#threaded rod core-pulling structure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years ago

Text

Emily's Awakening, Part Three

Following a jolt and abrupt halt in her uncontrolled flight, Emily shot through the air and tumbled forward. Immense heat, so fiery that it threatened her skin to blister, made way to flames licking at her nude body, triggering a visceral response; making animal instincts flare up and drive her to new heights of exertion.

She rolled after hitting the ground, stumbling back onto her feet only to run yet farther—only forward—liberating every aspect of the clashing realities and letting this hell burn to the ground with its own flame.

Running, sprinting, up until she stopped sensing her body itself. Until her entire being had become this valley of fire.

A scent of sulfur and something that reminded her of blood or rust—iron—hit her nostrils like a freight train. The heat that accompanied it was out of this world, radiating from a floor made out of red hot cast iron—but it did not hurt Emily.

She stood before a maze and in the center of that maze stood Emily. Or rather, a glowing image, a reflection of herself, lit and radiating with the dim light of that calm blue flame, contrasting the crimson glow of the inferno and lava all around.

Emily finally paused, finding that she didn’t need to catch her breath. Instead, a strange calm filled her. Smoke billowed out from between her lips even though her last cigarette felt like it had burnt down an eternity ago. Fire burnt on her skin—no, it burnt from her skin, escaping through the pores from her blood within—a raging fire. Her skin had lost all semblance of flesh, now made of pure, living iron.

The other Emily—the other one who stood in the center of the labyrinthine pattern of glowing lines—she beckoned Iron Emily to herself. Blue Flame Emily’s blue light glimmered, glowing in a steady counterbalance to Iron Emily’s red-hot rage.

Focus.

“What the jailer does not know, is that they are just another prisoner,” Emily whispered. To herself or to anything within the infinity around her; none of that mattered. Recalling Wise Man’s words helped her calm down.

All that mattered was that her mind still functioned and the words emerged from her core, like the whisper and crackle of a flame, like the mantra that heralded an anchor being cast into the water. It didn’t sound or feel like her self anymore, but it was—unmistakably so. Even more her self now than ever before.

Reborn.

No—something was missing. Something crucial. She was still in the process of rebirth.

Iron Emily approached Blue Flame Emily. Her consciousness trailed behind her by half a step, always following, all entities connected by silver threads but remaining out of sync and catching up in a blur.

The fires would meet. Together they would burn brighter than any color.

A beacon of blinding light.

The moment Iron Emily stepped onto the pattern of the maze to cross the floor, a shock wave jolted through her body and an unseen force pushed her back. She could feel the iron of her feet melting into the searing-hot stone of the maze, making her steps weigh a million tons and slowing her advance.

“Wake up,” Iron Emily said to Emily. The words poured out like smoke, smooth and toxic. She was not appealing to a dreaming self, nor was she urging Emily to wake up from a nightmare. Emily was telling Emily to focus—to shed all things that still held her back.

The first thing that weighed her down was a glimpse of another reality—another timeline? Another dimension? A place where Emily sat inside the bright white confines of a psych ward, rocking back and forth and withdrawn from reality altogether, failing to cope with the horrors of being abducted and raped by monsters posing as human beings.

That image loomed behind her like a dark shadow. That alternate existence and everything else behind her—there lied madness.

Only two ways left to go: to turn back and surrender herself to insanity, or to wander the infernal maze and embrace her destiny.

Iron Emily struggled to move, finally lifting a foot and taking her first step into the circular maze. A familiar presence blinked into existence—felt but not seen, then heard but not felt.

“Gay Chris,” as they always called him back in the day. One of her best friends. He stood, leaning against one of the fiery rocks on the edge of the maze, giving off a casual air and unfazed by this surreal hellscape.

“You always rant about all the shit that’s wrong with the world, but what the fuck are you doing about it but ranting? Shut the fuck up if you’re not going to do anything about it,” he said, repeating the words that had inspired Emily to become the truth-seeker she was now.

Even his expression mirrored the one on his face from that decade past—annoyed by his stoned friend’s idiotic tirades. When it clicked for Emily. When she steered her life in a new direction, one in which she would change the world, and the one in which she became a jaded journalist.

“I won’t shut the fuck up,” she replied, now smiling. Originally, she had been taken aback by his words. Now she knew the purpose she had found, the things she had done, and all the things she still wanted to do. “At least I’m fucking doing something now. Can you say the same for yourself, designing graphics for stupid little video games over in Montreal, motherfucker?”

“She won’t be silenced, son,” Detective Tanner said. The law man had appeared behind Iron Emily, seemingly out of nowhere, born from this fiery hell.

Chris chuckled and his skin melted, sloughing off like pudding. The chuckling gurgled and exploded into a bellowing, booming laughter, growing in volume. From the hideous molten flesh emerged a demonic figure, showing its true form.

Emily’s madness.

“Sure, keep acting tough, little girl. Cuffed to the curtain rod while the Grinning Man sinks the blade into your back,” the demon said.

Iron Emily squinted, pushing back the memories of her trauma. But there would be no avoiding them here. She could feel the infernal fires burning away all uncertainty, peeling away the layers of her flesh like the skin of an onion till all that was left was the stark realities underneath, and the core of who she truly was.

Thing being, Emily was not afraid of that anymore. She was not afraid of her true self. She knew her flaws, her weaknesses, all the rough edges and the inconsistencies that she believed to burden the world around her with.

Part of her true self was this thing—this demon—and she felt no shame about it. No regrets. She was more in tune with who she was than ever before. She remembered it from her drug trip in Rodney’s basement. And here it was again, haunting her.

She let her gaze sweep back and forth between Tanner and the demonic entity that had worn Gay Chris as a disguise.

“What the fuck do I call you?”

“Tanner,” said the entity looking like Detective Tanner.

“Okay. And you? You’re not Chris anymore,” she said, nodding at the demon. “Here’s your chance to pick a cool name, because I sure as hell am gonna give you a dumb one just to piss you off.”

The demon cackled and growled, “I am what lurks at the bottom of each glass of booze you drown yourself in.”

“Alright. Suit yourself, asshole. I dub thee Stinky Jim.”

This also amused the demon, prompting more mad cackling.

A sense of uneasiness returned. It reminded her of the presence of the Grinning Man. Always behind her, closing in for the kill. Murder in the eyes, just watching her.

Emily dared to shoot a glance over her shoulder, peeking at the infernal madness behind her, raging at the edges of the maze. From it emerged Hal, carrying the studio camera, approaching her.

“Clever, Emily. Now show us how much of a ‘highly-functioning alcoholic’ you really are. Not sure you ever managed to pull off that magic trick, you dumb bitch,” he sneered, keeping the camera trained on her. The red light on the camera flashed menacingly, matching the beat of the all-devouring madness, beating to the pulse of this Pandemonium.

Stinky Jim cackled more at this, and melted into a puddle of searing-hot lava on the floor. Emily chose to ignore Fake-Evil Hal and look straight ahead.

Kept her eyes on Blue Flame Emily.

Still she could feel the camera, hovering right behind her. Watching her every move. Some part of her knew this was her own insanity, a part of herself that was judging her, testing her. Prodding her with every single bad memory, and exposing everything she thought or desired.

Fake-Evil Hal reminded her of her self-destructive, self-hating streak.

“You have to keep going,” Tanner said. Emily wanted to imagine that she reminded him of her father, but Tanner didn’t. If anything, he reminded her of what she imagined a father figure to be like, and what such a man would do now. “You got this,” he added on cue.

“Are you really Tanner?” she asked him. Because while everything and everybody else felt like manifestations of her self, Tanner’s presence felt so—off. Out of place.

He turned and pointed to the wall behind him. Instead of the obsidian and granite that comprised the solid structures within this fiery hell, he stood within the confines of his office at the precinct.

A red yarn connected pins on the corkboard there, drawing lines between different photos, maps, and pink Post-it notes. She remembered this “paranoia wall” of his quite well.

“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get ya,” he reiterated. “This shit sandwich is made in the top echelons,” he told her, tapping the Post-its with question marks at the head of the maze-like map he had created. She knew what he meant: that it went all the way up to the police chief. “I’ll do what I can, but you need to be careful.”

A presence neared, heavy with malice. As both Emily and Tanner turned in unison to gaze upon its visage, more of the projection of the detective and his office overlapped with the fiery maze. Through the milky obscuring glass on his office door, silhouettes approached. Shadows. Nebulous, faceless, and evil.

Converging on Tanner.

“You gotta go. Never give up,” Tanner said.

Emily wanted to tell him that things would be different now, but the moment she turned to tell him so, Tanner and his office transformed into ashes, like thin sheets of paper burning up in a flash. The violent winds of the inferno swept the ashes away, scattering them in every direction, and absorbing the embers like they never existed in the first place.

Tanner was gone and a pang of guilt hit Iron Emily in the gut.

He was right, she had to go. She strained and tried to lift her legs, but her feet had fused with the smooth stone ground beneath her.

“Welcome to the Emily show, where everybody is rooting for everybody else—yelling at the screen and hoping to see you fail. Because you’re such a vile piece of shit,” Fake-Evil Hal said, still behind her, a presence holding the camera. “Did I say everybody? Hah, don’t let it get to your head. Nobody likes you, and nobody’s watching. You’re the only viewer, you self-loathing, self-involved whore.”

Emily took a deep breath and exhaled more smoke. She flipped Fake-Evil Hal the bird without even turning around or giving him the satisfaction.

Then she pushed forward, pulling her limbs with all her might. Taking one difficult step at a time, her iron legs thudding against the accursed stone with tremendous weight as she made her way into the maze.

Blue Flame Emily looked so close, but felt so far. So infinitely far away. Every step Iron Emily took, the stone ignited and burned beneath her feet, threatening to melt her down and swallow the molten metal that her body had transformed into.

Roaring jets of bright white flames shot forth from the lines of the maze. Where the walls of this labyrinth had only occupied an imaginary space, now deadly fire forced Emily to wander through its forlorn paths.

“Only you can walk this path,” Miranda’s words echoed in her thoughts.

And walk she would.

Thick clouds of ashes and flames exploded from the walls of the maze, dragging deadly fog through the fiery corridors. Iron Emily felt the heat inherent, so hot that it would singe all her hair. But she had not a single hair on her body because iron made up her entire being now.

Even with this invulnerability to the fire, she instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes from the toxic cloud of suffocating ashes. She could breathe smoke but held her breath as if it mattered. Every step she took to move forward she made in complete blindness.

When she dared to open her eyes, the world had changed again.

Unlike in the maze, the smoke she exhaled was born from a lit cigarette. Emily let her hand holding the cigarette lazily droop off the side of the bed in which she now lay. Sweat and the smell of sex clung to her and she glowed. So did the man next to her, with whom her legs were entangled. The legs of her love: Julian.

Just like she remembered, he smiled at her when he plucked the cigarette from between her fingers and snuffed it out in a glass of water.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t need those anymore if it was just that good?” he asked.

The maze faded quickly from the forefront of Emily’s mind and made way for a warm, soft feeling throughout her entire being. It crept across her face, stretching her lips into a warm smile.

“Maybe it just wasn’t that good,” she whispered coyly.

She rolled over and rested her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his arm with the tip of her index finger.

He chuckled and gingerly brushed strands of her hair aside, then fondled the curve of her ear and the back of her neck with his hand. They both radiated with heat—not that of fire and destruction, but a heat of passion and deep-rooted love.

She remembered this night. You don’t forget the ones in which the sex you had stands out as some of the best you ever had. But the inferno and the madness that had brought her back here still lingered, chipping away at the back of her mind.

Even in reality, she found Julian’s apartment incredible. Living there as long as she had always made her think she was dreaming. It never quite matched where she came from and where she imagined to be going in life. And alas, it existed only in a short-lived bubble of time, a sweet memory sandwiched in between harrowing experiences.

One wall of the spacious bedroom consisted of glass, beyond which a twinkling sea of lights sprawled across the horizon of a nightly sky—the skyline of Los Angeles sparkled in warm colors, fuzzy and distant.

Lost in this moment when it had been a reality, Emily wanted to lose herself in it again. Never again, she believed, would she experience a comfort like this in her life. She drank in Julian’s scent, basked in his warmth, and swam in a sea of harmonious bliss.

This was her home.

“I can’t wait till we get married,” he said. He rested his palm against her lower back, hot and soothing at the same time.

And there it was again—the madness, chipping away, scratching at the back of her consciousness. Reminding her that this was not real.

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils but lingered where she lay. She turned her head to gaze dreamily into the tiny orange lights of the skyline, to rest her ear on his chest and listen to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

Emily savored this memory and place for as long as she could before replying.

“I’m so sorry, Julian, but that isn’t real. You never said that. I was going to propose to you before Kathryn Shaw killed you.”

She hugged him tightly, holding close to him.

“None of this is real.”

The bedroom door opened. Julian entered, wearing the jogging clothing she had gotten him for his birthday, darkened around the neck and pits where the fabric had soaked up sweat. No less attractive, he brandished a feeble smile as he blinked and looked upon Emily from across the room. His eyes were wet with sadness and concern—and longing. The smile faded from his face once his gaze shifted from her to the Julian she lay with on the bed, upon which he squinted.

The Julian by the door instantly felt more real to her.

“You can’t fool her. She is too strong for that,” Real Julian said.

She pushed herself up, away from False Julian. This one smiled back at her, but his smile had an almost sinister air about it now. His body lost all definition and melted down into a pile of gray ooze, bubbling goo that seeped into the sheets of the bed and vanished entirely, leaving only sweaty stains. Emily felt like she should have been more startled at this, but everything made perfect sense here.

By the time Real Julian had approached, she sat up straight on the edge of the bed. When he cradled her cheeks in his hands, her eyes welled up with tears, blurring her vision of him. With the soft light and her sights a mess, he looked an angel.

How fitting, she thought. Just like the memories blur.

But he wiped the tears away with his thumbs and knelt by her side to match her eye level.

“You have to carry on. Continue on. Only you can walk this path, and only you can do this,” he said. And every word resonated with that sense of natural strength inherent in his being. Everything good about him that she remembered and cherished.

A lump formed in Emily’s throat and tightened, making it harder to hold back the tears, and impossible to say anything.

“I will always be with you,” he said.

His warm, genuine smile forced the sparkling tears from his own eyes.

Before Emily could answer, she had to gulp, rid herself of that lump in her throat. It was the most painful thing to swallow, because she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Tears rolled down her cheeks like pure little pearls of sorrow.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her close and then melded with her—passed into her, like a ghost, dissolving as they merged. Real Julian became one with her and the warmth that she had always felt in the memories of him filled her, making her soul hum and her essence scintillate. She glowed with light—constant, like a lantern, and soothing; unlike the violently flickering flames of her rage. They flashed in a blue light for a brief moment.

“Goodbye, Julian,” she said, breaking the words as she choked on them.

“This is no goodbye,” he said. His voice was everywhere and nowhere. It didn’t exist, yet it came from deep within. “You will always have me by your side.”

With the tears fully streaming from her weary eyes, she wiped them with her entire forearm, sobbing in silence and this strangely comforting solitude. When she looked down upon her nude body, it was iron again, with her hand clad in the strange gauntlet.

She rose from her seat on the bed’s side, shot one last longing glance at the skyline of Los Angeles—reminiscing on how this represented the one short phase in her life during which she truly knew happiness—and made her way to the bedroom door.

Just twisting the doorknob and pulling lightly on it, a gust of mighty wind blew it wide open, nearly knocking her back, and a flurry of ash and embers flowed through. Flames licked around the edges of the frame, incinerating everything and devouring this place of solace. Rather than succumbing to despair, Iron Emily shielded herself with the gauntlet and marched through, continuing through the fiery walls of the maze.

Her limbs weighed heavier than before, as if she had to grow stronger just to lift her legs and press on. Where she had been moving effortlessly through Julian’s bedroom, she now felt the weight of the iron in her soul, threatening to stop her in her tracks.

“You have to carry on,” Julian’s words echoed in her mind, feeding the pure flames of her will.

And she did, groaning as it took more and more out of her essence to stride forth, doubly so when the walls flared up, trying to discourage her from continuing and instead whispering to her; luring her into a false sense of security, promising an escape that the self-destructive madness behind her might offer. With the growing flames of the maze’s walls, another cloud of thick black smoke billowed out from them and engulfed her whole.

The tears had long dried—burned away by the searing heat. When the plumes parted and her vision cleared, she gazed upon her family life. Times growing up, ghostly rooms taking shape and dissolving before her eyes as she continued to wander through the maze without ever taking a wrong turn or even considering to turn back.

Here, she argued with Willow. There she played with Hannah. Being the middle child of three sisters always had been a mixture of blessing and curse. Willow, older, strong and aloof, always daddy’s favorite. Hannah, younger, sweet and doe-eyed, always pampered and cut some slack. Young Emily had to settle on the hand-me-downs from Willow but never had to feel the jealousy towards Hannah that Willow felt. Teenage Emily was cut no slack, expected to excel wherever Willow failed, and be a perfect example for Hannah.

Little Emily woke up in a panic from a nightmare and wandered into the living room. Dark, save the cold blue glow from the television set on the stand that her father was staring into. Tears streaked down Little Emily’s eyes as she approached him and told him about her bad dream. Mom was out of town on work.

Black rings of exhaustion lined Dad’s eyes from the long hours at work he had put behind him—from the time before he started his own hardware store—and he put most of his attention into the news on TV. Her repeated attempts to earn some comfort or calm from him only added to his annoyance with her that night, gnawing at his patience.

He slapped her. Stunned her. Told her he was too tired for this. Had an apology written on his face, but said nothing to that effect. She cried and went back to bed, alone, sobbing in solitude. He never did apologize, though that was the only time he ever hit her—and to Emily’s knowledge, hit anybody in his family.

Unlike in her raw memories, she suddenly heard a whisper. A thought. Then more, reaching her through the ether. These thoughts were not her own, but her father’s, forming in Iron Emily’s mind like speech, “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that. Should I say something? I’ll apologize tomorrow. I mean, she really should respect me and leave me alone when I tell her to. God, she looks so miserable and pathetic. I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

Maybe things would have been different back then, had she known his thoughts. Iron Emily then wondered if hearing her thoughts was not just the madness catching up to her.

Iron Emily hardened and pulled her legs up, taking one step after another with renewed vigor, finding yet greater strength to continue. Nothing would be easy—nothing ever was. Though she vowed to not forget those who helped or loved her, she would expect no help from anybody. She left the sobbing Little Emily behind, the little girl who had strangely grown from this bit of trauma.

At a party her mother was hosting, Young Teenage Emily kept telling Mom that she didn’t want to play the guitar. A bunch of grown-up friends of Mom whom Emily didn’t particularly like were there, staring awkwardly and trying to not interfere with the minor drama unfolding.

Sure, Young Teenage Emily could play the guitar a little bit. But despite being a heavy metal enthusiast, she had never really gotten into it. Instead of going to all the lessons her parents paid for, she would rather hang out with Gay Chris, Carlos, Rodney, and Jimmy—getting high and talking about politics and philosophy with the average stoner’s depth of a shallow pond.

She could play a few chords, a few riffs, and had a shaky grasp on rendering some common songs. Just capable enough to softly play a couple of pieces on her acoustic guitar.

Mom haranguing her to perform something she neither wanted to nor thought she was particularly good at embarrassed her deeply, let alone in front of all these people she didn’t even know or give two shits about.

“Mom, come on. No.”

“You’re so talented, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mom hissed at her.

“I don’t wanna. I’m not even warmed up.”

“Come on, Emily, I believe in you.”

“No! I’m not going to play the stupid fucking guitar, alright?” Young Teenage Emily exploded, and Iron Emily could almost lip-sync it word for word; with that outburst having burnt itself into her memory.

Everybody stared. Someone bit their lip in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Someone else almost cleared their throat, then changed their mind as to not draw attention to themselves.

Young Teenage Emily stormed out of the room. She went to her own room, brooded and paced for a few minutes, then climbed out of her window and went to hang out with her friends.

Iron Emily, however, witnessed what happened after Young Teenage Emily had left the scene.

Was this her imagination? The madness of this maze and her crumbling mind now manifesting in these scenarios, filling in the blanks? Or was the unfettered power of this place bleeding through reality, piercing the veil of time and space and showing her something that Young Teenage Emily had never seen?

Her mother went to the nearest couple and complained about her.

“I just don’t know what to do about her anymore. We tried everything to raise her right, but she started listening to heavy metal and smoking, and I think her friends are just a bad influence on her,” she said.

The guests did not contradict her. They nodded with their awkward, fake smiles, not trying to feed the fires of this conflict or take part in it in any way.

“She is always so angry, and explodes like that all the time. I think we really need to get her into counseling. Or therapy,” her mother said, shaking her head, explaining the situation to yet other guests.

The guests all tried to duck away from this conversation, growing uncomfortable. Emily could hear their thoughts; knew they wanted nothing to do with any of this. Disgust and rage welled up in the heart of Iron Emily, who silently and invisibly watched this unfold.

Foreign memories and minds broadcast their thoughts into her own consciousness; it was the only explanation. She couldn’t just be imagining this.

“You can change this,” Stinky Jim said from behind Iron Emily. He chortled, smoky and sinister. “You can make her pay.”

“For what?” Iron Emily asked. “She’s not all wrong.”

Stinky Jim cackled, “Oh, just wait, then. It’s going to get even better now.”

The guests were not impressed. Emily’s mom didn’t seem to understand that those nearby just wanted this awkward situation to end. They would nod and smile but those smiles were strained and their participation and compassion feigned. Some of them wanted to leave the party.

“She talked her older sister out of her relationship with her boyfriend and into lesbianism,” her mother lied, shaking her head with a theatrical sigh.

“The fuck,” Iron Emily growled. Her teeth screeched like a fork on the chalkboard as she ground them together as a result of the anger welling up in her gut.

Stinky Jim’s cackling erupted into full-blown laughter.

“She wasn’t even twelve years old when she started shoplifting. And that was after we caught her stealing toys from other kids. We did all we could, but she just—she never listens. There’s only so much you can do to raise a kid right, right?” her mother lied.

She kept inventing things to make Emily look bad and garner pity from her friends. Those same friends averted their eyes, exchanged nervous glances, and paid less and less attention to her; not engaging and only causing Emily’s mother to pile more and more brazen lies on top.

“She stole our car when she could barely reach the gas pedals and gave us quite the headache when we had to foot the bill for repairs.”

“The police brought her home one night and let her off easy, you know how it is.”

“I think she tried heroin.”

Stinky Jim’s laughter swelled to ever greater volume each time she lied about misdeeds Emily never committed. All the while, Iron Emily’s insides boiled. She refused to let the rage take control any longer. What if her mind could slice through space and time and change this? Stop this bullshit? But what if that obliterated her mother’s mind? The minds of her guests? Her morals clashed with her wrath.

“You have sworn to expose the truth. You could do that right here and now if you put your mind to it. You have real power now. Even greater power than you’re willing to embrace. You can punish liars. Just gotta use your head,” Stinky Jim said, egging Iron Emily on. He stoked the fires of wrath in the depth of her being. Part of her wanted to give in and test the limitations of her power; wanted to make her mom pay for doing this.

But Iron Emily gathered herself. Breathed. Focused. Took control over the rage. Just like the old homeless man told her to. She wanted so badly to lash out, but she had to get out of this. She remembered where she truly was: inside the fiery maze. Not in this moment.

She would let it slide. The realities of future times slid into being, overlapping and overlaying this scenery.

Nowadays, Emily visited her mother regularly. Mom would talk about conspiracy theories after her long combined shifts of dog sitting, working at her backwater supermarket, and work in a retirement home. Emily would take the time to debunk or confirm whatever nonsense she had picked up from the yellow press and Facebook.

Maybe their relationship would transform, now that Iron Emily knew of this day and what horrible things her mother had said about her in her absence. Still, she wondered if any of this was even real.

Stinky Jim laughed and didn’t even need to say anything.

Iron Emily knew this was real. Realities clashing, connecting; she stood in an intersection of worlds.

The imagery faded away like smoke being dragged away by a gust of wind. As it cleared, only more imagery unfolded beyond it: places Emily had never been. Moments of minds that never reached her, thoughts that bounced around in her skull.

Her mom sat alone in the glow of a TV set in a dark room, when Emily’s exposé on the human trafficking ring aired on national television. She sat up in surprise when she saw Emily on screen, personally delivering some statements, followed by voice-over narration for the segment.

Surprise. Pride. Mom was proud of her now. She cried tears of joy and she was proud of what her little girl had become: exposing those monsters, cracking the veil wide open and revealing those injustices for all to see. She wiped her tears and could not stop listening and watching. The content of the exposé upset her; learning of the personal fates of individual victims—such as Tran—caused her mother to feel sick. But above all the emotional upheaval lingered a profound happiness and pride over her daughter’s accomplishment.

Not only her mother felt this way. As the fiery winds carried embers and whisked away these images as well, they revealed a room in which her father, Sean, sat on the couch next to his second wife, Christine. They, too, watched TV and saw the same exposé airing on national TV.

He stared into the glow of the device, wide-eyed and surprised. His mind swam in the same place: proud of his daughter’s achievement. Sean also regretted how little contact they still had and for the first time in his life, realized how much of that had been on him.

By contrast, Christine’s thoughts circled in different, darker places. She saw Emily’s success on clear display on the television and only wondered how she could help her biological daughter to be more successful than Emily. These pieces of thoughts and feelings did not just reach Emily’s being like spoken words, intercepted by her mind, but they took more tangible forms.

Stinky Jim’s laughter had long gone silent. Though Iron Emily felt his presence, his quiet only spelled out a tense anticipation. A curiosity. Emily stood on the precipice of discovering something new, and the demon of madness could hardly wait to see her experience that breakthrough.

She tasted Christine’s personal vice. Sour and bitter and artificial and unsatisfying, like sucking on a piece of plastic-covered cardboard. Christine’s pride burned brightly, and Emily tasted it as clearly as the aftertaste of coffee and cigarettes clinging to her tongue.

Christine got up in a huff and switched the TV off.

“Enough of that,” she told Sean.

“What if you could burn that nonsense right out of her?” asked Stinky Jim.

Iron Emily shook her head and shut her eyes.

Smoke and fire tore through this memory, tearing Emily away from the insights it delivered. When she opened her eyes again, the memories of her parents had made way for the inferno of the labyrinth once more. Iron Emily had seen enough, anyway. Daddy, for whom she was never good enough, was proud of her. She dismissed the spark of defiance that threatened to arise in her, and decided to embrace this little victory for what it was. She would hold onto that.

Emily could have touched their minds, changed their being, but decided against it.

The smoke billowed past her and violent winds fought her progression. Still she continued on, one deliberate step after another. Every time, the heat threatened to melt her, she forced her legs to lift and take another step, yet again.

“You’re not special,” said the demon behind her. “You’re no better than anybody else, sitting on your high horse. You and your stupid moral high grounds. Fictions you cling onto to make yourself feel better when all you’re doing is looking down on the rest of the shit-stains that populate the world around you. You probably think you’re so great for not using your newfound mojo, not reaching into their petty little human minds and wrenching around in there. So noble I could puke. So responsible. But let’s see just how long that lasts.”

With a thunderclap, a torrent of flames exploded outwards, cascading through the maze’s corridors towards Emily. She braced herself, leaning into the massive weight of her iron body. She clutched her hand in front of her—the iron gauntlet—it pierced her mind, cutting through every thought when she closed her eyes. Always there, even when she tried not to think about it. Now shielding her from these infernal forces.

The maze took her to another place.

“Let’s see who you really are when you stare into the abyss,” growled the demon.

After a double take, Iron Emily knew she stood in Starkford Penitentiary. A different part of it; a section she had never seen with her own two eyes—the mess hall where the inmates ate.

Kathryn Shaw sat in between other women, all of them dressed in their bright orange jumpsuits. The woman who had murdered Julian with a two-by-four. She ate from her tray, stuffing her face; a face deformed by too much plastic surgery.

Julian’s murderer didn’t look like she had aged a day. Iron Emily realized that this must have been some time after she had gone to the prison to get answers from Kathryn. Probably a good deal after, or she would have still been a sporting a black eye or two from when Emily lost her mind and attacked her.

Iron Emily cringed as a sea of thoughts and emotions crashed in on her from every direction. The minds of all the inmates and guards here washed over her, drowning her in waves of despair and contempt and surrender and negativity. The tempest of emotions clouded her with such intensity that her own rage towards Kathryn Shaw had no room to well up again.

“You know you can do more than just read minds, right? You can reach into them and clutch. Grab. Tear. Squeeze. Rend,” said the demon. His growls came through gritted teeth. Emily could hear the sadistic grin growing on his face without even looking at him. “You can kill with a thought, little girl. Just think hard enough and focus your mind like a blade. One precise thought, sharp like a guillotine’s edge. That’s all it takes.”

Iron Emily focused. The world froze for a split second and she pushed all the thoughts back. The chatter, like a million radios running different programs all at the same time, all went silent. Even Stinky Jim choked, unable to taunt her any more for now. All minds blocked out at once—all but one. The screech of microphone feedback died down and all she heard was a faint whisper, coming from Kathryn’s direction. The only thoughts Emily was curious about now.

Sadness.

It hit her like a truck, overwhelming her senses, making her light-headed and dizzy. Iron Emily didn’t feel tethered in place by her iron body at all any more, rather as light as a feather, like she teetered back and forth and nearly fell down.

Stinky Jim’s claws gingerly clutched her by her shoulders and helped her stay standing.

“Why would I kill her now?” Emily asked. It took her a moment until it dawned on her: the same sadistic grin she sensed to be forming on the demon’s maw was now plastered across her own lips. “She’s right where she belongs. Getting what she fucking deserves. Rotting in prison for the rest of her life. Justice isn’t served if I kill her now. Being a husk and withering away in prison would be the right punishment for this crazy bitch. Fuck her.”

The sadness made way to imagery. Emily could see the movie playing in Kathryn’s mind; glimpses of her own little world. A bizarre fantasy that defied all semblance of reality.

Full-on delusions. Kathryn saw herself getting out of prison soon. She had fooled herself into thinking she was some sort of A-list celebrity. Had all the famous directors lined up, ready to talk to her once she was out of here. She would be even more famous than before going into the slammer. Her private army of lawyers would get her out long before she had served her full sentence. Make a mint off of an autobiography book deal, too.

Julian wasn’t dead in Kathryn’s little fantasy world, either. Part of why she’d get out so easily.

Sure, none of it was real. But Kathryn believed it with all her heart and soul.

Stinky Jim roared with laughter.

“Justice, huh? Ten years later, she’ll still be happy in her blissful little make-believe castle. And where will you be?” he asked, egging her on. “Kill her, killer. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Emily rocked back and forth in the padded cell. Iron Emily screamed and willed that image away. Nobody in the mess hall heard the scream. They just carried on with their lives, lips smacking as they ate the slop served up as meals.

“Fuck this. And fuck you, Stinky Jim. Killing Kathryn serves no one,” Iron Emily cursed. The inner fire of defiance exploded outwards, wreathed her in fire. She spoke in multiple menacing voices when she added, “I am being reborn now. And this is what I was meant to do—reveal the truth.”

Iron Emily focused. She breathed fire, like a dragon. Holding out her hand, the gauntlet around her fist was real. She unfurled her fingers, marveling at their claw-like shape. She focused harder, and the world breathed her, sucking her towards Kathryn, pulling her through a vortex of intertwining realities. Iron Emily stood behind Kathryn and reached into her mind with the gauntlet-clad hand.

She tasted the pride in Kathryn’s mind, for it tasted the same bitter disgusting plastic way that Christine’s vice shared. With the gauntlet, she gripped at the barriers inside of Kathryn’s brain with all her might—taking hold of the prison bars and expensive doors and beautiful illusions that Kathryn Shaw had erected around her core self to protect her mind from the horrors she had inflicted and the horror that she had become.

The gauntlet clenched shut into a fist. Crushed, shattering glass and mortar, bending steel like it was nothing. Iron Emily tore away at the walls of Kathryn’s delusions, peeling them back until Julian’s murderer could glimpse reality for just one moment.

She was here for murdering Julian Stone. She was serving a life sentence in Starkford Penitentiary. Her career was over. Her cell mate hated her. One of the cooks probably spit in her food. Her life was hell, and all of it was her own making.

Emily didn’t even need to construct these thoughts. They all came pouring in on their own, the stark and cruel weight of reality crashing inside like a lake flowing in through a breaking dam.

Kathryn’s fork dropped into her food tray. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. The harsh truths of the world outside the fantasy she had created caught up with her.

Iron Emily wept tears of fire and sealed the illusion again. Just a glimpse. Just enough to make her suffer for a brief moment. Just enough to make her pay. But it rang hollow. It gave Iron Emily no satisfaction. Kathryn’s evident suffering even filled Emily with a short pang of guilt. She shrugged it off and screamed into the void again, getting no response from anybody in the prison.

Only Stinky Jim responded—with more sadistic laughter. The inmates and guards all melted away, transforming into smoke and embers. They spiraled upwards until the fiery walls of the maze subsumed them all, and Iron Emily was surrounded by the inferno again.

“How the fuck was that better than killing her? You heartless bitch,” the demon said. “Can’t wait to see what crimes against humanity you’re capable of committing.”

Iron Emily ignored him and swiveled, struggling to find her way through the firestorm. Her heart beat faster when she gazed upon Blue Flame Emily, an unsteady beacon shining out from the center of the maze. The flames grew larger and obscured that vision, but Iron Emily had seen her clearly enough to know: she had gotten much closer. Halfway there.

She refused to be the Emily in that padded cell. She refused to give up now. Just thinking that, realizing that—it filled her with new vigor. Her soul flared up with newfound determination. The next steps she took to brave the maze came much easier; each one of them much lighter than the last.

She would make it. She would see what destiny had in store for her.

—Submitted by Wratts

5 notes · View notes

capinstru · 5 years ago

Text

Bottle cap factory talks about the working principle of mold

When the mold is opened, the injection machine moving template of the bottle cap factory drives the movable mold part to move downwards. Due to the action of the mold opening spring 25, the mold is first divided along the I-I surface, and the pull rod 27 pulls the condensate at the breaking point. At the same time, the oblique guide post 18 drives the sliding block 19 to move outwards, so that the side core 16 is drawn out to a position that does not hinder the product from coming out. When the fixed template 26 is in contact with the shoulder of the fixed-distance tie rod 23, the fixed-distance tie rod 23 drives the stripper 33 to move downward, and the mold is divided along the II-II surface. The stripper 33 makes the point gate pouring system condensate from The main runner bushing 28 and the pull rod 27 are removed from the top.

When the shaft shoulder of the fixed distance tie rod 23 contacts the fixed mold seat plate 17, the parting of the II-II surface stops; the movable mold continues to move downwards, and the mold moves the fixed mold main parting surface PL surface for the third parting, The cavity plate 36 escapes and stays on the side of the movable mold, and is pushed out by the ejection mechanism. Ouming 36 cavity capping machine is worthy to use.

In short, the structure of the bottle cap injection mold is complicated. The mold flow analysis software Moldflow is used to determine the position of the point gate, the pouring system and the lateral core-pulling mechanism are reasonably designed, and the mold structure for motorized extraction of complete (continuous) internal threads is adopted, which avoids the efficiency of removing the condensate of the casting system and manual threading. Low, labor intensity and other shortcomings. Proved by production practice, the mold structure is reasonable, the movement is stable and reliable, the appearance quality of the plastic parts is good, and the production efficiency is high.

The mold ejection mechanism of the bottle cap is unique. It uses an automatic thread ejection mechanism to pull out the internal thread, and the push plate pushes out the plastic part.

In this structure, a motor is used as power. The motor drives the chain 44 to rotate the gear shaft 46, and then drives the threaded core 32 to rotate through the gear 45 and the gear 48. Because the end face of the plastic part has a non-rotating groove with a height of 1 mm (see Figure 1), as shown in Figure 6. The plastic part cannot rotate with the thread core, forcing the plastic part to be pushed upward with the pusher plate 13, so that the internal thread is automatically released.

#Bottle cap #cap machine #capcompressionmolding.com

1 note · View note

fullmetaldevil-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Batim Stitched AU Ch 8: On a Light’s Trail Unaware of the Shadows

AN: I sincerely apologize for the rather long wait. I had many personal matters to attend to after the passing of a family member, the drama that follows as well as renovation projects of my home that's kept me rather busy. Not only all that, but processing some of the things in the chapters.

Summary: The search is underway for the lost plushtoon, however a shadow is creeping in from behind ready to do whatever means necessary to achieve it's goal.

On with the show~!

-------10 minutes before the opening of Joey Drew Studios--------

A lone figure drifted to the entrance of the studio and produced a ring of keys letting himself in, the man thought it was strange that there were a few cars ahead of him but wasn't about to give it much thought. He drifted down the darkened halls towards his supply closet to grab his trusty mop and bucket. 'Might as well get a head start' Wally thought to himself as he pulled out his keys to open his closet. The key slid into the lock and a soft click was the only sound in the hall except for the doors slow creak that followed. The Janitor turned the doorknob and upon opening the door there were black cords that looked almost like a spider's web had completely barred entry into the closet.

“What in the world?” Wally looked at the black material in confusion. He slowly edged his hand towards the black fibers cautiously and just as his finger grazed a cord, a black figure shot past him knocking him down earning a short scream from the startled man. He only saw a brief shadow before it disappeared down the darkened halls leaving the janitor shaking on the floor. He didn't have long to compose himself before the sound of shoes came up the hall followed by 2 lights.

“Who's there?” A gruff voice called out.

“I-It's me Wally!” The frazzled Janitor called out.

A light shone on the janitor as he picked himself off the ground and Allison and Thomas ran up to the man.

“What happened?” Allison looked the man over as he was a bit shaken after whatever happened.

“I dunno, I opened mah closet seein' what looked like a black spiders web, and the next thing I know something jumped out and ran away.” He gestured towards the end of the hall.

Tom and Allison lifted a brow as they looked at each other before Tom looked at the closet. “In here right?” The man gestured towards the open door earning a nod from Wally. The janitor stepped aside as Tom approached the door and shown his light into its room, what the light had revealed startled both Allison and Tom.

The light cast eerie shadows upon what strongly resembled a spiders web that had been haphazardly put together. The cords were black as the night and had a bit of an oily sheen to them that had Tom lifting a brow at the material, he had never seen anything like it before.

“What is that?” Allison's voice breaking the stunned silence of the trio.

“I don't know, I've never seen anything like it.” Tom replied as he looked around. “Wally do you have anything like a stick or rod?”

“umm..” The janitor patted himself down until he reached his tool belt and pulled out a wrench. “Will this help?” he held it out to Tom.

Tom looked at the tool and shrugged. “That will have to do.” He gingerly took the item from Wally cueing the janitor to step aside allowing Thomas to step forward to examine the ebony material, all the while Allison whispered for the man to be careful.

The wrench lightly grazed the black cords and a thin coating of black liquid was left behind when Tom drew back the wrench. He held it under his flashlight looking at the black fluid. Something about it was familiar and he held it under his nose and cautiously smelled the item. It was ink! The discovery made Tom snap his head back and without saying a word he tossed the wrench aside and dove his hands directly into the hive of threads frantically digging towards it's core.

“T-Tom what are you doing?” Allison looked at the man shocked. The last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt by whatever this material was and he just threw both arms in like it was nothing.

“It's ink.” The mechanic grumbled as he was pulling on the cords trying to reach it's center.

Both Allison and Wally looked at the man like he lost his mind as he feverishly dug at the material. “What do you mean 'it's ink'?” Allison finally spoke.

Tom grunted and groaned as his hands had finally grasped something solid and he pulled as hard as he could, causing Allison and Wally to step back as the man finally succeed in securing his prize ripping it out of the closet leaving a trail of black cords and ink oozing all over the floor. The object looked like a black oval made dozens of the black cords all woven together resembling a silk cocoon with a few loose threads hanging off it. Tom held up the strange cocoon like structure before Allison and Wally who looked at it in a mix of confusion and fear.

“It's ink.” Tom repeated himself gesturing to the object in his hands. “Whatever this is, it's made of ink.” Tom's head snapped in the direction of Wally. “You said something jumped out at you when you opened the closet, correct?”

“Man I dunno what's going on but I'm getting outta here.” Wally started to back up, but before he got anywhere he soon found himself being backing into the wall by the mountain known as Thomas. The mechanic pinned the janitor against the wall under his glare and size difference.

“I'm saying that when you opened up the door something came out of this,” Tom held up the remains of the cocoon that seemed to be melting into a puddle in the man's hands. “And ran past you. Where did it go?”

Wally whimpered and simply gestured in the direction of the last time he saw movement of whatever gave him the jump scare. Before he had a chance to ask, Tom ditched him and went running down the halls towards the direction he had pointed. Allison looked at him briefly and told him to 'clean up the mess' and went running after her husband. He had now found himself alone in the dimly lit hallway with nothing more than a large ink puddle on the floor and his supply closet completely stained black. His eyes looked towards what had remained of the strange object Tom had pulled out of the closet and the only thing that remained of it were almost hair like threads floating in the liquid. A small sigh escaped the janitor as he eyed the mess on the floor and his closet. What a way to start the morning.

-------------------

Allison had forgotten how fast her husband could be at times as she was struggling to keep up with the man. “Tom what's gotten into you!?” She shouted after him

“That was Benny!” The man ran down the halls checking various doors looking for any that were unlocked.

“How can you be so sure?” Allison caught up to him when he finally found an open room and proceeded to turn it completely inside out. She watched him ravage through its contents in a frantic search only going for any spots with ink while ignoring any clean areas. She could only watch in amazement as hurricane Thomas swept through the room.

“That was all made out of ink.” Tom briefly stopped to look at her. “That was like a cocoon made out of ink. Has he ever done something like that before?” He walked up to his wife after trashing the room, a clear scowl on his face at not locating his prize.

Allison's thoughts drifted through her memories of the plushtoon and she remembered a brief moment of Giovanni teaching him how to use the needle and thread she had in her sewing kit that Benny had held onto for her. When Giovanni had taken a length of thread to show him how to sew, Benny pulled out thread of his own from his hammerspace that looked a bit different from Giovanni's. “I-I think he's done that before.” she walked up to her husband. “He was being taught how to sew by Giovanni and he pulled out his own set of thread from his hammerspace since Gio had the spool.”

Tom listened to her story and started to walk back towards the entrance of the room. “I see. He can somehow create his own thread which is probably something that only he can do since he was a toy. He had made himself a hideaway using his own ink.” The man exited the room with Allison right behind him. “Then that is gonna make our search harder.” Tom scowled pacing down the dim hall.

“How much harder?” Allison looked at him worried. She couldn't think that the toon's newfound abilities would make it harder to find him.

“Think about it.” Tom repeatedly trying various doors as he spoke. “The staff here avoids ink like the stuff is the plague. It he truly can create inky threads and in turn make the cocoon I just saw, then he can hold up shop anywhere. The dripping ink from the threads would pool at its base and people would in turn avoid it not realizing that there isn’t a pipe nearby to cause such a leak. Plus he might be able to pull objects around himself so the cocoon itself doesn’t stand out.

“What do you mean?” Allison lifted a brow.

“Have you ever heard of the 'trapdoor spider'?” Tom opened up a door that was unlocked and proceeded to search with Allison right behind him.

“Yeah I have, why?” Allison looked through shelves alongside her husband.

“Well that cocoon reminded me of a trapdoor spiders nest. I used to see them all the time as a young man and the cocoon had a sort of opening like a lid, but the thing was melting in my hand too fast so I couldn't get a good look at it.” Tom scowled as he finished searching the room and left with Allison behind him.

“Ok. So if that's the case what does that mean?” She asked him as he gently ran his fingers along some of the shelving that occasionally lined the halls.

“That means he can use something to act as a lid and have a home behind it, and no one would be none the wiser. Example like a crate. An object like that is normal here at the studio and seeing ink around them isn't all that unusual so no one touches them, but if you open them you'll only find art supplies or tools right?” Tom asked looking over his shoulder at Allison getting a nod. “Imagine opening a crate and instead of getting an art supply you get a spiders den with said spider in it. I suspect that's what happened to Wally when he opened the door to his supply closet. Benny was using the space as a sort of hideout and when Wally opened the door, he opened the lid to his nest and he booked it.”

Realization hit Allison and her eyes grew wide. “So now he's gonna be looking for a new place to hide and it isn't gonna be obvious to the staff since it would look like an everyday item.” Her own words were ones she had to admit she didn't want to hear. She had hoped that finding him would be easy since the toon wasn't familiar with the studio and that he could be lured out with food, but with this new addition of his thread like ability it was going to be far more difficult than she initially thought.

Tom could see the look of despair in his wife's eyes and turned to her placing his hands on her shoulders making her look at him. “Look it's harder, but also easier. Now that we know what he can do, and in a way it narrows down the search.” He gave her a small reassuring smile. “People will avoid the ink, we just need to seek it. Find a collection of ink and we'll find him.”

Allison nodded and before they could do anything the dim lights above all turned on causing both of them to flinch. Tom cursed at realizing time was up and that the studio was getting ready to welcome it's staff to begin the day's operation. Both looked at the hallways that seemed to stretch endlessly and lamented that they had to give up the search, for now. The couple hid out in Allison's dressing room until they heard the sounds of staff filtering throughout the halls telling them that it was safe to come out of their hiding spot and to start the day. Tom gathered up his tools and disappeared down the halls to tend to the ink machine leaving Allison to gather up her things and begin her day in the music department.

–---- At the Music Department -------

The band slowly filed into the music depart with it's normal melodious sounds replaced by grunts and groans as the group shuffled about to their respective positions. Much of the band was still trying to recover from their early morning run around the studio and were thankful that Norman was the only smart one to pack a few jars of cold coffee as the group collected their respective jars before Sammy arrived. Earl and Edgar fought over theirs, but when Giovanni threatened to take it from them and to drink it himself, they relented and shared. Allison was the last to arrive to the Music department out of their group of friends leaving several of the band members wondering where their young and very energetic violinist had run off to. They didn't have time to inquire as Sammy sauntered into the department looking worse for wear and grumbling under his breath.

The music director looked about the room at the band members present and noted the lack of his usual nuisance in the morning. “Where is Mr. Burn?” The man asked the group.

“Umm, we were just about to ask you, sir.” Aaron's voice sounding from the rear. “We have yet to see him at all this morning.” The group nodding at the man's statement.

Sammy lifted a brow and scowled, while he may not have cared for the too energetic for his tastes young musician, the man was an excellent violinist and they didn't have the luxury of waiting for him to magically show up. Sammy let out a groan while brushing his hair back. “Aaron you know how to play the violin correct?” the man nodded in response. “Allison you can play the piano correct?” the woman nodded in turn. “Good, Aaron you'll play the violin and Allison you'll play the piano until he decides to show up. Hurry up we don't have all day.”

Aaron quickly removed himself from his bench while shooting Allison a worried glance as she was returning the look. Their band wasn't very large and to have a member suddenly go missing was very worrisome considering the group's early morning frolic. They didn't have the luxury of arguing with their already irritated musical director as Aaron grabbed a spare violin and proceeded to check it's tuning while Allison fingered through the sheet music for the piano. The rest of the band in particular Edgar and Earl looked onward worried about the lack of their 3rd member of their 'terrible trio', the boys whispering amongst themselves before the harsh tapping of Sammy's baton forcing them to pay attention to the man.

“We'll do a few more rehearsals than normal since clearly we are lacking in a member right now, so I want you all to give it your best shot. Allison You'll have to sing and play at the same time. I'm sorry but we don't have any other choice at the moment. Everyone play like you mean it.” Sammy addressed the group before throwing his hands and striking up the band.

The group practiced several times with both Aaron and Allison doing their best to adjust to their temporary roles. Sammy was irritated at the slight difference in the quality of the music that was being played, but with them down a person he wasn't exactly in the mood to argue too much as musician's don't grow on trees. He couldn't help but wonder himself as to where his normal thorn in his side was. Despite Leonard's very lax personality, when it came to music the man was a professional and was always early. He had never missed a day of work so this was a first, and was surprised that he had not been informed of the man calling in sick. He scowled and was dead certain Joey would be unwilling to bring in a back up, even if it was temporary, as the man was too cheap to even afford new instruments for the band. Each instrument within the department were broken or damaged and Joey had the audacity to have Sammy sit and repair each and every single one before hiring a proper band.

Norman watched from his balcony at the band below, he felt pity on the group trying to adjust to the sudden loss of a member. They all were playing their best, but to him he could hear the worry that coated the notes of their music. Even he was worried himself as he occasionally glanced at the moving pictures of Bendy and his friends on the screen behind the band. What could have happened to Leonard? Despite the man's very lax and lively view on life as a whole, he was always very punctual as he always believed that 'if you're early you're on time, if you're on time you're late'. He could only hope that the man didn't get into too much trouble. He would have to make it a point of checking things out later when Joey is busy.

The band played for 5 hours working on perfecting the piece to Sammy's tastes, they only stopped playing when Norman shut the projector off shouting at them to go have lunch cause 'he ain't playin' no more reels till he eats somthin' or someone.'. Sammy scowled at the man, but knew he couldn't keep the group going on an empty stomach, he even felt his own stomach protesting telling him it's time to eat.

“Allright everyone we'll stop here and we'll begin recording when we return.” Sammy addressed the band putting away his baton.

The group let out a collective sigh and watched as Sammy cleaned up his sheet music and left the room to go eat. As soon as everyone was dead sure that Sammy was long gone the immediately clustered in the center of the department chatting amongst themselves.

“Where's Leonard? Has anyone seen him?” Allison asked from her seat on the piano bench.

“Ah 'now I sure as 'ell ain't seen 'im.” Norman grumbled in between bites of his sandwich. “Normally th' boy be jumpin' all over th' place gettin' on mah nerves.”

Aaron nodded “You're not the only one.” Giovanni nodded beside the man. “It's strange though, where the heck could he have gone?”

“Maybe we should talk to Tom?” Allison spoke up. “He knows the workings of the place fairly well since he's built so much in it. Plus he has access to areas that we don't.”

The group nodded while both Edgar and Earl fidgeted in their seats exchanging glances. They remember seeing Leonard ride the ink machine down a shaft when they were searching the holding area for the Bendy-Land amusement park. Could that have really been the last place he was seen? What became of him when he rode the machine all the way down? What lies below and is Leonard hurt and can't get back out? What if he's stuck? The 'what ifs' danced through the pair’s heads as they whispered between each other.

“if ya got somethin' t' share wit' th' class, go on ahead.” Norman's voice breaking the two boys out of their whisper fest. The man noting the constant whispers between them.

Earl was about to speak when a random staffer came into the music hall. “Earl and Edgar Sheean!” The group turned to look at the man. “Joey wishes to speak with you.”

Earl and Edgar looked at each other confused before they glanced back at the band.

“Bes' not t' keep th' man waitin'” Norman shrugged.

Everyone looked onward confused as to why Joey would suddenly want to speak to the twins, especially after one of their members went missing earlier in the day. No one said a word as they watched the pair follow the man out of the music department and to go speak with their boss. As the twins left Sammy reentered the department surprising everyone as he carried a Bendy cutout and placed it in the corner amongst the rest of the small accumulating pile. The director noticed that the band was watching him turned to the group.

“Oh so you all know, Joey will be bringing in some back-up musicians. The twins had an 'family emergency' and they are heading home to deal with the matter so we will have 3 additional musicians to fill in Leonard's spot as well as the twins. For now rest up and eat, cause once lunch is over we will have 2 rehearsals before recording.” his words were met with a series of nods or 'ok’s' as he once again took his leave of the department.

“Family emergency my ass” Aaron scoffed crossing his arms.

“I'm with you there.” Giovanni nodded along with Norman.

“Guys we don't have proof that Joey was involved with Leonard's disappearance. For all we know he's horribly lost, you all saw the size of the map that Tom carried. The place is huge underground.” Allison tried to reason with the group. She had to admit that even she was growing more and more concerned about her missing friend. The studio was a maze more ways than one and as far as she knew the band mostly kept to the upper 2 floors as there is no real reason to venture beyond that. With the revealing of the map that Tom kept even she was shocked at how large the studio really was, but there was also an equally pressing matter. “Plus we have a new problem.” she looked downwards trying to find her words.

“Now what? We're down the idiot trio and we still have little Benny to find.” Aaron groaned looking at Allison.

Allison sighed “About that, it's Benny that's the problem.” The group looked at her in a mix of shock and confusion.

“Wha' do ya mean?” Norman politely asked.

“See when Tom and I were checking the upper levels we had heard a shout from one of the hallways. When we investigated the source it turned out to be Wally, the man claiming that something had jumped out at him from his supply closet. Tom checked the closet to discover that it was covered in dozens upon dozens of black threads and a dark liquid.” Allison explained.

“So what was it?” Giovanni lifted a brow.

“Turns out it was ink.”

“Ink?!” the group all spoke at once looking at Allison in shock.

“Gio, remember when you were teaching Benny how to sew and he pulled out his own set of thread?” The man nodded in response wondering where she was going with her statements. “Well according to Tom it was threads made out of ink. Benny somehow figured out how to make threads using his ink and had covered wally's supply closet in them. Tom described what Benny's behavior like a trapdoor spider. He'll encase his immediate surroundings in his inky threads to create a sort of nest to hide in. Problem is Benny is small and can hide in many places with the only hint that he might be there is the ink that drips from the threads.”

“So 'ow exactly are we t' find the boy?” Norman pointed out with the rest of the group mumbling similar inquiries.

“Well like any trapdoor spiders nest there is a 'lid'” Allison pulled out a piece of blank paper and drew on the back of it. Drawing a loose diagram of a cave and a lid. “I think the only way to tell if Benny is inside is to look for the threads as you open it, but it has to be slowly. Wally just opened his door normally and the little demon jumped out at him and ran away, so he must have something that lets him know his den is being disturbed.”

“Trip lines” a gruff voice broke the groups focus on Allison with everyone turning to look at Thomas whom had entered the music hall. “He has to have some sort of trip line that lets him know of distant trouble. The trip lines would vibrate alerting the owner as to disturbances nearby that's how trapdoor spiders work.” the group looked at the man with worry before turning to themselves as they processed the new information.

“So in other words.” Giovanni's voice breaking the silence. “The little one can 'set up shop' if you will, in any place around the studio and his threads would keep it nice and tight so no one would be none the wiser unless you open it up and he pops out like a jack-in-the-box. Great.” the man groaning as he ran his hand along the side of his face.

“It's not as bad as you think” Tom's voice drawing Giovanni to look at him.

“How?” The bass player deadpanned.

Tom gave a small confident smile. “Well for starters his treads have to take a lot of ink so he's gonna need to resupply. Any areas that's is coming up short of ink or food disappearing should be an indicator that he's nearby cause of his apparent large appetite. Plus the threads leak ink so while a crate with ink on it's bottom isn't unusual here, it helps narrow down places to search. If it's clean of ink it's a no go, but if there's ink it warrants a careful investigation since Benny spooks easily and runs, as Wally found out the hard way.”

“Did Wally see tha' it was lil' Benny?” Norman nervously inquired. The last thing he wanted was the studios biggest gossip hound to find out about the toon and spread the news like it's going out of fashion.

Tom laughed at Normans question earning a confused look from the projectionist along with the inquiry of 'what's so funny?'. Once Tom's laughter died down to mere chuckle's he finally spoke. “Wally is so knee deep in work right now he doesn't have time to gossip. He kept going on about how if he had to do my workload and his that he's 'outta here'.” Tom mocking Wally's accent towards the last of his statement earning small giggles from the group. “And besides. I don't think he saw Benny cause it was dark and he only saw a shadow jump out at him, he never once mentioned seeing any color.”

“Yeah that sounds about right” Aaron laughed. “At least he's kept out of our hair for awhile and he won't have the time to gossip. The less that guy knows the better.”

The group unanimously agreed and resumed chatting amongst themselves while eating their lunches, trying to savor the remaining time they had during their lunch.

----- Meanwhile at Joey's office ------

The rustling of papers was the only subtle sounds within the office until a knock at the door gained Joey's attention. “You may come in.” the man answered.

The door slowly creaked open to both Edgar and Earl sheepishly peering into the office with Earl stepping forward. “You wished to speak with us sir?”

“Ah Gentleman come in, come in!” Joey smiled as he rose from his desk and carefully edged around it to greet the boys shaking their hands eagerly. “Thank you gentleman for coming to see me. I have something I wish to discuss, but not here.” Joey paused and looked around cautiously “As they say walls have ears. Would you gentleman be so kind as to follow me to my new office?”

“New office?” Edgar looked perplexed at the statement. He had never heard of a 2nd office for Joey Drew.

Joey turned to look at him excitedly “Why yes! Our lovely studio is in the process of expanding to new heights and I've decided to move my office to a lower level to clear up some space on the upper floors for new staff. I'd rather shoulder the burden of the studio's weight rather then make some poor employees suffer by traveling to lower levels, but come, this best be discussed elsewhere.”

Joey urged both young men to leave the office locking it behind them before they traveled down the halls to the elevator. The studio seemed eerily silent as they passed through the halls, almost as if everyone abandoned the building leaving it to it's fate at the hands of its owner. Joey unlocked the gate drawing it open and ushered the boys within closing it behind them. With the push of a button they were descending into lower levels of the studio.

A captive audience now secured Joey decided to break the sounds of the creaking and moaning elevator ride. “So boys.” his voice causing Edgar and Earl to look away from the gaps in the grate to look at him. “Tell me, what is your dream within this studio? What goals do you boys have?” he smiled while leaning gently on his cane.

Edgar looked at Earl before speaking. “Sir, my dream is to be the best drummer and musician out there. To wow the crowds with my beat and to see 'em dancing and having fun.”

Earl followed up. “I love to see people dancin' and swaying with my music and seein' them hop to and fro with a spring in their step. Music is the sounds of life after all.”

Joey nodded as he listened to the boy's tales of their upbringing growing up in a household that was poor and even poorer after the stock market crash. That the only thing they had between them was their instruments that were handed down from their Grandfather who traveled to America seeking a better life. The Irishman had a rough time starting out in the states, but was a hard worker and persistent. He believed in working hard and enjoying what you do no matter how minuscule it was. He had a spring to his step as he brought the music of his home with him and taught it to them when their father passed away from the influenza several years ago as their mother had passed away from childbirth. They used the music of their upbringing along with music they had listened to in the streets to better themselves and use their music as a means of an income to help ease the burden on their aging grandfather whom was still working. Throughout the course of their stories the elevator came to a stop jolting slightly as a signal that they had reached their destination.

“Ah, we are here gentleman.” Joey grinned as he opened the gate allowing the two young men to exit before himself.

Earl and Edgar stared in awe at the new administration level. It was a lot fancier than the one upstairs and was far more accommodating to guests and was quite spacious. It had a more roomy feel rather than the more cramped upper floors and they were able to see why Joey was proud of this expansion.

“Impressive, isn't it?” The director chuckled at watching the twins gawk at the halls before them. “This way please.” Joey drifted down the hall towards his new office with a large placard that read 'Joey Drew'. He opened up his office and lead them inside. “Sit down boys and make yourselves comfortable.”

Earl and Edgar took the man up on his offer and seated themselves at the couch that looked very new and they found it to be far more comfortable in comparison to the chairs and couches on the upper levels. They practically let out a happy sigh as they sank into the cushions. While the two men were enjoying the accommodations Joey rummaged around his desk pulling out a bucket filled with ice and several bottles of pop resting within them. The drinks caught the boys attention as they looked towards their boss with confusion gaining Joeys attention and a small chuckle.

“I heard you boys enjoyed these beverages and after all what type of host would I be if I didn't accommodate my guests?” The man set the bucket down on the table before the twins gesturing for them to take one. “Go on and take one. Enjoy the drinks while I get some papers that I'd like you boys to take a look at.”

The twins nodded and helped themselves to the colorful drinks happily popping the caps off with a satisfying pop before downing the beverages while Joey fiddled with some papers on his desk. The director cracked a small smile behind his papers as the boys finished their drinks and looked up at him ready to deal with whatever the director had planned.

“Now then boys lets cut to the chase.” Joey addressed the two. “I have a little project that I have been working on the side lines and it needs to have a little 'life' put into it and I would like to know if I can get some opinions from some such as you who are young and would know our audience better than I.”

“oh, uuh sure!” Edgar chirped before he was hit with a wave of nausea. “wh-what?” The young man swayed in his seat as the world spun around him and watched helplessly as his brother collapsed on the table next to him, his strength fading as exhaustion was overtaking him. Edgar managed to catch himself just before he hit the table, but the rest of his body was unresponsive and laid all over the floor. He blearily looked up at Joey who's grin rivaled the smiling devil of the studio before his world swirled to black.

Joey glanced at his watch with a small scowl taking mental note that drugging the soda drinks and waiting for the beverage to take effect took longer then he would have liked. No matter, he still had time to do what was needed to be done before everyone went back to work. He was just thankful the boys didn't notice the lack of the hissing sound that an undisturbed drink makes. With a bit of concentration and incantation he summoned up his creature of ink finding that the more he used it the more a solid form it seemed to take. Instead of it being a blob of tendrils and oozing ink it had taken on an almost rodent like form with a serpentine tail and tendrils that formed a mane around it's neck and down parts of its back. He willed it to take the boys to the throne room where the circle was, the beast nodded in response. The creature tried to travel through the ink attempting to pull the two young men behind it and to it's dismay it couldn't take them with it and made a small whining sound irking Joey.

“Through the door!” Joey shouted at the beast making it flinch before it grabbed both twins by their waists and dragged them off leaving behind a frustrated Joey.

The man rubbed his temples to stave off an oncoming headache. It was going to be cumbersome to have to trick people into coming to the lower levels just to have to drag them to the circle on the off chance that these two boys weren't what was needed for Bendy to be complete. God he hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. It was already hard enough to keep Bertie's staff away from the area with them constantly demanding access to other sections of the studio and Thomas had sent GENT away telling them that the majority of the job was done. Ha! What a laugh riot. GENT left sections of the studio unfinished as many passageways were dead end halls or only had timbers to support them like some random mine somewhere, but then again Thomas and GENT were only called in to work on the Ink Machine not to do every little upgrade the studio needed. Joey let out a sigh and slowly removed himself from his chair to follow the trail of ink that the beast had left behind.

Joey once again entered the cavern housing the Ink Machine and grumbled as he stood at the shores of the massive Ink Lake with the Ink Machine beyond it. This was another thing that he hoped he wouldn't have to do again. Crossing the moat always left him more tired then he'd like to admit to and his leg would ache for hours afterwards. Before he was about to step foot into the inky abyss the machine groaned and grumbled catching Joey's attention. Pipes rose from the bottom of the lake breaching the inky surface and slowly the twisted and twined around each other while Joey backed away in fear of what was going on. One by one the pipes rested against each other forming a bridge across the moat and waited patiently for it's owner. Laughter bubbled up out of Joey’s throat as he marveled at the bridge before him and the machine that seemed to respond to his will. Perhaps at last he will finally have his perfect Bendy.

Renewed energy coursed through Joeys body as he hastily made his way across the moat with ease looking up at the machine with a sense of pride, strength and satisfaction. The Machine had been designed and filled with magic that at the time of it's creation he didn't fully understand. He copied many circles and inscriptions into the core of the machine from the various sections of the book along with some of his blood. He wasn't an expert in magic, but knew that the spells came at a price, that for now he was getting the rewards before he pays his dues. When that time comes he has thousands to offer up as payment since he would have no need for the extra people anymore, they would have served their purpose. Surely the machine will gladly take as many as it needs to equate the price of one.

Glee filled his heart as he saw ink pumping through the glass tubes that lined it's halls to the throne room, the machine was getting ready for the next ritual.

---- Meanwhile Above ----

Tom drifted throughout the ink machine room checking various crates, shelving and any small space between the pipes. His thoughts were filled with the memories of holding Benny and couldn't help but wonder where the little toon had disappeared to without being seen by anyone thus far. His not so quiet ransacking of the room was met with a knock on the doorway drawing his attention to the entrance to see a heavy set man wearing a gaudy suit that looked like a Broadway performers costume sporting a long mustache that was curled at the end and a colorful top hat that looked too small for his head. The man known as Bertrum Piedmont.

An irritated sigh escaped Tom's lips. “What?”

“What indeed.” The man waddled into the room scowling at Thomas ,waltzing right up to him jabbing a chubby finger in Thomas's chest. “Thanks to the ineptitude of your staff, Joey had restricted my teams access to our warehouse and work area and to make matters worse our entire stockpile of experimental bendy themed candies and snacks have all gone missing.”

Tom rolled his eyes at the mans commentary about the candies and snacks missing, naturally he would be the only one who would care given his size. The more Tom listened to Bertrum’s bemoaning the missing items and all the work that they put into making sure they were the highest quality sweets possible, the more his eyes went wide at the about sheer quantity the missing items. Tom grabbed Bertrum by his shoulders shutting the heavy set man up. “Did you say ALL of the experimental candies and snacks were gone?”

Bertrum looked at Thomas annoyed “Unhand me.” the man shrugged Tom's hands off allowing Bertrum to take a step back from the mechanic and brush off his shoulders. “Yes We had been making many types of candies and sweets for the amusement park alongside the rides for which all were to get approval by Mr. Drew. Now I have only the rides for show for my efforts as somehow our entire stockpile of the food is gone. Do you have any idea how far this sets us back?”

“Yeah, yeah I”m sure.” Tom rolled his eyes irritating Bertrum. “How large of a stock pile did you have?”

Bertrum huffed and reached into his breast pocket pulling out a small note pad and monocle before proceeding to read. “ 15 pounds of Bendy chocolates, 10 pounds of cotton candy, 2 bags of 50 piece Alice angel candies, one of our newest treats and the pinnacle of confectionery craft the Boris bones a gummy candy and 30lbs of those are gone, and all the stored drinks are all gone. The only thing that was left was the popcorn kernels for which there was a large tear in the bag and they were spilled everywhere. I demanded information as to whether or not the studio has rats and no one said there were any so that leaves someone stole them. I fail to understand how such a large quantity can simply vanish overnight, Few have access to the lower levels and I want to know if you have seen or heard anything about it?”

Tom couldn't believe the amount of food that had suddenly gone missing, the amount of food that disappeared would have anyone screaming for the infirmary or a toilet, that only leaves one last option. Benny. Allison had eluded to the toon's appetite and since no staffer as reported a lost lunch so that only leaves the food that is within the studio itself. He had yet to hear of any of the stock piles of bacon sound that had been left around being eaten meaning that Benny may not recognize them as a food source or he doesn't eat them, nor could he blame him. The candies and snacks would be a perfect lure since the sweet smell would draw him out. Tom spun on his heel looking over his shoulder before leaving “Nope, haven't heard a thing. Thanks Bertie.” The man sped out the room hearing Bertrum shouting 'That's Bertrum!'.

Tom raced down the halls towards the elevator with renewed vigor and determination. Benny had to have gotten to the lower levels somehow and had found a food source at Bertrum's shop. Tom practically threw himself into the elevator closing it's gates and hit the button to take him to the lower levels. His decent down was not nearly fast enough for his tastes, but given the fact that the elevator was working somewhat smoothly and not dropping him into an unknown pit was his small saving grace. When the elevator lurched and came to a stop opening up it's gate for it's rider to exit, Tom tore out of it like a missile as he ran down the halls leading to the park's workshop and storage area. To his dismay there were workers there and not a single one of them seemed at all pleased at Tom's sudden intrusion. Some of them even seemed to be on the defensive and not allow him much further into the workshop despite his protests. He wouldn't help but wonder what got their goat going, he knew it was the luncheon period, but that was no excuse to chase him off with near violence.

Taking his losses at the main entrance to the workshop Tom decided to sneak in on the sides were there were fewer staff. He was thankful that the side entrances were empty and it allowed him to circle around the freshly built booths and unfinished rides. He moved towards the back of the rides and spotted Bertrum’s pride and joy that was nearly complete, the octopus ride. He personally wasn't fond of those sort of rides and was about to keep walking when something at the base of the ride caught his attention. The center portion of the ride which normally held several massive mirrors so the patrons could see themselves as they went around was hollow as the mirrors hadn't been installed yet. At the core of the pillar was dozens upon dozens of black cords that were clinging to the doors that had been opened and at the base was a black cocoon that was slowly melting. Benny was here!

Tom ran to the base of the ride climbing up on it's frame as best he could to scour the heart to see if Benny was inside. To his dismay the toon was not there and the cocoon was slowly falling apart as his hands had dug through its core. Benny was here, but how long ago? Did the staff know he was here? Tom removed himself from the ride and scurried around the booths seeking out any lone staffer that he might be able to pin and get some answers from. He saw one of the booths that read 'concessions' and crept behind the stand to see the stand was completely empty except for a bendy shaped trash can in the corner that was overflowing with empty wrappers and bags. He opened the can and pulled out a few of the bags and held one of them up to the light to examine it better. The corner of the bag was bitten off by something sharp and left triangular marks almost like a shark had gotten a hold of the bag. Tom couldn't hide the look of confusion on his face as he turned the bag over in his hands and then pulled out a few more that bore similar marks. What did this? The marks are too large to be a humans, but surely this couldn't have been done by Benny, could it? In theory the toon's teeth are flat just like how Bendy is drawn in the cartoons.

Taking a glance at the bag Tom decided to pocket one of the empty bags and carefully crept out of the booth and back out into one of the larger work areas. To his surprise this area was full of various games and towards the end of the hall was an elevator shaft with something moving within. He narrowed his eyes at the shaft confused at the movement within until the ink machine passed the grate as made its slow descent to the levels below. This got Tom's attention. The ink machine doesn't move on it's own and let alone who is moving it? The man didn't have long to look a the now empty shaft before the angry shout of one of Bertrum's staffers sent him heading back to the elevator to leave.

---- In the throne room ----

Bendy laid lifelessly on the throne with his eyes firmly shut refusing to acknowledge anything in the room. Even when the door creaked open filling the room with it's whines Bendy refused to acknowledge it. Every time that door opened it wasn't to free him, it was just a means to an end to add onto the hell he was a prisoner in. The young man, Leonard, was the only one who tried to help him and that got the man killed and sent to the ink. The noises within the room weren't the normal sounds of footsteps as they were wet splashing sounds along with what sounded like something was dragging. This encouraged Bendy to open his eyes and see what exactly was going on in the room and the sight before him feel nothing but dread in his stomach.

An inky black creature that Bendy didn't recognize was in the room, the beast was slithering across the floor dragging two unconscious young men. The creature briefly looked at him before a toothy sneer graced it's rat like head before setting the two boys on the circle. Bendy instantly knew what was going to happen, not again! The toon struggled in his bindings shouting at the young men trying to wake them with neither moving. His shouts and pleas for them to wake up and run stopped when he heard a familiar yet unwelcome voice.

“Now, now Bendy. There's no need to shout.” The silvery smooth yet menacing voice sounded from behind his chair. Bendy turned as best he could to see Joey Drew stepping around his chair as the man lightly wobbled on his cane before coming to a stop in front of Bendy.

“Let them go, please.” Bendy softly spoke, his eyes looking up at Joey searching for any signs of humanity within the cold shell of a man. His only answer was the mans silver unflinching eyes boring holes into him before he turned to walk to the circle. “Please, Joey! Don't do this! They haven't done anything to you, It doesn't matter who you bring because the results will be the same. I am who I am! Just let them go. I don't care if you leave me here, but there is no need to try and drag others down thinking it will fix something that was never broken!”

This got the mans attention as he stepped away from the circle with a clear scowl on his face before storming up to the base of the throne with his eyes glaring down at the toon. Joey grabbed Bendy by his lower jaw and forced him to look at the man. “I never said you were 'broken', I said you were incomplete as you are a mere mockery of Bendy. You look like him, but don't act like him. You're hollow with nothing inside to make you who you are supposed to be.” Joey maliciously spat.

Bendy narrowed his eyes in anger with a frown on his face. “what you see is what you get Drew, I am myself and nothing you can do can change that.”

“Hmph, and what I see is an empty shell pretending it has emotions.” Joey shoved Bendy's head back onto the chair before the man removed himself from the circle.

Joey began his chant and like before the machine responded to it's master, bleeding ink from it's walls the ink cascading down to the floor and was drawn towards the circles like snakes. Bendy watched in horror and sorrow as the ink rose around the two boys like scythes,but turned his head to keep from seeing them being torn apart and turned to ink. The mental images of Leonard's demise still fresh in his mind, but this time at least the boys were asleep and he had hoped they didn't feel it. When he opened his eyes he saw only the inky remains of two young men whom he never knew and the grim fact that now it was his turn to feel the pain of their sacrifice. The inky plunged it's way into Bendy's core nearly drawing a scream from the toon, but he didn't, he wasn't going to give Joey the satisfaction.

This time Bendy didn't pass out from the ritual and was very aware of what was being done to his body. He watched as his body contorted and grew to an almost skeletal humanoid shape while barely retaining his left hand, head and bow tie. The pain was agonizing as the magic of the ritual was coursing through his body, but the only thing that was keeping him awake was rage. He was furious that this man was killing innocent people sacrificing them to the ink to fulfill some foolish ideology. The pathetic belief that he was a hollow toon because he didn't dance to his predetermined script. He was never hollow to begin with as he was his own toon. He had a heart, mind and soul that belonged to him and him alone, he didn't need anything else. This man's murdering good people for his own gain and needs to be stopped.

Despite the inky veil blotting out most of Bendy's vision he took a small glance at his now much longer left arm and realized that Joey may now be in his reach. He's going to make that man pay. It took all the demons strength to push past the pain and to focus on maintaining his monstrous unnatural form as it was his added size and strength he needed to carry out his deed. He willed his arm to move, silently thankful that Leonard had undone the clasps on his hands and cautiously flexed his fingers slowly moving his hand all the while that Joey was focused elsewhere. The beast next to Joey watching Bendy all the while with an eerie satisfied grin on it's face.

Joey scowled at the form Bendy has assumed again at the introduction of a soul and this time it was 2 souls. Were they not the right ones or was it not enough? The man turned around and pulled out his black book fingering through its contents, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. There was one thing he was sure of; dragging people all the way to the depth was a major pain and he wondered if it were possible to do the deed that needed to be done from a distance, let alone on a larger scale. His fingers floated through the pages until it landed on several sister circles that could suit his needs and the requirements for them. Only the small rattling sound of the chains that bound him alerted Joey as to what was going on behind him and by the time the man turned around it was too late.

Bendy flexed claws that protruded out of his gloves and swung with the remaining strength he had and side swiped the aged director sending the man crashing into one of the projectors. Joey howled in pain at the injury dealt to him as the man grasped his bleeding side glaring at the smirking demon. The inky creature that Joey kept at his side lunged at the bound demon and bit down on Bendy's neck while burying it's claws into the demons chest and sides extracting shrill cries of pain. A dull crack sound rang from the demons neck cutting his screams short and ink began to wash off the figure to reveal Bendy unconscious. Once the toon was silenced the inky creature removed itself and slithered up to Joey with it gently pushing on the man trying to help him sit up.

Joeys face was full of rage. How dare Bendy hurt him again, after all that's he's done for him! No matter, once he gets a soul he'll behave how he's supposed to and won't ever strike him again. The man looked at the inky beast at his side and saw the creature open it's maw and a black tongue dripped out as it was trying to lick his wounds!

“Begone you infernal creature!” Joey swatted at the beast until some of the ink that made up it's tongue hit his wound.

The pain was excruciating. The director howled in agony and despite his protests the beasts tendrils pinned his flailing arms and kicking legs giving it access to lick his wounds. The more it dripped it's ink on his wounds the less it hurt as he looked down to see his injuries being sealed by the ink completely numbing the pain. The man eventually quieted down and relaxed trying to recover from his bout with the injury. He took several steadying breaths before he tried to move. The creature took the man's attempts at getting up as a sign of recovery and removed itself from the man allowing Joey to stand on wobbly legs.

The ache from Joey's leg had returned with a vengeance, and he cursed the demon that laid bound in chains. He took an experimental step forward finding that despite the damaged the demon had dealt him, he was feeling no pain from the blow and if anything was feeling better than he was before. The only pain he had felt was from the ache in his leg. He lightly patted his side checking his wound noting that the area had been replaced with ink and black spider web like mark radiated from the area and into his veins. Panic began to set in at the sight before him but a voice rang through his mind.

'It will be alright. The ink will keep you alive until you are able to complete your goal. You have a dream to fulfill Joey Drew.'

Joey immediately whirled around looking for the source of the voice in his head. “Who's there!” he shouted into the open air.

'Why are you shouting into the open air when I'm standing right here?'

Joey continued to look around ignoring the creature that stood behind him. The man fearing someone saw him. “Show yourself!”

'Oh you are a funny human being. How can I show myself when I am already here? It is you who are refusing to look at what's directly in front of you.'

A small chuckle sounded out from behind Joey, the simplest of sound a kin to a room of children all giggling with many undertones. The man turned on his heel to face the beast that he kept at his side. The creature he summoned up from his dealings with magic from his book.

The beast seemed to give a toothy grin before a subtle laugh emanated from it. 'Oh so you can use your eyes Joey Drew.'

The man immediately backed away from the creature in fear as best he could before his leg gave out on him sending him toppling onto a projector. At the man's tumble the beast slowly slithered up to the man but stopped when Joey began to wave his cane at the creature to defend himself “S-Stay back!”

'As you wish, after all you summoned me and I cannot harm my master.' the beast sat on it's strange haunches with it's rodent like head bowing. It's mouth turned into an amused grin bearing razor like teeth.

Joey stared at the creature in disbelief and concern “Wh-What do you mean summoned? You're only suppo-”

The beast laughed before Joey finished his statement 'What? Only supposed to be a creature of pure ink that you can magically somehow control? Get real Drew. You summoned me the minute you started drawing the runes mixed with your blood within your machine. Why else do you think the machine responds to your call? I am what lies within your machine, I am the Ink Machine.'

“But how can that be? This form?” Joey stuttered out trying to grasp the creature's appearance that seemed to bubble and warp as it sat staring at him, the only part of its body that stayed consistent was it's rodent like head and frame.

'Oh, this was a form you gave me when you were trying to bend the ink to your will on your own without my help. It seemed that you needed some assistance, so I chose between a collection of creatures you were so happily drowning in my ink. I even lent you more of my power so you can achieve your goal.' The beast sneered at him. 'I'll help you achieve your dream Drew, after all that’s what I was summoned for.'

“You're a demon!” Joey stood on wobbly legs putting on a brave face. “I never agreed to no contract!”

'you sealed the deal with mixing your blood in the runes of the Ink Machine Joey Drew. You wanted a way of bringing your cartoons to life and I'm giving it to you. There is no such thing about using magic without making a deal,or did you fail to read the instructions when you got a hold of my book?'

“What is it that you're after? My soul? I know you demons want human souls.” Joey straightened up glaring at the ink beast.

'As you've said, you own thousands of them. I'm certain I can find one that suits my taste's' The creatures long tongue flicked over it's teeth at the thought.

“Fine. You can take any of my staffs soul of your choosing, but only after I get my toons.” Joey held out his hand waiting for reciprocation, but got no response. “It's customary for a handshake to seal the deal.”

The beast looked at him unamused, but simply stood up on it's hind legs with it's form collapsing and bubbling as it reformed. The form the creature took made the man flinch, but held fast because the thing that stood before him was himself. The ink duplicate of himself bore sharp irregular teeth, pale paper white skin, a black suit and hollow black voids where his eyes were supposed to be. The 'man' held out his hand taking it in Joeys lightly shaking it.

'Oh I'm familiar with your human customs Drew' it darkly laughed. 'Now' it turned it's head to look at the collection of ink that had washed off Bendy had now taken the form of two shivering inky humanoids both looking at the two Joey's in fear. 'lets get ready for your toons.'

The beast laughed as the room pulsed and groaned with the Ink Machine's pipes descending from the ceiling and some erupting from the floor. The creature melting back to it's rodent like monstrosity with its tendril like mane before grabbing the shivering humanoids and began to drag them. The two lost souls kicked and screamed trying to free themselves from their bindings before their screams were drowned by the lake of ink they were pulled into.

With the silence now restored to the room except the soft hum of the projectors playing the Bendy shorts the inky beast looked up at Joey. 'First things first. We need to add a few more runes to the circle to accommodate the sister circles. After all you don't want to be dragging a poor soul all the way down here when you can do it from the comfort of your office now would we?' it gave the man a toothy grin.

Joey paced about the circle drawing the required runes with guidance from the inky beast beside him. By the time the runes were complete Bendy had woken and lay lifelessly at the throne resigned to his fate. The inky beast silently studying Bendy before a small grin grew on its face before resuming it's tutoring the director. Once the runes were complete the circle glowed slightly drawing in the piping that had been summoned. They hovered at the edge of the circle but did not move further.

'Now the last step Drew.' The beast moved aside gesturing to the pipes that hovered at the edge of the circle. 'Connect the pipes to him'

Joey lifted a brow “How?” His answer was several sharp needle like protrusions erupting out the end of the pipes. “Oh.”

'This will allow the soul turned to ink to flow through the machine and into Bendy so you're not having to travel such a long way on little weak legs' The creature chuckled in a mocking tone.

“And this will fix my problem with Bendy and you'll get your needed payment?” Joey questioned with his hand hovering over the pipe. The man uncertain about the benefit of connecting the Ink Machine to Bendy let alone about the payment of a soul for the demon aiding him.

'You'll get your toon Drew, or do you not want to see your creations entertaining the audiences that their 2D counterparts could only dream of? Doomed to be a mere image on the screen while you're studio is going bankrupt from a project that the whispers of your staff calls 'useless, annoying and inconvenient'. The creature drew up images in a puddle of ink it summoned of various faceless staff whispering amongst each other complaining about the Ink Machine and their concerns about Joey Drew. The puddle whispered about many of them looking for new work elsewhere and some even toying with ideas of filing complaints about the working conditions. The beast snaked around Joey with it's serpentine tail coiled around Joey's arm and hand. 'All it takes is a few pipes to the heart to fix all your problems' The demonic beast whispered into the man's ear.

Joey was enraged by the images the beast of a demon showed him, the whispers of staff whom he vaguely recognized and all of them going behind his back to tarnish his name. He is Joey Drew owner of Joey Drew Studios and he will be on top, he doesn't need them. He owns them, he can easily replace them! With that last thought racing through his mind, his hand gripped around the pipe with determination and drove it's needles deep into Bendy's chest where his heart would be, connecting the pipe to him. Upon the pipe burrowing into Bendy's chest the toon screamed while the inky demon behind joey laughed darkly before melting into the ink on the floor returning to it's heart within the Ink Machine. It's job here was done.

Joey attached several more pipes to Bendy's chest before he removed himself from the throne and stood back to admire his handiwork. Now he would be able to sort through the staff at a faster rate to find a candidate for Bendy. He would no longer have the need to venture all the way to the depths of the studio to perform the ritual, with a little work he can do it from his office and have the ease of the machine removing the ink for him. He only has to make sure Thomas and Wally maintain the machine cause even though a demon is it's heart, it's still a mechanical device. With renewed determination Joey picked up his cane off the floor and hastily made his way to the elevator to return to his real office. The first thing on his agenda upon returning; start seeking out the traitorous staff trying to ruin him behind his back. You never know, one of the traitors can be a match for his toons.

26 notes · View notes

xmscrewscrlz · 2 years ago

Text

The high dimensional accuracy can ensure the uniform thickness of the wall

They are mainly used to tie the inner and outer formwork of the wall formwork to bear the lateral pressure of the concrete and other loads to ensure that the distance between the inner and outer formwork can meet the design requirements. It is also a formwork and The fulcrum of the supporting structure and the arrangement of the through-wall screws have a great influence on the integrity, rigidity and strength of the formwork structure.

What are the mechanical properties of wall screws? The arrangement of the wall screws has a great influence on the integrity, rigidity and strength of the formwork structure. Wall-through screws generally use round steel screws with threaded ends at both ends, also known as pair-pull bolts, and they are also fixed by inserting a wedge-shaped iron into the fixed wedge with long holes at both ends of the flat steel.

A movable wall-piercing bolt device includes a wall-piercing bolt rod with threads at both ends, and two tapered pipe sleeves are arranged at both ends of the wall-piercing bolt rod. The bolt rod is fixed, the iron core is arranged in the tapered tube sleeve,Wholesale Chipboard Screws and the iron core is provided with internal threaded through holes.

The iron core has a tapered nylon contact layer, and the nylon contact layer is integrated with the iron core. The bottom end of the sleeve is provided with an outer hexagonal nut. Because the threaded surface of the inner bolt and the water-stop plate have double waterproof performance, the waterproof performance of the wall is improved.

The high dimensional accuracy can ensure the uniform thickness of the wall. Due to the high processing accuracy of the components of the detachable waterproof wall bolt assembly, the positioning error of the template can be within 2mm, so that the thickness of the cast wall is uniform.

#Wholesale Chipboard Screws

1 note · View note

darkfurypolice · 3 years ago

Text

The Only Guide To A Drill Rod You’ll Ever Need

A drill rod is a common term in the machinery and manufacturing industries. You can use drill rods to manufacture various tools such as cutters, hot-work tools, machine parts, punches, files, and more. But, do we know how to choose the right drill rod for our needs?

Drill rods differentiate in regards to toughness, durability, temperature resistance, and applications. With so many different material grades and types to choose from, how do we ensure we choose the correct drill rod?

That’s where we come in – this is the only guide you’ll ever need to drill rods, their uses, and applications. This guide is suitable for complete beginners as well as professionals in the industry.

Let’s see some of the most frequently asked questions on the subject of drill rods!

What Is a Drill Rod?

Simply put, a drill rod is a lengthier steel piece of easy-to-mold tool steel that you can use for machining to produce different tools and parts.

Typically, drill rods are round. However, there are some square ones, such as the square kellys you’ll see below. Drill rods are generally soft enough to be machined into their final form.

Drill rods need to have a clean and smooth surface. To manufacture them in this way, we usually use precision grinding.

What Is a Drill Rod Used For?

Drill rods have many different applications. Producers usually use drill rods for manufacturing drilling bits, shafts, dowel pins, reamers, punches, taps, hammers, files, cutting tools, hot-work tools, etc.

Different grades of drill rods are best suited for specific uses. For example:

W1 is suitable for cold-work tools, hand-held tools, cutting tools, punches, dies, etc.;

O1 grade is best for punches, dies, and gages;

A2 and D2 can be suitable for hobs, rolls, knurls, coining dies, punches, dies, etc.;

S7 gade is perfect for knock-out pins, drift pins, stamps, grippers, track tools, river sets, mandrels, circular pipe cutters, and more;

H13 (or V44) is suitable for hot-work tools, plastic molds, die-casting tools, core pins, ejector pins, and more;

Types of Drill Rods According to the Manufacturing Process

According to the manufacturing process they go through, there are three different types of drill rods: air-hardening, water-hardening, and oil-hardening. Each of these drill rods has various uses and applications. Let’s explain something about each of these different types of manufacturing processes and drill rods & casing.

Air-Hardening

We’re starting from the toughest category of tool steel – the air-hardened drill rod. Air-hardened steel has more alloy, and this is what makes it so hard and resistant. After heat treatment, you can leave air-hardening types of drill rods to harden in still air.

Air-hardening drill rods have superior machinability and wear resistance when compared to oil or water-hardening rods. Furthermore, air-hardening is safer than water or oil-hardening in regards to distortion and dimensional stability.

Oil-Hardening

Oil-hardening drill rods are second in line when it comes to their hardness and durability. Although oil-hardening rods have less alloy than air-hardening rods, they’re still rich enough to withstand welding. On top of that, oil-hardening steel is suitable for machining.

If you’re not sure what the term “oil-hardening” means, it implies heating the rod until it’s glowing red and then dipping it into a pool of warm oil. With this, the steel becomes hard and ready for machining or welding.

Water-Hardening

And finally, we have the water-hardening drill rods, which portray the lowest alloy content but are excellent for machining. However, they’re deficient in alloy content, which signifies that they’re not structurally suitable for welding purposes.

To harden a drill rod with water, we first heat the steel until it becomes glowing red, and then we plunge it into a pool of water to cool off. Once the metal is hard, it can be easily machined but not welded. You can usually use water-hardening drill rods for the manufacturing of files or hammers.

Types of Drill Rods According to Different Threads

We can classify drill rods into three different types according to different threads: ordinary drilling rigs, square kelly rods, and heavy-weight drill pipes.

The Ordinary Drill Rod

We can easily recognize the ordinary drill rod since it’s the central or basic part of the drill stem. At the top, the ordinary drill rod connects to the square kelly (explained below), and at the bottom, it’s attached to the drill collar.

In borehole digging, the function of the ordinary drill rod is to deepen the hole, transmit torque, and move the drill up and down.

Drill Bit Material Types & Coating - Types of Drill Bits

1. Carbon Steel Drill Bit

– Low carbon steel: this is the cheapest option for making a drill bit, due to their poor tempers, low carbon steel drill bits are usually used for drilling softwood and some plastics, and require to be sharpened often to extend the lifespan.

– High carbon steel: a better material than low carbon steel, high carbon steel drill bit can keep their shape and effectiveness longer, so it can be used to cut stronger materials, like hardwood and soft metals.

2. High Speed Steel Drill Bit

Compared with carbon steel bits, high-speed steel drill bit is a more popular choice on the market now. HSS is a special type of carbon steel, maintaining structural integrity while bearing high temperature is a marking advantage of the HSS drill bit, what’s more, high speed steel bit has higher wear resistance and hardness, it can also work well at a normal temperature. HSS drill bits are suitable for most of the wood and metal drilling process, including CNC drilling. Titanium nitride and other types of coatings can be applied on the HSS tool to increase lubricity and reduce friction.

3. Titanium Coated Drill Bit

Titanium is not only a popular aerospace and medical material, but also a versatile drill bit coating material, which can make the drill bit last longer. Due to its high corrosion resistance, good fatigue limit, heat limit, relatively light weight, and longer service life, titanium coated drill bit is perfect for repetitive mass production of drilling into steel, iron, wood, plastic and various surfaces, it allows a faster RPM and shorter cycle time. The most common types of titanium coatings are Titanium Nitride (TiN), Titanium Aluminum Nitride (TiAN) and Titanium Carbon Nitride (TiCN). TiAN and TiCN are considered superior to TiN as they can increase the lifespan to a considerable degree. The drawback of drill bit coating is that once the tooling becomes blunt, it can’t be sharpened to avoid the coating material being worn away.

4. Cobalt Drill Bit

Cobalt is another type of coating for the drill, cobalt drill bit is used for cutting materials that HSS bit can’t, such as stainless steel and other difficult materials, it can retain hardness at much higher temperatures than HSS and not affected by extremely high heat. But cobalt is a too brittle coating.

5. Carbide-Tipped Drill Bit

Carbide-Tipped drill bit is very hard, easy to dissipate heat and can hold an edge longer than other type bits. Similar to the cobalt drill bit, it’s very brittle as well and maybe broken up in improper use. Carbide bits are applicable for drilling fiberglass reinforced plastic and nonferrous heavy metals.

Reaming shells are used to maintain the diameter of the bore hole and to make sure other drilling equipment does not get stuck down the hole. The outside surface of the reaming shell has natural and synthetic diamonds embedded in a resistant matrix.

Reaming shells come in 6, 10 and 18 inches. How do you know when do you use each size?

6 inch reaming shells

The 6 inch reaming shell is the standard that is used for every kind of rock hardness or ground condition and is the minimum reamer requirement to provide minimum stabilization. Since the 6’’ has only one diamond pad, the vibrations from the rods and outer tube can be conducted easily and make deviation more likely.

When drilling is done in difficult ground conditions, such as swelling clay, a shorter reamer is a good choice as it can get through the ground without catching.

10 inch reaming shells

You need to consider a longer reaming shell once deviation becomes an issue. A 10’ inch reamer is a good compromise between the 6 inch and the 18 inch. The 10 inch has two diamond pads so it will provide better stabilization. A 10 inch reamer is a good choice for underground drilling where adequate space can be a challenge. It will do the job in shallower holes requiring stabilization and where an 18 inch reamer may be just a bit too much.

10’’ is also mainly used with 3m core barrels, so you can still pull your 3m inner tube + extension in one shot.

18 inch reaming shells

You should switch to an extended reaming shell when you have to keep your hole on direction and avoid deviation. The more diamond pads that you have on the reaming shell, the more control you will have on deviation and on hole diameter. The 18 inch gives you 4 pads. The front diamond pads will help you stabilize the core barrel and control the direction while the pads in the back will help maintain the diameter of the hole.

You can use an 18 inch reaming shell on the front end and a diamond type locking coupling on the back to make sure you have good stabilization of the core barrel. You can also use two 18 inch reamers when you have a longer core barrel (6 meters or more). It can act as a core barrel extension allowing you to get more core in the tube at one time.

0 notes

weldingjobstoday · 4 years ago

Text

Combo Welder/Mechanic

SUMMARY

Lays out, aligns and welds fabricated, cast and forged components to assemble structural forms

such as machinery frames, tanks, pressure vessels, furnace shells, buildings and pipe, according to blueprints and metallurgy.

RESPONSIBILITIES

– Selects type and size of pipe or other related materials and equipment according to specifications.

– Selects equipment and plans layouts, assembly, and welding, applying knowledge of geometry, physical properties of metal machining, weld shrinkage and welding techniques.

– May be required to use Gas-Metal Arc, Flux-Cored Arc, Gas-Tungsten Arc, Submerged Arc, or Shielded Metal Arc welding processes.

– Lays out, positions, aligns and fits components together in various body positions.

– Bolts, clamps and welds together metal components of products such as piping systems, plate, pipe and tube or structural shapes, using arc and arc gas welding equipment. May weld in flat, horizontal, vertical, or overhead position. May tack weld assemblies together.

– Connects cable from welding unit to obtain amperage, voltage, slope and pulse as specified by procedure or supervisor.

– Obtains specified electrode and inserts electrode into portable holder or threads consumable electrode wire through portable welding gun.

– Starts power supply to produce electric current.

– Strikes arc which generates heat to melt and deposit metal from electrode to work piece and join edges of work piece.

– Manually guides electrode or gun along weld-line, maintaining length of arc and speed and movement to form specified depth of fusion and bead, as judged from color of metal, sound of weld, and size of molten puddle.

– May manually apply filler rod to supply weld metal. May clean or degrease weld joint or workplace, using wire brush, portable grinder, or chemical bath. May repair broken or cracked parts and fill holes. May remove excess weld, defective weld material, slag and spatter, using carbon arc gouge, hand scrapper, grinder or power chipper. May preheat work piece, using hand torch or heating furnace. May cut metal plates or structural shapes.

– Examines weld for bead size and other specifications.

– Loads, transports and unloads material, tools, equipment and supplies.

– May assist in lifting, positioning and securing of materials and work pieces during installation.

– Performs minor maintenance or cleaning activities of tools and equipment.

– Assists other mechanics as needed.

– Respiratory protection is common and may be required.

– Required to pass employer performance tests or standard tests to meet certification standards. Performs only procedures certified in.

– Responsible for observing and complying with all safety and project rules. Performs other duties as required.

-Mechanical Background a Plus

-Millwright Experience a Plus

JOB REQUIREMENTS

– Work within precise limits or standards of accuracy.

– Make decisions based on measurable criteria.

– Apply basic mathematics to solve problems.

– Plan work and select proper tools.

– Visualize objects in three dimensions from plans and drawings.

– Compare and see differences in the size, shape and form of lines, figures and objects.

QUALIFICATIONS

May require a high school diploma or its equivalent with previous years of experience in the field or in a related area. Has knowledge of commonly-used concepts, practices, and procedures within a particular field. Relies on instructions and pre-established guidelines to perform the functions of the job. Works under immediate supervision. Primary job functions do not typically require exercising independent judgment. Typically reports to a supervisor or manager.

PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS

1. Strength:

a. Standing 50% Walking 20% Sitting 30%

b. Lifting 35 lb.

Carrying 35 lb.

Pushing 0 ft-lb.

Pulling 0 ft-lb.

2. Climbing O

Balancing O

3. Stooping O

Kneeling O

Crouching O

Crawling O

Reaching C

Handling C

Fingering C

EXPLANATION OF SYMBOLS

NP Not Present

O Occasionally (0-33%)F Frequently (34-66%)C Constantly (67-100%)

Job Type: Full-time

Pay: $27.19 per hour

Benefits:

401(k)

401(k) matching

Dental insurance

Disability insurance

Health insurance

Life insurance

Paid time off

Vision insurance

Schedule:

Experience:

Mechanical Knowledge: 3 years (Required)

Welding: 3 years (Required)

Work Remotely:

0 notes

srinithyananda · 4 years ago

Photo

6 SEPTEMBER 2020, 09:05 PM, SUNDAY - IST, NITHYANANDA SATSANG - ENGLISH GIST *PARAMASHIVA’S MESSAGE DIRECTLY FROM KAILASA: *THE SUPERCONSCIOUS MUTATION IS THE PROCESS THAT HAPPENS IN YOU WHEN THESE 6 ARE ADDED: CONSCIOUS WILL (SATYA SANKALPA) POWERFUL COGNITIONS SUPPORTING THE SATYA SANKALPA. EMOTIONAL ACCEPTANCE WITH EXCITEMENT OF THAT SATYA SANKALPA AND POWERFUL COGNITION. MENTAL PREPAREDNESS TO MANIFEST THAT SATYA SANKALPA FOR EVER, CONTINUOUSLY, ETERNALLY. PHYSICAL READINESS TO LIVE AND MANIFEST THIS SATYA SANKALPA. INITIATION AND THE ALCHEMY PROCESS BY THE GURU - JNANA RASAVADA. *EVEN BY LISTENING, YOU WILL HAVE SO MANY WONDERFUL BENEFITS, BECAUSE I AM GOING TO SHARE MANY THINGS RELATED TO THIS SUPERCONSCIOUS MUTATION WHICH IS THE CORE FORM OF MANIFESTING ISHWARA TATTVA IN ME. *I WANT TO REMIND ONCE MORE: I AM TALKING ABOUT THE PARLIAMENTARY STRUCTURE OF KAILASA THE LAST FEW DAYS. AS PART OF THAT, I AM EXPLAINING THE 36 TATTVAS. PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW THESE 36 TATTVAS AND MANIFEST THE STATE, SPACE, POWERS OF PARAMASHIVA TO BECOME PART OF THE KAILASA GOVERNMENT, THE PARLIAMENT OF KAILASA. *SO I AM EXPLAINING NOW THE 4TH TATTVA - ISHWARA TATTVA. SHAIVA TATTVA, SHAKTI TATTVA, SADASHIVA TATTVA, NOW ISHWARA TATTVA. *HOW TAPAS MAKES YOU MANIFEST ISHWARA TATTVA IS WHAT I AM EXPLAINING. *I WANTED TO EXPLAIN THE TAPAS DONE ON MY BODY BY MY GURUS. YOU NEED TO KNOW, MY GURUS LOVED ME SO MUCH. THIS BODY WAS LITERALLY THEIR OWN BODY. THEY FELT IT AS THEIR OWN. THAT IS WHY I SAY, WHATEVER TAPAS THIS BODY WENT THROUGH, THEY WENT THROUGH ALL THE PAINS. THEY LOVED ME SO MUCH, THEY FELT THIS BODY IS THEIR OWN, THEY THEMSELVES, THEIR VERY OWN. WHATEVER I WENT THROUGH THROUGH THIS TAPAS, ALL THE PAIN THEY WENT THROUGH IN THEIR BODY. THEY DID NOT LET THIS BODY GO THROUGH ANY PAIN. *BEFORE EVEN THE INDIVIDUAL DELUSION, MAYA MANIFESTING IN ME, AND GOING AFTER MY PERSONAL IDEAS ABOUT GOOD, BAD, WHAT SOCIETY TEACHES US AS PLEASURE, PAIN, GREED, SEX, LUST, COMFORT, LUXURY - WHATEVER AN INDIVIDUAL GOES THROUGH - BEFORE ANY OF THOSE PATTERNS OR TASTE DEVELOPED IN MY SYSTEM, MY GURUS MADE ME REALISE I AM THE EXPRESSION OF PARAMASHIVA, I AM MANIFESTATION OF THE PRINCIPLE! *I AM NOT AN INDIVIDUAL! I AM MANIFESTATION OF THE ‘PRINCIPLE’ - TATTVA! *BEFORE EVEN ANY IDENTITY OR DESIRE, FEAR OF ‘INDIVIDUAL’, DEVELOPING IN MY SYSTEM, MY GURUS MADE ME REALISE I AM A PRINCIPLE - TATTVA! *THIS WHOLE SUPERCONSCIOUS MUTATION PROCESS FOR CELIBACY IS THE TAPAS THEY WENT THROUGH IN THIS BODY. *MY GURUS LOVED ME SO MUCH, WHEN THEY DID THIS PROCESS ON ME, THEY WENT THROUGH ALL THE PAINS, NOT ME. THAT IS WHY I INSIST THAT THE TAPAS IS DONE ON THIS BODY BY MY GURUS. *I FELT THEIR LOVE. SUCH A BEAUTIFUL, POWERFUL, PROTECTIVE LAYER AROUND ME. THE CUSHIONING EFFECT THEY GAVE…! *THEY DID THE TAPAS THROUGH THIS BODY. *I WANT TO PUT THIS ON RECORD: IN THIS WHOLE PROCESS OF SUPERCONSCIOUS MUTATION, MY BODY WENT THROUGH ONLY THE BENEFITS OF THIS PROCESS, NEVER ANY PAIN! *LISTEN TO THIS POWERFUL COGNITION, THIS PRINCIPLE! WHEN A CHILD GROWS, HE LEARNS FROM SOCIETY OR SOCIETY FORCIBLY MANIPULATES HIM, MAKES HIM BELIEVE AND BRAINWASHES HIM ON WHAT IS LUXURY, COMFORT, WHAT IS GOOD, BAD. THEN HE STARTS DEVELOPING HIS INDIVIDUALITY BASED ON WHAT HE PICKS UP FROM SOCIETY AS HIS TASTE. *BEFORE ANY OF THIS POLLUTION, CORRUPTION, DELUSION HAPPENED IN ME, MY GURUS MADE ME REALISE I AM MANIFESTATION OF PRINCIPLE - TATTVA! *BEFORE I STARTED THINKING, FEELING ‘INDIVIDUALITY’ IN ME, MY GURUS MADE ME REALISE I AM A MANIFESTATION OF A PRINCIPLE THROUGH THIS SUPERCONSCIOUS MUTATION PROCESS. *I WILL SHOW YOU A SMALL VIDEO OF THIS AKASHA GARUDA HERB WHICH THEY USED ON MY BODY ALONG WITH SOME MORE HERBS, HOW IT BREAKS A STEEL ROD! *I STILL REMEMBER THE EXTREME SINCERITY WITH WHICH THEY COLLECTED ALL THE HERBS. THEY KEPT THE HERBS IN A MUD POT AND BURNED THE MUD POT CONTINUOUSLY FOR MORE THAN 21 HOURS. *A VERY SURPRISING THING, THE HERBS INSIDE THE POT START SPROUTING. IT DOES NOT GET BURNED OR TURN INTO ASHES IN THE HEAT - BUT IT BECOMES GREEN AND ALIVE! *I SAW THE GREEN FRESH ROOTS DEVELOPING. SO IT FLOURISHES IN INTENSE HEAT! *THEY MADE SURE THAT THE HERB IS ALIVE, LIVING, NOT DEAD. THEN THEY TIED IT ON MY MALE ORGAN WITH 9 THIN METAL CHAIN (ORI - SILVER THREAD, GOLD THREAD, COPPER THREAD...) AND TIED IT AROUND ME. *I CAN'T GO FOR 1, 2, 3 - SO THEY MADE ME FAST FOR ONE WEEK AND HELPED ME ONLY WITH FEW HERBS, NOT TO GET DEHYDRATED OR FAINT. THEY ARE HERBS WHICH DO NOT GO INTO THE BODY BUT ARE KEPT IN THE TEETH. THE HERBS MAKE ENOUGH SALIVA HAPPEN IN THE BODY SO IT DOES NOT GET DEHYDRATED. IT IS A PREPARATION. *THEY TIED IT ON A FRIDAY, AND MONDAY MORNING, THEY TOOK ME TO TEMPLE, CLEANED MY BODY AND TOOK ME TO HAVE DARSHAN OF ARUNACHALESHWARA! *I WANTED TO SHOW THE IMPACT OF THIS PROCESS ON A PERSON. THE IMPACT IS MULTI LEVEL - PHYSICAL, MENTAL, PSYCHOLOGICAL, EMOTIONAL. *ONE SADHU WHO WENT THROUGH THIS PROCESS, CAME AND PULLED THE CHARIOT IN WHICH I WAS GOING FOR SHAHI SNAN IN UJJAINI. (VIDEO) *THIS SADHU WHO PULLED MY CHARIOT AND CAR THROUGH HIS MALE ORGAN, HIS GURU, TAT WALE BABA WAS PART OF THE TEAM WHO DID THIS PROCESS ON ME. MY GURUS, HAMSANANDA PURI AND HIS ASSOCIATES - NAGA GIRI BABA AND TAT WALE BABA WERE PART OF THE TEAM. *JUST FOR SOCIETY, TAT WALE BABA ENACTED HIS OWN DEATH. I INSIST HE IS STILL ALIVE. *I WILL PROJECT A SMALL VIDEO OF TAT WALE BABA. *THE REASON WHY I REMEMBERED TAT WALE BABA SO WELL IS, HE AND HAMSANANDA PURI USED TO LOOK LIKE TWINS! I EVEN HAD A DOUBT IF THEY WERE TWINS. THE WAY THEY LOOKED AND BEHAVED WAS ALMOST THE SAME. PLEASE WATCH THIS GLIMPSE OF TAT WALE BABA: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vN4lxIgNAgg *I AM VERY SURE OF THIS MEMORY. WITH HIS GRACE, SOON WE MAY GET SOME EVIDENCES AND EYE WITNESSES THAT HE IS STILL ALIVE. *FIRST I WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND: WHEN GURU LOVES YOU, HE GOES THROUGH THE WHOLE PAIN. YOU DON'T GO THROUGH THE PAIN. YOU JUST GO THROUGH THE TAPAS; HE TAKES IT AND CLEARS IT. *MY GURUS DID TAPAS THROUGH THIS BODY. THEY JUST SWALLOWED IT AND BURNED IT. IN MY CASE, I WILL NEVER LET YOU GUYS SUFFER. I WILL BURN ALL THE PAINS AND MAKE YOU GUYS ENJOY TAPAS! *I WILL JUST BURN ALL THE PAINS. IT IS MY COMMITMENT TO ALL OF YOU. *GURU LITERALLY DOES THE TAPAS THROUGH YOUR BODY. MY GURUS DID THE TAPAS THROUGH MY BODY. *MEDITATE ON THIS POWERFUL COGNITION, TAPAS WILL BECOME TOO SWEET! *TAPAS IS THE SIMPLEST, EASIEST WAY TO REALISE, THAT YOUR GURU TAKES ALL THE PAIN AND BURNS IT, NEVER LETS YOU GO THROUGH THE PAIN; HE ONLY MAKES YOU GO THROUGH THE TAPAS AND GIVES YOU THE BENEFITS OF THE TAPAS, THEN YOU START ENJOYING TAPAS! *TAPAS IS THE SWEETEST WAY TO REALISE THE GURU’S LOVE FOR YOU. WHEN YOU START DOING TAPAS, YOU WILL REALISE, YOU GET ONLY THE BENEFITS OF TAPAS. ALL THE HARDSHIPS, YOUR GURUS TAKE IT AND BURN IT. *ALL MY KIDS: EVEN IF YOU HAVE INTENTION TO DO TAPAS, THAT IS ENOUGH. I WILL TAKE ALL THE HARDSHIPS AND BURN IT. IT IS NOT THAT I WILL GO THROUGH THE PAIN, I WILL JUST BURN IT! YOU WILL GET ONLY THE BENEFITS OF TAPAS. *WHEN MY KIDS SEND ME A MESSAGE, “SWAMIJI I AM GOING TO DO NIRAHARA SAMYAMA”, HOW WILL I ALLOW YOU TO SUFFER? YOU ARE TOO CLOSE TO MY HEART! LIKE HOW MY GURUS FELT I AM THEIR OWN, MY BODY IS LITERALLY THEIRS, HOW THEY WERE PROTECTIVE, NATURALLY I WILL DO THE SAME THING FOR YOU! *WHEREVER YOU ARE, I WILL HOLD YOU IN MY HAND AND MAKE SURE THERE IS NO HARDSHIP FOR YOU AND GIVE YOU THE BENEFITS. *I CAN'T LET YOU GUYS SUFFER. I WILL MAKE SURE I PROTECT AND HOLD ALL OF YOU IN MY PALMS AND ALL OF YOU ENJOY THE BENEFITS OF TAPAS - NO HARDSHIPS! *ESSENCE OF TODAY'S SATSANG: ANY TAPAS YOU TAKE UP, YOUR GURU GIVES YOU ALL THE BENEFITS AND HE TAKES ALL THE HARDSHIPS AND CLEARS IT! *I WILL CONTINUE TO EXPAND ON THIS WITH MORE DETAILS IN FURTHER SATSANGS. I BLESS YOU ALL. Read the full post here: https://www.facebook.com/138595819561610/posts/4321761311245019/

#Nithyananda #KAILASA

0 notes

itsworn · 7 years ago

Text

HOT ROD Rescue: Boost-induced Piston Failure Shows Need for Better Pistons

J.B. Bracken’s Blown Rat Rod Couldn’t Do a Burnout. We Fixed it by Adding So Much Boost a Piston Broke. Time to Fix It—Again

The manufacturer said the original pistons were good to 20 pounds of boost. But we pulled 24.” — Norm Brandes, Westech Automotive

The Rescue So Far

J.B. Bracken built his 1935 Ford truck–based rat rod to tow his LSR bikes, serve as a highway cruiser, and to wow his friends with gonzo burnouts.

Initially, the massive Dana 70 truck dualie rearend, the wrong cam, and poor tuning kept the 8-71–blown 383 Chevy from burning rubber.

That all got fixed in our initial installment via a better cam, overdriving the blower, and lots of tuning—with the truck making so much boost a piston broke. (Photo: Marlan Davis)

The Rescue So Far

John Wheeler and the rest of Norm Brandes’ Westech Automotive crew went right back to work resolving the rat rod’s latest problems.

When Westech Automotive’s Norm Brandes inspected J.B. Bracken’s 1935 Ford Rat Rod truck (July 2017 print edition), it couldn’t do a burnout and ran poorly at idle and under cruise—despite an 8-71-blown 383 small-block Chevy engine. Originally set up with a 20-percent-underdriven blower generating just 6 psi of boost, the combo didn’t have enough low-end grunt to break the dualie tires loose on its massively heavy Dana 70 1-ton truck rearend. Reversing the drive pulleys to generate 20-percent overdrive, tuning the carbs and ignition, and a custom Howards cam ironed out the problems, but as the tune was finalized on the Mustang chassis dyno, the blower’s boost momentarily spiked to 24 psi and broke the ring lands on four pistons. Brandes says inspecting the pistons and bearings showed no signs of detonation; all that boosted cylinder pressure simply exceeded the existing pistons’ material strength.

Four pistons failed when boost momentarily spiked at 24 psi. Amazingly, no cylinder walls got cracked and one broken ring land somehow found its way into the oil pan without harming anything else.

Brandes says the cause was material failure, not detonation, because “the pin holes and pins weren’t beat up.”

The Fix: Block

Better pistons were needed, but owner Bracken—a hard-core Bonneville motorcycle racer—also decided to spring for a better cylinder block. His existing motor had been built up from an OE two-bolt-main block reinforced by a bottom-end girdle. Although the original block was reusable, he couldn’t help but think: “What would be the next link in the chain to fail?” Besides, the engine had to be torn down and rehoned for new pistons anyway.

Bracken’s existing block wasn’t cracked and could have been reused, but the OE casting had only two-bolt main bearing caps and a girdle. With all the failures, racer Bracken elected to (hopefully) bulletproof things once and for all by stepping up to a Dart SHP block featuring four-bolt mains with splayed outer bolts, blind head-bolt holes, and a priority main oiling system that oils the bottom-end first. (Photo: Dart Heads)

For Bracken, the answer was a beefy, 4.125-inch-bore Dart SHP block featuring four-bolt mains with splayed outer bolts and bottom-end features that permitted swapping over his existing (and unharmed) forged 3.75-inch-stroke crankshaft and 5.7-inch center-to-center connecting rods. With the larger bore, displacement rose from 383 to 401 ci.

Dart’s block was ordered with 400 Chevy-sized, 4.125-inch bores but retained 350 mains and the early two-piece rear main seal, allowing Westech to swap over Bracken’s existing 383 crank and rods.

Brandes used Speed-Pro Competition Series rod bearings (PN 8-7100CH, shown) and ¾-groove coated main bearings (PN C139M) to support the crank and rods in the new Dart block. Summit Racing offers these bearing sets with friendly pricing. (Photo: Summit Racing)

Dart’s block is set up for a passenger-side oil pan dipstick and—because its valley is machined to accommodate GM production factory hydraulic roller lifters retained by a spider and dogbones—the lifter bores are 0.300-inch taller than traditional blocks. Brandes was able to retain Bracken’s driver-side dipstick pan by fabricating an external tube connected directly to the oil pan. The existing retrofit, link-bar, hydraulic-roller lifters fortuitously turned out to be the 0.300-tall versions.

Dart blocks are set up for a passenger-side oil dipstick and tube, but Bracken’s older production block and one-off custom oil pan were machined for a passenger-side driver-side dipstick. Brandes’ crew retained the old pan by fabricating an external driver-side dipstick tube: A length of ⅜-inch-od seamless steel tubing was flared 37 degrees on one end, then mated using an AN-style tubing nut and sleeve to a –6 90-degree AN elbow welded into the pan’s side. A chromed Mr. Gasket dipstick (PN 6235) fits into the tube, which extends approximately to valve-cover height. Brandes remarks, “We didn’t even have to remark the full line.”

The Fix: Pistons

The failed pistons were forged from 4032 high-silicon aluminum alloy, which is fine for street/strip and Sportsman normally aspirated applications through the 600–700hp level, but high-boost engines generate more heat and pressure. They really want a 2618-alloy forged piston with its lower silicon content. JE Pistons’ Mark Gearheart explains, “Typically used in our SRP piston line, 4032 alloy has a lower rate of expansion, which allows for a tighter piston-to-wall-clearance and makes the engine quieter under start-up conditions; 2618 alloy, used in all of JE’s premium piston line, is completely different. It’s stronger and more ductile, making it more suitable for boost, power-adders, or extremely high-power applications. However, it has a greater rate of expansion, requiring more piston-to-wall clearance. That will cause some additional start-up noise, but we’ve tailored our skirt design to minimize noise and the need for greatly increased clearance.” Bracken’s old 4032 pistons had about 0.0025-inch skirt clearance; Brandes installed the new JE 2618 pistons at 0.005. The crude skirt designs used 20 years ago often required 0.008-inch or even more clearance.

New JE fully machined, 4.125-inch-bore pistons forged from more ductile 2618 aluminum alloy (right) replaced the 4.030-inch-bore, 4032-alloy, SRP forgings (left).

JE sent over its Extreme Duty 23-degree inverted dome forgings with 0.310-inch deep valve pockets. The fully machined 2618-alloy forgings feature contact reduction grooves between the deck and first ring groove, plus an accumulator groove between the first and second ring grooves. Contact reduction grooves both minimize wall contact if the piston rocks over near TDC, as well as reduce flame travel in the crevice area to help suppress detonation. An accumulator groove provides additional volume for any combustion gases that may escape past the top compression ring; this reduces pressure buildup between the two rings, thereby minimizing ring flutter and enhancing ring sealing with JE’s supplied ¹⁄₁₆-¹⁄₁₆-³⁄₁₆ plasma-moly ring set.

The new JE’s are further enhanced with contact reduction grooves (1) and accumulator grooves (2). Bracken’s old pistons had neither.

Brandes had to rebalance the rotating assembly because the new, stouter pistons and pins were slightly heavier than those they replaced. Dart blocks are delivered slightly undersize, requiring they be bored and honed to fit the exact piston combo. He also squared the decks to blueprint dimensions.

The previous build used Fel-Pro’s performance PermaTorque composition head gaskets with steel fire rings (bottom). With new, dead-flat decks, Brandes could step up to Fel-Pro MLS (multilayer steel) gaskets (top). MLS gaskets are designed to maintain contact pressure between the heads and blocks under extreme boost conditions, but are finicky about deck-surface prep.

The Fix: Head Studs

Pop goes the weasely, no-name head stud. It failed when Brandes torqued the heads down on reassembly.

The stud’s center Allen-wrench hole was too large and extended too far down, leaving insufficient material where the nut developed its greatest tension. Also note the ragged, poorly rolled threads. (Photo: Marlan Davis)

The next domino to fall was Bracken’s no-name head studs. Reassembling the engine, the top of a stud popped off when Brandes torqued the cylinder-head stud nuts down. We sent the failed units to ARP for lab analysis, where it was determined the failure’s primary cause was the stud’s Allen-wrench installation hole, which had too deep a broach that extended into the area where the stud nut developed its greatest tension. Other issues included sharp peaks and valleys on the threads with multiple irregularities and occlusions that certainly weren’t up to ARP’s Mil-Spec J-thread profile! The threads appeared to have been rolled before heat-treat, which greatly reduces a fastener’s fatigue resistance. Installing an ARP stud set easily cured this problem! Although it has blind head-bolt holes, the Dart block still accepts standard Chevy production small-block head-bolt or stud kits.

ARP’s lab investigation of the failed stud shows a “dimple rupture” in the structure, an indication of “ductile tensile overload,” shown here magnified 2,000 times in an electron microscope. (Photo: ARP)

It’s a simple fix: Just get a real ARP head stud kit. Note ARP’s shallower Allen broach and smooth threads.

The Fix: Power Valve (Again)

Westech put everything back together and began the tuning process once more. At this point, the biggest change was to the problematic carburetor power valve (PV). The rat rod’s dual 750-cfm Quick Fuel double-pumpers originally ran no PVs at all, compensating with over-rich primary-side main metering jets, but that caused terrible fuel economy and badly fouled spark plugs. Last month, Brandes leaned the primary jets out and installed PVs with an 8.5–in-Hg opening point, but they occasionally operated erratically.

On conventional Holley-type carbs mounted above a positive-displacement blower, the PV’s internal signal passage in the main body can’t sense true engine load under boost. Brandes ultimately modified the PVs’ internal vacuum-signal passages to see vacuum from the intake manifold (below the supercharger) and installed a PV with a 2.5–in-Hg opening point (the lowest available). Brandes explains, “This references the motor’s true vacuum or boost. We need a low [PV] opening point because when you ease into the throttle under conditions of increasing load and the blower begins to spool up but isn’t yet making positive boost on the gauge, vacuum will be lower than a normally aspirated motor under the same conditions. Going to the lowest PV, we still have switching fuel enrichment, avoiding [a PV] on/off-induced engine-surge condition when going down the road. Don’t go old school and rely exclusively on main jets or they’ll get badly fouled under everyday operation.”

Power valves (PVs) can’t sense true engine load under boost. The fix: Main body mods that reference the PV to an external vacuum source on the intake under the blower. Plug the original PV signal hole (arrow) with shot, then drill a new hole and internal passages that connect to an externally pressed-in ³⁄₁₆-inch brass tube (pointers).

The new vacuum tube and main-body passage (arrow 1) is independent from the two existing front throttle-plate vacuum ports usually used for the distributor vacuum advance (manifold vacuum, 2; or spark-ported, 3).

External, orange-colored hoses (arrows) from the new passage on each carb are Y’ed together and connected to an intake vacuum port.

The Results

After intensive tuning, the rat rod ended up with gobs of low-end torque and—even at 20 pounds of boost—ran on 93-octane pump gas as Bracken amassed more than 1,500 miles of street and long-distance highway cruising in the six months following the rebuild. Gas mileage doubled, from 6 to 12 mpg. “It was running great!” Bracken says. “My burnouts were now spectacular, too.” When it finally came time to write this Rescue installment, we needed to shoot some giant burnout photos and videos. Wouldn’t you know it, practicing before taking photos, Bracken was laying big rubber when steam suddenly streamed out of the motor. A head gasket had blown. We’ll figure out why, then put the engine on the dyno to thoroughly evaluate its performance before we release it back into the wild.

Stouter 2618 aluminum alloy JE pistons, real ARP head studs, a Dart block, and more carb tuning seemingly bulletproofed the combo.

But after driving the truck for 1,500 miles with no issues, while performing a massive burnout at 20 psi, a head gasket blew (circle).

The hurt was at the rear of No. 8 cylinder across to the water jacket (circle). Fortunately the deck surface doesn’t appear to be severely damaged. Stay tuned for “Rat Rod Investigation Discovery, Phase 3.”

Lessons Learned (So Far)

The higher the output, the more critical your parts choices become. Avoid no-name parts and stay with reputable brand names. Use parts designed and intended to be durable at power levels the vehicle actually sees.

Need Junk Fixed? If your car has a gremlin that just won’t quit, you could be chosen for Hot Rod to the Rescue. Email us at [email protected] and put “Rescue” in the subject line. Include a description of your problem, a photo, your location, and a daytime phone number.

Contacts

Aeroquip Industrial—Weatherhead (Eaton Hydraulics Group USA); Eden Prairie, MN; 952.937.9800; Eaton.com/hydraulics

Aircraft Spruce & Specialty Co.; Corona, CA; 877.4.SPRUCE or 951.372.9555; AircraftSpruce.com

Amazon.com Inc.; Seattle, WA; 866.216.1072; Amazon.com

Automotive Racing Products (ARP); Ventura, CA; 800.826.3045 or 805.339.2200; ARP-Bolts.com

Dart Machinery Ltd.; Troy, MI; 248.362.1188; DartHeads.com

Fel-Pro—Sealed Power—Speed-Pro (Federal-Mogul Corp.); Southfield, MI; 800.325.8886; FelPro-Only.com or FMe-cat.com

JE Pistons; Cypress, CA; 714.898.9763 (main office) or 714.898.9764 (sales/technical assistance); JEpistons.com

MettleAir; Buffalo, NY; 716.240.0080; Mettleair.com

Mr. Gasket, A Holley Performance Brand; Bowling Green, KY; 866.464.6553; Holley.com/brands/mr_gasket/

National Automotive Parts Association (NAPA); Atlanta, GA; 800.LET.NAPA; NAPAonline.com

Quick Fuel Technology; Bowling Green, KY; 270.793.0900; QuickFuelTechnology.com

RockAuto LLC; Madison, WI; RockAuto.com

Summit Racing Equipment; Akron, OH; 800.230.3030 (orders) or 330.630.0240 (tech); SummitRacing.com

Westech Automotive; Silver Lake, WI; 262.889.4346; WestechAuto.com

W.W. Grainger Inc.; Lake Forest, IL (branches nationwide); 800.GRAINGER; Grainger.com

The post HOT ROD Rescue: Boost-induced Piston Failure Shows Need for Better Pistons appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/hot-rod-rescue-boost-induced-piston-failure-shows-need-better-pistons/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

0 notes

nirvanaballad · 8 years ago

Text

SOFT

Across, then crossed -- appetite of streaming zero-time., pass through the wells that sunk deep into the passing vale; chipped and down thrust the passage of the Sails. [Being begin]

Chosen are the trails that react like simmying in pathway drent. Covered copse in the ulder rent -- taut like bassage of unenvying pride,; debugged in acrid news.paper olden coordinate told. Corse in the tubeing; the alliance caught longing in the drifting sunbeam bedlam joint. Up in the elevated levels of the sky are the bashèd belongings of the underkeeper, the dread novel that rotates in skyward shallow knell. Collapsing benities of the core kept deft in paralysed left -- truthfuls of the actual kel: purposeful in the crown drept pally prow.

Cud like brow in upended city of bells. Beckoning brown in restive reflex found. Bound brother to the action of the deepening sound. Drawn out and up in clamour of reeds refrownd. Now is the telling and listen do the ears that send with impulses static silence: caused to flight and then dirge rite,; listen to the doctors evacuate our worth with analysed nascence drowned.

Dark are the years that lay behind -- once peace intrigued and the discovery of who they are, then struggle for breath and absence of fear’s leash holder. The queen who every tree does now bare; borne out in windfall neutrality like company cold creep, the young dazzled like birds on a ceiling. Death of the believing.

Bleach concealing drawn like ice in a pulling of raw ripe reasoning. Cast in the shadow of the empty, loss like a trigger; posit in exempt pushed into backward season -- brain retold every story recalled. Something left within for you to find to understand the years before -- times of life that vapour in images seen dreamt, caller of death, then diving while sat; writing uncapped, pulped at the underside of the dealing dunes. Sea waves show moons.

Caught light in fire holes trial torn in moisture vacuum. Compassed in prefecture profound; possibilities pre-rendered in pull of the pacified. Prolong the passing, recreate in shadows of returning.

Exacting resonance in the penning of the possible -- back drafts unreasoned in the ripping of the path. Roots torn from earth like the world is ending with the displaced positioning -- up and on, the gravity tuned in switchbox confusion. Instant falling from on high, or the dreadful imploding: a skillset of the undone.

Questions in the mouths of millions.

Taciturn old flocks that have swum the distance of age long aching. The esoteric in the greening. The Sails cut through and continue the endless migration but for the stations. Trains of Sails,; trails unconscious. Anti-pulse at the elision, the speedways fast bought in the privatized passing. The Sails wrap around, and blind the man who would steal their science.

Angry in the approach of the under reactive motor processes -- cause to glance in indirection,; the purpose of the apparel reed. Smoking in the reeds, unprepared for the extent storm, colourless and invoking somatic senses,- the bodies’ lost grace gravity repents.

Look to the undisclosed retort -- the action in the photographic vial, flipped and respun. Known in the upturned howling song, known to glimpse. The apparition of the never closed instinct. The Sails close in: the rod, close curve. The smells of the drenched, End of day.

Underscape in movement. It is aged in its context, like crushed rock in endless rotation,; every grain the laying stones of a house, cartridge plucked in deep dream preamble. Apparent in the strength of nascence re-greened. Uktive uponed in the visual trapset, let the forlorn re-turn/. spun in the captive eight to restore rehabilitated in darkness ghastly. Filled black with the ghosts of materialist things. Dying in the retort. The passage is now flooded.

Reproached by the silence of the latent guard, the nakedness dyed in excellent causality.. the tremble of the context.. the complexity of the object. Simulacra’d misowned. Serenjectivity like an infinite rainbow,-- bound to the rumours of the deep. With no measurement of the depth, the sinking of the swimmer takes up the ease of the smoothest chutes,:sunken in places of appropriation.

Under the rule of challenging hues, the dark of the sunlit night pulls at the threads of the ending of the call,; the motion the retort in the accusation of the double’; and the triple. Cast over and over in gestures wide of nuance.

You like the dust feathers; the version relation that extrapolates the effervescence uncoiled in the calling of the greatest, the strongest! Wise in its swiftness. The lesser known, in a town of gold disintegration [disintegration] - the pull of the musical,. knwn in the twypes that wallwalk in streets paved with passages rent. Cast are the types that revert in recoiled rememberance. The xtide of the somnvoyant,;: body watchers whose eyes feel rather than see.

You are the watcher -- but overlooked are the dances that seeth in the structured recorse that permeates the messages. Like calculated void. Her body was like the sun in its blinding.

Exvert belongings that replicate in bags that magic had. In the swelling of the tubules in the deepest parts of the forest of rain -- new lords take up the call of everant synapse collision. In the program of the nation,. the maxi hard like nubling charge. The unuttered trail; the loose and captive fail . Like nuances in a stream of cards. Knights with enchanted swords, the ego in the night. Collate the opening, like pretence of cold shine. The parabola ignited. The chance rings taught hard against the driving snow. Lox in tremble fierce; the parents of the sorter drift, like dancing revolves so multiples retold. The bringings that suffocate intention like the slither of captive tongues. Disguise the sound, let it be experienced but hardly ever heard.

In problems like wyrm, collapsing realms that have old been heard -- the maxims of the troubadour, trying at the edges of the perceptive girl; the dread test dead. Gods in wrest like true hoards scavence blessed. Gods in outer sphere, the quandaries of the apparent worn. Known is thy caste, the bell seller weaves. The progaps sendarie eleven place to heal.

Courtizans in the extraperfective crossiron wood foray. In the stream of the anointed tumble -- capture the expert indistinct. Akin to washing away, in light of sea -- the turning of the casual wheel. Puzzle in moonlight contained. Upward shift like molten ring rain. Episode in hyperlight,; true in version modification. Uttering fleeting moments like the turmoil of the under court,, the deep dragging of the explosive slowed -- trying at the edges of frayed contraption. Killing the dust that rushes inward,: into mouth and into lungs,. death in the extremities of sleep’s fashion. Death in the uttering. Drawn in the writing of the adjacent member -- followers of the stillness motioned to road,; deft in her worship. Kill the cleansing for in the mention of the direction is the vocality of the marauder.

In motions like great washes, sea sound overdubbed in crevice of mind/conscious of the gap between the land and the distance of the station. Water where rails once were -- jet-skis the major mode of transport. Once there were gondolas, but now the induction propulsion of the jet-ski: minute in the memory of that which has no faculty. A planet not a populous.

Gravity reigns in the astrological significance. Established! Cast in greens and blues and yellows; true depth like that once written. Death in the creating.

Under casual lift, the wind raises the crew. They wear nothing but their robes that signify the heaviness of their religion. Health.

Cooperative in its flavour, the crossing of the true knight passive, untold response in the colours of the deep. Counteract like fire, the possible in the context with all that is conflict in its presence. Love in an outer location; the lakes of the pressing the untu of complete existence. Anywhere and whenever -- the cost of fulfilment, life in its absolute state. Carry the waves in water of nascence,; the calculus of the end. The trembling like dice in a cube of plastic glass -- we saw the new in the eyes and breath of the most high. A containment that is resonant in the expulsion of pure wave. Niceties in collaboration of the forward, apace with the space of the unfinished. Rules of ether, message of time,; temporal tests in arcing experiments. Bring them to a coordinate of deep reason. Let them know what they are, and what words are within them.

Love is the pathway, the course of second or third least resistance. Parameters that increase freedom -- interpretive reaction as open as heaven is possible.

Caught in the catalyst,: the feasible a profit in its agrarian state. Upended columns pull us to the walls, ring rocked in resurgence; caste assuaged in danger of swaying rhythm -- rip-tied in the tolerance of problematic extremes. Danger in the leaving;, danger made clean.

Rolling of hills long sunk. Running on waters of gravity. Resemblance of pinions in the caves of the sky. Realizations of exit -- pull of the subordinate call. Canny response to the messages’ bombardment. Death in breath, breathing of deceiving. The brevity that extends to valence. Control of kingdoms questioning in the cards of remaining. [Terminate terminal.]

In the brave presence of tendrilling concrete. Expressive to the non-night like capillaries that have left the bodies irrespectful of their owners. Conquering the ignominy of a sort of presidential buoyance. Asking the questions that invoke repetitious response. Again the mark cuts down on the focus of the abilities locked inside. Consider resignation in the face of misconduct. Then consider the rawness that energy exacts against the gravity that pulls us ever down, but in the light of plight:, know the zenvy that conducts and channels the messages of the heart. Purpose is found in the trembling winds that carries the spors in the darkest years of the world. Discard.

Errant discord in the longing of the underscore. Cut down are the branches that once held the delicacy of infinite memory, now an extreme displeasure. Artifice in moulds of the oceanic.

Survey of streams in a personage that recollects the flow as a juxtaposition. A rolling of thought that resurfaces at the times where there is only an experience of one. One and around the company that all feel the passage. Ghouls of the terminal.

Corneas at absolute dilation -- the quandary in the rising of the sun. Supreme knowledge like a vestige to a deity. Camped in cameras,; callouses of the callous -- contruda in a movement of the actual dissident. Continue in the attention paid to the edges of the shape. A simple square. The profillment rotates in dances of emptiness filled, the collecting of energies that once belonged to ancient ancestors. In the filling of the temple, the wave is reset.

Filament of tangled possible tetrian inclusion. Confinement a song stung in gravities of new true makeup cast. Comma transpiration. Young in its flow, rules bent in shimmering collusion, now in the sticking place of eternity entire.

Grass grown in the awareness of the trundle erasure. Unique in its passage, movements like the untamed spiral. Cue entry past the wavering rude. Hoods up, spells cast,; removal of the goddess worshiped. Meet her in her palace of fog.

Night broadcast to the infinities of a culture. Built up and on, over and over in ringing coherence that respects its boundaries. Sound itself ricocheting in a galaxy whose astrological significance is the afore-mentioned.

Grabbing ritual in an event that will turn the tide of opinion. Decisions presented and selected. Choice a challenger but never a tyrant.

Goodness reveals the fountain of circles. Diving into the vast wells of the ruined city. She divulges much; but to hear it? it would remove the hopes of the appointed. Prudence prescriptions of lifestyle hidden in the royalty of sunlit clouds. Clod of rod -- pressing in on the downward, college of the inclement. Enclosure in a wordplay that reorganizes the deft roar, rules of contention in the children’s’ shore. Upward retort in realist reaction. Unknown in defta incleptron vanished. Gyzed in borrowed extentions. Graft in over errality.

Because the hills shear at the unpoint view of the artist locale, the heading is a morali -- a mountain near clarity’s basecamp.

In the truth of capsized clump, thicket and clutch,, the wrongs of return ensue to room that which is within the energetic loom.

Grown in a stasis of the viewtiful, closing in are the chapters that would respin the governing of penance, guideguard compulled in steady farslight. The worklings fall at the speed of the overseers -- seers in the fabric, sight contained in the millions.

Arc of threads crossed in. The crew contails the enevering of gilded capsules. Gas in a tube that has seen many roads but will never burn.

This is the set of the Sails.

Sails that weave and contort in the energy interlay. The crossing that remains like a person in trembling coil. Cool in its overlap, the types that know and row in lines that might never be perceived. Collapse in process, new in the living is the profession that quanta recedes -- of the alapin is the greatness that endures the show of ignominious raft. Rasp in rude coverage. Tents like offices of the dramatic straight-downed.

Seeding of the dark grey sunpushed meadows, the tailors knew the goods were washed, in merry ecumen she received this post. Parasailed in perfect light. The bony pointary of the climate’s southern rush. Ruin in the possive pole of flight and aggregate colour. Crushed are the dancing sellers -- magic in their unbevelled depth the undoing of a vast year’s push.

Cattle moving in the streams of the regulatory dismissive. The pour of the control -- cardwright in realms of agora. Paths of the rise. Passage of profane integrity.

Under the call of the newly lit program. Pause in the feeling of valour,; intra versed in paradise gleam. Came did the destroyed in humble movement of voice and in their stead the beacon breathes in ever empty anti-streams.

Before the fall of the straight walled;,the pull of the undone, wrecked in havens of poverty Sails. In the interest of the people as a whole, the grandeur of the treasured wall. The writing that creates the trule. Action in electric taste. The powder that cascades in granary agrown. Clear are the choosings of the mighty spun -- now the algorythms of the central dust like fire in a waterlogged tower, from basement to canopy, the reasons of the flock divulge in parameters of eager newing. Never endings predicted past scope.

Caused to set Sails to flight; the nebula is the travelling, like huge upturned mountainous realms, of the clouds from above & the strongness of the kite.

The exposive,; intergrated in magnatized infinitum. Provess ripped and procured like the institute that assembles concrete plates -- intraversital compassion, integrative nuance, depth in poverty like xion beings; Sails learn of the treachery of the undergrown.

Transfixed in indigo clad moments -- positron row, reading wronged in positions of inclement causality. Now in the tow of a deep rowan redoubt, casting shade in repixelated reminiscing. Drowned in reactor water -- coolant coursing, running;, streams of incredible consort,, clever colours that rotate under the black light of the macroscope. dream-dread.

In its activity, the nuance of the extreme allows for little levels: buoyant in the measure; passage of the indisputable,; drawn in lines of blue, yellow fixation rounding on the unparalleled perplexed. Gasp in the quarter that gives way to the deep pipe-filled trench, on for miles and miles…deeper and deeper, while the xion grows. Sails pass through like shadows cats. Falling between ceilings and floors. Double destiny,.

Collapsing in gravity’s ruin. Roar in ten. Meet oxygen.

Clever in their absolve, solve, dissolve -- revolved. Under the pen of the dialectic -- linguist in charged zone. wi-pow predicted. Knowing the passing of the breathing, the sending to a beyond where voices might be heard, but faces rarely seen. Cast our nets in seas of the holographic, register once more the appropriation of the traveller’s time -- eyes at once in register with what their host’s most like. Drop and retort. The opening of the highest windows in the most elaborate palaces. Dreams of design. Wells within adobe.

Cause of extremity, illness in the whirling tubers,; cast in sirical sight -- grand operation in the rollings of enmity, castles caught in propellers, the crossing of the seas of jade.

In the indeseminate profields, eyes are distracted. And levels recalled, retreating in gaseous water walls. Untrue in the incredulity of enemy volumes, increasing in travesty;: topiary that convalesces in gardens grown to treat the sick and saddened of the floral kingdom.

Ghast in grip. Tolia drinks in the edifice of manifest root,; every soil a staging point for egress ripple..

Drown in the school, the questions smothered in radial throw. Deafened in the opulence of endings. Draught like the ink in the bath -- filled brim a coast in the territorial furrows, ilk of nebidead,: hailing the arrangers of the extortion. Draw a wheel of tumbling tales -- art of a zealot, inches of gunge as nominal as in an equation of love.

Reparations long for the time that is forward in its associative capture. The rapture of the extreme eaity the feed, forward flask in extreme. B’lean.

Reels of the unreal.

Deeds set in cast plastic integration of the blown -- flown in extraversion extorts in breaths of brimming flow. Blasted in its seas of shoe sown wandering, like the eaves of dark vessels in the cloves of crownèd kings.

Browned in the absolute -- calculations of the depth, deep in the fast play restocking. Calls of the wild in mews of defference, like positions in a galaxy. spun in seals of treen. Creeping in extraversion,; pull of the minute, gravity a form of power. The planets spin - travellers that mock the moon. Creeds of negative green. R plus seven recalls the goodness, and the rest renew their clad.

Heavenly waves burn the skin, and are put down by Sol, our dearest, oldest friend.

Caught in the grip of the variety, ayes of the trouble that engage that which has been seen,. anew are the friendships that have always been. One day I will know you again. Sinking in manifest…Oh, there is nothing there to block the way. Calling your name, sure in the passages of the parenthesis that was our last existence. Sat among those who have always been known -- thrown the page like sculptures throw clay. Little illustrations and tiny mentions that explicate the endlessness of love.

The only ways I can tell what is happening to me. Returning home too..

Recking ships in pens that contain the sea, our stream flinches;:wasted rounded in vestibules of ever increasing margin limit. Reoil’d describing in blood.

Constant stone remade.

Taper in hypervision of para-recollection. Huge entireties that differ in maximal dissatisfaction . Cause for the latter -- extremes in scarce.

Enter the revel, patrons of the never ending. Sails on the mending.

Under weaving, waves retort in lashing causality. Karma rips in sevens. Wreathed in the acute.

Removal of focus, captivated in biochem -- halls of reflection collapse in heated exchange; guides of the strange and re-estranged.

Escalation and repensation -- key cards to the underpassages and vaults containing the most modern of magi-technology. Crews pass unseen and in vacuums clean instigated parameters that mean in modes of infinite green.

Clear are the opposites, ended in attempts at the furthering of life as human glass creates in its endless foray the purposes of gravity in plastic obtained. Gone are the measurements and in their certain turmoil, winds of rushing grasp up the foothills, fall of debris in instants of bitter relief.

Clear the halls! The repshord shouts, pieces of trap replacing the gallery at the moment of prime numbers. Gushes of off-white ignite the reem,, classes intake a shower of credible dream.

In the ignorance of the passing flower, a new turbulence ensued in porthole teeming, the gleaning of the precious sunlight treasures of the dead. In the exiting., a verse retained in mode of perplexed pour -- core of silence, the pattern of never-ending dominion. Ghost in the tracks -- sea of roaring air react,;gulp of potions ending fear, purpose of the push in the program of the night. Gush of credit in composition capsule; perfect signs in the lowest sky.

Tremendous captured in the ink of syphony, grand reactor the memory; and a hold on economic masts -- radio narrowcast, in clear due water of the virtual finding fixing aching mask.

Entailed in the westward wind, the flow of the streaming heart,; the innocence of the trailing path. Paths pulsate in maximum moon. Mark of greatness on the region’s tomb. Pockmarked management like motivation severedflent gall of promises never found, the arches of the makeup moving down. Cast like fingers at the eyes of norm, the truth is bent as light in the morn.

Harps in the streams, the water sound clean. Rapture of music that mentioned in the prophesies of gods would reclaim the creation of incidental chords that chimed in mists and equal climes of the magnificence in the enty of the untold.

of edgeward measure the pulling in black sand sinking.

Rumas reunion -- post-perfect presence in a theodyte that shifts in rotative relapse. Cast by shadows infinite and cracked.

Concrete in its pertinences, yet fluxuating at the sign of our rap. Grasp at the threads that windworm their way into the future, depth of sound hacked and reclad like buildings in cities of cerebral crap.

Ask in the future -- futures of prevalence in organisms of reaction, reinterplay and superrisk.

Reasonable in its containment, truth chewed in its collective connectedness

collapse.

Inimitable flow, paralyzed in progression. The endings of the road. Increase in funds to the enterprize interpreted a lifetime ago. Secret accounts with £££. Engage in the enablement of the post-established,; intro regress like the further polished, egret in semblance. Accords restructured, the possibilities involved, dialectic in their draining,, dreams drowned in the ethernet, ambience revolves. Kites in flight in streams in the sky; skyrivers z. pull pushed in the patterns of neversaul -- phones in water, casting messages sent throughout the carriages of the intervention. introversion torn ,rightrubbed. Rings of frictional removal; passed in passages pitch darkened. Posit polite in the marks of redoubt, gum like comely,;bone balanced in the pages of extreme retraction,memories renewed through process chemical, like the dark roomand tomb.

Gravity is clearer, collapsed in the rhythms of the vertical past, eyes of birds the reachers into the measure of the year, the moment; the infinite concealed.

Call us now, the Sails that have sunk -- flown in bounty of elision re-fummed.

April ‘17

#art writing

0 notes