#once i move far enough away from that facility to feel safe posting its location

[nexus-nebulae]

holy shit i think this past saturday was the first time in TEN ENTIRE MONTHS that i forgot to take my pills for a day

[nikadoesanart]

Dazai living in a shipping container analysis

I’ll be talking about the “pros” and “cons”, if you can even call them that, of Dazai living in a shipping container near a dumping site. Also I am using what architecture knowledge I do have on the subject of container homes.

This is on the longer side so brace yourself. Also Stormbringer spoiler warning, in case that wasn’t realized yet.

Before I actually start I’ll preface this by saying that I’m a former architecture student but it was with a design focus. I have also previously designed a shipping container home so although I have some knowledge, it does have its limitations.

Also this will be updated when the fan translations get to this part of Stormbringer. Currently, I’m getting the information from chazukekani and popopretty’s summaries and translations, so please check them out too!

As a general reference for what to expect of a shipping container home, the average shipping container is 8 x 20 ft or 8 x 40 ft. As a more visual example, here is a portion of the container house I designed. Note that it’s total length is 30ft because I have two 20ft long containers stacked on top of each other, with a 10ft offset. The space beyond the sliding doors is a balcony and can basically be ignored for the purpose of this analysis. With the pictured dimensions, you can consider it to be insulated from the outside, so as not to sacrifice internal space. Despite this, you can see that it feels fairly cramped even with minimal furniture (a sink, toilet and shower unit in the bathroom and a bed, desk, and wardrobe closet in the master bedroom).

Dazai’s current living arrangement

Now for comparison, let’s first take note of what’s known of Dazai’s living conditions for comparison.

he’s living in an illegal dumping site, and there are toxic substances coming from the ground because of this

“Not even a field mouse would dare to approach it.” (Popopretty)

the area is not on the map and Dazai lives near the center of it (which can easily be one of the worst parts in terms of health and safety)

the container was previously “used to export passenger cars overseas” (popopretty)

his only furniture is a fridge, (exhaust) fan, desk/table, a chair, and a bare light bulb

no one would approach “not just because the place itself was weird. It was because no one could predict how Dazai would react if someone approached his private residence.” (Popopretty)

it’s been a year since he’s joined, yet no one trusts him → he could’ve been living here since before he joined but we don’t know as of yet

he’s sitting in complete darkness, lightbulb off and door shut, until Verlaine opens the door and walks in

Verlaine asks if he’s living here because he’s afraid of property taxes but Dazai claims that he’s afraid of Verlaine. He’s not actually addressing his choice of location because he only corrected Verlaine on what he fears, and gives no actual explanation for why he chose to live here.

The “pros”

Naturally unapproachable location. Even if Dazai being PM Dazai wasn’t a factor in people staying away, the nearby smell alone means no one would normally approach it, much less suspect a Port Mafia executive of all people to be living there. It’s also unmapped territory so even less reason for him to be found. This means enemies and allies alike would have a more difficult time trying to find him (ie. to come for his life) and there’s unlikely to be anyone else around. After all, if even a mouse won’t go there why would a whole person live there?

It costs him nothing. Not that it’d make a difference with what we can assume of his financial wealth. He has money, likely more than Chuuya who lives in a nice apartment in a nice area, yet chooses to live in a shipping container in an illegal dumping site. This is beneficial for Dazai, since there’s no paper trail or record of where he lives, which goes right into my 3rd point.

Ease of abandonment. Considering his whole goal at the time is to off himself without troubling others in the process, it makes sense that he’d want to leave minimal traces behind. No unpaid rent or mortgage, no one on a waiting list to move into a nice place, and no personal belongings or attachments. This winds up being a pro/advantageous when he does leave the PM since there wasn’t a trace to follow him with in the first place. He can simply grab his few things of importance and find a new shipping container or abandoned building outside of the PM’s territory. In fact, he might’ve even been able to stay there or in that general area since no one dares to approach it in the first place.

The “cons”

Or should I say say the dangerous living conditions he’s in. I don’t find them surprising because again, he doesn’t have a long term plan to live at this point. He doesn’t have much reason to care about what happens to himself, as we can deduce from his overall disregard towards being constantly injured and in danger for example. This is also where the architectural stuff comes into play.

Let’s start with the most visible one, lack of insulation. With a shipping container home, you can insulate from the inside and lose about a foot of interior space in each direction (6 in. off each wall) or from the outside and lose the aesthetic of the textured walls. Either way, it costs time and money to do it. We know it’s not insulated from the inside because of the illustration and, in my opinion, it’s very unlikely that Dazai would’ve gotten it insulated from the outside because at the very least, it would make his container stand out among the others nearby. You need to insulate a container home because they get very hot or cold in the summer and winter respectively, as they are made of metal. I’ve heard that at the very least, Japan’s summers are HOT.

This one is a little harder to confirm and will likely be updated as fan translations are released, but a likely hazardous set up for electricity and (hopefully) plumbing. If you don’t have the insulation on the inside but you still have your electrical and plumbing, it can possibly become both a visual mess and a safety hazard. It’s possible that he kept it all in the back portion of his container for example, or maybe he has it taped to the floor or walls somewhere, but that also brings the question of where it’s connected to on the outside. Since he’s on a dumping site, then where’s the electrical going to go at the very least? Sure he can use nearby public facilities but every day? He has a fridge, single lightbulb and a fan but where is the power is connected to? In terms of plumbing, I think it’s equally likely he found a Porta potty nearby or there’s (hopefully) some sort of public or PM owned facility nearby. Really, his hygiene, especially during the PM days when he was (as far as we the audience are aware) likely at his lowest, can easily become its own separate question/discussion for another day. After all, we’re just talking about the condition of his container in this post.

The possible fumes and chemicals left over. The paint on shipping containers is meant to withstand the sea water splashing on to them, so it may contain harsh chemicals. And we know that his container was used previously to ship cars overseas, but that still leaves the possibility for things to have leaked on the inside at this time. We don’t actually know if it’s been used more than once, but seeing as we do have a usage history, I’d say there’s a fair enough chance for it to have been a single use container. Still, chemicals could’ve previously leaked and the paint may be a concern in the long run. It’s also possible that it has begun rusting as well, due to the metal being exposed to the likes of sea water. Also, let’s not forget the toxic substances from the illegal dumping site itself, possibly going into the container over time.

Also as far as we can tell, there seems to be a lack of windows. This means no natural light, aside from opening a whole door. Keep in mind that windows can help with indoor temperature control, not just natural light.

Living in a dump site, especially an illegal one. This one should speak for itself but I’ll list some concerns anyway. Seeing as it’s illegal, we can probably just forget about regulations altogether, much less any possible existing ones being followed. This means that there can be literally anything from hazardous waste material, to dangerous and sharp objects on the ground, to who knows what kind of smells and fumes, etc. In short, not a safe area to live in, for health concern reasons at a minimum.

Again, my knowledge on shipping container homes themselves is limited and I do recommend checking out Belinda Carr’s videos on some of the downsides of them from a professional’s POV.

7 reasons why shipping container homes are a scam

Responding to comments: shipping container scam video

Also, just because Dazai was making presumably LARGE amounts of money obviously doesn’t mean that he has to spend it all or live luxuriously if he doesn’t want to. It’s not that hard to infer why Dazai did choose to live in such conditions and I mainly wanted to draw attention to how these conditions can affect him, with both the advantages and disadvantages.

[gukieater]

Fic idea 1 : Apocalyptic Heart

Pairing: Jungkook x OC (f) X Taehyung

Genre: Post Apocalyptic World, Zombie, Special Ability (Jungkook), experiments, evolution, illegal medical trial, inhuman treatment, Survival, Angst, fluff (eventual smut), possible future yandere (Jungkook), blood, possible dismantling, biting, death of minor characters, age difference, noona.

Disclaimer: This is not a full fiction or story, merely a plot. Please read this post before proceeding. If you are reading this, you can reblog the post if u want to!

Music Recommendation: Wolves of Odin- Colossal Trailer Music

Plot or Synopsis: It is about an apocalyptic world where the human population is overthrown by mutated creatures, who once used to be human. L/N Y/N is a 21 year old girl surviving on her own. She's constantly on the road, salvaging supplies for survival, on her daily run, she meets lone or group of survivors but she never sticks around, living by her rule "Alone is Safe".

On her journey to survival she meets a pregnant woman who seems to be on the run and in a pretty bad shape. Around 3 years ago, Y/N lost her sister when the breakout started, and she remembered how she was helpless enough not being able to save her sister. Seeing the pregnant woman, she is reminded of her elder sister and gets attached. So she decides to stay by her to take care of her and her unborn baby and breaks the one and only rule she lived by so far, to survive alone.

Soon she realizes the woman is being chased by people, not just brain eating monsters. They seem powerful and battle ready. She kept asking the woman why she was being chased and she told Y/N the less she knew, the safer she will be. Running from them being the 1st priority, she doesn't press the woman for further explanation. One day while supply run, they are cornered by those mystery men's and they go into hiding. The anxiety and stress leads the woman to go into labor and she gives birth to a boy. But soon their hiding location is compromised and they need to run again. After the birth the woman is too weak to run. So refuses to go with Y/N saying she will slow them down. So Y/N now has a choice to either stay and get caught by those men or take the baby and run, leaving the mother behind. The woman insists she does the later. Y/N doesn't argue further, knowing that's the only logical thing to do. So even though she feels guilty, she vows to the woman to protect the child and runs away while the woman buys her time by tricking them thinking she has the baby.

Y/N is not the kind to stay in the same location for long as it draws the undead but she needs a place to keep the baby safe, since she can't carry him to her daily run. So she decides to settle down in some outskirt, to raise him in safety. But things starts to get complicated when she notices the kid isn't an average child. He is growing at an unprecedented rate and shows undisputable strength. By the time the child was 1 months old, he already grew into a 1 year old kid.

Although she decides to take the child in to protect it and raise, in the back of her mind she somewhat resents it, knowing it was the reason the mother had to sacrifice herself. It reminds of herself, how her elder sister sacrificed herself to a group of undead when they broke into her house in the middle of the night so she can buy Y/N some time to run away. If it wasn't for either of them, her sister and the mother would be alive. So she never cuddles the baby, only holds him when he's crying, doesn't name him, never shows any affection towards it. She feels kind of relieved for the child's growth as she didn't need to care for an infant for long. But there is something in the way the child looks at her, like she holds the moon and star for him, sometimes it bothers her as if the child sees through her.

After 4 months of settling down in a outskirt school near the hill, one day she returns home after salvaging for rations, she saw that the boy was not in the room. She clearly remembers locking the door when she left but seeing the door unlocked, she starts to panic. She starts looking for the boy and curses herself for not naming him. While calling out to the boy, she hears a faint voice. She followed the trail of voice and as she moved closer, the faint voice became clearer and she can clearly hear someone calling for 'Noona'. When she stepped into the backyard she could she the boy crouching down to a half-dead plant. As the boy touched the plant she watched in her dismay the plant coming back to life. Noticing her presence, the boy looked at her direction and calling out to her as "noona". She was both shocked and scared because she never taught him to speak neither spoke much around him. The boy observed her and watching her act distant and frightened around him made him upset. As he tried to approach her to hold her hand and comfort her, she kept looking at the plant. She saw the plant wither and eventually rot as he took a step further to her direction. She was startled, she tumbled on her feet and fall down on her back and called him a monster. With teary eyes he told her his name was Jungkook,not monster or "kid". Jungkook, that's what his mother wanted to call him.

She had a lot of questions to Jungkook. Like how he opened the lock, how he knew what her mother wanted to call him, how he knew how to speak and knew what monster meant and how was he doing that to the plant. He said that he felt sad and lonely so he wanted to find you, at first he didn't know how the lock worked but he figured it out. When he made it to the backyard, he the only thing that felt alive in there was the plant and it was dying. He felt like he could help it. When she asked how he knew what sadness and loneliness was he said he shared the memory of his mother from her pregnancy. She would often cry and feel restless what she termed as sadness or loneliness until she came along. That's how he knew who Y/N was, why he called her noona and how he knew he could trust her, as he described how his mother felt around her, safe & warm. She doesn't question further about the wilting plant. After talking to Jungkook, she started connecting the dots about why his mother was chased and how Jungkook was no ordinary child. She realized maybe keeping Jungkook safe won't be just as easy as raising him.

Jungkook learned and picked up on things quite easily so going to runs was getting quite easier but still uneasiness settled in Y/N's mind. She can't control the situation when she's away and the thought of Jungkook taken away or even worse getting attacked was quite startling. She never shows it but she deeply cares about the kid. Jungkook himself was quite clingy towards Y/N although she never reciprocates the affection. She simply keeps up the role of a provider. it's been already 16 months since they've been living in the outskirt and the undead are picking up on her scent due to her daily trail in the same direction as she keeps seeing more and more of them in the surrounding area.

So after a few close encounters and trial salvage run with Jungkook, she decides to move out of the outskirt and target bigger cities. She avoided bigger cities so far thinking the people chasing Jungkook's mother may still be looking for him. By the time living there, Jungkook already grew up to become a teenager so she reasoned, the people looking for him would be looking for a child, not so much of a well-build boy who looks like who is in his late teen's. She thought maybe it's time to move around. But maybe it was not a good decision after all. Things starts to shift, not always for the best interest. Few days in the city, Y/N starts to realize that Jungkook is perfectly fit to tend for himself and rather than keeping him safe, Y/N is the one slowing him down and making him vulnerable. If she's caught with Jungkook they can use her against him to make him comply but if she's not with him, he is perfectly capable and trained to slipping away.So she decides its time to go back to her old way of life. But things doesn't go as easy as she thought as with time she got extremely attached to Jungkook. On the other hand, Jungkook experiences the same thing unfold in front of him again. At first it was his mother, who was separated from him and now his Noona whom he loves very dearly is abandoning him again. He is upset and he doesn't understand why is she leaving him and it's driving him mad. He can't even read her as he promised he won't do it without her permission. Jungkook's heart is breaking but he departs from her without any objections.

On a run close to a suspicious facility, Y/N meets a survivor who she helps escape from people that looked a lot like the people chasing Jungkook's mother. The boy, not more than 2/3 years older than her introduces himself as Dr. Kim Taehyung, a young scientist from the facility. At first she doesn't trust him but things take turns and Taehyung proves to be someone reliable. Eventually she discovers a lot about the breakout, the undead and how the facility handled the things only to make it worse. Then he mentions something about the authority going crazy about a subject escaping the facility more than 1.5 year ago and Y/N becomes alert. The description of the escaped subject eerily matched with Jungkook's mother. So she questions taehyung about it and what she finds out leaves her frantic and full of fear & guilt. She sets out to find Jungkook with the help of Taehyung as soon as she can. When departing from Jungkook she knew they would both suffer but what she did not know that, growing up, the bond he shared with her, breaking it or separating Jungkook from her would take a big toll on Jungkook. With every passing moment without her, Jungkook will loose a piece of him that made him human, made him the boy Y/N knew & raised and turn him into more of a thing Y/N feared him to be in the beginning, a monster.

PS: is it a plot anymore? I'm not sure 😅. The plot I intended to write turned out to be more detailed than I would have originally liked but ehh, whatever. If anybody does decides to write about it, they have the full liberty to make changes into the plot or turn or take the story further in any direction they want. Whether they decide to give me a credit for it or nah, it's their discretion but if they do, it would be appreciated so the readers finding this blog may enjoy the full story as well ❤️

This picture is inspired by the entire storyline so far. The pictures I used to make this collage are collected from Pinterest, I don't own them.

[aliceinreverselondon]

You Really Got Me – part 3: Losing Control (Kakashi Hatake x reader)

(note: part 1 and part 2)

This was probably the first time Kakashi realized how little he knew about your friends. Now that you were heading to a stranger’s place, he began to question his own judgment. If it was only the two of you, it would have been fine, but at the end of the day, his students were still kids. What kind of person this Kisuke was? Could he be trusted?

“Let me guess: I went too far again, didn’t I?” you suddenly asked as you looked over at him.

Oh, look at that, you noticed it without help! That was new. “Yeah, you did,” he confirmed with a nod. “But there’s no turning back now, I guess. The least I can do is help when we get there. If they want to see a fight, we’ll give them a good one,” Kakashi added with a smile under the mask.

“I really missed you. Sometimes I forget that we make a pretty awesome team,” you told him before reaching out to take his hand.

There was no question about it now, you had changed a lot since the last time you met. He wondered why, though. Was it all an act? Were you trying to prepare him for something bad? Could it be related to this friend of yours? No, he shouldn’t be paranoid. You probably didn’t have any ulterior motives. As he tried to get rid of his ridiculous thoughts, he laced his fingers with yours.

“Aaaaargh, can you two just stop? I’ll end up throwing up,” Naruto complained in the back.

“I hate to agree with Naruto, but–”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Kakashi interrupted Sakura with a sigh. Damn, how could he forget they were sitting back there? Well, maybe it had something to do with the fact they had been unusually quiet. “Alright, here are some rules: be respectful with our host, don’t be too loud or rude and… just… behave. This isn’t too much to ask for, right?” he asked casually.

He looked back and waited until all three nodded. And then out of the blue, you began to laugh and quickly glanced at the rearview mirror. “But don’t worry, Kisuke is kinda a weirdo as well. Just don’t get on his bad side because even I’m scared of him sometimes,” you added after you cleared your throat.

No, he definitely shouldn’t begin to ask you about why you have such people as friends. But it was an interesting question nonetheless. While he spent most of his time among fellow ninjas, you lived in a completely different world with a wide variety of different creatures. Sometimes he wished he could be a part of it, although that would only be possible if he agreed to become one of your Betas. But he still didn’t want that.

Soon the car parked in front of a perfectly normal looking shop and Kakashi couldn’t help but scratch the back of his neck once he got out of the car and took a good look at the building. This place had an underground training facility? In this case, the shop’s real purpose was to hide their real operation. Clever.

“Sakura, did you order the food?”

Kakashi turned around with a questioning look. When the hell did the two of you have time to talk about that? “Yes, it will be here in about half an hour.” Sakura gave you back your phone and you flashed a surprisingly kind smile at her. “Don’t you think it will be too much? This amount of food would be enough for over ten people.”

“Well, I’m sure Naruto is really hungry,” you began as you winked at the boy, “and I’ll also need food to recharge so… yeah, it will be just enough.”

“Y/N, it’s been a long time since we last met!”

Turning to the source of the cheerful sound, Kakashi noticed a blond man waving at you from the door. Was he that friend you’d talked to? Was he only a friend? Or was there a time there was more between the two of you? No, he had to stop acting like some jealous idiot every time you even looked at another man. You loved him, that was obvious. But by the time he managed to push these thoughts to the back of his mind, everybody was already inside the shop so he quickly caught up with you.

When he stopped, you immediately wrapped an arm around him and said, “And this is Kakashi Hatake, my better half as of now.”

Wait, your what?

“He’s gonna help me with this little… demonstration. And we should do it before the food arrives.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” Kisuke said with a wide grin then signaled the group to follow him. “Once the fight begins, stay where we tell you otherwise you might get hurt,” he explained to the kids along the way.

“So what’s the plan?” Kakashi asked as the two of you stayed behind a bit.

“I don’t have a plan,” you admitted. “But you should go all out against me. Hell, you should also use your Chidori. I’d like to see their faces when I come back after that.”

Okay, so she was really hell-bent on scaring the kids. This could end really, really bad if you lost control, and right now he had a feeling this could easily happen. He knew that look in your eyes and it made him uneasy. Behind that carefree smile was a monster waiting to come out to play.

The training ground was impressive to say the least, he had never seen anything like this before. No wonder you chose this as a location, it was perfect for this purpose. Maybe they should build something like this back home. But these thoughts were soon replaced by new ones because he was still worried about the fight, even when the two of you were facing each other at a safe distance from the rest of the group. How could he stop you if you lost control?

First, it was hand-to-hand combat, using basic weapons for now. Unlike him, though, you never carried weapons with you since you could create them by manipulating a type of dark matter within seconds. It was a handy trick of phantoms, something he envied every now and then. After this, it was time to move on and he began to use different kinds of jutsu against you. There were some you could copy with your own ability, some you dodged by quickly teleporting out of the way, but mostly you created shields to protect yourself.

At one point you stopped and remained completely still, signaling him to use his original move against you. He wasn’t really fond of the idea of attacking you with the intention to kill you because it kept reminding him of what had happened with Rin back in the day. I shouldn’t compare the two, you can easily come back to life in a matter of minutes, he thought. After taking a deep breath, he did it. He pierced his hand through your heart and the only thing that made him feel a little better was the wicked little smile on your lips before you slowly disappeared in the form of black smoke.

As he waited, he thought about the way you had fought him. Something was wrong. Even that smile at the end… it wasn’t a playful one. And even your eyes turned black. You were slowly losing control and this was something he had feared from the beginning. If you came back who kne–

Pain. He felt pain in the back of his head as it hit the ground. When his vision cleared, he noticed you sitting on top of him, one hand tight around his throat, and the other covered in dark matter with an end shaped like a spear. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Soon this spear would be pierced through his head, only to have large spikes forming on its side seconds later. You wanted to kill him. If he didn’t find a way out of this situation this will be the end for him. “Y/N, come one, don’t do this,” he tried.

“Shibari, Benihime,” he heard a faint voice in the background and almost right away a crimson net appeared around your body, completely immobilizing you. When he pushed you off himself and sat up, he noticed Kisuke standing not far from you with a katana in his hand. “Are you okay?” When he nodded in response, the man walked over to you and let out a sigh. “When was the last time you visited him?” he asked quietly.

You looked up at him and your eyes slowly turned back to normal. “Tonight. But it was a quick visit.”

Who the hell were you two talking about? And had it happened right before you met at the restaurant? So if his guess was right, you didn’t disappear because of an assassination.

“Yet it was enough to rile you up,” Kisuke noted as he looked back at the kids. “No wonder they managed to make you this mad. Anyway, did you calm down? We should go and eat, I’m sure the food is already here.”

You nodded, but Kakashi couldn’t look at you now, instead he turned his attention to his students. They were terrified and he couldn’t blame them for this. That was close. Too close.

If you find any mistakes or typos, I’m sorry, I didn’t really read it again before posting.

taglist: @spn-obession​​​ @marajillana​​ @sarahschance​

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hey!! I was wondering if you had any advice for a character concept I've been playing with? :) long story short, my character wasn't born blind, but throughout the story she progressively becomes blind from cataracts- cortical vision impairment to be exact. Is this inherently a bad concept? I really don't want to misrepresent this, and the last thing I want is to make people mad about it. Is there a way I should go about this? Thanks!!

Later message from same Anon: Hey! Just following up on my ask of writing a blind character in the Victorian era- sorry if I missed it

Note: in a message between the first and third, anon added that this story takes place in the Victorian era.

You certainly did not miss it, I’ve just been lazy (struggling) with blog maintenance and have been procrastinating answering several asks.  Historical fiction is out of my area of expertise, so this required more research than general advice.

Also, my first and second attempts at an answer were eaten away by computer/tumblr difficulties, so I had to rewrite a lot.

I think it is a fantastic idea to have your character go blind slowly over time. It is also ambitious, so it is something you need to be careful with, but it’s totally doable.

So the era throws me a little because I’ve never had much practice with historical fiction and history wasn’t a fave subject of mine. Most of my research into blind history has been after World War I, because the sudden surge of blinded veterans changed the course of history for the blind community. This and technology overall led to those huge changes.

So I did a little reading up on the recent evolutions of blindness and the world’s general understanding of it in the 1800s.

Conclusion: society was shit with disability, but I already knew that. There were some remarkable inventions and innovations for blindness in this century, which I will get to later.

 So this post will be: 1. The more personal aspects of going blind over time (instead of all at once) such as acceptance vs denial, life changes, and internalized ableism. 2. Speculating on society’s perception of the blind. 3. Innovations for the blind in that era and what comes after.

 So, part one. The Emotional…

As someone who has slowly lost vision over the course of years and has no idea how far this will progress, I can tell you that it’s an agonizing process of realization, denial, understanding, acceptance, adaption.

Realizing you’re going blind comes in small pieces that eventually add up to become a puzzle. And for this reason, adaption follows a similar pattern.

You identify a problem, feel conflicted about this change, wonder if you should ignore or investigate, and regardless of which path you take, you find a new way to adapt.

I’m going to use an example of my process through this, so you can see the actual thought patterns and how they circle between “this isn’t a problem” – “wait this is a problem” – “no I’m fine!” – “this is a problem.” – “I’m fine, what am I complaining for” – “I made this change and now my life is 100x easier??? Who knew? Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

Example from my life: Light is bright. That hurts but I’m fine. I get sunglasses. The pain with bright light is getting worse. Okay, that’s concerning, maybe I should talk to a doctor. Doctor says I’m fine but now I’m thinking I’m not okay. Why are my eyes doing this? Why do I hurt? Oh, and now bright lights at night are becoming a problem, and I get more headaches associated with light. I could wear sunglasses at night and indoors, but society has given me a negative and judgemental opinion of that, so I don’t want to do it. Best friend pushes me to give up on that negative view for the sake of my health. Finally I listen and life feels much better, but I’m still a little uncomfortable with this change. I feel very blind with my sunglasses, but that’s the only way to not feel pain. And now I feel blind when I’m not wearing any light protection, but I’m in pain this way. What’s wrong with me?

And this is just my internal argument with sunglasses and light sensitivity, from age 17-22. On the other side is my struggle with “do I need a cane” from age 21-22, which goes like this-

It’s August and I’m walking through a semi-familiar but gigantic and ridiculously crowded park with a group of friends. It’s bright out and I need to wear my sunglasses. And now I’m realizing there is a dilemma. I can’t see. My sunglasses are too dark to see. But going without is painful and just as bad vision wise. BUT I CAN’T SEE! I’m scared, I’m going to run into someone or something, I’ll get lost or separated from my friends and not be able to find them. I can’t see curbs or pillars or people and the only thing keeping me safe is holding onto K, who knows my current vision situation when no one else does

And I think to myself- this day would be so much easier if I had a cane.

But I haven’t needed one before, and I don’t ‘normally’ need one. Just every time I go outside on a sunny day. I don’t need it all the time, so I can’t have one, I’m fine.

But these things keep happening, where I’m outside and terrified but I think I’m still “sighted” and my only problem is some light sensitivity and not-super-great sunglasses. My glasses let me see 20/20 (or they did, which they did not a year later) so I definitely don’t need a cane at all.

Young past self, you were so wrong. You needed that.

Eventually I had a breaking point when one year later I’m seeing 20/50 with best correction (so, by legal definitions I’m not even visually impaired yet) but I’m terrified of leaving my house and can’t travel alone and am a literal danger to myself because I can’t see and can’t tell people I can’t see because of social anxiety and internalized ableism-

And the breaking point was that I finally got seriously hurt because I was in a situation where I couldn’t see and wasn’t brave enough to ask my current company to be a sighted guide. That’s the day I ordered a cane, and when it came two weeks ago, I finally remembered what it’s like to not be so terrified for my life every time I left my home.

Your character will over time find problems with her daily life that she didn’t have before, and she’ll deal with each one individually, but with all of them will usually be a repeating thought pattern that is unique to her. It depends on her internalized ableism and society’s ableism (and that era is full of it) and accommodations available to them at the time (also not great).

She’ll solve each problem at a different point that may coincide with other problems and yet still seem like entirely separate problems to them. Like how I wouldn’t relate my need for sunglasses and my need for a cane at the same time because they felt like separate battles to me with their own timelines and similar but still different thought processes.

You will have to decide on a case by case basis what accommodations or accessibility she can have at that time.

 Society’s view on blindness:

It’s shit.

It’s not great now, in the world of information available at your fingertips. It’s desperately worse in history.

 (TW: abuse of disabled people mentioned -thoroughly- in the next two paragraphs)

Everyone with a disability was treated like shit. Sensory disabilities (Deaf or Blind or Deafblind people) and mental illness were treated the worst. There is historical religious persecution against them, saying that they were made ill by the devil or a vengeful God. Which lead to abuse. They were seen as helpless or unproductive, defective, and so were treated as burdens upon their family and society. Because of this, abuse from parents and family members was horribly common for disabled people. Disabled people were often left in asylums by their family members because they were seen as a burden, where there was usually still more abuse to come.

There are still children with disabilities who are abused by their parents, families, care givers, or any facility they’ve been placed in. The cases of abuse are less, but by no means over.

 Ableism in general is just rampant and it’s only cured through the distribution of information. Most people (today) have never met a blind person in real life, had a conversation with one. Through the internet they can find information, but in pre-internet and media eras I can’t imagine how much ignorance runs about.

Most people think blindness is something that only happens with old age, birth defects, or tragic accidents. Or that blindness is obvious in a person. Not the case, as we both know, but certainly a cause for many misunderstandings.

 This section is where the development of technology and understanding of blind people begins, but there’s still some ugly history involving abuse of the disabled to come.

Technology and History

 (TW: abuse towards historical disabled people in next paragraph)

In 1785 the Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles, the world’s very first school for the blind was established in Paris, France. It was opened internationally to children who society had previously deemed unteachable. Valentin Haüy witnessed acts of bullying and cruelty done to blind hospice patients and it inspired him to attempt teaching a blind beggar. He taught the boy to read through raised letters (because Braille was not yet invented). The school he founded could better be described as a trade school, because its primary purpose was to teach work skills like letter press and weaving (going back to Valentin’s childhood, whose family worked as weavers)

Due to criminal activity (he was labeled as a terrorist related to the French Revolution and was a member of the Panthéon Club) he was forced to leave the school in 1802. He later moved to Russia (1806) and began a new school upon the request of Alexander I of Russia.

(TW: child abuse mention in next paragraph)

After his leave, the school had a change in leadership and location, and subsequently quality. Sébastien Guillié became the new director and was later forced to leave because of the inhumane conditions of the facility and welfare of the children. Those children lived in a French Revolution prison that was refurbished as an asylum/school for their education. It was cold and dirty. They were kept in the dark, only allowed to bathe once a month, and poorly fed. This went on until 1821 when he was forced to leave.

Louis Braille (the inventor of Braille) was a student of the school until Guillié’s reign of terror.

The school was later moved to Boulevard des Invalides, and it remains there today. Information with this school is hard for me to access. It doesn’t have the prettiest history, so I can only speculate how much was left out of the books to save the school, and what information I could access is in French.

However, back to Braille.

Braille was invented by Frenchman Louis Braille in 1824. Before his invention, he was taught to read through raised lettering, and he concluded that raised lettering was impractical because-

1.       It is difficult to read, the letters had to be printed in huge font to be fully felt out and printed on thick paper.

2.       Thick paper means higher quality, more expensive. Larger font means more paper is needed for a single text.

3.       This made it inaccessible due to expense and the sheer volume of a text.

4.       If today’s Braille books are hard to access and giant compared to traditional books, I can’t imagine how inaccessible those raised letter books really were

 Five years later The Perkins School for the Blind was founded in America, making education accessible to blind and deafblind children, and this time it focused on reading and mathematics, more education than trade school.

Though it would not have been possible for your character to attend the school herself, it could be possible that she became acquainted with a teacher or former student of either school, who might have passed on some O&M skills to her or some not so pleasant tales.

Side note: the Perkins Brailler (a typewriter machine for Braille) was developed by a wood working teacher at the Perkins School for the Blind – in 1951, so not applicable to your character’s time period, but I didn’t know this, so I must info-dump

 This is before the eugenics movement of 20th century America, when the belief that people with “poor breeding” should be prevented from breeding. The eugenics movement targeted not only the disabled, but lower class and people of color.

  The white cane as an accessibility tool was not “discovered” until the 1930’s by Philip Strong, who painted his walking stick white to make himself more visible. This piece of history is a little flimsy in my opinion. Techniques are discovered and lost and rediscovered all the time. You can’t prove he was the first person to “wave a stick” in front of him to find obstacles.

But he is credited for making the white cane something that could be a standard identifier to tell people (moving obstacles) “hey, I’m blind, don’t hit me with your loud vehicle” and made a movement of other people getting white canes to identify themselves.

I very much thank him for it, seeing as I’m so sighted-passing sometimes. If white canes weren’t standard everyone-must-know-what-this-means sort of thing, I think people would just watch me “wave a stick” around and think I’d lost my mind.

(TW: suicide of disabled character mention in next paragraph)

So when you see something like in Downton Abby (season 2) when Thomas and Sybil are trying to teach a blinded soldier how to use a cane to navigate… it could be possible, something that actually occurred to some people then. Although, now that I think about it, that character killed himself by the end of the episode and that still upsets me.

Downton Abby got the period-typical ableism right, I will give them that. Both the internalized ableism as well as how strangers treat you, they got that right. What they did to their disabled characters still bothers me (i.e. death and cure subplots)

(TW has been lifted, you made it past.)

But with World War 1, there was a huge number of blinded veterans entering the world and that did make way for big changes in the world of blindness-

Within a few decades guide dogs were being trained, white canes were becoming a thing, Schools for the Blind were thinking, “hey, maybe we should teach adults these skills too!” and life continued on until it eventually reached out modern world. Which, not applicable to your era, but I think it’s important to know what wasn’t available or common knowledge for your character.

If anyone has other information about historical fiction, the Victorian era, and historical ableism and disability, please feel free to reblog with your input and I’ll reblog it.

As always, this post can be found on my blog through the tags: reference, blind character, historical fiction

[grim-faux]

24 - Morphogenic Engine

“The Engine.  The Morphogenic Engine.  It gets in my head like a song you can’t stop humming.”

The air is cool and fresh, filled with the scent of fallen rain.  Dusk is fast approaching and the lights from the lamp posts burn with a clarity I’m not accustomed to.  I take a breath smelling the moist soil, pine, soggy leaves.  I stare at the edifice before me, my adversary, a world of untold horrors, consuming nightmares as they manifest in fractured minds.  I couldn’t know any of this staring at the covered windows, the compliant walls.  The wind picks up and I pull the collar of my coat closer to my neck. That sense of foreboding returns. The place was unnatural, but I couldn’t decide how. It was just a tall building of brick and wood, with the mountainous region backdrops. The tall buildings thin spires stretched high overhead into the heavens, where men once flew to touch the sun. It was hard to imagine the warmth of the sun with the chilled air swarming. In my ears was a humming. It had always been present, unending and livid with cadence. But I had ignored it. Ignored it like I had ignored my instincts about this terrible place. Something was in the air, a charge, a warning. When did it become so thunderous in my ears? Or was that my heartbeat? I ran my thumb along the inside of my palm counting my fingers. When I reached the fourth digit I turned my head down and stared at my shoes. It buzzed in my bones, until my outer extremities were numb. My skin and muscles felt hot and cold all in the same sensation. It was too much. Or was it the sound? That persistent din, rising above the still forest and jagged mountains that surrounded me. Driving into my skull until I could hear nothing but the booming howl in my ears. I felt my consciousness waver, it was impossible to stay upright. Where did that sound come from? Who was making that noise?! Why?! Why did it follow me!? My lips pulled back over my teeth as my jaw clenched.  Why?  Why any of this?  Moisture rolled down my cheeks, a few drops hit my coat turning the brown into a black spot.

A sudden presence is at my back.  I could hear his breathing, soft but ragged.  I jerk my head up terrified to turn, frightened by what would be there, what I would see.  But the fear fades when the actions fails to come, and once again I was staring at the Engine of nightmares.  Mount Massive Asylum.

“Little ghost.” The voice crooned behind me.  “Little ghost.  Time to wake up.”

My eyes open a crack and I found the edge of my face pressed into my bloody shoulder.  Where Trager had clipped me.  The fabric of my coat felt sticky against my cheek, though the blood had dried hours ago.  I exhaled slowly letting myself reacquaint with the pain, my reluctant return to the muggy and distorted world I had come to inhabit.  A ghost to pragmatism.  It took a brief moment for my mind to catch up, reload the most recent events.  What had I been doing?  It was painful to recall.  How long had I been unconscious?  Enough to help me carry on.  I had no choice, there was no telling where Billy was.  I would get moving and leave the nightmares far behind. The air felt cold and my shoulders shook.  Needed to move.  Needed to get up. As I used my hand to brace my body up and leaned forward, I looked to the sheet of paper set on the computer desk beside the keyboard.  It was a single page, stained with a ring of coffee.  I focused on it reading through the lines over and over, even when I had it memorized.   Please find attached the “Permission to Proceed” form for patient William Hope, of the Murkoff Charitable Psychiatry program at Mount Massive Hospital in Colorado (USA). The form is standard, and all relevant lines have been signed. It appears Billy is unaware of his mother’s recent guided cardiac arrest. He is submitting to the experiment with the understanding (unfounded) of financial remuneration to his mother and a charitable contribution to her church. Wernicke, having read the boy’s dream reports, believes he has enormous therapeutic potential. Was Billy’s ‘success’ as an experiment, because he refused to die?  I couldn’t say.  He took the therapy they gave him, he bought their bullshit, and now he and his mother were no better.   Damn you Murkoff.  Damn you for this.  You reap what you sow, now choke on it. A drop of water stained the page, and I quickly rubbed the dampness from my face.  Carefully, I folded the sheet up and inserted it into a clean space of the notebook.  Not as evidence, I’m not sure what to call it.   I didn’t bother to zip the pocket shut.  I pressed my hands to the terminal as I straightened my back, working the stiffness from my muscles and feeling that piercing tingle in my ribs.  My feet felt firm under me but my heart was aching.  I was hollow and lost, despite the resolve that had solidified in me, for what must be done.  One task left to remedy, then I could wash my hands of this place. Aside from the alcove with the desk of computer terminals, there was no other space to explore, but for a short catwalk beyond the desks.  The grate extended out above the cavernous expanse of E Block, below extended the catwalks and paths I had dragged my broken body up.  The present lamps anchored to the walls gleamed with ferocity, I squinted my eyes against them as I stared out over the open gap I had thrown myself across.  The pain flared through my chest and I exhaled that stale coppery taste.  It barely registered in me that I had been up here for god knows how long, unconscious and Billy had an abundance of time to finish me off.  My dire state was somehow lost to my sense of self preservation, or maybe I was too focused on the humming of the generator.  I told myself Billy was weakened when his anesthesia was cut off, I had the advantage.  He was forced to wait.  Bide his time and wait for my return, and that was when I would fear for my life.  That was when I would run.  When that eerie shriek reached me.  Until then. Until then…. I checked through the cameras feed to view what was visible in the thick fog gathering.  The Morphogenic Engine must have been overheating, that’s the only explanation I could conclude for the condensation.  I bit my lip as the image in the visor flashed.  The power in the camera itself was getting low, and that could further contribute to its failure.  But there wasn’t much more of this to endure.  Another white lie to keep me going. The catwalk ended beside metal cabinets built into a cement shed, which extended from the floor somewhere below and up into the ceiling overhead.  This was it, it had to be this.  The generator for the Engine.  I was a bit shocked that it wasn’t more impressive, but perhaps I was only seeing the surface of it.  There would be a panel, a door to open and access the wires.  I secured the camera as I fumbled with the other hand, it was difficult to see but I attributed that to the steam.  One panel had a set of hinges along the crease in its side.  This was it.  There was no visible latch so I just gave the panel a good smack and the door popped open, allowing access to several large bundles of cables hooked into a transformer.  Which ones did I pull?  It was always a good policy to start with the middle of anything, if you’re not certain.  I took the middle bunch and put my other hand up.  It shouldn’t spark if I was careful, and don’t hold it too tight.  I winced as I snapped the clamp free.  Nothing happened.  Good.  I popped the rest free with reckless abandon.  

A soft whirring faded with the connection now severed, lights dimmed as emergency lamps activated in the same power shift.  Sirens chime a warning of the sudden interruption, the cavern groaned with the power loss as distant generators failed.  The experiment would perish, and the howl of something more rose up among the catwalks.  I couldn’t decide if the echoing call was the machine weakening, or the thing it kept alive.  I stood at the rail listening, as I poked my thumb into the cut in my coat sleeve.  Caused when Trager had endeavored to take my head off.   It was eerily silent, and wondered if at long last Billy would locate my position.  There was no doubt in my mind that I could reach the purge chamber before he reached me, but there was nothing.  No scream, no rippling distortions in the steam, no malevolent presence.  Only the soft chatter of the generator as it sputtered into silence.  I spun around and began my way back. That could have been it.  The memo did warn a possible interruption in the experiment, if sufficient distress was introduced.  The life support fluid and the anesthesia had been disabled, and Billy seemed unable to reach me despite my exhaustion.  Maybe cutting the power had been enough to stop him. I would still disable the Fail Safe.  That was the only assured way to terminate the Walrider swarm.  But that would be a simple matter once I reached the Morphogenic chamber.  It remained a ways on the other side of the facility, and I wouldn’t gamble that Billy wouldn’t be waiting on the other side of purge doors when they opened. My feet stumbled when I moved off the last step and crossed to the open doors, and the light within.  The purge doors gave a soft hiss as they shut, and I leaned on the wall as the mist filled the small space.  I was ready to bolt when the doors opened, my muscles were not ready to resume, but I wouldn’t stop.  I had to get around and keep going. When the panels scraped open, there was no shrill hiss to greet me, no vaporous form lingering beside the doorway.  I dithered, before I peered out with the camera.  I had to change the battery, but the replacement was full on power.  Enough to grant passage out of here. Nothing was there.  I made my slow trek through the corridor, unable to decide if there was this much blood when I first came through.  The pain in my skull intensified, I muttered something to myself.  I was trying to coax myself to keep moving.  It wasn’t much further, and then I could puke and pass out if I needed that.  I doubt it’d get me away from the pain for long. Despite the heaviness in my gut, my pace quickened.  Maybe that was it.  Maybe disrupting the life functions of Billy stopped the swarm.  It was too good to be true but I was making progress, as long as I didn’t let my guard down.  I didn’t need to get ahead of myself and fall into a trap.  That’s happened to me too many times.   The end of the corridor came into view and I slowed my pace to gaze out, straining my eyes to see through the blazing light in the damn visor.  Nothing to indicate the presence, no sound.  All was calm.  The visor did flash but it just did that.  I clasped a hand to my eye, that impossible pain.  Why my right eye?  Once I was moving again I could block it.  But why? As I began forward I hear it, very close.  That awful taste coated me throat, something about seizures.  And a light.  He wasn’t gone yet!  Where was it coming from?!  I spun about and saw the wavering ripples coalescing above the open expanse across from the catwalk, skimming towards me.  Shit.  Shit!  My foot caught on the rung of steps that elevated up to the grated walkway.  For god sakes Miles, PICK UP YOUR FEET! I shoved the knuckles of my camera hand into the gaps in the grate and pushed myself up, stumbling to get onto my soles.  Had to cut the corner, it was going to cut me off.  Gotta jump!  Secure the camera!  Gonna— jump— secure the camera! The edge of the walkway was under my feet and I launched off into open air.  I had no idea where I put the camera, couldn’t care in the moment.  It didn’t feel like I had enough momentum behind me when I jumped, but— I gave a sharp yelp when I was torn out of mid leap and dragged backwards.  I couldn’t overcome the terror that choked me, now that I was suspended high-high above a hard floor without a solid surface to latch onto.  And in so much pain!  My spine was somehow being flossed between my ribs.  I gagged and whimpered, Christ, the unnatural sensation!  My feet jerked beneath me and dangled, I couldn’t feel my toes.  My arms pin wheeled out from my body as I tilt backwards, disorientated by the violent movements I was being spun in.  The camera!  My mind automatically locked onto that.  I felt the cameras weight in my upper arms sleeve.  I found my camera!  It was safe! I snapped around and suddenly the apparition was at my face.  It was expressionless from what my distorted vision could make out, but I could FEEL it sneer.  Its anger.  I stare wide eye trying to take calm breathes, its ‘hands’ tighten around my chest and I let out a whimper.  The pressure was intense, digging through my coat and shirt and piercing into my muscles.  I couldn’t help but let out a pitiful sound. No.  No.  NO!  Guts and gore!  Liquefied Murkoff!  Chris’ final squeal of agony as his body scattered over white stone.  A blast of cold pulses through my body as I try in vain to kick free, but I can’t feel my legs. The Walrider fades and I give a short cry as I’m propelled backwards, my neck snaps back on my shoulders and the sharp pain flares through my skull.  I can’t see where the Walrider has gone, but I’m twirling through open air, falling past the rungs of the steps I had hobbled up earlier.  The light flashes over my eyes as I plummet, screaming as the ground is coming up fast.  For some reason I wonder if my camera will survive the impact. Then it’s there in an instant, I can’t keep track of what’s happening with my ears ringing.  One of my arms plasters to my side as the other flops out, searching for a balance, some sort of hold.  I can’t decide if I’m still falling or rising, but I open my eyes and to take in the light.  I squint against the bright lamps, and its then that I feel its arms digging into my midsection.  The cruel shriek blasts through my ear, as it flips me over.  The edge of the metal catwalk is right there!  I snap my eyes open and claw out for the metal edge, desperate and panicked.  I’m positive I could reach it!  An inch more!  Even if I don’t have the strength to pull myself up, I have to get free of its painful clutch! I yowl out as the Walrider constricts, I could picture my organs popping one by one under its ‘fingers’.  There was a sound, I’m unsure it if was the Walrider or me, but I’m flung away.  My heel smashed over something metal as I spiral, tumbling down through the muggy steam.  I see the light and shadows pulse by my eyes, mixing until I’m dizzy and sick.  I let loose a sob when I see the pallets and barrels on the floor below, come into focus.  NO!  NO!! Somewhere in the dark it snags me and I struggle wildly against its grip.  The cruel hands twist deep into my chest, its sharp fingers coil over my collar bone.  Ice.  It’s just like ice!  My jaw snaps loose and I gag, and howl, anything to drown out the pounding in my ears.  The electrical plague surging through my body.  Its hold loosened then, and I plummet through the dark before smashing into the light.  And the stone floor.  I try and brace my fall by throwing my arms up, to protect my head from the lamps.  Keep my teeth from scattering.  My elbows absorb some of the blow, and I hit with all my weight onto my bad side.   It probably wasn’t the best action, but I immediately thrust myself upright from my hands and try to stand.  To walk.  I moan in my throat as the world tilts, I can barely see with the way the colors distort in the light above.  My ribs shift back into place and I gasp, struggling to catch my breath without choking on my tongue.  God… can I walk?  Am I able to— Not done!  I’m not done yet!  I lean on my leg as I take a step closer to the stacks of bags on the pallet, covered in the blue tarp.  My body swings to the side, but I manage to stay upright.  It’s a massive accomplishment for the effort I put in, and I don’t want to fall again.  I plant my feet apart and scan my current whereabouts over.  The steam has gotten so thick, and it’s become hard to breath without choking. I’m across from the double doors that lead back to the Morphogenic chamber.  I stare at them groggily as I take a step, and promptly lose my balance.  I hit the tarp covered materials and sprawl over the blue surface.  I’m hurt bad, but not done, not by a long shot.  My breath wheezes and I barely get back up on my feet, ignoring the small wet patch of red I’ve left on the plastic cover. Somewhere overhead the Walrider shrieks.  Its hurt or it is dying at long last, one of the two.  If it wasn’t it would have killed me then.  If it has a second chance it will succeed. I manage to reach the doors and get one open.  I leaned on the doors edge as I pushed it open, then slumped on the cool metal panel as I force it shut.  I take a slow breath.  Pick up the pace Miles.  Almost done.  Promise. I pushed away from the door as the Walrider came into view below, driven by its unrestrained fury to paint the walls with my blood.  I took another breath, doing my best to ignore the pain chewing in my skin.  It’ll hold for a minute tops, but only concluding this would save my life.  I spun away and pushed myself into a steady jog, and blocked.  Blocked out the hum, blocked the pain.  I blocked out my humanity. The corridor seemed shorter, or maybe I remembered it wrong.  I skipped to a stop at the barrels and wedged myself through, and grunted through clenched teeth as my side rubbed on the rough pallet.  I dropped to my knees on the other side as my mind swam.  Pain.  Have to get up.  But the pain dragged me down.  A mere few feet away was the metal door, the Morphogenic chamber.  Everything I had wanted.  Everything I had tried to accomplish.  I pushed myself to my feet and gripped the handle, and used it to pull myself up until I was standing.  “Get this done.  Get it done, and I can leave it all behind.  All of it.” The inhuman cry of the thing from the dark followed me, echoing in my ears.  It was coming. I stumbled through one door and dragged it shut after me.  I tried not to cough on the thick vapor, as I staggered to the edge of the steps.  We’re good.  We’re good.  Keep it together, almost there.  I took a few deep breaths deliberately agitating my ribs, and focused on Wernicke’s machine.  This was it.  This was the end to all this madness.  Find the control panel.  Deactivate the machine.  Kill the creation. The chamber looked to be in distress, the air was now clogged with dark smog.  Lights flared across the ceiling, arks of electricity sparked over the dodecagon structure that dominated the center of the room.  Monitors for computers regulating the machine flashed errors, probably indicating the test subject.  Throughout the chambers panic, a siren blared to summon the doctors in and correct the error.  But all the doctors were dead, their remains scattered to the furthest edges of the facility.  There was no one left to hasten in and aid the experiment that had destroyed them. The stairs winding to the Engines base were excruciating to rush down, but I’d rather be on them.  I supported myself on one arm while the walls continued to tilt, the pulsing lights didn’t help either.  The camera stuffed in my shoulders sleeve was becoming obnoxious and I risked pulling it out, to have… in case.  I ignored the damp spot in my coat.  I’d be fine once this was done.  Like magic or something.  One choir I had to complete.  Billy’s pod was in fail safe mode, but I would fix that shortly.  I’d give him the closure he deserved and I could go on with my life elsewhere. Or what was left of it. I made it to the floor and stumble around the barrels situated by the copper tanks.  Immediately, I began hunting for the front of the machine.  The primary terminal regulating control over Billy’s pod.  The dull thrum bore deep into my brainmatter, but I only realized then that I’d left the sound behind in the corridor.  The white noise had followed me. I winced and held my chest as I scanned through the gray fog, struggling to stay on my feet as I sought both apparition and its control.  Embers shot off the metal plates of the Engine and I could smell burning.  God, I hated that smell, but I think it was the best thing I could have in my nose right now.  The Engine was overheating, it just might burst into flames when I shut down the systems.  Wouldn’t know until I initiated it.  I neared the front of the room with the glassed in upper floor.  Where the scientists monitored the Morphogenic Engine systems through the computers.  It was here, at the front.  I remember that much. When I escaped I’d have to find a safe place to lay low.  This was more than what I had bargained for.  With knowledge that Dr. Wernicke was alive and well following this, would only invite an unfortunate ‘accident’ for me in days to come.  Couldn’t risk losing my camera in the process, though it being so beat up might deter a theft.  But I needed to make copies of the files.  I needed medical attention foremost, someone I could trust.  I don’t know if I could make it that far.     Too much to think about.  Plan it as it came.  I located Billy’s pod at the front of Wernicke’s machine, and no more than three feet away the panel ablaze with sparks.  Frantic warnings all surging, demanding attention.  The experiment was doomed.  I dashed to it, jarred my side, didn’t give a fuck, and smashed the panel with my hand. Done and done.   The Engine gave a remorseful hum that rumbled through my body, as it clashed across the chiseled interior of the Morphogenic chamber.  It felt good.  I clasped the camera between my palms and leaned back as red warnings burned on the screen.  WARNING.  WARNING.  FAILSAFE SYSTEM OFF.   I shut my eyes against the offensive messages and gripped the camera a little tighter in my hands, focusing on the gaps between my fingers.  Like hell it was, let him die.  I braced my elbows on the panel and turned my head to witness as Billy began thrashing within his pod.  It looked painful.  As he withered the restraints in his chest and throat tore free, releasing his blood within the nutrient fluid.  I raised my camera to get all of this in, and exhaled a small breath.  It was over.  This nightmare was over and I could get the fuck out of here.  Nothing to stop me now. No more deformed giants, no more naked twins, no more fanatical priests.  Just the road ahead and me.  And my camera. The pod was turning black with blood and my stomach turned.  I looked away for a brief moment when something solid smashed into me from behind, causing my body to smack chest first into the pod.  My head was pounding and I felt the vision distort in my left eye.  My muscles stiffened, charged with energy and pain.  No.  No…  He was dead!  I tried to push myself back, while keeping in mind to LOCK my fingers on the cam— A powerful force wrenched me around and I let out a snarl as my ribs rubbed into my skin.  Staring me right in the face was the Walrider, or what was left of it.  The swarm was beginning to disperse, mutating the dark vapor into an insubstantial skeletal frame.  Each of its links and joints were exposed for scrutiny, even the network of miniscule tubes in the dark bone.  I couldn’t make out where its arms were but I could feel them dig through my coat, within my shoulders with needle like ends.  My vision flashed as it shoved me back against the pod, the back of my skull cracked on the hard surface and I saw a flash of red.  I smelt something odd, scorched cloth or blood.  Fluid dripped from my nose and slid across my lip.  The salty taste overwhelmed my senses. The swarm flashed out of sight and I found myself yelling, as I accelerated with alarming speed through the air by that piercing pain IN my arms.  A wall came into view through the steam, and I instinctively raised my arms before my skull could smash to bits.  I hit with such force my arms and coat sleeves barely absorbed my face.  My chest plowed HARD into the jagged stone, and an audible crack sounded somewhere in my muscle, over my strangled wail.  The Walrider vanished, for good I doubt.  I tumbled off the stone wall and hit the floor, rolling out of control.  The room was spinning, even when I came to a rest on my side.  I tried to hold my weight up off my tender ribs.  The plastic shell of my camera scrapped the polished floor as I shifted.  It was still in my grip…  This wasn’t over.  I needed to stash it somewhere safe.  I put my hand over it, feeling the fresh wet blood now spilling from the reopened wounds on my hands.  I needed to get away from here, get away from this area.  Who the fuck knew how long before the swarm dispersed completely. As I was getting off my knees, the insubstantial form materialized to some degree before me.  It gave a grinding hiss as it grabbed me by the shoulder, tearing into my muscles with its cold clutch and flung me high across the room.  I screamed as I sailed unaided through open air, until gravity delivered me to the floor and I flopped over and over.  Once the momentum abandoned me, I blinked and felt my consciousness dim.  ”Up Miles!  Get!  UP!” In my fall the cameras strap had loosened over my hand, I should try to fix that.  I braced my arms under my side and pushed up, and focused on the spherical pod full of dark matter.  Wasn’t that Billy’s pod?  It was getting hard to see because of the smog.  This is what I told myself.  In truth it was becoming difficult to see my hands beneath me.  It was because of what I’d done, but I had no choice. I had to fix their mistakes.  I had no idea how to finish it now.  How to kill Billy. I had only hurt him the worst way imaginable.  The only way he COULD be hurt.  I had become Billy Hope’s Nightmare.  I was now the Horerczy.  I was the only thing that could kill a Walrider. And he would prove to me, how wrong I was.

The shrieking wail shot through my eardrums, and the remains of the Walrider’s dark shape loomed over me.  The world became inaudible, in the one way I hated seeing the world.  Far away and under water.  I tried to focus on it and what it was up to, but all I managed was a wet cough.  This seemed to upset it, for when I looked up it had swept over the black pod and descended onto me.  It snared my midsection in its powerful grip and dragged me along the white floor.  I yowled and released the camera.  The bone in my finger tore at the cement as I tried to claw for a bump, a niche.  Enough to knock me loose!  Even if it descended upon me in the next moment and ripped me to pieces, I just wanted that one last second!  A pause in this torment! 

The Walrider ascended swiftly to a staggering height.  I gawped wide eyed and stared at the shrinking floor below, as I dangled upside down.  I moaned through my teeth as my weight bore down on its sharp form, and it repaid in kind by crushing my sides.  I felt something pop in my throat as I let out an agonized sob.  When we arrived at a desirable height I was flopped up, and crashed my back into the stone wall behind me.  My legs kick out seeking solid surface, some comfort that I’m not so high up.  In no way can I thrash free and dislodge my body from the unnatural grip tangled deep throughout my organs.  I lose some of my fight when the agony constricts my chest, and I give a weak twitch as this odd tingle works from my forehead down to my toes.  Death.  I’m dying.  I can’t believe I’m dying. 

The dimming form of the swarm pinned me here, and worked its hands into my chest.  I grappled with my coat, unable to feel or grip and dissuade its punishment.  Oh god, the sounds I made as its unnatural extremities wound through my cells and tangled with my nerves.  Pain.  Too much.  My legs kicked and twitched in a vain effort to dislodge my body.  The Walrider chattered and pressed deeper into my muscles.  No god, please….  I looked down to where it had buried its arms up to its elbows, and let out a choked sob.  No, please….  

”I don’t want to die…”

 The bloodshed throughout the Asylum, Chris Walker, ruptured corpses and scattered innards.  Everything I had been subjected to.  The images I had seen pulsed white hot, intensified in my mind like wild fire. Death, the insanity, the pain.  All of it burned through my mind as red soaked my memories.  How long ago had it been?  When was it last that I was alive? 

An anguished sound spilled from my throat as I was held there, suspended twenty feet above a stone floor. The swarm reinforced its inhuman grip on my sides, or slid deeper into my guts at its leisure.  Fuck, this was no damaged mind of a child.  This was a wild animal devoid of remorse.  This was pure evil. 

This… was my end. 

Gazing into the broken horror of science, my last sensations would be immeasurable pain followed by the release of the void.  I had fought this far, to die in the end.  What cruel irony.  With my fading strength I focused on its ‘face,’ and I swear there was a connection.  I don’t know if it recognized it, if Billy understood.  But I swear.  It was there. 

The Walrider paused in its reprieve to confirm my comprehension, my reservation for the fate it had planned for me, as all of its victims shared.  It could make this last forever if it wanted.  To ensure I had learned my lesson, that I knew my place.  It would let me die only because it allowed it.  But maybe I had already suffered enough.  Then, it lurched, or that could have been me slumped in its grip.  I watched blearily as it dispersed, dissolving from sight.  I sobbed out in revulsion as I felt the chilling sensation of its presence grind through my bones, into my muscle.  I gained enough consciousness to seize at my chest in a futile effort to hold my innards together the moment before they were expunged outwards, off of my skeleton.  

I became aware that something had gone wrong about two seconds later, when I was howling against the sudden exhilaration that override the pain in my body… as I fell twenty feet to solid cement.

My shoulder hit first and my leg came down hard next, and I actually heard something snap.  I felt the pierce of pain through my spine when the bone cracked.  I was stunned when I couldn’t decide where the injury occurred, my entire body burned with raw agony.  And yet, I was still conscious and alive.  I lay for a moment groaning, my mind resetting slowly as everything cleared.  The alarms still wailed.  Flashing red and white swirled through the room, but it wasn’t the grinding howl that had pounded my senses.  My migraine had suddenly cleared!  Instantaneous relief flooded my skull like waking up in a soft bed, after a long, deep sleep.  What happened?  Why? Carefully, I propped myself up to look around, stunned yet amazed.  The air was thick with burning computer components, the smog was growing heavier.  But of the threat.… Nothing. There was no swarm.  There was no Walrider.  Only the barrage of warnings and system errors as the stasis pod failed, and within it, its prisoner.  Billy was dead. I had done it.  My mission was over.  I had succeeded in surviving my final errand.  Why didn’t I feel good about it? A few feet from where I had plummeted was my trusted confident, my camera.  Did it still work?  I don’t think it mattered anymore.  I attempted to rise, but a sharp bolt of heat traveled up my leg.  The break.  I turned with sluggishness to check it, and noted the large black spot along the side of my coat.  No doubt the rib was exposed, I had no idea how bad the lung was punctured but with heavy despair I tasted the copious stain of copper on my tongue.  I had to get out of here.  Had to get up! How easy it would have been to lie down.  I braced my elbows on the cement and inhaled a careful breath, then let it out.  The floor was cool to my fevered body, and all the aches and breaks could just fade away.  I might never wake up, but that seemed fine.  Doctor Wernicke himself told me, I was meant to die here.  The moment I set foot through the open window of the Asylum, had sealed my fate.  I would never be allowed to leave.  Billy had made sure of that. Braced on my elbows, I pulled my body over onto my good leg and rest my weight to the knee.  I repeated this process, shuffling little by little until I had reached my camera.  Everything was on this.  Everything that was done here.  I’d be damned if I didn’t waste some precious energy to ensure its safe extraction.  However far I…. I fumbled a bit with its options, while I collected my fractured mind.  The camera clicked and the image was a bit distorted, but it worked.  I assured myself that the vital operations would continue to function, and I could lift the images off…. later.  Evidence.  Proof.  It needed to be confirmed on camera.  I did it.  I had done this.  I braced my side with an arm and leveled the camera to capture an image of the murky pod, and the now deceased William Hope.   “Billy is dead, the Walrider, the swarm, whatever it is, unmade with him.  Whether I escape or die here, I am free.”  For a beat I paused to look up from my notes and gaze distantly on my surroundings.  Gone.  Everything the scientists had hoped to achieve, undone by their creation, and executed by my hand.  I felt no pride in this, I just wanted out.  Out in any manner fate saw fit for me.  It would be a long walk to the exit in Block… in Block…. Fuck.  I knew where it was, and that’s what mattered.  I’d find my way there eventually. I secured my camera in its pack and pressed my palms to the floor, then inched my good leg under me.  Satisfied with its stability I pushed up, stumbling as the world spun.  The winding coil of pain worked through my bones and buried deep into my nerves.  Even if my legs were chopped off, I’d still walk out on those stumps.  Fuck you Trager.  Fuck you.  I would stand up.  I would walk out of here. The ringing in my head was near silent, and I didn’t take this as a good sign.  It felt like preempt shock.  My body was steady enough to stay upright, but my metabolism was crashing.  I was poisoned by the chemicals in my head and I needed medicine, something to stabilize my body before it killed me. Once I had my bearings I turned, making a slow trek towards the steps that rose to the Plexiglas chamber.  Shapes blurred around me, but I was certain without a doubt those were the steps I had staggered down at the beginning of the mad race.  If they were not, I had plenty of time to reflect as I made my way to them.  One careful step after the next, just take it easy.  There was no hurry.   Only the outer bone of my leg must have snapped.  I could get some weight on it but very little.  It allowed me to shuffle along, without grieving my ribs any more than necessary.  If I stopped moving at this point I might not be able to rouse myself from passing out The floor along with the yellow rail faded and I collapsed over the steps, coming up short on the metal grate as I caught myself on my elbow.  The shattering pain that I had anticipated upon my fall was absent.  Perhaps my adrenalin was out of control.  My body was in survival, panic mode.  The chemicals in my blood were poisoning my brain, from the overdose of adrenaline to whatever infections I might’ve picked up in the hellish sewers.  I took a breath and winced, feeling the tickling itch in my side where the rib had breached the skin.  There was little hope in my mind that I was going to live to see tomorrow. But damn, I would not die here.  Not here!  Not in the sewers.  Not in the basement.  Not here!  I pulled myself up by the rail and put my foot under me, I braced my knee over the next step and forced my good leg to lift my body, to burden my weight.  These were the last steps I would have to deal with, I could get up them.  It wouldn’t be the last thing I do here.  My feet were heavy, but I managed to get them over each rung and reach the clear sliding doors.  I braced myself along the edge of the doorway, and stumbled into the Morphogenic Engines control room.  My good leg for no other reason but to spite me gave out, and I crashed against the nearest desk.  I wheezed out a pitiful breath, it tasted like copper and salt had stained my throat.   C’mon.  The exit isn’t much further. I wanted to believe that.  Shove hope down my throat.  The exit was just down the hall, through the next set of doors after the first.  Those horrible doors.  It was, how many?  Fifty steps.  Fifty short steps, I could make that.  The desk was so comfortable though, sturdy and solid, and real.  I looked down at my knee crumpled under me.  The room whirled around my head, far away.  Hushed.  Beyond my dazed senses.  I was breathing hard, and a thin trail of drool had soaked a black patch in my filthy jeans.  Red drops were falling from my nose, and I barely realized that my nose was bleeding.  I wanted to pretend it was only a broken blood vessel caused by stress, but that was another one of those white lies.  I needed to stop trying to fool myself with those. Fifty steps.  I could make fifty steps.  What was fifty steps to me?  I’ve been running around this Asylum all evening.  It wasn’t that much further. I told myself this.   I promised myself these things. I had nothing left to keep me going on. The bright lights of the hall would have been comforting, if I wasn’t so burnt out on the clinical and detached feeling of the lab.  My vision distorted as I slumped against the doorframe.  Take a breath, a little pause.  Let my senses settle into place.  I thought I saw Dr. Trager waiting by the door, running his mouth like only he could.  But he looked the way he must have before whatever happened to him, complete with a fine lab coat blotted with blood.  He did dress like a white collar business douchebag.  Instead of golf clubs he had a syringe, and directed its sharp end into the side of my neck. I brushed Trager aside and persisted, he couldn’t stop me.  No one could stop me.  I felt myself falling again, my legs dissolved under my weight.  When did I become so heavy?  I braced my arm to the floor and tried to stay off the camera, I was slipping down to my side.  To just give in.  To just sink into the sleep and never wake up. The lights dimmed to some degree, or my eyes were shutting, but the Walrider hoisted me up and we continued.  We were so close to the doors, they were a few steps and a stumble away.  The chiseled white walls of the corridor seemed brighter, but its luminous intensity didn’t burn my eyes as it had in my previous trip through.  The air was calm, almost alarming to my overtaxed mind.  I tried to remind myself this was the way it was meant to be, when you were not cowering under a massive migraine.  This was sweet liberation from the pain.  I was just exhausted. I was getting near the exit of the Morphogenic wing now, and a wave of relief enveloped me.  A deadly contribution to my sick mind.  My steps faltered and I dropped, managing somehow to hit my cheek on the cement floor without cracking a tooth.  The Walrider waited beside me as my scattered mind cleared.  I heard Father Martin whisper something into my ear, the same as when he first found me.  I wanted to ask if there was a heaven waiting for me.  He only smiled, and the buzzing in my limbs murmured something with great urgency.  I just wanted the world to stop. The lights faded before I blinked back into clarity.  No.  Don’t sleep, don’t fall.  Not here.  I’m so close.  A small red puddle had gathered under my cheek, and I gladly lifted myself from it.  I took a moment to pull together, and swallow down the blood that lined my throat.  No more fading, no more pauses.  It was obvious by now I could not escape my fate, I had been fooling myself from the beginning.  For me, nothing lay beyond this place but death.  But goddamn it, I was NOT going to die inside these cold labs where so many had perished in the name of science.  I would get outside and I would die bathed in the warmth of the sun, knowing that I had beaten them all!  With that resolve whirring in my head I put my weight on my fist and pushed, rising up one last time.  Once and for all, I would make it out of this fucked up place.  I felt a bit of my strength returning as I shuffled forward, maybe I had been out for a minute, or an hour.  However long was enough.  I wasn’t stopping until I was finally in the sunlight. I was reminded briefly of my mutilations as I reached for the handles of the doors.  My index finger on my right hand, and my ring finger were— A sudden gust of air swept over my face as the doors swung outward.  I was not processing what was happening, as the click of weapons primed for assault were shoved at me.  Guns.  Assault rifles.  Held by soldiers.  MHS.  Special tactical cops, the same as the one that had warned me away seconds before his death.  Dazed, I wondered if he was still dead.  It took a half second before the panic finally latched onto my mind, the realization that this was happening.  This was really happening right here.  They were in my way, and they were going to kill me. Not armed!  I wasn’t armed!  Did they think I was dangerous, had they mistake me for a variant?  True, I had forgotten how god awful I must have looked, but I couldn’t help it!  I could hardly stand!  I put out my hands and limped back trying to warn them, but all that came out was a spray of blood as I exhaled a pitiful sound.  I sniffled, trying to clear the blood in my nose.  No!  Don’t do this.  Not when I was so fucking CLOSE! Then I saw him.  That man, whose corpse I had promised to fix nicely with a hacksaw.  Dr. Rudolf Wernicke amidst these militants, and waiting patiently for my requiem.  I fixed him with my eyes.  A look of betrayal?  A look of bafflement?  Why, after everything I have done for you, would you end me right here, right now?  I wanted to die in the fuckin sunlight! The first bullet hit before the piercing resonance shattered my thoughts.  I spun on my good leg upon receiving full impact, and manage to stay upright.  My vision blurred but I didn’t feel the pain, it hadn’t been recorded yet in my nerves.  Then, I thought I saw, right there.

My shadow….

Without a word, the hall is filled with the magazine chatter as the lead soldier emptied his arsenal in me. I was only grateful as I dropped, that about a fourth of the expense had lodged into my torso and hip.  Not like a concussion; not like a splitting migraine.  I’m still me, I can feel it settle deep in my marrow. 

This time it didn’t hurt to collapse to my backside.  A splash of blood hit me in the face, from about a dozen severed arteries. I had this odd sense of vertigo, an out of body experience as the darkness pooled over my eyes. Dying.  God, my bodies dying.  I can feel it - sliding off from me.  This is real, this is happening… In the now.  It’s sinking in.  The futility of it all… death.  My death.  It’s just… I’m losing touch.  Everything stopped inside me, and… I can’t restart it. 

 No.

In my last moments, I can ponder over the cruel irony. That no matter my hopes, my aspirations tangled into this god awful place.  Even the soldiers with their guns could not steal it all away.

I am free.

My consciousness drained out, and coalesced… elsewhere.  It was all over.  I was done.  Lost.  My vision blurred, dimmed.  I’m too damned tired to resist any longer.  Give in.  Sleep.  The world became a far off impression, a recollection in a pool that I could gaze down into, and saw only my reflection. It was all I had come to expect in the end; ragged, soaking red, and broken.

Forget….

Somewhere.  Someone stuttered in utter disbelief, “Gott im Himmel. You have become the host.”

That hissing whirr.  The static in my camera that I had grown accustomed to, filled my skull. The sounds of gun chatter persisted, and the frantic shrieks of men met my dulled senses. This crushing thought came over me as I accepted the void, the shadow, the emptiness of my failure. There would be no light waiting for me on the other side. There was no afterlife, no rest for my weary soul. Instead, I only saw red.

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Careful What You Wish For

Whumptober 2020 Day 11: Psych 101 Prompt: Defiance, Struggling, Crying

Summary: After Bingiplier and MarkBop bring new clues about Oliver's disappearance to Ego Inc., Chrome finds a potential trail to where Oliver might be hidden. He, Yandere, and Yancy go investigate on their own, and manage to find Oliver - but get much more than they bargained for. (continued from “Catch”)

Warnings: Blood, violence, tasering, amputation, mind control

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober 2020 series)

Enjoy!

~

After Bingiplier and MarkBop bring news of a failed kidnapping, strange tech, and an encrypted laptop into Ego Inc., Chrome hopes it’ll finally get them somewhere closer to finding Oliver. It’s been too long since he went missing. Chrome’s spent too many nights awake, too angry to charge and too tired to keep working. Plus’s been too quiet and morose, Google’s been too frustrated and worried. Chrome is sick of Oliver being gone, and he’s determined to get answers out of the materials Bing and Bop brought back.

Chrome looks over the evidence, the IDs and the powerful laser and the file. He tries to get into the laptop. But of course, Plus and Google do the same, and they all have the same experiences: The IDs are useless, the laser doesn’t even have a serial number, the file has no identifying information, and the laptop is so heavily encrypted that it takes hours to extract even a modicum of data.

Eventually, though, while staring at the IDs for the hundredth time, Chrome has an idea: If there’s no obvious information about where the laser, files, or laptop came from, the only lead left is the people. The IDs may be useless on their own, but the people who had them were real. He confirms with Bop that the photos in the IDs match the faces of the people he and Bing saw, and it further solidifies his idea. He takes the ID of the man first, scans over the photo, and scours the internet for photos of him.

There’s a lot of false positives. People that look very similar at first blush but after a moment of scrutiny reveal themselves as the wrong man. It doesn’t help that the man’s appearance isn’t particularly distinctive, meaning that there’s people everywhere who look like him. But after hours and hours of trawling through endless Facebook photos and the “Meet The Team” pages of various companies, Chrome can’t find him anywhere. Frustrated, he’s forced to stop and charge, but once he’s powered up again, he does the same process with the woman’s ID photo.

For a while it looks much the same, until he gets to a particularly unique photo: The woman – and he’s certain it’s her – alongside a group of others, all cutting the ribbon in front of a large facility. Everyone is dressed professionally and smiling, and it looks like any other grand opening photo. But Chrome is sure that the woman is the same as in the ID. The photo comes attached to a blog post, and it’s there that Chrome gets a name: Enigma Data, supposedly an IT company. The building in the photo is its third location, according to the post. Interestingly, there’s no link to a website for Enigma Data and no address for the building. Post comments are turned off and there’s no tags. The rest of the blog seems fairly ordinary for an adult career woman, and seems to be continuously updated to this day. It’s an odd little blip, but Chrome suspects it’s not a coincidence. Chances are the woman tried to scrub her blog of references to her work, but was unable to find this one due to the lack of tags.

But then again…it’s not very conclusive. There could be any number of reasons for the strange post. But Chrome can vaguely recognize where the building is from the environment in the photo, and it wouldn’t be hard to get there. And if he’s right, he can find out for sure that Oliver is there and a rescue can be planned. If he brings this to Google and Plus and they dismiss it, then Oliver will continue to be stuck there. And they could very well dismiss it, Chrome could certainly be wrong. But he’s willing to take the risk, even though he knows his brothers won’t be.

Which is why he charges himself up and leaves the next morning to investigate on his own.

Or at least, that was his intention.

“Where are you going?” asks a voice from behind him the moment his hand touches the doors of Ego Inc.

Chrome turns to see Yandere standing there, arms crossed, and Yancy beside him.

“How did you even know I was leaving?” Chrome asks in return.

“Because I know you, Aka-kun,” Yandere says, “I knew you were coming up with a plan to find Kiiro-kun. And if you think you’re doing that alone, you’re mistaken.”

“Yeah,” Yancy adds, “If these people want androids, it ain’t safe for youse to go alone. We’re coming, too.”

Chrome sighs, but decides he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He explains the situation and his theory to Yandere and Yancy as they walk down the streets of LA.

“We’re just investigating,” he finishes, “We’ll get as close as we can and scope the place out, see if we spot anything useful.”

“We’re not going in?” Yandere asks as though disappointed, eager for a fight as always.

“No way,” Chrome says sternly, “We’ll go back home and tell the others so we can make a proper plan.”

“How much farther are we going, Red?” asks Yancy, a little nervous, “If we go too far, my tracker’s gonna go off, and I’m gonna be in some serious trouble.”

“Not if others are with you,” Chrome reminds him, “And besides, we’re almost there.”

The area gets less and less populated the farther they go, and eventually, the building Chrome saw in the photo can be seen in the distance. It makes sense for the area to be quiet; if people knew what was happening at Enigma Data, the place wouldn’t have been able to take Oliver in the first place. The idea that Oliver could be in that building somewhere, probably hurt, probably scared, probably terribly upset, makes Chrome’s blood boil.

The group turns into an alley to prevent being noticed in the quiet streets. They’re halfway down when Chrome starts to hear things. He stops walking. Yandere and Yancy follow.

“What?” Yandere asks, though he’s quieter than usual. He recognizes the look on Chrome’s face. Yancy doesn’t, and looks at him curiously.

“We’re being watched,” Chrome breathes.

At the back of the alley, a group of people appear, dressed in SWAT-like body armor and carrying similarly-themed weapons on their belts and strapped across themselves. Chrome turns around, but sees another group of them at the mouth of the alley where they came in, blocking the exit. Chrome turns towards the back of the alley again, and Yandere and Yancy look to the front, the three of them back-to-back. They already know they’ll have to fight their way out of this, and that it won’t be easy.

“We were hoping for more,” says a man from the front group, stepping forward, “But at least one of you showed up.”

“That photo was a trap,” Chrome growls, a sinking feeling in his gut.

“You came right to us,” the man, possibly the leader of this operation, says, “With a bit too much company, but that will be easily dealt with.”

Chrome snarls, but stops in an instant when he sees someone else step out of the group alongside the leader. This person isn’t wearing armor like the others. This person doesn’t have a short buzz cut and slight stubble like the others. This person has fluffy dark hair, glasses, and a yellow t-shirt with a “G” emblazoned on the front. This person is familiar, someone Chrome hasn’t seen in weeks, someone Chrome has been missing for just as long.

“Oliver?” Chrome gasps.

Oliver doesn’t look like he should. His face is more stoic than Chrome has ever seen it look. His eyes are even worse, glaring and glowing yellow and without a spark of light or love in them. This is Oliver, but it’s not Oliver, not anymore. Chrome can feel Yandere and Yancy moving against his back, hear them gasp at the sight of Oliver and try to talk to him, but he can’t focus enough to understand what they’re saying.

He tries to send a message to Oliver through their internal server. The message bounces back as a failed delivery.

“Ollie, what did they do to you?” Chrome asks aloud instead, taking a step closer. Some of the men chuckle.

“Don’t bother,” the leader laughs, “He’s fully conditioned, and soon you will be, too. Google Yellow…” Oliver’s head whips to the leader. “…Subdue the android.”

Oliver looks back to Chrome. His eyes narrow. He pulls out a taser – the same kind of taser that Bing and Bop brought back.

“Run,” Chrome orders Yandere and Yancy.

“Chrome, no!” Yandere cries, “There’s no way we’re leaving you!!”

“Run!!” Chrome yells as Oliver charges.

Chrome manages to dodge Oliver’s first jab with the taser, and the second, and more. He can hear Yandere and Yancy running away, stabbing and punching their way through the set of men at the end of the alley. The men on Chrome’s side move forward, but Chrome can’t concentrate on them. He’s too busy avoiding Oliver, avoiding the taser as it crackles and hums with electricity. Oliver is single-minded in his drive to get Chrome, eyes still narrowed, still glowing, still blank and empty.

“Ollie, come on!!” Chrome shouts as he dodges, “It’s me, Chrome! You have to remember! We’ve all been looking for you, me and Plus and Blue and everyone else, you have to–”

Oliver lands a lucky jab on Chrome’s chest, an inch above the left side of his core. As soon as the taser’s prongs touch Chrome, his world becomes fire. His entire body seizes, muscles contracting tight, too tight. His vision goes white. He’s not even sure if he screams. It’s only electric fire, and he can feel every tenth of a second as it passes, feel the waves of electricity flowing outward from his chest. His core shudders, he can’t breathe.

When Oliver pulls the taser away, Chrome collapses bonelessly. He can still barely breathe, but he tries his hardest to gasp in air. Warning notifications pop up across his vision, telling him that he’s too hot and his vents won’t open and his core stopped pulsing for a few moments and there’s a burn on his chest and a hundred other alerts. Oliver leans over Chrome. Chrome looks up at him, vision blurred.

“Ollie,” he wheezes.

“We need him unconscious,” the leader says from somewhere Chrome can’t see, “We can’t risk him recovering and escaping.”

Oliver nods.

Then he kicks Chrome in the head.

Chrome doesn’t even have time to realize what just happened before he’s unconscious.

~~~

Yandere and Yancy run.

Yandere didn’t want to, but he knew as well as Chrome did that he and Yancy wouldn’t stand a chance against Oliver like this. His mind is still reeling from seeing Oliver in that state, from having to leave Chrome in his clutches, as he and Yancy break through the group of men at the mouth of the alley and flee for home. The men follow not too far behind, but if Yandere and Yancy can make it to Ego Inc., the magic of the building will hide them, and the men won’t be able to get inside.

“Kuso, kuso,” Yandere mutters as he runs, pulling Yancy along by his arm.

“Fuck, this was a bad idea,” Yancy pants, trying to keep up, “We should’ve stopped him–”

“No,” Yandere cuts him off, “We know where Kiiro-kun is now, we’ll go home and tell the others–”

Something sails over their heads and lands on the ground ahead of them. Before either of them can ask the other what it is, it goes off, spilling cloudy smoke into the air, smoke that the pair run right into.

“A smoke bomb!” Yandere yells, already coughing a little, “Keep running!!”

But he’s already let go of Yancy’s arm and slowed down from surprise. He can’t see through the smoke, and breathing is a little harder. The lost momentum means he can’t run fast enough as the men close in on him, and in moments, both his arms have been grabbed. He kicks and struggles as he’s pulled back, out of the smoke cloud but into the group’s clutches. Yancy is already with them, caught as well, fighting like Yandere is. But it’s all they can do as they’re forced back the way they came.

“Let us go, ya fuckin’ pigs!!” Yancy yells, face starting to flush with rage.

“Fuck you all!” Yandere screams, kicking at the legs of the men dragging him, “You’re all going to pay for this!!”

Though both of them are strong, Yandere is unnaturally so. There’s a couple times that Yandere almost breaks out of his captors’ grip, but they tighten their hold and watch him carefully. In the end, the pair are taken back to the alley they escaped from. Oliver is still there, holding a cruel-looking taser in his hand, and he looks at Yandere and Yancy as they’re brought over. Several men are supporting something, and it takes a moment for Yandere to see that it’s Chrome, unconscious. There’s a hole burned in his shirt above his core and a black mark across the skin, along with an awful bruise on his forehead. The sight of him sends a jolt of rage and terror through Yandere’s body.

“Aka-kun!!” Yandere cries, fighting ever harder against the men holding him, “What have you done!?” he screams at Oliver, who continues to regard him passively.

“Fuck you!!” Yancy yells. Whether at Oliver or the group of men, Yandere doesn’t know.

“We got them,” says one of the men holding Yancy, ignoring his swearing and kicking.

“Good,” says the leader, “Well, we have our protocol for civilians that interfere.” He reaches for one of the firearms strapped to his chest.

“I have a suggestion,” says one of the men holding Yandere, “This one here–” He gives Yandere a shake that makes him growl. “–is really strong, stronger than most. I’ve held back men twice his size that weren’t half as hard to control.”

The leader considers for a moment. He looks at Oliver.

“Google Yellow, analyze him.”

Oliver stares at Yandere, eyes glowing yellow.

“He is inordinately strong,” Oliver says, voice monotone. His gaze flicks to Yancy. “There is something strange about them that my systems cannot define. They do not appear to be entirely human.”

Yandere and Yancy both stop struggling in shock. The leader whistles.

“Guess it makes some sense,” he muses, “Who else would hang out with a bunch of androids? Let’s take them both back then, see if the higher-ups agree, then they can get conditioned.”

Yandere doesn’t want to know what “conditioned” means, but he shares a furtive glance with Yancy. It’d be bad for them to end up in that facility, having who-know-what be done to them, but Yancy has a tracker in his arm. If the signal carries through the building, the other egos will be able to follow it to rescue them.

The men are starting to head away, through the alley to the facility Yandere and the others were headed to in the first place, when Oliver speaks again.

“We cannot take him with us,” he says, pointing to Yancy.

“Why not?” asks the leader in a warning tone, “Did you forget who calls the shots here, Yellow?”

“No,” Oliver replies without lowering his pointing finger, “He has a tracker embedded in his arm. My scan discovered it.”

Yandere’s heart sinks. Yancy’s expression melts from fury to fear.

“Dammit,” the leader mutters, “He’s been broadcasting his location this whole time!”

“Maybe it can be removed,” puts in one of the men holding Yancy.

“There’s no time,” the leader says. He looks to Oliver. “Can it be destroyed?”

“Not without destroying the arm,” Oliver says, “But if it were to be destroyed, it could still display the last known signal for some time after. It would be best to leave it intact to avoid raising suspicion, and to leave it somewhere far from here.”

“We can’t risk taking him inside for someone to remove,” the leader sighs, “Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” Oliver says, “Would you like me to explain it? We will unfortunately not be able to take him with us afterward.”

“You know what, just go ahead and do it,” the leader says, “The other one’s the strong one, so at least we’ll keep him. Google Yellow, handle the problem as you see fit.”

Oliver nods. He approaches Yancy. Yancy shrinks back, but there’s nowhere for him to go.

“What are you doing?” Yandere gasps.

“Please release his right arm,” Oliver tells the men holding him.

“Ollie, c’mon,” Yancy pleads, “You don’t gotta hurt me, you know me, dontcha?”

His words are ignored as the man on his right releases Yancy’s arm and Oliver takes it immediately after. He places one hand on Yancy’s upper arm, the other on his forearm. Yancy stares up at Oliver in fear, and Yandere watches helplessly.

There is no warning before Oliver bends back Yancy’s arm, breaking it at the elbow. The crunching snap isn’t half as loud as Yancy’s scream. He kicks wildly against the pain, but Oliver’s grip doesn’t budge. Yandere screams as loud as Yancy does, fighting against his own captors.

“Stop it, stop!!” he screams.

Oliver doesn’t stop. He changes his grip, moves both hands closer to the now-broken elbow joint, and twists. Yancy howls as skin rips, then muscle. Blood spurts up, drops flecking Oliver’s glasses. Yandere hollers too, but he can only watch as Oliver finally severs most of the skin and muscle from the two halves of the arm and pulls the forearm off with a strong yank. Yancy’s scream raises an octave before dropping away as his eyes roll back from pain. He sags, semi-conscious, as Oliver lets his arm – the half that remains attached to Yancy – go, letting the man who held him previously grab him again. Yancy doesn’t react, wheezing faintly against the agony. But Yandere doesn’t stop screaming, doesn’t stop kicking.

“Kiiro-kun, how could you, how could you!!” Yandere wails, the gravity of the situation fully sinking in as he starts to cry.

“Please give him to me,” Oliver says to the men holding Yancy, “I will take him and the arm to separate locations away from the facility. I will stay hidden as I travel, and this will not be traced back to us.”

“Brilliant,” the leader laughs, “You heard him,” he adds to the men holding Yancy.

They give him up, and Oliver slings Yancy over his shoulder. He uses one arm to hold him there and his free hand to carry Yancy’s severed forearm. Blood pours from Yancy’s wound down Oliver’s back, but Oliver hardly seems to notice. He walks off, leaving a blood trail in his wake. Yancy is motionless, probably unconscious from shock and blood loss.

“Yan-kun!!” Yandere screams anyway, sobbing now, “He’s going to bleed to death, murderers, murderers–!”

“That’s enough out of you,” the leader growls. He pulls out an assault rifle from a holster on his back and approaches Yandere.

When he gets there, Yandere spits in his face.

“We’ll be missed,” Yandere growls through his tears, “And we’ll be found.”

For all his bravado, he’s not sure he even believes it.

“Doubt it,” the leader says, before hitting Yandere between the eyes with the heavy butt of his rifle.

Stars explode before Yandere’s eyes, and then the world goes dark.

[andrewdburton]

How to prepare for a natural disaster

My world is on fire.

As you may have heard, much of Oregon is burning right now. Thanks to a “once in a lifetime” combination of weather and climate variables — a long, dry summer leading to high temps and low humidity, then a freak windstorm from the east — much of the state turned to tinder earlier this week. And then the tinder ignited.

At this very moment, our neighborhood is cloaked in smoke.

I am sitting in my writing shed looking out at a beige veil clinging to the trees and nearby homes. The scent of the smoke is intense. My eyes are burning. After everything else that's happened this year, this feels like yet one more step toward apocalypse. So crazy!

Fortunately, Kim and I (and the pets) are relatively safe. We're worried, sure, but not too worried. Our lizard brains make us want to flee. (“Fight or flight” and all that.) But our rational brains know that unless a new fire starts somewhere nearby, we should be safe.

Here's a current map of the fire situation in our county. (Click the image to open a larger version in a new window.)

The areas in red are under mandatory evacuation orders. (And the red dots are areas that have burned, I think. They added the dots to the map this morning.) Residents of areas shaded in yellow need to be prepped to leave at a moment's notice. And the areas in green are simply on alert.

See that town called Molalla? That's where my mother and one of my brothers live. My mother's assisted-living facility was evacuated to a city twenty miles away. My brother and his family voluntarily moved from their home to our family's box factory. But even that doesn't feel 100% safe. (The box factory is located just to the left of that cluster of red dots at the top tip of the yellow area around Molalla.)

Kim and I live near the “e” in Wilsonville. We're more than twenty miles from the nearest active fire. We should be safe. But, as a I say, we're worried. So, I spent much of yesterday prepping for possible evacuation.

Update! Barely three hours later, things have changed. Now Molalla is under a mandatory evacuation order. My brother can't go back to get anything. He didn't film his house and belongings, so he simply has to hope for the best. Meanwhile, the level two alert has been shifted to cover more of the county, including the town where I grew up (Canby) and the surrounding areas. The caution zone ends at the Willamette River, which is maybe four miles from us. Kim and I are on edge. Here's the latest update to the evacuation map…

The scariest part of all this? The main fire that's threatening these communities is zero percent contained. Zero

Natural Disasters

We Oregonians don't have a protocol for emergency evacuations. It's not something that really crosses our minds.

While the Pacific Northwest does have volcanoes, eruptions are rare enough that we never think about them. And yes, earthquakes happen. Eventually we'll have “the Big One” that devastates the region, but again there's no way to predict that and it's not something we build our lives around. (Well, many people have been adding earthquake reinforcement to their homes, but that's about it.)

In the past fifty or sixty years, the Portland area has experienced four other natural disasters.

My father used to talk about the Columbus Day Storm of 1962, a cyclone that blew through area when he was in high school.

On 18 May 1980, Mount St. Helens blew its top. There was plenty of warning before the eruption, though, so most everyone had cleared away from the peak.

On the morning of 25 March 1993, we had the “Spring Break quake”, an earthquake of magnitude 5.6. (This was also my 24th birthday, so I personally call it my “birthquake”.)

The Willamette Valley flood of 1996 was pretty spectacular.

Now, in 2020, we're experiencing the worst wildfires the state has ever seen. That's roughly one disaster every ten or fifteen years, and it's the first one during my 51 years on Earth that's made me think about the need for evacuation preparedness.

Kim and I have been asking ourselves lots of questions.

If we were to evacuate, where would we go? What route would we take? What would we carry with us? How would we prep our home to increase the odds that it would survive potential fire?

Let me share what we've decided and what we've learned. (And please, share what you know about emergency preparedness, won't you?)

Evacuation Preparedness

The first thing we did was brainstorm a list of things that were important to us. Without reference to experts, what is it that we would want to do and/or take with us, if we were to evacuate.

Our animals (and animal supplies).

Phones, computers, and charging cords.

Important documents from our fire safe.

A bag for each of us containing clothes and toiletries.

Sleeping bags and pillows.

Sentimental items. (We have no “valuable”.)

Create a video tour of the house for insurance purposes (be sure to highlight valuable items).

Move combustible items away from the house.

After creating our own list, we consulted the experts.

In this case, we looked at websites for communities in California. California copes with wildfires constantly. (And, in fact, Kim's brother and his family recently had to help evacuate their town due to wildfires!) For no particular reason, I chose to follow the guidelines put out by Marin County, California. I figured they know what they're talking about!

The FIRESafe MARIN website has a bunch of great resources dedicated to wildfire planning and preparedness. I particularly like their evacuation checklist. While this form is wildfire specific, it could be easily adapted for other uses, such as hurricane preparedness or earthquake preparedness.

The ready.gov website is an excellent resource for disaster preparedness. It contains lots of info about prepping for problems of all sorts. You should check it out.

Creating a Go Kit

FIRESafe MARIN and other groups recommend putting together an emergency supply kit well in advance of possible problems. Each person should have her own Go Kit, and each should be stored in a backpack. (In our case, I have several cheap backpacks that I've purchased while traveling abroad. These are perfect for Go Kits.)

What should you keep in a Go Kit? It depends where you live, of course, and what sorts of disasters your area is susceptible to. But generally speaking, you might want your kits to contain:

A bandana and/or an N95 mask or respirator.

A change of clothing.

A flashlight or headlamp with spare batteries.

Extra car keys and some cash.

A map marked with evacuation routes and a designated meeting point.

Prescription medications.

A basic first aid kit.

Photocopies of important documents.

Digital backup of important files.

Pet supplies.

Water bottle and snacks.

Spare chargers for your electronic equipment.

That seems like a lot of stuff, but it's not. These things should fit easily into a small pack. Each Go Kit should be stores somewhere easy to access. Kim and I don't have Go Kits yet, but we'll create them soon. We intend to store them in the front coat closet.

Writing this article reminds me of one of the first posts I shared after re-purchasing Get Rich Slowly. Almost three years ago, I wrote about how to get what you deserve when filing an insurance claim. This info from a former insurance employee is very helpful (and interesting).

Final Thoughts

I spent much of yesterday prepping for possible evacuation. This isn't so much out of panic as it is out of trying to take sensible precautions. I gathered things and put them in the living room so that we can be ready to leave, if needed. If authorities were to upgrade us from level one to level two status, I'd move this stuff to my car.

Also as a precaution, I moved stuff away from the house and thoroughly watered the entire yard. (Not sure that'd make much difference, but hey, it can't hurt.) I created a video tour of the house that highlights anything we have of value. And so on. This took most of the afternoon.

This morning, I can see that the neighbors are doing something similar. We're all trying to exercise caution, I think.

Kim and I will almost surely be fine. Although the smoke is thick here at the moment — it's like a brownish fog, and it's even clouding my view of the neighbor's house! — there aren't any fires super close to us. And barring mistakes or stupidity, there won't be any threat to our home.

Still, it's good for us to take precautionary measures, both now and for the future. And it's probably smart for you to take some small steps today in case disaster strikes tomorrow.

Updates!

The situation here in Oregon is evolving rapidly. I'm going to use the space at the end of this post to post updates. These will be fragmentary thoughts, for the most part — not coherent paragraphs.

Here is a terrific Reddit post about what one person wishes they'd known when evacuating for wildfire.

Last night, it became clear that the family box factory really could be in harm's way. We're worried. We're not freaking out yet — it's a good distance from the fires and it's located in a “prairie” — but the workers there are trying to formulate some sort of plan for if things do go bad.

There are crazy rumors floating around that the fires were started by far-left political operatives. This is blatant bullshit and it pisses me off that (a) anyone would believe this idiocy and (b) spread the (unsubstantiated) rumors. It's causing actual issues as armed vigilantes are threatening people now because they're worried they're liberal firestarters. Simply insane.

Kim and I intend to spend most of today (Friday, September 11th) prepping the house as if it were indeed going to get hit. We realize that it probably won't, but better safe than sorry.

That's it for now. More later.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/emergency-preparedness/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[disruptiveawesome]

Some HC FAQs from a CRUX HC regular.

I guess First…What is HC? HC is Homoclimbtastic. HC is a group and, more specifically, an ‘event.’ It was founded by blah blah you don’t care about this part. Go to the HC website if you wanna read more directly  

So why are you writing, Matt?  Someone asked me some specific questions about HC as relates to CRUX… and I’m on 10 of literally 22 hours of flights right now… so I figured I’d put them in a doc and share them for everyone. Please bear in mind that all of the non-hard-facts in here are just my opinions. I don’t work for Homoclimbtastic. I am fortunate to count some of the organizers as friends and climbing buddies and I’m trying to do right by the spirit of the event… But I’m just a dude who has been 4 times and likes the event a lot so for you NYers who I love, to provide some context in case you haven’t been and are interested. I figured I’d give you my perspective on some of the Frequently Asked Questions…

Where ‘is’ this area?

This is “more-welcoming-than-makes-a-NYer-feel-comfortable” Fayetteville, WV. It’s situated in the heart of the New River Gorge. Good hiking,  white water rafting, kayaking, boating (on Summerville lake–I’ll get to that), sight seeing, natural beauty, and, of course, climbing.

Where do we stay?

But like, okay. Lemme show you the place we stay at. This is Cantrell Ultimate Rafting, or as we call it “Cantrell’s.” The thing to note is that this isn’t a ‘nice camping’ area like what you’d get staying in a state park, or an AAC campground. It’s the extended lawn/back yard of a white water rafting outfitter. The cool thing is that it’s central, small and pretty much *ours* (the HC campers/climbers). I’ve only seen other campers there a few times and usually they keep pretty to themselves and away from us–and anytime they get near us, they are given a thorough ‘explainer’ by the Cantrell’s staff that this is *our* safe space and weekend (I’ve seen them do it myself). 

Green is cabins. The office/bar/club/drag stage/and some restrooms are upper right in the red. Blue is anywhere you may wanna park. Yellow is bathrooms. Pink circles are where I’ve seen CRUXers (including me) pitching tents. But you can see there is a lot of space. Now, it should be noted that if there is a ton of rain, some of that open space, like where the ‘parking’ area is above the big cluster of CRUX tents are, its a bit waterlogged. Bring raingear/a rain fly. Oh, and bug spray. 

The whole place is pretty small and you can go everywhere in under 2 minutes’ walk (See the 50′ key)

What’s the address?

Cantrell Ultimate Rafting is located at  49 Cantrell Dr, Fayetteville, WV 25840

What size tent can they accommodate 

As you can see, ANY. The area that Cantrell’s has is pretty huge. :) 

Can you cook on campsite 

Yes, many do. 

Do they have fresh water

Yes. You won’t need to bring your own in. 

Do they have electric onsite or nearby

They do. They even have a camper hookup if I’m not mistaken. Electricity is available inside the bathrooms, and there are some exterior outlets at the bar/office/club/breakfast nook space.

Bathroom facilities? 

The restroom/shower facilities are right there on the campsite. The restrooms and shower facilities are gendered, however Cantrell’s and HC have (I thought stated somewhere, but now I can’t find it) rules that people should use the restroom they feel comfortable in/fits their gender identity/expression. I would refer you to HC on that one to get anything more specific. 

Are CRUX all together?

Not exactly. Some of us stay in cabins some in tents dotting the landscape of Cantrell’s. But we do try to keep everyone going to Cantrell’s so that we can have time with each other. 

How far is parking from the campsite?

Super close, again, as you can see. 

Any fast food places like McDonald’s nearby? 

A few. But also wanna let you know that breakfast is made for us for a decent cost at Cantrell’s which is enough for me. And I personally like Tudor’s Biscuit World for to pick up cheap and easy pre-made crag foods (though I know some people find it gross). But omg I can’t wait to have sandwiches from SSS! AND PIES AND PINTS OMG. 

Any hiking areas if I wanna just go off and do my own thing? 

Yes, omg so many. <- Link from the site of Stav Basis, an adventurer/web genius/sometimes CRUXer, and I think fellow ‘this’ll be 5-years’ HCer who hikes a ton. Hey CBF! Another thing to note is a lot of the approaches at the NRG are longer than at the Gunks or a few other places we go to regularly. If you’ve been there, think maybe not as strenuous as some of the longer approaches at Rumney, but just as long. Up to 30/40 minutes, so if you’re climbing you’re getting a bit of a hike in anyway.

 Are there swimming areas?

Oh god yes. It’s one of the best parts of that area. Typically, on Friday or Saturday, a WHOLE CRAP TON of HC basically spends the whole day at Summersville lake just climbing and swimming and hanging out on pool floaties:

And usually on Sunday we go to a different part of the lake and Deep Water Solo there:

I heard that this is really only for hard climbers! 

This touches on a bit factual data and on the history of HC and its evolution. The New River Gorge doesn’t have a ‘ton’ of ‘easy’ crags. the area really opens up if you’re a solid 5.11 outdoor climber–that’s just the truth of the numbers. But like *everywhere* the places shown on the guidebook aren’t climbs that many of us more casual climbers are ready for (yet). Another fact: HC was originally founded by climbers who *could* climb pretty hard. Which is great inspiration for all of us queer climbers! But that doesn’t mean there aren’t *ANY* places for easy/moderate leading. We have found a bunch of great crags over the years with a bunch of ‘easy/moderate’ sport routes and bigger areas to spread out in which can accommodate groups.  And, like, there is so much fun stuff and there isn’t really anything like this anywhere else, so, over time HC has grown from a more strictly ‘hard climber’ thing to a more all-encompassing thing with lots of different levels. Over the last 5 years, the attitude of the organization about ‘non hard’ climbers has changed. 

But know yourself: If at HC, when there are tons of people around, when maybe you drank a bunch last night, and you’re nervous about that one person you think is hot not thinking your butt looks good in your climbing shorts, or whatever… maybe that isn’t the best atmosphere to get on your first 5.11 where the guidebook states that if you blow the crux move you could deck. If you don’t know how to clean/rappel, *AT HC, TAUGHT BY SOMEONE YOU DON’T KNOW, AT THE TOP OF A CLIMB, ABOVE 20 LOUD PEOPLE, IS EXPRESSLY NOT THE PLACE TO LEARN IT*. There are a few more snarkyish things written in several posts/manifestos/etc. by the dictators. The ‘chaperone/guest’ thing is ‘strict’ but I think the best way to think about it is if you’ve not climbed outside, you should partner up with someone who has their skills dialed in. 

And, just like at CRUX events: Leave No Trace is the order of the day. 

So is being good crag citizens and don’t put top rope on all 5 of the moderate routes right next to each other if another group looks like they may want to get on them, too. 

And though we’re well known (HC, not CRUX per se), it’s always good to remember that not everywhere is universally friendly. 

Edit/Addition: It should be noted that the fact that there are a ton of awesome climbs in the 5.10/5.11/5.12 range should be a really great motivating factor, so even if you’re not yet there, once your skills are dialed in, you can star going for those harder grades. Many of us HCers did our first 10s 11s or 12s there, but the key is to have your safety (and belay skills) TOTALLY ready:) But I get that it's something people sort of have to 'be in' to believe, just like climbing in general. How many times have we all replied "come and I'll show you that's not true" to that person who, when presented with "i'm a rock climber" says "OH I COULD NEVER..." that's what an outdoor 10/11/12 can be.  

I also heard that you have to like be a super social justice warrior or else you’re not really welcome. 

Not true. 

(EVEN THOUGH I PERSONALLY WOULD BE FINE WITH THAT BECAUSE I’M A BRATTY SJW AND I DON’T CARE *CACKLES SOCIAL JUSTICELY*). *cough* 

Anyway, this is a ‘national’ event. There are various levels of ‘wokeness’, or whatever you’d like to call it, present within the ethos of the various groups and people who attend. But as an organization the people involved are from my perspective, *deeply* interested in making sure that HC expands its attendees’ horizons and isn’t simply a gay, white cismale experience and event and they are rigorously pushing for a higher degree of inclusivity, and representation (including in their leadership) to make sure that happens. 

What does that mean, really? I think that in spirit, it means ‘don’t be an asshole’. In practice, I think it means: don’t talk about/make jokes about people whose groups you’re not part of. Be how you are within CRUX and you should generally be fine. If there is an issue, someone will say something, but I don’t think of that as a thing CRUX members have typically had issues with on the whole–everyone is capable of having issues, but we’re a good group of good people.

And we’re all adults. So, assume positive intent, and if you get called out just listen and don’t be defensive. Even if you think you’re right/it was just a joke/but, but: It won’t hurt you to listen to someone without having to respond/defend yourself. It’s an exercise each of us should probably do more often.  Anyway. This has gone on long enough. See you there. Climb On.