted) and then 7.1% next year.
• These are the figures you should have in the back of your mind when making a decision on whether to accept a pay offer or not.

 
 
On Friday, teaching unions (representing English teachers) and the government entered talks, focused on: "teacher pay, conditions and workload reduction". For a minimum of two weeks, no new strike action will be announced by the NEU. Talks will be held in private, with the hope that a deal can be agreed between union negotiators and government, which unions can then put to their members.
It is possible that no deal will be agreed, at which point we will return to the picket lines. But is also likely that, as has happened with Scottish teachers, Welsh teachers, barristers, firefighters, NHS staff, rail workers, and others, a deal will be put to members, at which point we will all have to decide whether to vote for or against.
Speaking to colleagues and reading discussion online, lots of workers seem to have difficulty conceptualising whether certain percentage increases over one or two years actually represent a satisfactory offer or not. I thought it might be helpful to see where we are up to with pay and how that compares to the deals that have been offered in other nations/sectors.
I did most of the calculation work while trying to parent a very stroppy two year old at the same time, so I'm sure there are lots of inaccuracies, but hopefully the numbers are ballpark close enough to make this useful and informative for people. I'll stick a list of assumptions and sources below and invite anyone to double check the sums in the comments.
 

2010 salary purchasing power	Deal	2024 salary purchasing power
Private sector role with £30,000 salary	Equivalent private sector role in 2024	£31,991
Teacher in England in 2010 with £30,000 salary	Equivalent teaching role in 2024 on current payscales	£26,250
"	Equivalent teaching role in 2024 with same deal as proposed to NHS	£27,562
"	Equivalent teaching role in 2024 with deal on same % rises as proposed in Wales	£27,956
"	Equivalent teaching role in 2024 with deal on same % rises as Scotland	£28,649

 
Analysis
If we assume that the issue with pay is mostly the impact it has on recruitment and retention, then the comparison with the private sector is an important one. Since 2010, teacher pay (for the equivalent role and experience level) has fallen between 5-13%, depending on your exact point on the pay scale. For someone in the middle of the pay scale, we can approximate this as a 9% fall in the purchasing power of their salary.
A £30,00 teaching role in 2010 has become a £26,250 role in 2024.
In order for teacher salaries to have retained their purchasing power since 2010, we would need a pay offer of 20% over two years. This is equivalent to 9.5% this year (we have already had 5% of this), plus 9.5% in 23/24.
We can see that, since the coalition government came to power with their austerity agenda, even with inflation as it is at the moment, someone in the private sector in 2024 will be very slightly better off than the equivalent employee in 2010. Paltry improvement, but improvement nonetheless. Many prospective teachers will leave teaching to go into these kinds of roles, or will never go into teaching in the first place because salaries are not competitive with private sector roles.
In order for teacher salaries since 2010 to reach parity with private sector salaries, we would need a pay increase of 28.0% over two years. This is equivalent to 13.1% in 2022/23 (we have already had 5% of this), plus 13.1% in 23/24.
None of the deals in the table above, offered or accepted in the public sector, would give pay restoration, let alone competitiveness with the private sector. Even the strongest of these deals, that accepted by Scottish teachers, would not come close to achieving pay restoration.
There is, indeed, a real possibility that disparities between Scottish and English pay scales will lead to a drain of teachers to north of the border. Experience-related salary points are already higher in Scotland, deal or no deal.
For a pay deal that maintains the purchasing power of English teacher salaries compared to Scottish ones we would need a pay increase of 14.6% over two years. This is equivalent to an additional 7% this year (we have already had 5% of this), plus 7.1% in 23/24.
If this is the best that can be hoped for it seems that, for financial reasons at least, the drain of teachers out of education is likely to continue. The "conditions and workload" bit of the talks is going to have to do a lot of the work if the situation is to change in a meaningful way. The tipping point that is being reached around some of the non-pay related aspects of the job only emphasise exactly how challenging it will be for any agreement to make headway in these areas.
I would invite anyone reading to think carefully about what deal they are willing to accept. I think that being out on strike has been very challenging for all of us. The work that has gone into arranging pickets and protests, the missed time with students and colleagues, the impact of lost learning and routine disruption on top of all the loss and disruption of the past couple of years. I, for one, don't want to have to strike again. But if we do not secure changes to pay and conditions that safeguard teaching as a profession in the medium term, then all the disruption that has come up to this point will have been in vain. Not for two generations have teaching unions been in such a position of strength, and the government in such a position of weakness. Now is the time to twist, not to stick.
 
Assumptions

• The numbers in the table above do not include any non-consolidated payments that have been offered as part of pay deals (i.e. to both Welsh teachers and to NHS workers). These payments offer a nice short term bonus, but do not compound over time, have no permanent impact on payscales, and are not necessarily liable to be counted as relevant income by, for example, mortgage providers.
• Figures used for inflation and private/teaching sector pay app/depreciation are UK-wide and do not take into account any differences between constituent nations of the UK.
• It is assumed that CPI inflation for 23/34 will be around 4%, in line with OBR forecasts. Others who have done similar exercises for pay deals in other sectors (e.g. here) have assumed different numbers for inflation.
• It is assumed that average pay appreciation in the private sector will continue in 23/34 at the same mean rate (about 1.1%) that it has done each year since 2010.
• It is assumed that pay structures are consistent across time and sectors. This is not the case, especially for the teacher-NHS comparison. Scottish-English payscales remain broadly comparable.
• "Current payscales" in table includes the already awarded 5% pay rise for 22/23.
• Welsh teachers' deal is for 6.5% pay increase for 22/23 (up from current 5%) then 5% increase in 23/34. This deal has been put to members by the NEU. My understanding is that the union has neither recommended that its members accept or reject this deal.
• Scottish teachers deal is for a 7% increase from April 22 to March 23, followed by 5% from April 23 to March 24, followed by 2% from April 24 to July 24, bringing the teacher pay calendar in line with the academic year. This deal has been accepted by teachers in Scotland. It bears commenting that pay is already higher in Scotland, so a Scottish teacher will already make more than an English teacher of equivalent experience.
• NHS deal is for a 5% increase in 23/24. This has been recommended to members by all but one union involved in the dispute. It is worth noting that there is a very active grassroots campaign urging NHS staff to reject the deal that has been offered.

This is a collection of oddities, real world inspirations and possible clues that hint to the true purpose of Area Zero and other mysteries in Paldea. My intention was to compile this into one big Theory of Everything, but all of this has been sitting in a Google Doc for a month and a half and I don't see how I can tie it all together with the information we currently have. I figured that I might as well talk about the discoveries I have made because if I had not compiled all of this into a reddit post, it might never have happened. My hope is that it will open up some new discussions about the games, and that someone else may see something that I can not.
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THE TWO METAL PLATES
Let's start with Area Zero. In the Scarlet/Violet books, the page discussing the strange symbol found in A0 has a few qualities that I have not seen discussed so far. It's titled "Mysterious Plates", plural, and even shows a second plate below the main plate containing the two intersecting triangles. This second plate is strangely never mentioned or shown again anywhere else. It appears to be longer in width and much shorter in height than the one we see in A0, and contains a long string of undecipherable text.
This mysterious second plate is not the only strange thing about this page of the book. The top image is drawn so that the symbol plate has its right side obscured behind rocks, but the bottom image gives you enough of a view to see that it doesn't contain anything to the right of the two zeroes. The map of Paldea and its accompanying text is strangely missing. The drawing is from the side and far away, so the plate is at an angle where it is difficult to make out certain details, but it certainly appears to not be wide enough to contain the mysterious symbol AND the map of Paldea.
That's not all about the metal plate, however. The entire thing, as seen when you yourself go into A0, seems to be based on the concept of a Kilometer Zero location marker. This is something that can be found in many countries across the world, which is why it seemed so strange to me that I have not seen any discussion about this. Regardless, the Kilometer Zero markers are typically placed in locations where multiple roads, railways or other routes of transportation come together in a central location. The marker was popularized by the Roman Empire, which is where the phrase "All roads lead to Rome" originates from. GameFreak makes this connection even clearer by having Hassel say almost that exact same line during one of the Art classes, "All roads lead to Area Zero".
Finally, if you look at the Kilometer Zero marker used in Spain it's clear that GameFreak took inspiration from this specific one for the metal plate of A0. It's located in the center of the country, in Madrid, and has an interesting history. The plaque was removed in 2002 in order for the town square to undergo renovations, and when the plaque was put back the construction crew accidentally put it in the ground upside down, so the north point was facing south and vice versa. This was fixed in 2007, but two years later in 2009 the plaque was removed and a new one was put in. Could this also be the history of the metal plate in A0? While I have yet to think of any implications of this, could it be possible that the A0 plate was found upside down and has been kept that way since Heath's expedition?
​
THE EIGHT TREASURES
GameFreak pulled from numerous parts of Chinese mythology/folklore when putting together Area Zero and the story around Paldea, as the Treasures of Ruin are inspired by the Four Perils and the Kitakami Legends are inspired by Momotaro. Once the DLC was revealed, specifically its logo, I was able to make another similar connection. A not very well known piece of Chinese folklore is that of the Eight Treasures, or the Eight Precious Things, which are eight auspicious symbols that signify good luck and fortune. They had a similar cultural role to the Eight Auspicious Symbols of Buddhism, but beyond that the similarities end.
What the Eight Treasures are exactly varies depending on the source, as the symbols are pulled from the Hundred Treasures of Chinese folklore. The more commonly used Treasures seem to correlate to the eight symbols found on the corners of both the SV logo and the DLC logo. I will point out what I believe to be the Treasure that inspired each symbol, and this is where you can find a more detailed analysis on the Treasure's symbolism.
Starting with the upper left corner of the Scarlet/Violet logo, the Metal Plate inscription is based on the Double Lozenge, representing two hearts joined together to act as one mind. The hexagon in the bottom left is the Jewel, sometimes depicted as a Pearl or Flaming Pearl, containing generative energy and the ability to grant wishes. The four circles in the top right seem to be the Double Coins and the spiral in the bottom right seems to be the Wish Granting Ingot. The symbols in the DLC logo are harder to identify, but I believe the top right is the Mirror Lozenge, the Blueberry academy logo (that looks like an '8') in the bottom left might be inspired by the Coral treasure, and finally the bottom right symbol is the Wish Granting Scepter that is associated with the wish granting ingot. The upper left DLC symbol is too obscure for me to make any direct connections. While I have not drawn any definite conclusions on what these inspirations indicate for the symbols, it certainly seems to indicate the true nature of the Tera jewels and what secret wish-granting powers they may have.
The last thing I'd like to mention about Area Zero is that it seems to be heavily inspired by the Taoist concept of "Grotto Heavens", are worlds believed to exist hidden within the crust of Earth, often times inside the hollow center of a mountain. They are said to receive no actual light from the stars, but rather from "the root of the essence of the sun... its light matches the sun of the outer world". A0, as many have noted, is always lit no matter the time of day.
The mythological locations of Mount Penglai and Mount Kunlun) share some similarities to Area Zero, both of which are believed to be Axis Mundi of the world (a celestial pole, like Yggdrasil from Norse mythology). Mount Penglai is also known as Horai, the name given to the mountain in a short story written by Lafcadio Hearn. It is said to be the home of a cabal of immortals known as the Eight Immortals, although Penglai is found on just one of the mythical islands the Eight Immortals are said to reside on.
Lafcadio Hearn does not share many similarities with what little we know of Heath from the Area Zero Expedition team, but the book Hearn published his many short stories in, including that of Mount Penglai, was titled "Kwaidan". This certainly sounds similar to Koraidon, but I must admit it is a loose connection.
Mount Kunlun, a separate mythical paradise, connects to Paldea through its western/southern river (the direction the river flows from varies) that is known as the "Scarlet RiveWater)". Beyond just the name, in the announcement trailer for Scarlet and Violet there are three globes that can be seen in the room. One is a regular globe of the Earth, one is a regular globe of the Moon, and then the third is a globe depicting the Earth with red colored water instead of blue. If the globes were placed there with thematic intent, I believe the red globe was meant to create the connection between Paldea/A0 and Mount Kunlun. Both Penglai and Kunlun share other similarities to Area Zero through generic paradise tropes that I will not go into here, as the Scarlet RiveRed Globe and Kwaidan/Koraidon felt the most significant and this post is already long enough.
​
THE CARDINAL COLORS
As Scarlet and Violet introduced us to the first open world in the series history, it is understandable that the cardinal directions (North, South, West, East) would receive a bit of attention. What stands out in GameFreaks inclusion of them, however, is the colors associated with each direction.
If you look at what colors different cultures associate with the cardinal directions, you will not find a single society in history that had the same associations as Paldea does. In all my research, I could only find two pieces of cultural or fictional media that shared the same Cardinal Colors. In Buddhism, the Mandala Of Avalokiteshvara (Compassion Buddha) and the Mandala of the Medicine Buddha are sometimes depicted with these Cardinal Colors, but these depictions are not easy to find.
For the second instance, the Land Of Oz from the books by L. Frank Baum see the same setup of Blue/Yellow being opposite one another, red representing the south (which itself is rare enough), with some depictions using purple to represent the North and others using green. This would not seem to connect to Pokemon if not for the fact that the games have actually referenced the Wizard of Oz before. In Generation 1, if the player clicks on the TV in their home the text box indicates that Stand By Me is currently playing, the plot of which seems to have inspired the final act of Pokemon Scarlet and Violet, The Way Home. In the Gen1 remakes, FireRed and LeafGreen, the same reference is made as long as the player chose the male protagonist. Even Sun and Moon included the same Stand By Me reference as well. However, in FLG, a different film is referenced if the player chooses the female protagonist, The Wizard of Oz. Once again I admit this is a flimsy connection, but with one of these two films being an obvious inspiration for the story of Scarlet/Violet, it opens up the possibility that the Wizard of Oz might have also been used as inspiration.
That is all I could find on the inspiration for the choices made for the Cardinal Colors, however certain ways GameFreak utilized the Cardinal Colors of Paldea stood out to me, and I have not seen any discussion on this either. Here are two diagrams demonstrating some ways the Cardinal Colors may have more to do with the Legendary Pokemon of the games than we have realized. Specifically, the shrines encasing the Treasures of Ruin across Paldea are located in the four corners of the region, with their colors being a combination of the Cardinal Colors closest to them. The fire-type Chi-Yu is found in the NorthEast, so its shrine is a combination of blue and green, cyan. This is true of all four of the Treasures of Ruin. If you look at the four new Pokemon introduced in the DLC The Teal Mask, each Pokemon incorporates a Cardinal color in their design, with Ogerpon being the only outlier. Of course, we have barely seen Ogerpon's actual design without the mask, and even then in the image we do have it has a yellow-colored eye which is the only color not utilized by another Pokemon.
Then there is the Mesagoza Type Compass that sits in the center of the city, which has the types arranged in a seemingly random order. I tried to figure out if maybe these Cardinal Colors or the corner colors have something to do with the Type Compass, or the color wheel found in the Art Room, but so far I have had no luck. However the compass is odd in that it has 12 points rather than the 8 points or 16 points typically seen on compass roses, which supposedly is normal of a Japanese Compass Rose but I have yet to find a depiction like this outside of a single DeviantArt image. Beyond the colors, not much else seems relevant to the cardinal directions, although there is one part of A0 that sticks out to me.
While it is difficult to figure out which direction you are looking towards when you enter A0, it is possible to see the Zero Gate above the clouds where you land if you get high up enough along the sides of A0. A link to a screenshot of this is included near the end of the post. Based off of this, it would appear that each river in A0 is coming from a lake located on the cardinal ends of the area. While the North, West, and South rivers all flow down into the bottom of A0, the East river is the one that takes you to the cave with the four circles pointing towards the cardinal directions. This is the only river that does not flow into the crystalline depths below. Given that Part 1 of the DLC seems to take place in the Eastern area connected to Paldea, it makes me wonder if there is any relevance to this river being the only one to not connect with the others.
​
THE LUNAR THEORY
There are a number of strange things throughout the story that seem to connect to the moon, specifically its strange orbit that is scarcely commented on anywhere. While most of the observations in this post are just that, observations, I feel strongly that the moon plays a role in the overall plot of Scarlet and Violet, and will be a focal point of the DLC.
When developing a video game, nothing is particularly easy to implement. The easiest thing to do in game development is doing something again. Taking a feature you have already developed, and copy and pasting it to something else in the game. Knowing this, I would like to discuss the strange behavior of the moon as opposed to the typical behavior of the sun.
Imagine you are standing idly in Paldea while facing the Northeast at night, you watch as the sun rises in the East like it does in the real world. You can watch as it crosses the sky over the course of the day, eventually arriving in the West where it disappears over the horizon. Once the sun has set, you look back over at the Northeast direction expecting to see the moon rise over the horizon. The stars start to appear and the sky darkens, and yet you see no moon. If you were to then look back over at the Northwest direction, if you do so quick enough, you can see the Moon suddenly just appear in the West. Not only that, if you watch it over the course of the night you can see it go from West to East, the opposite direction it would normally travel, and then disappear by fading into the sky as the sun starts to rise once again. The sun has a proper orbit, it rises and sets in the correct locations and arcs across the sky. The moon on the other hand does not rise, it does not set, and it moves across the sky in a straight line. Most may chalk this up to a development bug, but I see an intended behavior. Like I said, once you've implemented something once, here being a circle in the sky rising and setting over the horizon, it's not very difficult to copy and paste it to another giant circle. I believe that this has to have been intentional, especially given that it was not fixed in the latest patch.
That's not all though. Of the four symbols on the Scarlet/Violet logo, one of them seems to lack any sort of context behind its relevance. This would be the bottom right spiral found in the Poco Lab. Even the metal plate inscription has some sort of commentary attributed to it, so that players can at least wonder what its relevance may be. The spiral, however, is left mostly unexplained. That is, if you don't pay attention to the other diagrams on the whiteboard. While the specifics of these equations are a little lost on me, it would seem the two circles found on the Poco Lab whiteboard are depicting calculations relating to the horizon of the Earth, possibly the light refraction of a celestial object. The top diagram appears to either calculate the influence of a satellite on the planets gravity, or a calculation of the true altitude of the satellite. That one could be a number of things, but I believe the bottom one to be a calculation of the true position of the moon based on the principle of the moon illusion. While I can't be certain what the spiral symbol represents, I wonder if it is depicting the strange orbit of the moon that is causing it to appear and disappear in the middle of the sky. Could the "moon's" refraction of light rays) be the relevance of ultraviolet and infrared light wavelengths, which many have theorized to have something to do with Scarlet/Violet?
Based on what we know of the Professor, the last time they left Poco Lab was the final time they set foot outside of Area Zero. These diagrams would have been the last thing they wrote on the whiteboard before going to Zero Lab, where a dozen more strange diagrams can be found on the whiteboards there. If you look at what the diagrams are depicting, each one shows a single circle following a path and/or existing within a strange 3D geometric shape. If I am correct that the Poco Lab whiteboard is the Professor discovering that something is off about the moon's orbit, the whiteboards in Zero Lab might be their attempts at finding out what exactly the orbit is. Could this be why they become more of a hermit, locking themselves in the lab and creating more security protocols to keep other people out? Is it possible they discovered some sort of conspiracy and became the target of those upholding the conspiracy?
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THE TURTLE THAT CARRIED THE WORLD
While I have already rambled long enough about the suspicious nature of the moon, there's one final observation I would like to make. If you look at the page in the Scarlet/Violet where Heath drew the Disk Pokemon, which we now know is Terapagos, there's still a number of unexplained aspects of the image. The giant disk Terapagos is resting on, the fact that its fur turns into an ocean with ships atop it, the clouds to the left of Terapagos that are completely disconnected from the Pokemon, and the many planets that can be seen in the background. It has already been pointed out that if you flip the image upside down, the black parts of the image actually appear to be crystals encircling the large disk, but there's something else about the image that has yet to be mentioned. The shading of the large disk is strange, familiar even. This image depicts the view of the Earth from the surface of the moon. It is the same exact shading. Looking at the Disk as a large celestial object from the upside down perspective, suddenly makes its appear as if the artist is looking up into the sky, past the Tera crystals of Area Zero, seeing a large object very far away. After all, it's common knowledge that Terapagos might be inspired by the many myths of a World Turtle that carries the Earth on its back. Looking at the drawing upside down, it almost appears as if that were the case here.
Of course, then there's the whole problem with how Area Zero could possibly be on the moon and/or some other satellite object, and then why Earth has the weird hexagonal shapes covering its visible portion. This could always be attributed to simple Human error with the artist not fully comprehending what they were seeing, but that certainly would not be a satisfying answer. Another theory I hope to discuss more of one day is that the clouds seen inside the Great Crater are teleporting anyone who enters to Area Zero, and vice versa, but I'm still working on how exactly that would fit with what we know about A0 and Terapagos so far.
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LINGBAO DAOISM
One final piece of folklore I'd like to mention is the beliefs of a Daoist school from 400 C.E, known as both the School of the Numinous Treasure and the School of the Sacred Jewel (also known simply as the Lingbao School). While I'm not sure if this actually a source of inspiration for these games, I certainly found some of the aspects and beliefs of this Daoist sect interesting. It's also another piece of spiritual beliefs that have connected to the old Chinese story Journey to the West. This story has had connections to many things I have already talked about, like the Grotto Heavens and Axis Mountains I mentioned earlier. Frankly, anything I found in Chinese mythology that seemed like it might have been inspiration for these games had some sort of connection to that tale, and so as a result it may have been a bigger piece of inspiration that I realized.
Lingbao cosmology is based around the idea of a mountain known as the Jade Capital being the center of the heavens, the Axis Mundi housing the Celestial Worthy (creator god). There are three subsequent deities, the Lord of Celestial Treasure, Lord of Sacred Treasure and the Lord of Divine Treasure. Each deity also resides within its own Grotto Heaven. It was believed by Lingbaoists that time was divided into cosmic cycles, and at the end of each era a deity related to the color associated with that era would descend to Earth provide Humanity a piece of Cosmic teaching. Two types of eras/cycles can occur, one ending with the moon causing a flood that resets the universe, and the other ending in total apocalypse. Before the apocalypse a select few of those who were given the Cosmic teaching, those that actually correctly learned the teaching, would be gathered up by the Queen Mother of the West (A central character of Journey to the West), and taken to a land of bliss not impacted by the apocalypse.
After reading through much of the Journey to the West, I believe that Geeta was inspired by the Queen Mother of the West and plans to take those who follow her to Area Zero when an apocalypse is eventually started, either by her or by natural forces/a Pokemon. This is mostly because I hope that they do something interesting with her character, but partly because it just seems very much like a story GameFreak would tell, especially given the writing of villains in Pokemon games and how recently they have represented big corporate powers.
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I hope that many of these topics fuel the theorizing parts of your brains, as I know that they have for me. Of course this post is formatted the way it is because I have not been able to come up with a cohesive theory that utilizes all of these oddities, as well as the bullet points below, but maybe one day it will click for someone.
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(*MANY) ADDITIONAL OBSERVATIONS
- If you get on top of the Academy using the Cyclizar Paradox, you can access the outside of the conservatory-like structure. The Academy exit connected to it is the color red, as well as the door used to enter the treehouse-like structure. As far as I can tell, based off of the intro sequence of Violet I found on YouTube, the doors appear to be red no matter the version. Also, the doors to the conservatory have what might be the second metal plate sitting above it with the text blurred, I imagine intentionally so that anyone like me climbs up to them, we don't discover any secrets.
- The hexagonal symbol in the bottom left of the logo may be depicting the six satellite dishes found around Area Zero, rather than the time machine or the Tera jewel/crystal itself.
- Student IDs are only mentioned two times, both mentions are by the AI Professor. First is when the Professor says the player's ID, 805C393. 805 because that's how many years since the Academy was founded, I presume 'C' is the semester (A is spring, B is summer, C is fall), and 393 because we joined the Academy late in the semester. Penny is 803B121, which tracks with that logic as a year and a half before was when she formed Team Star. Strangely, Nemona is 805C001. This means she registered with the school at the beginning of the current semester, and was the first to do so. This does not line up with what Giacomo says about Nemona taking over Student Council president a year and a half before the events of the game. Also - the previous Director mentions that his assistant tried to coverup the Team Star incident by destroying "digital records", no mention of physical records. We assumed this coverup caused the pages to be ripped out of the Student Registry book found in the Academy Library, but this does not track. Was someone trying to hide Nemona's previous ID? This might explain why the Professor felt it was necessary to create the Pokeball Locking security system, as it has to do with ID numbers. Nemona would be able to use Pokeballs with a new ID, up until the final battle where the AI Professor locks ALL ID's other than their own.
- Zero Gate is not the only thing that can be seen above the clouds in Area Zero. On top of the fact that the ledge it rests on looks nothing like the ledge seen in Paldea, the ridges seen above the Area Zero clouds are a completely different shape than the walls of the Great Create of Paldea, appearing more like a mountain range than a crater. Here some screenshots I took.
- Another reason for why I assume the cardinal directions are the way they are in Area Zero, despite the minimap not functioning from within the area, is because of this promotional artwork GameFreak released prior to Scarlet/Violet hitting the shelves. You can see that to the right of the Zero Gate is a waterfall, and the distance between the two appears to be the same as the distance from where you spawn in Area Zero and the closest waterfall to your left. What's most interesting about this image, though, is that the waterfall depicted in the image is not present in the final game. This would have been the only think linking the Crater above the clouds to the grotto below the clouds, and for whatever reason they decided to remove it in the three months between releasing the image and releasing the games.
- The Kitakami Legends each seem to each have a European heraldic charge) depicted on their design. Given that the Koraidon/Miraidon designs on the front of the Scarlet/Violet books are based on how lions and other animals are depicted in heraldry, this seems like a safe assumption. Okidogi has two crescents#/media/File:BlasonJean_Leliwa(selonGelre).svg) underneath its eyes, and the shape on its chest seems to be the shape of the heraldry shield#/media/File:Swiss_Escutcheon.svg) itself. Munkidori has a maltese cross#/media/File:Maltese_cross.svg) on its stomach. Fezandipiti has a cross moline#/media/File:Cross-Moline-Heraldry.svg) at the end of its tail. Ogerpon is yet another outlier here, just like with the cardinal colors, but one could argue the five pointed star on its chest is its charge, which is called a mullet#/media/File:Blason_de_la_ville_de_Deh%C3%A9ries(59)_Nord-France.svg). Also - on the left side of the top floor of the Entrance Hall you can find a strange shape hanging from a light fixture. It appears to be the water-bouget charge.
- Mount Penglai is the home of the Eight Immortals. The Adventure into Area Zero page in the Scarlet/Violet book depicts seven individuals descending into Area Zero, and we can assume that Heath or whoever illustrated the page was not depicted. Was the Expedition team made up of only eight people? With the prevalence of the number '8' in the games and DLC (Blueberry Academy logo), could this have any significance?
- AI Professor mentions that the energy of the Tera Crystals can "alter the organic functions of living things". The future Paradox Pokemon seem to be actual living Pokemon despite being made of machinery. If "Dream Theory" ends up being partially true, then I wonder if the Tera function that 'created' them (summoned, resurrected, there are many possibilities) possibly healed the Professor by turning them into a cyborg. The research journals suggest the assistant mentioned is the AI Professor, but certain discrepancies in them and the AI Professor's dialogue suggests that is not the case.
- In the Scarlet/Violet book the Director depicted to be shaking Heath's hand has a little piece of hair on his forehead that looks like a crescent moon. The two founders of the Academies depicted by the busts on the top floor of the entrance hall have hair that looks like Grapes and Oranges depending on the version, so theres a precedent for hair shapes of Academy figureheads having double meanings. This is the reachiest reach in this entire post, but I thought I'd include it.
- A pet theory I have had since the release of the games is that Geeta runs a secret society in Paldea that is orchestrating events from the shadows. The compass logo of the Elite Four is reminiscent of an all-seeing-eye, which is largely where this notion came from (The 'eye' portion of the logo is also identical to the marking on Lusamine-Nihilego's legs). If this is truly the case, then I imagine its based on the mythical La Garduna secret society of Spain, which historians are unsure ever actually existed. Secret Societies are also a common trope of Academies and Universities. A real world example that the games may be hinting at with the Paldean Pokemon Gimmighoul is a collegiate secret society at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, called the Order of Gimghoul.
- Every time the Professor summons a Paradox Pokemon from the time machine, the Pokemon falls from the machine in a Master Ball - seemingly just having been caught. In multiple locations within Paldea, including the Player's bedroom and Arven/Penny's dorm rooms, there are scattered boxes with a company logo depicting Tauros. Inside of the Zero Lab, however, the Professor has a large amount of boxes with the Delibird company logo. Most of the settlements in Paldea, like Medali outside of Zero Gate and Levincia where the real estate company is, have warehouses with the Delibird company logo. Is this the company that is providing the Professor with such a large amount of Master Balls? Does this mean that the Delibird company is a subsidiary of Silph Co., or some other Pokeball-manufacturer?
- Penny mentions that Nemona's dad is on the board of the Rotom Phone company. Nemona then mentions how her sister will "take over the family business". Does Nemona's family own a separate corporation from the Rotom Phone company, as 'take over' suggests ownership of the business rather than simply being a part of an executive team. On top of that, we know that the company producing Rotom Phones - or at least the cellphones that the Rotom possesses - is Macro Cosmos, based off of this concept art from Sword and Shield where you can see their logo on the unpossessed phone.
- If you start in the United States and dug a hole straight through the earth, you would end up in China, as the classic saying goes. This is called an "Antipodal Point". The Antipodal point of Madrid, give or take a few dozen miles, is a large isolated mountain in New Zealand with a lake named "Crater Lake" sitting at its peak. If Area Zero's clouds are in fact a portal to multiple locations, and the inscribed symbol was inspired by the Double Lozenge (two hearts joined as one), then could this location in North New Zealand be the other location connected to A0?

Hello there! I’m looking to meet someone in order to hopefully get a boyfriend either from North America or Europe. I think I can be a good partner. I know that I’m capable of falling in love, I know the importance of faithfulness, I know how to be patient, I know how to support my partner and most of all I know that when you find someone you feel attracted to and that you fell in love with, you’re in for a treat.
I’ve tried other dating apps such as Tinder to look for people close to me, but it turns out that I haven’t reached or connected with anyone in the right way that I’m trying to accomplish by making this post here. And also, since my social life is not exaggeratedly huge, I don’t know anyone else that feels attracted towards men and may like me and I him.
I would describe myself most of all as a not very masculine nor very feminine person, although I’m more masculine than feminine. I am very loving, caring, helpful, I am kind, warm, supportive and sensitive. I love writing love letters. I really like compromise and commitment and once I’m in love, I’m faithful to only one person. Furthermore, I am very loyal. Some of the activities I think we could do together is making voice calls, video calling, watching movies and shows, listening to music together. I could even read to you, if you’d like (some people say I have a very nice voice; calm and soothing). Also, we could sleep together while on a voice call so we both feel we’re protecting each other. Fair warning though, I will not send a picture of myself until I know you well and I trust you; that won’t take longer than a day though. But I will provide a physical description of me; I have hazel eyes, dark blond or light brown hair, white skin, 175cm tall, average build and Italian looks. I wear circled glasses. I also intent to keep the conversation as SFW as possible.
I am looking for a male between 18 and 24, that may be willing to date me, love me, help me as only a partner would, spend time with me and doing all the things I already listed. Regarding looks, I don’t have any requirements in particular, only one really I’m ONLY attracted to THIN/SKINNY people, that’s all, because personality is far more important. Also I won’t reply to any profile that has a Not SFW post or comments on it (if your profile is Not SFW but it’s empty or with SFW comments and posts, I will reply) If you are everything I’ve described and you feel we could be a match, then I encourage you to message me, and just tell me your age and what you thought of my post and from there I hope we may start building a beautiful relationship!

Hello there! I’m looking to meet someone in order to hopefully get a boyfriend either from North America or Europe. I think I can be a good partner. I know that I’m capable of falling in love, I know the importance of faithfulness, I know how to be patient, I know how to support my partner and most of all I know that when you find someone you feel attracted to and that you fell in love with, you’re in for a treat.
I’ve tried other dating apps such as Tinder to look for people close to me, but it turns out that I haven’t reached or connected with anyone in the right way that I’m trying to accomplish by making this post here. And also, since my social life is not exaggeratedly huge, I don’t know anyone else that feels attracted towards men and may like me and I him.
I would describe myself most of all as a not very masculine nor very feminine person, although I’m more masculine than feminine. I am very loving, caring, helpful, I am kind, warm, supportive and sensitive. I love writing love letters. I really like compromise and commitment and once I’m in love, I’m faithful to only one person. Furthermore, I am very loyal. Some of the activities I think we could do together is making voice calls, video calling, watching movies and shows, listening to music together. I could even read to you, if you’d like (some people say I have a very nice voice; calm and soothing). Also, we could sleep together while on a voice call so we both feel we’re protecting each other. Fair warning though, I will not send a picture of myself until I know you well and I trust you; that won’t take longer than a day though. But I will provide a physical description of me; I have hazel eyes, dark blond or light brown hair, white skin, 175cm tall, average build and Italian looks. I wear circled glasses. I also intent to keep the conversation as SFW as possible.
I am looking for a male between 18 and 24, that may be willing to date me, love me, help me as only a partner would, spend time with me and doing all the things I already listed. Regarding looks, I don’t have any requirements in particular, only one really I’m ONLY attracted to THIN/SKINNY people, that’s all, because personality is far more important. Also I won’t reply to any profile that has a Not SFW post or comments on it (if your profile is Not SFW but it’s empty or with SFW comments and posts, I will reply) If you are everything I’ve described and you feel we could be a match, then I encourage you to message me, and just tell me your age and what you thought of my post and from there I hope we may start building a beautiful relationship!

Hello there! I’m looking to meet someone in order to hopefully get a boyfriend either from North America or Europe. I think I can be a good partner. I know that I’m capable of falling in love, I know the importance of faithfulness, I know how to be patient, I know how to support my partner and most of all I know that when you find someone you feel attracted to and that you fell in love with, you’re in for a treat.
I’ve tried other dating apps such as Tinder to look for people close to me, but it turns out that I haven’t reached or connected with anyone in the right way that I’m trying to accomplish by making this post here. And also, since my social life is not exaggeratedly huge, I don’t know anyone else that feels attracted towards men and may like me and I him.
I would describe myself most of all as a not very masculine nor very feminine person, although I’m more masculine than feminine. I am very loving, caring, helpful, I am kind, warm, supportive and sensitive. I love writing love letters. I really like compromise and commitment and once I’m in love, I’m faithful to only one person. Furthermore, I am very loyal. Some of the activities I think we could do together is making voice calls, video calling, watching movies and shows, listening to music together. I could even read to you, if you’d like (some people say I have a very nice voice; calm and soothing). Also, we could sleep together while on a voice call so we both feel we’re protecting each other. Fair warning though, I will not send a picture of myself until I know you well and I trust you; that won’t take longer than a day though. But I will provide a physical description of me; I have hazel eyes, dark blond or light brown hair, white skin, 175cm tall, average build and Italian looks. I wear circled glasses. I also intent to keep the conversation as SFW as possible.
I am looking for a male between 18 and 24, that may be willing to date me, love me, help me as only a partner would, spend time with me and doing all the things I already listed. Regarding looks, I don’t have any requirements in particular, only one really I’m ONLY attracted to THIN/SKINNY people, that’s all, because personality is far more important. Also I won’t reply to any profile that has a Not SFW post or comments on it (if your profile is Not SFW but it’s empty or with SFW comments and posts, I will reply) If you are everything I’ve described and you feel we could be a match, then I encourage you to message me, and just tell me your age and what you thought of my post and from there I hope we may start building a beautiful relationship!

Hello there! I’m looking to meet someone in order to hopefully get a boyfriend either from North America or Europe. I think I can be a good partner. I know that I’m capable of falling in love, I know the importance of faithfulness, I know how to be patient, I know how to support my partner and most of all I know that when you find someone you feel attracted to and that you fell in love with, you’re in for a treat.
I’ve tried other dating apps such as Tinder to look for people close to me, but it turns out that I haven’t reached or connected with anyone in the right way that I’m trying to accomplish by making this post here. And also, since my social life is not exaggeratedly huge, I don’t know anyone else that feels attracted towards men and may like me and I him.
I would describe myself most of all as a not very masculine nor very feminine person, although I’m more masculine than feminine. I am very loving, caring, helpful, I am kind, warm, supportive and sensitive. I love writing love letters. I really like compromise and commitment and once I’m in love, I’m faithful to only one person. Furthermore, I am very loyal. Some of the activities I think we could do together is making voice calls, video calling, watching movies and shows, listening to music together. I could even read to you, if you’d like (some people say I have a very nice voice; calm and soothing). Also, we could sleep together while on a voice call so we both feel we’re protecting each other. Fair warning though, I will not send a picture of myself until I know you well and I trust you; that won’t take longer than a day though. But I will provide a physical description of me; I have hazel eyes, dark blond or light brown hair, white skin, 175cm tall, average build and Italian looks. I wear circled glasses. I also intent to keep the conversation as SFW as possible.
I am looking for a male between 18 and 24, that may be willing to date me, love me, help me as only a partner would, spend time with me and doing all the things I already listed. Regarding looks, I don’t have any requirements in particular, only one really I’m ONLY attracted to THIN/SKINNY people, that’s all, because personality is far more important. Also I won’t reply to any profile that has a Not SFW post or comments on it (if your profile is Not SFW but it’s empty or with SFW comments and posts, I will reply) If you are everything I’ve described and you feel we could be a match, then I encourage you to message me, and just tell me your age and what you thought of my post and from there I hope we may start building a beautiful relationship!

Hello there! I’m looking to meet someone in order to hopefully get a boyfriend either from North America or Europe. I think I can be a good partner. I know that I’m capable of falling in love, I know the importance of faithfulness, I know how to be patient, I know how to support my partner and most of all I know that when you find someone you feel attracted to and that you fell in love with, you’re in for a treat.
I’ve tried other dating apps such as Tinder to look for people close to me, but it turns out that I haven’t reached or connected with anyone in the right way that I’m trying to accomplish by making this post here. And also, since my social life is not exaggeratedly huge, I don’t know anyone else that feels attracted towards men and may like me and I him.
I would describe myself most of all as a not very masculine nor very feminine person, although I’m more masculine than feminine. I am very loving, caring, helpful, I am kind, warm, supportive and sensitive. I love writing love letters. I really like compromise and commitment and once I’m in love, I’m faithful to only one person. Furthermore, I am very loyal. Some of the activities I think we could do together is making voice calls, video calling, watching movies and shows, listening to music together. I could even read to you, if you’d like (some people say I have a very nice voice; calm and soothing). Also, we could sleep together while on a voice call so we both feel we’re protecting each other. Fair warning though, I will not send a picture of myself until I know you well and I trust you; that won’t take longer than a day though. But I will provide a physical description of me; I have hazel eyes, dark blond or light brown hair, white skin, 175cm tall, average build and Italian looks. I wear circled glasses. I also intent to keep the conversation as SFW as possible.
I am looking for a male between 18 and 24, that may be willing to date me, love me, help me as only a partner would, spend time with me and doing all the things I already listed. Regarding looks, I don’t have any requirements in particular, only one really I’m ONLY attracted to THIN/SKINNY people, that’s all, because personality is far more important. Also I won’t reply to any profile that has a Not SFW post or comments on it (if your profile is Not SFW but it’s empty or with SFW comments and posts, I will reply) If you are everything I’ve described and you feel we could be a match, then I encourage you to message me, and just tell me your age and what you thought of my post and from there I hope we may start building a beautiful relationship!

I know beggers can’t be choosers, but is there a GF pizza/dough/recipe out there that has that isn’t a crunchy thin crust? Before going gluten free, I LOVED Domino’s pan crust. It was fluffy, chewy, and flaky. Just wondering if anyone has found anything similar out there.