I held up my boarding pass and walked through the gate. My wife, Harper, was right ahead of me, and we both were so loaded with bags and suitcases that we could barely fit between the doorways. Our 10th anniversary was in a couple of days. We both had come into agreement that there was no better way to celebrate than to go on an all-expense-paid cruise to Hawaii.
As we made it up to the deck, we marveled at all the entertainment. There was a band playing to greet us. Pools, water slides, mini-golf, a drive-in sized screen that was displaying boarding information, bars, and restaurants, and that was just what we could see while walking in! This was definitely the right choice for our anniversary vacation. I couldn’t wait to get these bags unloaded and start to enjoy ourselves.
We went into the doors that led to the cabins. There was another beautiful bar down below us. There was a sports bar to the left showing the games on different screens and a small library to our right. Before we made it to the cabins, there was a coffee bar that served specialty coffees and desserts. If religion has it right, I hope that heaven is something like this. You couldn’t walk through a door anywhere without finding something exciting.
Once we made it to our cabin, we dropped all our bags and looked at each other with stars in our eyes. I pulled my wife close for a kiss and then kept my arms around her. I asked eagerly about how we should begin.
“Well, what should we do first? The casino? The arcade?”
She smirked before replying.
“Such a man, don’t forget about the fine dining at 6, followed by the show at the Theatre.”
I drew back and acted faux offended.
“Are you insinuating that I have no culture? I made our reservations before we even boarded, don’t worry. Dinner isn’t for a long time though, how about we go get some of those tacos and a coffee to get ourselves going.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” She replied with a grin.
“Let’s unpack later. I am starving, and I think that coffee bar right there makes caramel macchiatos.”
Her eyes lit up yet again as I grabbed her hand, and we rushed towards the door. The coffee bar did have macchiatos, which I got with an extra shot of espresso. She ordered a frozen drink that was more sweetness than coffee, and we made our way back onto the deck where the tacos awaited.
The weather was beautiful. It was Fall time, and the sun was just warm enough to be inviting, accompanied by the blissful breeze that blew along the top of the deck. As we drew near to Tito’s Taco Shop, we heard the captain coming through the loudspeakers announcing takeoff. He reminded us about the mandatory safety meeting in a couple of hours and then wished us to have a great time aboard the ship.
It was still strange to be in large groups of people without wearing a mask. The pandemic was finally eradicated once the vaccines were distributed. The cruise and tourism industries were hit hard, as were many others. It seemed that people were at last willing to come back out again, and there was no shortage of cruise-goers ready for a trip to the islands.
I had my phone out and was looking up things to do in Honolulu for the days that we were in port. Scuba diving was a must. I had heard that sometimes you could see sharks or even hold an octopus on your hand if you got lucky enough. I wanted to do some hiking near the volcanoes if we had time. All the spam was going to be strange, but as much as they cook with it, I bet they were able to make it taste like a delicacy.
They were in the process of building a new aquarium. It looked like it was going to be a huge one. Sadly, it did not look like it would be done in time for us to check it out. The black sands beach looked incredible, though. Instead of sand, it said that the whole beach was covered in smooth black lava rocks. We would definitely have to make a stop there.
“Ethan! Do you want salsa on your tacos? Chicken or steak?”
I put my phone away and looked at the meats before responding and did so to the guy who was making them as he finished up my wife’s two glorious looking tacos.
“I’ll take one of both with some of that green salsa. Thank you!”
All the free tacos that you could eat, why couldn’t life always be like that?
“Let’s sit over there by the side, so we can watch the takeoff,” Harper said, before taking a big sip of her frozen coffee.
We took a seat and took in the last sight of land that we would see for about 4 days. Once we arrived, we would tour the different islands, stopping at each port and having a day to explore. There were some people on land waving towards the ship. We joined many others who were near the side waving back. I couldn’t help but feel bad for all of those poor people stuck on the land.
“Bon Voyage to us, I guess.”
I held up my coffee for a cheers, and Harper returned the gesture. Her face was glowing. I couldn’t remember seeing her so happy since the day of our wedding.
“This is really going to be a nice break from reality.” She said as she picked up her taco to take her first bite.
“Yeah, it will. Nothing like this in the world.”
We took our time, enjoying each bite as our view of the coastline became a thing of the past. When we were finished, we looked into each other’s eyes. I reached across the table to hold her hand. She sounded a bit anxious as she spoke.
“It is a lot to take in, isn’t it? There is so much to do that I’m afraid of missing out on something. Where should we go first?”
I squeezed her hand and spoke in a reassuring tone.
“We have plenty of time to take it all in. Let’s just make sure to relax and do whatever makes us happy. It will all work itself out.”
Once we had our fill of gazing into the ocean, we decided that we would head back to the room and get unpacked, while we waited for the safety orientation. The time flew by, and before we knew it, they were calling our section over the loudspeaker.
We arrived with all the other passengers and waited for a moment until the crew member made it so we could begin. They gave us the spiel about the life jackets. They explained how the evacuation process works in case of a problem and let us hear a sample of the siren that would be played if there was an emergency.
I was zoning out and staring out of the window. We were near the bottom of the ship, and you could see the water moving beside us. It put me in a bit of a trance, and I kind of lost myself in it for a moment. I was snapped out of it when I saw something I couldn’t quite comprehend.
It happened pretty fast, and most of the people were looking at the crew member as he spoke. I could have been mistaking, but It looked like a giant tentacle had moved by the window and curled out of sight.
I looked around to see if anyone else had seen what I thought I just saw. There was a teenaged boy who looked excited and shocked. He was tugging at his father’s sleeve and explaining something to him. He seemed to brush him off and looked frustrated at the interruption. Everyone else was paying attention to the speech and had apparently not seen a thing.
Harper noticed how shaken I was and asked me quietly if everything was alright. I shook it off and said I would tell her about it later. We sat through the rest of the orientation. Nothing else went by the window, other than the waves being made by the ship.
As we arrived back on the deck, we were grabbing a drink from the tiki-themed bar. Harper chose one of those blue drinks with the little umbrella on top. After what I had seen, I opted for a straight glass of their best scotch. I had explained my story to her, and she was busy trying to figure out what it could have been that I saw.
“So, you’re sure it was all the way up by the window? Even at that lower level, that must be pretty high up from the water. Maybe it was something that crawled up the side, and it just seemed like it was larger because of forced-perspective?”
I took a big sip of my scotch and shook my head in confusion.
“Yeah, I mean, maybe. I really don’t know.”
She looked as if a light bulb went off in her head, and she shot back a smart remark.
“You’ve been reading a bunch of that H. P. Lovecraft stuff again, haven’t you? I’m sure it wasn’t Cthulhu if that’s what you are thinking.”
I laughed and felt my tension release.
“No, it’s not that. I just thought it was weird, that’s all. Enough about that, let’s figure out what we’re going to do until the formal dinner and play tonight.”
She responded with a grin.
“I seem to remember someone mentioning the arcade and the casino.”
I must have looked like a kid on Christmas morning because she burst out laughing. We finished our drinks and made our way past the large screen that was now cycling through reminders of all the different events that you could attend. Night club, comedy club, it seemed like there was no end to the number of things you could do on this ship.
We walked through the casino that was already bustling with cruise-goers. It looked like a good time. They even had versions of those toy cranes that were set up to pick up huge wads of cash. That might be the next stop, but I had my eyes set on the zombie shooter game with two green guns. The arcade was right past the casino and was full of all kinds of games to keep us entertained.
Not as many people were eager to jump straight for the arcade apparently. Harper and I had the whole place to ourselves. I went to the coin machine to get out some tokens. There was a door that read “Staff Only” right by the machine. I heard a loud slamming noise that caught my attention, even over the music that was playing in the arcade. I leaned in a little and heard a heated conversation on the other side.
“This is so fucked up. I can’t believe that they got loose. They need to tell all of the people!”
“Can you imagine the chaos that would cause? I get where you are coming from, trust me. It’s better this way, though.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right… People would be going crazy.”
The door opened, and I jumped as I was still leaning in to eavesdrop. This must have been apparent to the two kids who walked out because they looked a bit frightened and then hurried right past me. I grabbed the tokens out of the machine and walked over to the machine where my wife was waiting.
“You look like you just saw a ghost or something. Don’t tell me some fish people are walking around on board now.”
I couldn’t even fake a laugh or smile. I explained what I had just heard as I put the coins into the machine and started up the game. She did not seem concerned about the new development.
“They could have been talking about a mechanical issue or something. Try not to worry too much. We deserve to have the time of our lives on this trip. I don’t want you to start to obsess on this and lose sight of why we are here.”
I shrugged at this and answered in a resigned tone.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Worrying isn’t going to fix anything anyway. Could you please start taking out some of these zombies, though? I’m carrying the whole game over here. You have a power-up to use, hit the red button.”
She smacked me with the gun for talking trash, but the mood felt much lighter after that. Before long, we grew tired of the arcade and decided to play a few games at the casino. I have never been the best card player, and she was no better than me. This being the case, we opted for the giant money claw machine.
I swear that both of us grabbed a stack a handful of times each. The claw would never hold its grip, though. Feeling more than a little bit scammed, we decided to blow a bit of time at the slots until we had to go get ready for dinner. As soon as we sat down, the person who went on the money claw right behind us exclaimed loudly as the machine lit up and started to make a loud ringing noise. I looked over to Harper and gestured towards him.
“That seems about right, huh? We pump fifty dollars into that thing, and he walks away with a jackpot after one.”
“Such is life.” She responded as she pumped some tokens into the slot machine.
I couldn’t help but hear two guys on some machines behind us, as they were beginning to get a bit rowdy with each other.
“You tryin’ to say I don’t know what I saw man?”
His friend responded quickly.
“No, no, no, man. I’m not trying to say you’re seeing things or whatever else. I’m just saying that it’s crazy. There is no way it can be right!”
After this, the first man shot up out of his seat, knocking over his stool as he did. This caused quite the scene, and many people were starting to gaze in the direction now.
“Yeah, that’s alright. You think whatever the hell you want. I’m gonna go find someone to talk to about it right now!”
He stormed off, leaving his friend looking a bit shell-shocked and embarrassed. Harper looked toward me, and as if reading her mind, I pushed my seat back away from the machine.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here. We need to get ready for dinner.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise at what we had just witnessed and responded.
“Sounds good to me. I haven’t won anything anyway. Let’s go.”
I looked back towards the guy’s friend, who he left standing there. After considering it for a moment, I leaned in towards my wife.
“You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in just a second.”
She looked a bit frustrated but did not fight it.
“Hurry up, I want to make sure we get a good seat. It’s going to take us a while to get ready.”
She kissed me on the cheek and took off towards the deck, which led over towards the cabins. I walked up towards the man who was about to walk off before I caught his attention.
“Excuse me, sir? I overheard you and your friend. What was it that he thinks he saw?”
He looked at me warily. It was clear that he really didn’t want to discuss the matter.
“Look, he’s usually not like that, you know? I don’t know what’s gotten into him, honestly.”
I shook my head. He obviously didn’t understand why I was asking.
“No, I saw something strange as well. I’m not trying to say your friend is going crazy at all. I was just wondering what it is that he was saying he saw.”
This seemed to unnerve him more than help calm his nerves. He looked around to make sure nobody was listening in.
“Man, he was saying that he saw a giant fucking octopus, bro. Like, 30 feet long or so is how he was describing it. It’s ridiculous, there is no way they would allow something like that on one of these ships.”
My heart dropped all the way to my feet. I covered my mouth, and I think he could tell by my reaction that what he said had rocked me to the core. I stammered and managed a weak reply as horror rushed through my body.
“I..I… On the boat??”
He nodded and looked at me with the same type of concern he had been showing to his friend. My face must have been as white as a sheet at this point.
“Thanks.”
I took off out of the door, in a huge rush to catch up with Harper. I was looking around in a panic, my heart racing and ready to beat right out of my chest. I was about to just take off to the room when I heard Harper’s voice.
“Ethan! Over here, I grabbed some hot tea.”
I saw her over by the edge of the deck, waving me over. I ran up to her and could hardly focus.
“I thought you needed something to help you relax, and it looks like I was right. What are you freaking out about right now?”
I tried to collect my thoughts and was going to respond when she pointed behind me and cut me off.
“Hey, isn’t that the guy that was just going nuts in the casino?”
I turned around, and the man was being dragged towards a door that was marked “Employees Only”. Two larger deckhands were pulling him that way, each with a tight grip on one of his arms. He was fighting hard to try and break their hold and calling out for help. As they made it through the door with the man, I grabbed Harper by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.
“We have to go. Let’s get to the room, I don’t want to explain out here.”
She nodded, and we made our way towards the cabins. Once we were in our own cabin, she put down the hot teas on our dresser and walked right up to me with an exasperated look on her face.
“Babe, what in the heck is going on right now? This isn’t about the freaking tentacle that you saw out the window, is it?”
I looked shiftily around the room and towards our view of the ocean.
“Yes… I mean, no… Well, not really, anyway.”
“You have got to calm down. Just take a deep breath and explain.”
I did as she suggested and took a long deep breath to collect my thoughts. I told her about what the guy’s friend had said back at the casino. She made the connection between this and the man being dragged off the deck against his will. I also explained what I heard from the crew members when we were at the arcade. I could tell she was beginning to take what I was saying seriously.
I looked off into a corner as I made a connection. It seemed like a bit of a stretch to me, but it was the only thing I could think of. I know that she wouldn’t judge me at this point if it sounded a bit outlandish. After thinking it over for a moment, I decided to tell her what I was thinking.
“When I was looking for things to do in Honolulu earlier, there was an advertisement for a new aquarium that was coming soon. One of the main attractions was that they were going to have a bunch of Giant Pacific Octopi.
I didn’t think about it until now, but what if that is what is on this ship? Let me google it really quick, I had never heard of that type of octopus, so I didn’t think much of it.”
I got the search pulled up and nodded in a cold understanding before continuing.
“This is exactly what that guy was describing. I don’t know why they would use a cruise ship to deliver something like that. It’s the only thing that makes any sense right now, though.”
Harper was looking at the google search thoughtfully and responded.
“I mean, I guess that these were two of the hardest-hit economies during the pandemic, tourism, and cruise ships. It makes some kind of twisted sense that they would come together to try and help each other out. Octopi are known to be very mischievous, even when they aren’t the size of a freaking semi-trailer.”
She made a good point. Nothing had really made sense for a few years now with how crazy the world had been. This made as much sense as anything else when it was put into perspective. I just shook my head in amazement and looked towards her.
“Well, what do we do from here?”
“I know this is crazy, but I’m sure they will have a handle on those things. They would not have arranged to have them on board and not prepared for the possibility that they could escape.
I say we get ready and go to dinner as we had planned. We don’t want to spend our whole 10th-anniversary cruise holed-up in the cabin. Even if all this crazy guesswork is correct, and that is what the guy from the casino saw, I’m sure that they have everything under control.”
I pressed my fingers against my eyes and tried to wrap my mind around everything. I may have been scared out of my mind, but she was right. Our best bet was to hope that it was all under control and at least try to enjoy our time on the ship. This was not going to happen again anytime soon, if ever.
“Yeah. Let’s do that, I agree. Let’s just get dressed and try to have a good time. I’m sure if it was too bad, everyone would be on lockdown or something.”
She brightened up a bit with my saying this. We both went into our luggage and began to start the process of getting changed into our formal dining attire. Before long, I was tying the knot in my tie, and she was putting the final touches on her hair. I walked up behind her in the mirror and held her by the shoulders.
“You look incredible. Let’s go and have the time of our lives.”
She gave me a big smile, and I pulled her in for a kiss. I backed up and held out my arm towards her. As she grabbed onto it, we made our way for the door.
The formal dining room was the most luxurious area on the ship by far. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. There were large wine racks along many of the walls, and the entire dining room was walled in by the most beautiful windows that I had ever seen. There was an ornate window on the ceiling as well. It was just beginning to get dark, and I was sure that soon we would be able to see the stars all across the sky.
The waiter walked up and asked what we would like to drink. He was dressed in a black vest with a bow tie and a white shirt. I told him that we would take a bottle of wine that he recommended. I also asked him to give me a recommendation for my meal. Once Harper heard his suggestion of parmesan encrusted lamb with asparagus, she decided that she would follow suit.
He brought out some bread with olive oil as a complimentary appetizer to go with our wine. As he poured our first glasses and set the bottle down, I grabbed my glass of wine and held it up toward my beautiful wife. She looked every bit as lovely as the day of our wedding, and I was flooded with a flurry of emotions as I said my toast.
“Here is to 10 amazing years. Every one of them has been an adventure, and I look forward to every year that I’ll be lucky enough to spend with you as we continue that adventure.”
She smiled and blushed ever so slightly as she reached her glass to clink off of mine. We both took a sip, and she responded in a relieved manner.
“That’s the spirit, it is starting to actually feel like a relaxing vacation.”
“Hey, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? It’s so nice to have a break from work, housework, and all the monotony of the day-to-day. We make a pretty good team through all of that drudgery, though. Don’t you think?”
Suddenly, I saw the smile get wiped from her face. The look that crept onto her face was one of sheer terror. Her glass of wine had been in her hand. When her face went from delight to horror, she tossed it on the ground with a crash. A scream came from deep within her, which was blood-curdling and intimated that absolute ruin was imminent.
I turned toward the spot that she was staring at. I understood all at once the doom that awaited all of us in the dining room. A giant octopus came crashing through the windows near the entrance where we all had arrived, knocking over the many racks of wine as it came and turning the floor as red as blood. Seemingly at the same time, another came from the side closest to the ocean and blocked the only other way out of the dining room into the kitchen.
I grabbed Harper’s arm, and we ran toward the corner as far from the beasts as we could manage. It was pandemonium as the whole dining room erupted into turmoil. I flipped a circle table up against the corner so that Harper and I could try to hide behind it for protection.
I saw one man who ran as fast as he could towards a small opening next to the octopus, who was blocking the main entrance. The creature reached a giant tentacle out for him and pulled him into his beak. There were shrieking howls of pain, unlike anything I have ever heard as blood sprayed out from underneath.
A couple of people were able to dart around as the octopus was distracted. Another unfortunate lady was grabbed by one of the spare tentacles, though. He squeezed her around the throat, and we had to watch as her face turned purple. Eventually, the life was squeezed right from her body.
I held Harper tight as she was sobbing like mad and unable to stop her body from shaking. We saw an opening. The one by the front entrance went toward a group of people on the opposite side of the room. As soon as it did, we bolted for the door. As we drew near, another octopus came crashing through the window on the ceiling, crushing a few unfortunate souls as it joined in the massacre. We kept running until we were well onto the deck.
The chaos did not stop in the dining room. People were running like mad all over the deck. I didn’t know where we would be safe, but I thought that maybe we could lock ourselves in our cabin until we could be rescued from this madness. It was a nice thought, but as we went for the doors, another one of those damn things came down to block our way.
We ran for the area in front of the drive-in style screen where Re-Animator was playing. A man was gibbering to himself in a wild manner and hiding behind a chair. As we drew near, I noticed a tear in the screen as another one came through and snatched the man up as he yelled out for help.
Our options for safety were becoming extremely limited. We ran for the bar where we jumped over the top and hid with a large group of people, peaking over to watch it all unfold. That was when we saw what I knew would be the end of us all. There was an army of them descending upon us. I held Harper tight as we waited on the inevitable.
I watched as a family of three were huddling together in the middle of the deck. They were almost surrounded, but the father pushed the mother and child toward an opening so that they could make it to safety with the rest of us. He let out a guttural cry as they ripped him to shreds. His little girl cried in a high-pitched squeal reaching for him until the mother grabbed her and ran towards us.
The mother was getting close when one of the monstrous creatures came hurtling behind her. As she noticed, she reached out with her daughter. I leaned out over the bar and grabbed onto her as the octopus reached the mother and held her tightly. I was pulling my hardest as the mother was holding on tight, and I hoped that they both might be saved.
I was punching and pulling at the tentacles and doing my best to cause him to let the mother go. She released her daughter, and the others brought her down behind the bar. I wouldn’t let go of her mother’s arms as she cried out in distress.
That was when I heard it. It was the deepest and most powerful sound that I have ever heard. It shook the ship violently. The bottles of liquor and glasses were falling all around us. It was hard to describe the immense strength and power that the sound exhibited all around us. When the sound came, though, something strange began to happen.
The octopus that held the child’s mother released her, and we pulled her behind the bar with us quickly. She fell to her daughter and clutched her tightly as they wept in each other’s arms. All of the creatures began to release the people that they were attacking. They were moving in unison towards the edges of the ship. They crawled over the side, and one by one, they made their way into the ocean.
Once all the monsters had left the ship, the people made their way slowly to the side to see what was happening. For some reason, they were all leaving. As quickly as they had descended upon us, they left us. It appeared to be almost in a synchronized manner. They all were swimming in the same direction, and we watched in disbelief. Nobody aboard this ship would ever be the same if they made it out alive, but many of us were saved by what could only be described as a call. A call that came from something massive, much larger than the creatures that had plagued us. It was a call that came from deep within the ocean and was more monstrous than anything that we could have ever imagined.

Here's my first post on reddit
Carlos and I ride out once again to the fields. We’ve been out here cutting and trimming grass for weeks now, but there’s not too much left to chop down. It’s the last ride for the day, coming off a break that felt too short from a break room that felt too small to a cemetery that felt too big. It kicked our asses, and even though we had another hour and a half on the clock, we knew we were through. My nose was filled with dry grass clippings, making it difficult to breath. The smell of dead vegetation cut through every odor in the air, masking the wind in a dry wave of rotten plants. Sweat ran through my shirt in an effort to keep me cool. I could try all I wanted, but there was no way I could cut another section. Carlos brushed the debris out of the hair of his arm. I knew he’d had enough too. His dark blue “Holy Cross High School” shirt was covered in dirt, adding a new texture to his faded t-shirt and jeans. His cheeks were dark red, and his skin seemed to grow thicker as the days went by. At least we had the Gator, a gas powered wagon-sized golf cart. It went about 25 miles an hour, but cut through the air with power and ferocity. Gravel jumped into the air as we rode through the streets. I felt like I was on a trip through the country, away from these pale gravestones and grieving families. I drew myself an invisible landscape, somewhere out West. The arid wind couldn’t stop me from dozing off. It added life and believability to this vista I projected in my mind. Maybe I was riding through Arizona, driving through a desert. Or maybe on a bumpy trail in New Mexico.
“Where to next man,” Carlos shouted, “We knocked out section 2 and 5. I’ll be damned if we’re starting another section and coming back to it Monday”
“Yeah fuck that. Just bullshit over by the crematory, see what Jesse’s doing.”
The cemetery was divided into twenty-something sections of different shapes and sizes. The grass grew differently in each one. Carlos and I worked through all of it, from the juicy, purple weeds in section 7 to the dry, sticky greens in section 21.But 2 and 5 was a bitch to get through. The sun beat down on our backs, and the gas-powered engines on our trimmer blew thick, grey smoke through our shirts. The muffler sometimes hit me in the arm, reminding me how hot the motors on these weed-eaters got. At least Section 2 was scattered with trees, providing momentary relief from the bastard in the sky. We powered through the stones in the sun, trying to get to each patch of shade as often as we could. The stones in the shade took the longest. Section 5 gave us no shade, forcing us to steady our speed at a slower, more deliberate pace. The vibrations from the machine numbed my arms, but my face seemed to compensate for the loss of feeling in my hands. Every stone, every blade of grass, every grain of dirt hit you harder. I couldn’t shelter my face from the impact. I just hoped the clippings would miss my nose and lips. Another hour and a half of all that? You better bet I was taking the rest of the day off.
We crossed the block to the other half of the cemetery and pulled up to the crematory. I called it the “people cooker.” I used to love the smell of the grills at Burger King. I felt like I could taste the char in the burgers. Too bad the crematory smelled the same way. Burger King never smelled good again. But I got used to it, since it carried through this half of the cemetery and was hard to avoid. Jesse walked away from one of the ovens, wiping his face with a rag from nearby. He finished his last cremation of the day, which was a heavy-set women in her fifties. Carlos and I helped load her in earlier, so we knew he’d been wrestling with her all day, keeping the ovens hot enough to cremate her but cool enough to keep the building from catching on fire. It wasn’t easy getting her in there either. The funeral director opened the back of the hearse and pulled the casket out to the ramp. We needed to get this body a few feet to the rollers in front of the oven. Sounds easy, and usually is. Except when you’re looking at a 350 pound body. The family didn’t specify whether they wanted her cremated naked or not, so she was taking a light blue dress to the ovens with her. We all put on gloves, getting ready to lift the corpse to the cooker. Her eyes were closed, with light blush covering her face. Her cheeks were unusually pink, probably the result of some cosmetologist desperately trying to conceal her death. She looked like a toy doll, some scary child’s toy out of a movie. I grabbed her thigh and lower back, as Carlos and Jesse got her upper back and shoulders. We lifted her up and over the casket, throwing her on the rollers like a ragdoll. Jesse pushed her in with a metal stick, and she was gone. She took all day to cook, and a few times the body gave off a thick smoke that shrouded the cemetery in black smog. The smell lingered, but we ignored it as we pulled into the carport beside the building.
“What’s up guys,” Jesse said.
“Not a damn thing bro. You finished her off?” I asked.
“Yeah. She kept me on my toes man. Had to keep the fire low. That fat burns too fast, screws with the machine.”
“Damn.” Carlos added. “We just finished up section 2 and 5. Gonna bullshit till 5:00.”
“Where’s the bud at?”
Carlos laughed and removed the plate that covered the wheel. The other temps and I kept our weed here. It got us through the day. Maybe we load a bowl or two, or smoke a joint here and there. Didn’t matter, we made due, and usually took a smoke break before the day was through. Sometimes we smoked out a funeral director. Other times it was somebody making a delivery. We even got Stephanie, the typical hot, chill receptionist to join us once. In just a few weeks here, we baked with some pretty cool people. Carlos pulled out a pineapple-flavor cigarillo and got to rolling.
“What happened to Parra earlier? Saw him getting his ass chewed out by Andrew.” Jesse said.
“He fucked up that lady’s grass again. All he does is screw up, but they put him on the mower anyway.” Carlos replied.
“Well he don’t give a shit bro. He’s almost out of here. Guys been out here for 40 years.”
“At that point I’d be like ‘just go home vato, call it a day.’ Send his ass home and give him a check and a burial.”
We laughed and nodded our heads. Parra wobbled around on his bad knees 8 hours a day for longer than Carlos and I had been alive. That’s endurance. Or dedication. I don’t know. Maybe even a fear of the wife beating his out-of-work ass. I kinda felt he deserved this pineapple-flavored cigarillo more than any of us. Well, too bad. It’s almost rolled, and he doesn’t smoke anymore anyway.
Jesse hopped in the back of the Gator. We rode around the crematory, away from visitors and coworkers, to the corner of the cemetery. Fresh cremations and dead grass masked the scent from the marijuana, but we played it safe and smoked out off in the distance. This spot was the coolest spot in the cemetery anyways. A huge cedar tree covered a good amount of the road, keeping the heat from reflecting off the ground and hitting us. We parked, got out of the Gator, and pulled our weedeaters to the edge of the bed in the back. We took the heads off the tools and cut some string. We arranged the back of the cart to look like work was taking place, in case a big shot like Paul or Mr. Hinojosa drove by. Andrew, the foreman, was cool with us taking the rest of the day off, but if Paul, the cemetery manager, caught you, he’d dock your pay. Mr. Hinojosa worked above him at the Archdiocese, so if he happened to catch you, you were gone for sure. We put those worries aside, secure in this little portion of land. Carlos lit up the brown paper bone and inhaled deeply. Another set of scents joined the air, scents only the three of us could enjoy. The pineapple hit me right away, followed by another odor I knew all too well. Carlos always brought the best stuff, said he knew some guy that only smoked higher-grade green. His guy had good taste.
“Hey Gil you play this weekend man?” Jesse asked, “Me and my girl wanna catch your show.”
“Tomorrow night, On The Rocks Pub, downtown underneath the McDonalds.”
“Damn dude that place gets packed. Y’all must be decent.”
“I guess so. We just get the job done. It’s a pretty neat spot though. Gets a little too wild sometimes. A few weeks ago there was a guy dancing with this ghetto poncho. Got kicked out of the place because he kept on throwing it over random people. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I played twice this weekend, but I didn’t want him to know I was playing tonight. I was gigging at some bar out in Stone Oak, just the singer and I. I didn’t really like playing out there. They paid good, and the place was nice. But the vibe there was never right. Like everyone in the bar was alone. It wasn’t empty, but it felt like the patrons were empty husks, drinking away another day at the office. They were zombies. I’d hate to invite my co worker to a lifeless environment just to see me play. I mean, the guy does work at a cemetery for a living. Pretty sure he’s had enough of that for one day.
I relaxed in my seat, drifting off again. Carlos and Jesse went on, talking about baseball or basketball or something. I looked over at the headstones, staring at the dates on the stones. Most of these people died in the 70’s, so the chances of a visitor coming through this section were low. I always got scared looking at the ones who died in their twenties. That could’ve been me. My final resting place, next to other bodies that were rotting away. Maybe there’d be a family member or two walking around above me, “visiting” me. Maybe my kids. Or maybe a friend I left behind. Then, slowly, the stone would get darker and muddier. The dirt would slowly shift, the grave sinking in slightly. Maybe my widowed lover would call up the office to level it out. Or maybe the grave would sink in lower, the stone falling over sharply into the lot, grime slipping out of the letters etched on the stone. Everything about me would rot and fade away. My body, my soul, the memory of me. All that gone, like the bodies in the cemetery. I was bound to be under one of those stones. Food for a few generations of earth-digging critters and deep-rooted foliage at best.
These visions rushed through my head almost every time I smoked here. But I looked forward to it, and in a weird way, embraced it. I still made it to 21. I passed up a few of these people in age already. Some were a fraction of my age. I was lucky to still be here. And here I was, smoking some illegal substance with a groundskeeper and a crematory technician. Two people I barely knew. But I was never bored around anybody here. These people kept me laughing a good amount of the day, never running out of fresh material. And, on the few days they actually opened up and reflected on themselves, I was happy to know something new about these fascinating people. I learned about Andrew burying his brother in a section of the cemetery we trimmed last week, or the mechanic, Fermin, laying his parents to rest in the far side of the veteran’s section. Or even Hornario, who couldn’t speak a lick of English, marrying a white women 25 years older than him to get citizenship.
After a few rotations, the cigarillo was gone. I stood up and got some ice-water from the jug in the back of the Gator. Still had about 30 minutes to burn. I looked over across the lots. Parra was mowing over in section 7. Fermin was dealing with a water leak over in section 9. Andrew hated Fermin, so he gave him the dirty work.
“Poor Fermin, out there in that hole. Looking like a wet rat, covered in mud.” I said.
“You weren’t here last October bro,” Jesse added, “One the caskets in the mausoleum wasn’t sealed right and ended up blowing up inside the slot. Started leaking this…… I don’t know. People juice. It was thick and slimy and running down the walls. Whole place smelled like sewage. Somebody had to go in there with a vacuum. Andrew sent Fermin. We were all watching, had gas masks and shit. Not Fermin. He was in there on his hands and knees and his uniform. Crawled out with bits of that gunk in his beard.”
“What the fuck? With that people juice in his beard?”
“Yeah.”
That story’s a good reminder of why I wanted to get my education. The work out here was tough, and you had to survive the elements to do it. But you got paid pretty well. I started at 11.50$ an hour, got 40 hours a week, AND blazed daily with a cool crew. Sometimes I wanted to stay and quit school. I was always struggling during the school year. Living off gigs and a part-time work-study job I had at school, plus what I saved up over the summer working here. And, even with a degree in my hand, I’d probably still be struggling after it all. But here, I’d be at 16$ an hour in less than 5 years, doing the same thing I was doing right now. Too bad music was my passion.
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Edit: unfortunately, the format gets changed when I post. No proper paragraphs😕
MILTARYJOURNEY 1953-1961
I had returned to the States, to Camp Roberts, California. I joined a Training Division, in this case, the Seventh Armored. I was assigned as an Instructor in Division Faculty. We would teach trainees, recruits, all the General Subjects; Map Reading, Chemical, Biological, and Radiological Warfare. About every subject that builds a qualified and prepared soldier, was what we would teach. In 1953 I was promoted to Master Sergeant; I completed my career plan twenty-seven years early. I made myself a promise, any soldier under me would be prepared to survive in combat. I enjoyed the duty but started drinking excessively. The drinking was no small part of my life. In looking back, I tried to understand why I became such a drunk. It started with boredom, you work all day and then went back to the Barracks each evening, there may be a more boring place than a Barracks in the evening, but that place does not come to mind. It would start by going down to the “Beer Hall,” but drinking beer and sitting around listening to war stories just didn’t cut it. Then it was trips to Paso Robles, and boozing it up. The Army itself ties almost all its social events to drinking. Yes, I would admit that a lot of the drinking had to do with coping with the stupidity of war, people, and situations, after all, say what you will, when you’re soused you feel very little. The one thing I accepted was it’s a self-inflicted wound. I got into trouble years later when the granddaddy of all cop-outs became stylish, “Alcoholism is a disease.” A disease you catch, or are passed down. It’s simple; you don’t want to drink, quit!! The Army decided to close Camp Roberts and did one of those things that drove me nuts. We had truckloads of supplies and equipment that were not accountable on anyone’s records, It was carried out to an area and buried. I asked why we couldn’t send it to other outfits. It seems it would reflect poor management on part of the Command. I closed out my duty at Camp Roberts by returning from town roaring drunk and ran over the MP shack at the Main Gate. I caught a bus for Fort Lewis Washington the next morning, after returning a car I had bought. I left it in front of the car dealership with a note that informed them. “This car does not steer straight.” I was still drunk. Fort Lewis was one of those Posts that always appealed to me. I was assigned to the 77th Infantry Division. It was a reactivated outfit and like all new outfits, it was short of supplies and equipment. I volunteered to take a convoy to Camp Roberts. Their response, “Request Denied.” I went to McCord Air Force Base and got all I needed by signing for everything with my First Sergeant’s signature. Ah, Life was great. The only thing that comes through those months, and the haze of Alcohol, at Fort Lewis, was our short tour to Alaska for Training Exercises. We moved into an area called Tanna Ridge, sometimes called the Ice Mountain. One day I out-skied the Alaskan National Guard patrol trying to capture me. They could have caught me, but, they were laughing too hard. So I got away. I would have done a lot better if I would have known how to ski. I guess it wouldn’t have mattered much. As I escaped the Guard I skied right into their Prisoner of War Compound. Too bad I was sober. It was 1953, the War in Korea was winding down, at least on the higher level. I returned to Korea, I was looking for something I lost there, but I didn’t know what it was, maybe it was that innocence, that we all hate to let go of. I was assigned to the Seventh Infantry Division; my Regiment was shipped to Pusan to guard the Neutral Nations Inspection Team. Their Job was to check on all the agreements of the cease fire. The problem was some of the Nations involved were Communist and the local Korean people were incensed that they were in their country and under our protection. The compound that we were housed in, on a regular basis, would be the target of giant demonstrations, not all were peaceful. We never had a problem with the violent demonstrations, you simply use enough return force to stop it. The tactics they used that tested the discipline of your Unit was the full charge against your security Platoon, blocking the gates. About five feet from the Bayonets the crowd would stop, then a path would open up, and five or six guys carrying baskets “Honey Buckets” would burst through and spread the contents over the Platoon. To be layered with Human waste had a tendency to ruin your day. In all the times I saw this used, our troops never reacted violently. I did notice a lot of flinching. The hard part of the duty was that you had to accomplish three missions, security, work details, and Training. There simply were not enough men to do all that was required. The responsibility fell to the Operations Sergeant in the Battalions to juggle schedules. I had become an Operations Sergeant. I’ve thought long and hard to think of how to explain what your duties would be in that position. I decided it would explain more to talk about the three Operations Sergeants of the units. The Operations Sergeant of the First Battalion, straightened up his desk one morning, filed all his reports, put on a clean set of fatigues, poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, then walked out behind his office to an empty Quonset Hut, and hung himself. The Operations Sergeant of the Second Battalion was found huddled in his room, in a corner, incoherently babbling about “Nothing fits, nothing fits. Does it???” (Who Knows.) The Operations Sergeant for the Third Battalion smiled a lot, volunteered for ridicules details, and generally had a good time, of course, he was Drunk around the clock. They never could tell I was drunk, until one day, I showed up sober. It was a tour you wait for to end. I returned to the United States and this time to Fort Lewis again, I think this time the outfit was the 5th Regimental Combat Team. It was on this tour of duty that I quit drinking. One morning about 0610 hrs. It was foggy, and I had just received the reports from all my companies. Senior Non-Commissioned Officers took turns conducting “Reveille.” I gave my report to the Regimental Officer, I could see his legs hanging out of the Fog about 20 paces away. I was of course, drunker than a Skunk. There were a couple of minor details I overlooked. One, it was Sunday. Two, there were no troops or units to get reports from. The third, and most important was, those legs hanging out of the fog, belonged to the Colonel, Commanding the Regiment. In a brief statement, the Colonel, I was informed, would break me to Private and put me, not in the Stockade, but under it. I made a major life change by noon that day. I decided that I would have to become more involved with my work, to compensate for the lack of booze. I became obsessed with having everything in order administratively. The payoff came when the Inspector General’s, annual inspection came around. I was given the highest score in the Regiment. The Regimental Commander was delighted and took full credit for my sobriety. (As he was reading my results, and gloating how well I did, I felt like saying, “I’ll drink to that.”) I requested an overseas assignment and was floored when I received orders for Panama. Panama was the “Old Soldiers Home,” one of the most sought after assignments in the Army. Usually, you had to be political, or a Mason, or know someone high up. I didn’t qualify in any of those cases, but I didn’t turn it down. On arrival in the United States Army Caribbean, I was assigned to the Army Headquarters as the Operations Sergeant. The best way to describe an Army Headquarters is to accept the fact that you go higher, you get nuttier. Everyone was a Prima-Donna. The people who work around you, although they were oftentimes excellent men, had to work for the higher-ups, that were beyond the reality of common Soldiers. In some cases, you had to wonder what Army they were in. The majority of my work had to do with briefing General Officers and foreign dignitaries. If I could have packaged “Egos”, cause I know there’s a market for them, I could have retired early, real, early. Working with people that are so taken with themselves can be a strain, seldom can you please them. I used two little tricks that became survival weapons for me. Those that are unbearable, threatening or just idiots with power, I would decide they were no longer amongst the living. I could receive their orders and carry them out, but they had no value to me, for in my mind, they are already dead. The downside of this is if they were threatened with death my response would have been, “Tough Shit.” The second way I used was for people who I could tolerate, but their egos seemed to be their headlights. These people, when they entered the room, I would just picture them, “Sitting on the Throne.” Often times I was asked by some of these same people how I handled my briefings without being nervous, I would tell them, and watch them get nervous. The duty in Panama was all I had heard people talk about. I spent a lot of time out in the civilian areas and especially an area called, “San Francisco.” The locals had a game they would play in the surf. It consisted of nine or ten of them going out while the tide was going down and catching the Sharks and selling them. One day I was watching a couple of groups, “Catching the Shark,” There was this great flurry of people scattering and screaming, you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what happened. It appeared “Catching the Shark,” was a two-way street. After about fifteen minutes of complete Chaos, a group came running back to the beach, at first I thought they had part of a shark, but as they got to the beach I could see one of the men had the arm of another man. All they had was his arm and head and less than a third of the body. Very dead. Sharks = 1, Men = 0. Some of my duties took me across the peninsula, one day on the main highway, I passed two groups of village people who, were involved in a discussion about the events of the night before. It seems that native women, who worked in the city or as maids, would walk home in the evening and most of the time stayed right in the middle of the road. I figured, well that’s not too swift, cause the way the Chiva drivers roared around they were bound to pick off a few. That wasn’t the case. It seems the “Fer-de-Lance,” a snake, full-grown about six feet long and very poisonous, with ugly horn-like growths on its head, would attack the women at night. They were considered very aggressive and one of the few Snakes that will hunt you down. As I said, Panama was an interesting tour of duty. As my time in Panama drew to a close, I got word that most of the people that left Panama went to Fort Benning, Georgia. The last place I wanted to be. I decided to use an “Old Soldier” trick. When I filled out my preference forms for future assignments, they requested three preferences. Well, the Army would never send you where you wanted to go, so in those slots on the form, I listed Fort Benning, Georgia, in all three slots. It’s not hard to figure, right. I got my orders and went to Fort Benning, Georgia. (So much for “Old Soldier” tricks.) As I arrived at Columbus, Georgia, the town closest to Fort Benning, I came in by bus. I had not paid attention to the people on the Bus that much until we got off, it was then that I noticed the Negros, (Sorry, all you, or should I say, Vail, politically correct people, that’s what blacks were called at that time in history.) They had all been at the back end of the bus. As we unloaded I saw the people line up at, what I thought was the restaurant. Everyone knows in the south everyone still has outhouses, everyone runs around barefooted, hollering “yall com bac yheeer,” Hell, I’ve seen the same movies you did. The restaurant was two sawhorses with a board across them. The people would order and then stand around eating. I stood in line and it didn’t dawn on me that everyone else was a Negro. An older Negro man turned to me and said, “Boss, you can’t eat here, you got to go around the front, that’s for white folks.” I was embarrassed, I sort of mumbled and walked around front. The restaurant was just like those you see any place in the United States, except for the sign that said, “Whites Only.” I lost my hunger and waited for the bus to Fort Benning. The time I waited, only one thought came to my mind. “Erwin, rolled on a grenade, to save my ass, for this?” I was assigned to the Infantry School as an Instructor, That’s like being a professor at Harvard University in civilian life. In short, you have arrived. My assignment was with the Ground Mobility Department, of the Infantry School. Their mission was to teach all aspects of wheeled and Track vehicles, this makes perfect sense, I couldn’t find the gas cap on most cars. One thing about the Army, when given a mission, you never say I can’t do it. You just do it. The Instructor is responsible for his class and if it is screwed up, you pay dearly. The edge I had is that I am a damn fine teacher. (You expected coyness?) Teaching in the Army is a little different than you would experience on the outside. A unit in training runs on a schedule, that is unforgiving, you may have so many minutes to get from one area or classroom to the next. Being late is not stylish, once you get into a class the Instructor has fifty minutes, not forty- nine, or fifty-one, but fifty minutes to get his class information across. No slack. The challenge for me, of course, was to learn the Subjects on wheeled and track vehicles. I would attend as many classes as possible given by Instructors that knew what they were talking about. For the first couple of months, everything was “rote.” I then started to sound like I knew what I was talking about; sort of. The second challenge was my Officer in Charge, (OIC), He was totally unlikable. His main shortcoming was that he would panic in most situations and in all, where an Officer senior to him would appear. He demanded respect, but seldom earned it, and never gave it. In truth, he wasn’t much. They use to say in the ranks, (Enlisted,) that about every third commander you would serve under would be, “One card short of a full deck,” I seemed to get the nut every time. My first falling out with him came one early morning when the Committee was supposed to set up a vehicle display of all wheeled and track vehicles. The OIC and I were the first to arrive and he would tell me where to put a Jeep, and I would do it. Things went fairly smooth until we got to the Track vehicles, case in point, the M48 Tank, I had never driven one, in fact as an Infantryman, I stayed away from them, as they draw a lot of “Incoming rounds.” Well the OIC, told me to get in and move the M48, I tried three times to tell him, I didn’t know how, he wouldn’t listen and ordered me, almost in a rage to move it. My response was, “Yes sir!” I got in the M48, and got situated in the driver’s seat, got the hatch open, messed around and got it started. I looked out and the OIC was standing about six feet in front of me, getting ready to ground-guide me. I tried to wave him off, he shook his head and motioned me forward, well, what the hell, I released the Laterals and gave it the gun. That M48 leaped about four feet forward, and the expression on the OIC’s face was one of terror, he turned and ran like hell, and I was right on him, fortunately, he ran straight to the fence opposite us. He was spread eagle against the fence when I locked the brakes, and stopped about four feet from him. He sort of lost it, and threaten to court-martial me, plus a few other things. I hollered right back at him and told him the Colonel, Ole Grease Rack six, (We called him GR6,) would want to know why my OIC, had an unqualified driver, moving vehicles. The OIC saw a question he didn’t want to answer, so he gave me a look that kills and told me to move the rest of the vehicles, and took off. The one person that could turn on my OIC, and he feared more than a measly old M48, was Grease Rack Six. He’ll be the second part of my assignment. He was probably the most despised man on the Post, even by his peers. After that, my OIC tried to make things difficult for me, but I managed to fend off most of his stupidity. One of his classic screw-ups came by his own perchance for panic. One early morning the Committee was setting up a vehicle cross country demonstration and we had all our vehicles positioned, and just waiting to go. The NCOs were having coffee, and someone had brought out some donuts, so it was a good beginning. Someone hollered, “The General is here,” The Post Commander showed up for most of the major demonstrations, so it wasn’t a big deal. Our OIC, came roaring toward us, damn near screaming, “Get rid of the Coffee,” He proceeded to drop-kick our thermos of coffee over the side of the hill. At this same time, the General’s sedan pulled into our area, the General got out and said. “How about some coffee and a donut?” (The General knew how to deal with enlisted men,) Our OIC lunged over the side of the hill in full pursuit of the Thermos. Between us, we hustled the General a cup of coffee and a donut, while everyone could hear our OIC thrashing through the bushes, looking for the ill-fated thermos. The General asked, “Is that the demonstration??” Did you ever have a test of wanting to roll around on the ground in a blast of Belly laughs, but resisted? Grease Rack Six, used up six lifetimes of Karma of our OIC, He chewed the seat out of his trousers. Our OIC, spent most of his remaining tour hiding from GR6. After a year in a faculty position, an opening came up for Operations Sergeant in the Department Headquarters, working for GR6. Never have so many men attempted to get someone else assigned to a position. My records were reviewed and I got the golden opportunity. Oh Joy, upon Joy. My in-briefing with GR6 could be summed up by a modification of my own philosophy, “There is the right way, the wrong way, the Army way, and GR6’s way.” My job was to schedule, for one year, all the classes the Department gave to NCOs, Officers, Advanced Officers, and OCS. Day by day, hour by hour, then coordinate the equipment, areas, instructors, and anything else that may be needed. As I completed that I would lay it out on a massive chart and GR6 would look it over and sign it on the bottom. His parting comment would give me a warm feeling like maybe I was wearing a full diaper. GR6 would stare at me and say, “if it’s not right, I’ll have your stripes.” My response, “Yes Sir!” I also carried on training schedules and other duties as assigned. (They always love to add that one.) One of those other assigned duties was the morning briefing of the Charts. I believe many people could relate to that particular job, not so much because of the details of it, but because of a Commander, CEO, Supervisor, Boss, or Tyrant. It went like so. GR6 believed that if it existed, it should have a chart, showing that it existed. In his office, he had thirty-six charts, they were four feet wide, and four feet long. Reflected on the charts was all the information on the main Operations schedule he had signed off on. The detail was much greater. My responsibility was to keep them up to date as of 0700 hours each morning of each day. Additionally, there was a three-ring binder on his desk that contained the same information, that also must be maintained. The basics were in place, so all that is left is procedure. At 0630 hours, each duty day I reported to his office and of course up-dated all the charts and the three-ring binder. I would place the binder, closed, on his desk, centered. At 0655 hours I would stand next to his entry door at a spot designated by a small piece of tape, indicating where my right toe was to rest. I would stand at the position of “Attention,” even though I was alone. GR6 would usually arrive at 0700, but I would stand there until he did, or I was excused by someone with more authority (God?) When he did show I would remain silent. He would walk to his desk, sit down, say nothing, then he would open his three-ring folder. If it was the cover, then that was my cue to approach him, any other page demanded me to remain in position. I would walk at a fifteen-degree angle to the left, to a position exactly two feet in front of his desk, centered. A piece of tape indicated where my right toe should rest. I would salute him and greet him, “Good morning, Sir, it is Friday the thirteenth for the next two years of my life.” I gave him the correct time, date, and a detailed weather report, GR6 was “Airborne qualified,” and he was always interested in the velocity of the wind, etc., etc, (I always thought the only thing that should fall out of the sky was Bird Shit.) I would pause for ten seconds, then move to the charts, a piece of tape marked where my right toe should rest. I would go through a chart and GR6 would follow in the three-ring binder. If there were no questions I would wait until he turned the page, then go on to the next chart, and on and on. One “Fly in the Ointment,” was GR6 kept his own set of notes, and sometimes stop by areas and get corrections as they were taking place. He would inform me I wasn’t updating the charts in the correct manner. My response, “Yes sir!” When GR6 closed the binder, that was my command to do “About Face,” and walk back to my starting position by the door. I would do another, “About Face,” and wait, GR6 would then state, “That is all.” I would “About Face,” step out the door and all that could be heard was the “Click,” of the latch. One day I had survived the morning routine, it was about 1630 hrs. (4:30 PM.) I was informed that GR6 wanted me to report to him. I went to his office and reported to him, He was in his “Golf outfit,” and soaking wet. I knew what was coming. He looks at me with the “You're dead, why are you still standing,” look and said, “Master Sergeant Therriault, you told me it would not rain this afternoon, it did. “Why?” Me, “I shall find out sir.” I exited his office, went upstairs, and called the Airfield. A Captain understood my situation, but thought it was hilarious; I informed him my humor was fading fast. The Captain gave me the whole routine of why it rained, the changing patterns, and the whole smear. I reported back to GR6, gave him a detailed explanation, “Why it rained.” Good Ole GR6 glared at me and said, “Master Sergeant Therriault you are not to let that happen again. “You’ll see that the patterns stay stable.” My response, “Yes Sir!” My thoughts, “Holy shit, I’ve been promoted to God by God himself.” It was apparent, the time had come to escape. I looked around and started inquiring as to what may be available that would meet GR6’s approval, I knew nothing plush would get by him. In reviewing my records I really became aware that I had four strengths; Command and Leadership, Operations, Intelligence, and Training. My background lead to Intelligence as an area that I had quite a bit of experience that had not been used. It was 1961, and the newest thing going was a place called Vietnam. The Far East had always appealed to me so why not. The Special Forces were the headliners, but that didn’t appeal to me. The other area was Military Advisory Assistance Group, (MAAG), I was given an Orientation Course at Fort Holabird, Maryland. (The Army Intelligence Center). They initially informed me to stay within the normal channels of the Army, but if anything “Special,” came up “they” would contact me. I requested an assignment to Vietnam, as an “Advisor.” There was no resistance from GR6 and I was thrilled, to say the least, but I would have volunteered to go to Red Square, and Indian-wrestle the Russian Army, one by one. On my last day of duty, GR6 called me to his office, I don’t know who snuck into GR6’s Office, but the guy that greeted me was smiling, even got out of his chair, thanked me for my Services, when he put his hand on my shoulder, I really got paranoid. Ole GR6 looked me right in the eye, and said, “Well Sergeant, I have good news for you, I’m going to Vietnam also.” I could almost repeat his next words before he said them. “I’ll have you sent to my Command as soon as I get word of your assignment.” My response, “Yes Sir!” It was very clear to me that my assignment to his outfit would never take place, not in this lifetime. I reported for training at Fort Bragg, SC, There were aspects of the Training that were different and unique, it was going to be a different type of warfare. One of the more interesting aspects was a program called “Lessons Learned.” The idea was to use trained Intelligence personnel to move with Vietnamese units and gather and sketch everything the Enemy created. Those sketches were of positions, hideouts, booby-traps, and everything that could be sketched. The idea, of course, was to be able to use this with the training of American and Allied troops. The Idea was sound, however, it was not pushed in units to the extent it could have been in the later years of the War. That in itself was a shame, as it could have saved some lives. Other areas of the training that were unique, involved Ambushes, manned, and unmanned. The idea of operating with very little supervision appealed to me. The language classes were given by Vietnamese and we had the basics down pretty good, however, the Instructor inquired about some of my interpretations. In having the enemy come out of Bunkers or holes, my request, came out something to the effect, “This is a pencil.” Oh well, back to pictures in the sand and sign language. During the night time Ambush evaluations at the end of the exercise, two of the evaluators, who were my contacts at Fort Holabird, started talking to us. They were without rank insignias, but wore Jungle fatigues and asked questions, not about ourselves, rather five other individuals, and how we perceived their actions. Later, I was to find out they asked the other five about us. Everyone that was in their particular field seemed to be pretty much of the same type, so I took to calling them “Clones.”* One of our first demonstrations was to watch a B26 Invader low-level bomb a position. They came in at about 500 feet dropped their bombs and fragments hit their aircraft. The plane did a half roll, two men came out, but they were so close to the ground it drove them into the earth, the Invader crashed. Listening to the men shouting over the intercom didn’t help matters much. You hope for the best, but I didn’t expect any survivors. All of the “Advisors” were older soldiers and it took that crash to bring us back to the reality that the peacetime Army was over. Because many of us were what would be considered “Old Soldiers,” a number of the bull sessions, rather than being the “Bravado type,” ended up in an intelligence summary of just who the Vietnamese were. There were a couple of NCOs that referred to them as “Gooks” But I just marked them in my mental book and intended to stay clear of them. What we did learn was we were short on Knowledge of the People, the History, and the “Enemy.” We had some of these concerns satisfied by classes, of the people, their culture, and History. I became fascinated with their culture and spirituality. I targeted on the Language instructor and pumped him for as much common information that usually does not get into the books. One of our Special Forces Instructors, and an older NCO, recommended for those of us that were serious about our duty, to acquire the book called, “The Street Without Joy” by Bernard Fall. It was the story of the demise of the French in Vietnam; most guys read bits and parts of the book and set it aside. (Army people aren’t the most intellectual), anything more than reading dirty sayings on the shit house walls can put a great strain on the brain. Something about the book drew great interest in me, so I read it slowly, not jumping to the last page of each chapter to see if there was a great love scene in the offering like most of the crap books they call enlightening reading. There was something in the demeanor of the Special Forces NCO, which made me believe he gave us a key to some very important Knowledge. When I finished, I sat the book down turned to Charlie B. and said as casually as I could, “Charlie I’ll bet you two hundred bucks we get our ass whipped over there.” Charlie said, “By a bunch of insurgents, Bull shit!” Charlie and I had been in Korea and he had spent time around the French Battalion, attached to the 23rd Infantry Regiment of the 2d Infantry, Division. In the simplest terms, it was the kind of outfit you wanted next to you in a hot fight. They were good. When the Korean War was over we came home for the most part. The French Battalion went to Vietnam and became known as the “Corée Battalion”. Anyway, I read to Charlie how the Corée Battalion was part of what was Group Mobile 100 and how the VC, then called the Viet Minh, had destroyed them in a couple of weeks. Both Charlie and I just sat for a while, I might add here, that I still drank whenever it struck me, but I never let it control me, as in the old days. Then we decided to go get drunk. I knew a lot of the men in the French Battalion and I had a great sadness settle over me. The first major mistake I saw was the underestimating of our opponents.

• “Clones” = later in the war, more commonly known as “Spooks” (Central Intelligence Agency)

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---	---	Notes
Submission	🔺HIGHER POWERS/CULTS? Whatever group/cabal is behind it probably has far-out beliefs on what we "targets" are & what we should do (in the name of higher power, Jesus or God (or Satan?)); the "144000" saints should be what? Just curious - how accurate or plausible is this on Jehovah's Witnesses?..🤔
Comments	🔺HIGHER POWERS/CULTS? Whatever group/cabal is behind it probably has far-out beliefs on what we "targets" are & what we should do (in the name of higher power, Jesus or God (or Satan?)); the "144000" saints should be what? Just curious - how accurate or plausible is this on Jehovah's Witnesses?..🤔
Author	Undefined2020
Subreddit	/Gangstalking
Posted On	Sat Jan 02 23:16:31 UTC 2021
Score	0	as of Mon Jan 04 23:10:53 UTC 2021
Total Comments	2

Post Body:

In general, in my analysis, there are three possibilities on "who" is the ultimate sponsor of targeting, more specfically "Gang Stalking" which include mostly human-based activities:

1. CIA, NSA & the Deep State/Shadow Government - completely security & military-intelligence - hypothesis supported by e.g. Dr. Hall, Dr Horton & Dr Duncan. This could include vast experiments or operations within mind control, physics on complex human systems, psychological warfare & so on. There is always a clear cut goal, however seldom do these involve whole societies openly but do it on a small scale & secretly (not the same as covertly) on/in the society. These tend to highly focus on behavior or information manipulation via social media & mainstream media to even affect one single individual (see "The Great Hack" & the links between Cambridge Analytica/Palantir & CIA/NSA).
2. A secret society or megachurch using vast state & society recources such as NSA spying tools - a mix effort between state & secret society/church (religion/spirituality) - hypothesis supported by Dr Karlstrom (says it's Freemasons & Zionists) - mixing societal goals with security goals or belief/behavior goals to "better society". Interesting point here is that targeting's public persona Dr Robert Duncan is confessed CIA paid perpetrator to do psychological experiments on the targeting community (which he has been involved in since 2006) yet claims to have worked for "Illumintai" - as with many shady shit that affect the world negatively, CIA & its many SILENT PARTNERS are working behind the scenes. Furthermore, there's also connection to any higher power, be it: aliens, Cosmic mind, karma, quantum physics & such which perhaps CIA or Rosicruicians would be highly interested in researching.
3. Church, cult, order, secret society - in other words: pure (spiritual part of) "Illuminati" - completely done by covert influence from e.g. Freemasons & Catholics (or other Christian-based organizations) through various society based organizations such as society watch groups, church groups, help groups Christians groups & so on. This is often focused on belief & behavior modification, done in the name of a higher power & follows own Biblical & theorcratic laws & ethics. In this case, they believe God/angels or Satan/demons/fallen angels is behind various forms of gang stalking. Scientology is a prime example of Gang Stalking programs to destroy enemies of the church (knowns as "Fair Game"). Hiring private detectives or third-party for targeting is used extensively here.

It's a very interesting read bringing an useful perspective as the targeting community's own "expert" Dr Robert Duncan claims to be a "saint" in his 2006 book about the Matrix (he includes the words "The Saint" under his picture on front cover) & targeting; indeed, as I wrote many times prior, there's a deep influence in targeting from the "Illuminati" (which Dr Duncan jokingly (or not (sarcasm?)) claims to have "worked for" on his Facebook profile) - Illuminati is simply an elite network in various secret societies, orders, cults, churches & so on (what I figure from Illuminati expert Leo Zagami: Freemasons, Zionists, Rosicruicans, Jesuits & co.), that work together is many "projects" much like a gang stalking project; There's Illuminati faction with a more spiritual function & direction; furthermore, according to Jordan Maxwell, cults such as Jehovah's Witnesses are backed by Rothschild (Zionists) banking system which explain their vast resources & influence in society.
Whatever you might think of this piece of information, it will teach you some about how some small but powerful groups in society think & use their power & influence; this is messages I got from a very helpful member of the targeting community, which I will do outmost to protect privacy & identity of; also, this may be more relevant than you think considering we're entering in the worst period of the COVID pandemic & it's the year 2021 (many see it as the real "2012") as Jehovah's Witnesses has a obsession with the end of the world & its prophecy:

"My own neighbors bought a drum set and banged on them as I was watching this movie when I rented it from Red Box. It's interesting that when they were in court for driving him to suicided, they all said: "We didn't really think he would do it." Sure they did. That's why they invested years in doing it to him. it's called the long game. We all know it. In the movie they did get charged with his suiside but it was not much time in prison. They should spend the same amount of time in prison that they spent driving the target to suiside. In my case, 10 years. Per participant.
Look at Hitler. I found myself engrossed watching tons of documentries about him just to figure out how a nobody art student trash man because the most netorious figure in the world. Fear. Germany was in a depression and the Jews were an easy scapegoat. That's how. By playing on the German Citizens fear of it getting worse. I myslef had the same thing happen with religion. A bunch of people in my hood were texted I am one of the 144,000 who will save the world in end times. (I know I know) for 6 and a half years I have been followed by nothing but religious people putting their hands on their hips and looking up to the sky. On this why are you being gang stalked 144 man made video, it states that we are being hunted because we are the 144,000 here on earth and this is end times.
End times was actually pre-predicted 400 years ago. Jesus died over 2000 years ago. He's not here yet sooooooo?????? As I studied the main religion or cult that's been trolling me with this ridiculous idea, they claim they are the 144,000 here on earth and I must join them. (sigh and NO!)
Next I ran into documents that said they believe we (their chozen 144 pre-ordained by God) have to fight this end times war in heaven. How do we do that if we are here? We can't. We have to die and go to heaven to do this. This is why they will not out right kill us. They will kill us into exhaustion, heart attack or get us to commit suicide (which biblically is a straight road to hell) to get us there. This is why they pick so called good people or empaths. They are so adamant about it because by us not dying, means Satan will win and we are now Satan for helping him win. (I kid you not) Look up on Facebook search Jehovah Witness Kill me. It's an article I did not write nor originally post. I easily found it online. On public domain.
So their end times FEAR (like Germanies) is what gets all these normally normal people) to act irrationally. They have been told that if we (Targeted Individuals) do not die, then Satan will win this war in heaven. Since their council of the 12 has told them that this is end times, this is why they are going crazy. TheJW's have gotton the end times date wrong so many other times. I can only hope that God speaks to the council of the 12 again and gives them a new end times date.
Like 100 years from now. Friend me if you want all this information quickly. I have posted and referred them to what the bible it's self that says a ton of times: Do not believe in man. We are man. We cannot save you. They are so brain washed they don't care. They'd rather listen and believe a man made video on YouTube then any actual scripture. I can't speak for anyone but me but them killing me indirectly to go fight some war in heaven for them, I'm picking Satan anyway. Not because I want the guy to win but because they indirectly killed me to do it. I wasn't chosen. God did not choose me for this mission. They did and they are not God. "

The member sent me a text from an hard-to-find & old Facebook post explaining the background of Jehovah's Witnesses' stand on this issue:

"Yes, the Jehovah’s Witnesses who claim to be “anointed” kill me. Literally. Or at least they plan to, soon, as this quote from an old Watchtower publication makes plain: Jehovah must and will execute all of his enemies… The judgment of Jehovah God against his enemies declares that they shall be destroyed… Christ Jesus is Jehovah’s Executioner… By the will of Jehovah God Christ Jesus associates others with him in the execution of Jehovah’s judgments. Together these constitute the “higher powers” that are ordained of God… This is further supported by the statement: “Behold, the Lord cometh with ten thousands of his saints, to execute judgment upon all…” (Jude 14,15) This scripture refers to the execution of final judgment. As to those who are associated with Christ Jesus in this work: “To execute upon them the judgment written: this honour have all his saints. Praise ye the Lord.” — Ps. 149: 9. Christ Jesus and his army, the Greater-than-Jehu, will take the base of operations of the enemy and go into the very private quarters of the Devil’s organization, and destroy everything in connection with his organization, including the conspirators of his invisible organization, as well as all of the tangible part of the Devil’s worship and organization on earth… Jehu and his work of destruction therefore foreshadowed Christ and his army executing judgment upon Satan and his organization, and in which honor all the saints participate. ” — Rutherford, “Vindication” book III (WBTS, 1932) pp. 13, 92, 96-97 (emphasis added) [What they used to call “saints,” are now called “the anointed” by Jehovah’s Witnesses.] armageddon4 Please note that the “enemies of Jehovah” who will be killed are not only blatant “Satan worshipers” [those are extremely few in number***.]*** According to Watchtower doctrine, Jehovah’s enemies are everyone who is not a Jehovah’s Witness: everyone not a member of “Jehovah’s organization on Earth.” In other words, everyone “in the world”: END OF THE WORLD “The world” means the peoples of earth, organized into nations and under the supervision of an invisible overlord, and which overlord for centuries has been Satan the Devil, who, together with a host of wicked angels, has influenced, controlled and ruled the world without interruption. –Rutherford, “Enemies” (WBTS, 1937) p. 310 So, the “enemy list” is not just us paltry few “apostates,” or even just the politicians or clergy. No; it is all non-Witnesses and includes over a billion children and babies! In one of my first blogs I wrote a tongue-in-cheek description of what the daily duties of the anointed might entail on a typical day in heaven during the millennium. But this pales in significance compared to what I now realize will be their part in the “battle of Armageddon” itself. I’ve known a few anointed in my time. It’s hard for me to imagine them becoming killers. But the quote from Rutherford seems quite clear: the “saints” will take part in the killing of people on Earth. Russell_1916Rutherford_prisonI can imagine Rutherford himself eagerly taking part in wielding an executioner’s sword against me. It’s harder to imagine some of the gentler souls I’ve known doing so. Can you picture Russell coming at you with a blood-stained sword aimed at your head? Russell thought that Armageddon would just be a clean sweep of institutions: not people. He would stand amazed at Rutherford’s idea of saints literally killing non believers; they were supposed to make it into the millennium and there be taught “the truth” and only then be judged. According to the Watchtower there are only going to be a total of 144,000 anointed. But there are some seven billion people they will be helping Jesus to kill. That’s a quota of over 48,610 killings per “saint!” If judgement day will really be a 24 hour day, each saint will have less than two seconds per killing: barely enough time to swing back a sword and wind up for the next head to be lopped off. That’s not taking a break either: just one head after another for 24 hours straight! Let’s hope that in such a flurry of slaughter they don’t mistake a Witness for a worldly person! Maybe the Witnesses will have their baptism cards in hand (held close to their necks) with maybe a neck brace on for good measure. [Note to self: Here’s another million dollar idea: start printing up baptism cards and buy stock in manufacturers of neck braces.] Watchtower, March 1, 1997, p. 9 Maybe we’ll be forced to line up so they can save strokes by just riding past on their horses with swords held out: slicing our heads off and then watching us fall like dominoes. In any case, they’ve certainly got their work cut out for them, so I hope they’re in good shape, and have been practicing their equestrian skills in heaven [but do horses really go to heaven–where even the “great crowd” of faithful Witnesses are not allowed to tread?] The Role of the “Remnant” Let’s not forget about the “remnant” of the 144,000 who are still living here on Earth. According to Watchtower statistics on “Memorial Partakers” (a privilege they accord only to those claiming to be anointed) there were over 15,000 of these folks at last count (in 2015). Will any of them still be alive and kicking when Armageddon (due “any day now”) begins? Let’s turn to the Watchtower for the definitive answer: “Bad people will have to bow down before the good ones,” says the wise king, “and the wicked people at the gates of the righteous one.” (Proverbs 14:19) In other words, the good will ultimately triumph over the wicked. Consider the increase in numbers and the superior way of life that God’s people enjoy today. Seeing these blessings bestowed upon Jehovah’s servants will force some opposers to “bow down” to Jehovah’s figurative heavenly woman, represented by the spirit-anointed remnant on earth. At Armageddon at the latest, those opposers will be compelled to acknowledge that the earthly part of God’s organization truly represents the heavenly part.—Isaiah 60:1, 14; Galatians 6:16; Revelation 16:14, 16. —The Shrewd One Considers His Steps, Watchtower July 15, 2005 pp. 19-20 If, at Armageddon, these “bad people” are going to be forced to bow down to the anointed remnant on earth (as representing the heavenly part) then the remnant of the anointed will, of necessity, need to still be on the earth at Armageddon. Since “all the saints will participate” it means that these people will be just as busy as their spirit kindred in the killings. It’s kind of scary to think that the sweet anointed person sitting next to you in the Kingdom Hall, whom you’ve watched in awe partake of the memorial emblems each year, might murder you someday soon if you should find yourself outside of God’s organization when they think Armageddon has arrived! Maybe they’ve already got their swords sharpened at home (or in their cars) ready to go at a moment’s notice! Let’s just hope that they don’t make any false starts. The anointed Governing Body of Jehovah's Witnesses Will one of these smiling men kill me “any day now”? Practically speaking, the remnant are mostly feeble older men, not up to the exertion required to meet their killing quota. So maybe they’ll be assigned the easier kills: babies and little children. And nothing says they have to use a sword for every killing. They are intelligent people after all, and will think of innovative ways to do their share despite the frailties of their fleshly bodies. For instance: one elderly member of the remnant could tie up a bunch of kids and then another “saint” could run them over. I’ll bet they’ll think of lots of clever ways like this to help bring about this “blessing from Jehovah” upon the earth before they are whisked away into heaven to help Jesus rule over the “other sheep” and the resurrected ones. If this all sounds too horrible to contemplate, I agree, and so did Rutherford: The battle of the great day of God Almighty will be so terrible that no human words can adequately describe it. –Rutherford, Enemies (WBTS), 1937 p. 351 Maybe we could say the same thing about the Watchtower religion itself, because when you consider the details that are actually entailed, it’s just about as morally sick as can be. “New Light”! Since writing this article, the following “new light” has been brought to my attention. In a 2005 Watchtower article, revealingly entitled “Armageddon: A Happy Beginning,” we learn the following: What forces will Jehovah use against his enemies? We simply do not know. What we do know is that he has at his disposal the means to devastate the wicked nations completely. (Job 38:22, 23; Zephaniah 1:15-18) However, God’s earthly worshippers will not participate in the battle. The vision in Revelation chapter 19 indicates that only heavenly armies will share with Jesus Christ in the warfare. None of Jehovah’s Christian servants on earth will take part.—2 Chronicles 20:15, 17. —Watchtower, Dec 1, 2005, p. 7 Revelation Its Grand Climax at Hand! p. 53 Revelation Its Grand Climax at Hand! (WBTS, 1988 ed.) p. 53 This does not mean that anointed Jehovah’s Witnesses won’t be participants in the killing, as current governing body member Anthony Morris III recently pointed out in this talk given in Helsinki in the year 2016 (starting at 54:30 and running through 55:00.) It just means that they won’t be earthlings at that time. So then, in order for “all of the saints” (aka anointed) to participate in the battle, they all need to be dead (or perhaps “raptured”) before the “happy” event known as Armageddon begins, so that — as spirits — they can joyfully murder children and babies, as the earth-bound “Great Crowd” of Jehovah’s Witnesses cheer them on and “rejoice” at the sight! (The Nations Shall Know That I Am Jehovah – How? Watchtower Bible & Tract Society, 1971, p. 191,376-377) In the latest “new light” (July, 2015 Watchtower, “Your Deliverance is Getting Near” paragraphs 15-17), this is exactly what the Watchtower now says: the remnant will be raptured [though they don’t like to use that word] in an instant before Armageddon officially begins (although false religion will have already been destroyed along with at least some of its members by that time, it no longer counts as part of Armageddon.) But does the remnant now being “spirits” somehow make their murder of children less heinous? Of course not! According to the latest light, I guess the idea of the “bad people bowing down before the remnant at Armageddon” has been quietly tossed onto the Watchtower’s ever-growing scrapheap of abandoned “truths.” It would be too much to hope that their doctrine of murdering billions of men, women, children, and babies joins it on that pile soon."

Open question: What do you think of this?

Related Comments (1):

---	---	Notes
Author	GolfPro888
Posted On	Sun Jan 03 03:20:44 UTC 2021
Score	1	as of Mon Jan 04 23:10:53 UTC 2021
Conversation Size	8
Body	link

I’m just not understanding what you mean. The first part of the post seems to be a breakdown of who you believe causes targeting. But the next part I don’t get. You say the Jehovahs’ Witnesses have...? I don’t get it. I’ve heard of this 1,44 thing, but I’m not even really sure I get what that’s about. What do JW have to do with TIs? And how are TIs connected to 144? Have a nice day.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

JUSTICE LEGION

Issue Two: The Stars Are Out Tonight
Written by Dwright5252
Edited by AdamantAce, JPM11S, VengeanceKnight
<First Issue Next Issue >
Rozakis Chocolate Factory, New York City
Karen Beecher rose from the floor, reeling from the psychic projection that had just been urgently beamed into her mind. It was a frantic call for help, flashes of starlike creatures latching onto people and controlling them. A flash of heat vision searing into flesh. Darkness, utter darkness. The heroes had failed, the message said, and she was the only one who knew the dangers now. She’d have to do something.
The only thing was, what could she do? She was no longer the Teen Titan Bumblebee; she was a researcher and a technician. She hadn’t been in a battle in years, and even if she was at the top of her game she seriously doubted she could take on the combined mind controlled forces of the Flash (or whoever he was) and Superman.
Thinking quickly, Karen knew she’d need certain things for this upcoming skirmish. If the Flash was compromised, she’d need a way to slow him down. Rushing through her massive factory, she arrived at Vault 23. Putting the combination in with a flurry of button presses, she entered the vault and spied what she was looking for: an electromagnetic particle decelerator. If she could manage to lead the shot and hit the Flash with this baby...
Superman… that was a tricky one. S.T.A.R. Labs didn’t allow her any Kryptonian technology when she worked with them, but from what she recalled on her days with the Titans, she knew the former Man of Steel was vulnerable to magic.
She didn’t have any magical artifacts - she wasn’t a wizard - but another thought popped into her mind. She entered Vault 37 and found the Spectrum Gun she’d built a year ago. Quickly pulling off the casing, she grabbed a nearby flathead screwdriver and a small soldering iron and went to work. In a few moments, she was sure she had the right wavelength to imitate radiation from a red sun. It was well chronicled by Professor Hamilton at S.T.A.R. Labs Metropolis that red sun radiation blocked the Kryptonian’s cells from absorbing the yellow sun energy that gave them their power.
If there was mind control at work, they would need some sort of psionic blockers to ensure they didn’t fall under the influence of this mysterious enemy. Vault 41 had what she was looking for: small earpieces and headbands that effectively created a psychic barrier around the wearer’s mind that prevented attacks. She hoped these would help her, but feared it might not be enough.
As she gathered the equipment in the front of her lab, she looked towards the back of the factory to Vault 52. It had been a long time since she entered that vault and examined its contents, but she knew that if she had any chance at doing this, it would be with the equipment stored within.
Entering the passcode, the same one that gained her access to Titans Tower all those years ago, the vault creaked open, revealing a modest room filled with memories and pain. Pictures adorned the walls, filled with heroic feats and fun times. One picture in particular, a Christmas photo of all the Titans gathered around their tree. Karen saw herself decked out in a black and yellow suit, her goggles hiding how joyful her eyes must’ve been. Her arm was wrapped around Kyle Rayner’s, the former Green Lantern who lost his life at Coast City fighting his mentor. Karen felt a chill run down her spine, causing her to turn away from the memories and finally acknowledge the reason she entered the vault.
Despite not being used in years, Karen’s Bumblebee suit looked pristine. Sleekly designed, the suit’s liquid metal exterior allowed for protection as well as maneuverability. The electro blast gauntlets shone a deep golden color, and Karen could see the pack on the back of the suit that housed its amber wings was still in fantastic shape. If someone other than her looked at the suit, there was no way they could tell how many times she had almost died in that suit.
Despite all the wonders of engineering and science she used to see in the outfit, Karen could only see the battle scars. Though no longer visible, to Karen the suit looked as damaged as anything else. But there was no time for that. She had work to do.
The suit fit like a glove, sliding onto her with ease. As she put the golden goggles over her eyes, the HUD flickered to life, detailing heart rate, weather conditions (though they were basically in a bunker right now) and other vital information. Balling her right hand into a fist, she armed the blasters on her wrist. She couldn’t help but feel good when she actually had the uniform on; it was the aftermath that would hit her hard.
Karen knew she couldn’t do this alone. She would need all the help she could get, but who could she call? She wasn’t a member of the Justice Legion, meaning she couldn’t call out for help that way. Most of her friends on the Titans were either retired or…
There was one person that she could ask, someone nearby, but she knew that convincing them would be even more difficult than convincing herself.
Kanigher Rehabilitation Center
“Your progress is really something to be proud of, James. Though it might seem like a month is a short amount of time to be clean, you need to realize how momentous that truly is.”
Lilith Clay sat behind her modest desk in her office, talking to the young man in front of her as he twirled his sobriety chip between his fingers. She felt his anxiousness, his craving for another fix just as much as she felt her own emotions. She’d seen it many times before, and knew how difficult it was for these individuals to fight the urges. She herself had an addiction- though it was one of a different kind than James was dealing with- and it took her a long time to recognize that for what it was.
“It’s so hard, Miss Clay,” James said, his eyes planted on the ground. “I’m doing my best.”
“I know you are,” Lilith said calmly. “That’s all we can ask of you. Whenever you feel the urge, just think about me or give me a call. I’ll help you through it, I promise.” She reached out to him mentally, sending positive emotions from her own mind over to his. The anxiety began to dissipate, replaced with serenity and calm. She knew this was only a band-aid over a wound that he must heal himself, but she also knew that every little thing helped on the road to recovery.
James rose from his seat and shook Lilith’s hand, smiling as he exited the room. It made Lilith feel good helping people like James through their struggles, and reminded her of the strength of the human spirit. Breaking an addiction was one of the hardest actions one could take, and Lilith was proud to help these brave people through their struggles.
Gathering up her files from her desk, Lilith prepared to leave for the day. It had been a relatively tame day at the office, leaving her enough time to clock in a few hours at the Counseling Center a few blocks over.
As she was about to leave, she heard a small knocking on her window. Lilith thought that was odd, seeing as the rehab center was on the 9th floor of this refurbished brownhouse. Looking out the window, she was greeted by the sight of a small insect bouncing against the glass. Lilith froze for a second before composing herself and opened the window. The insect grew quickly in front of her, revealing her old friend Karen Beecher dressed in her Bumblebee outfit as she carried quite a number of weapons into the building.
“Going for a heroic joyride today, Karen?” Lilith asked, a hint of disappointment evident in her voice. “I thought you were done with that.”
“Believe me, I wish I was,” Karen said hurriedly. “We can talk about it later, but I need your help right now.”
Lilith had helped Karen after her last Titans mission, helped her through the pain and fallout of the battle. She knew that Karen wouldn’t have showed up at her door in full Bumblebee attire if the situation wasn’t dire. “What’s happened?”
“The Legion… they’ve been captured. I’m the only one that knows. I need your help. I think your psychic stuff can really help me out with this problem.” Lilith could feel Karen’s panic, her fear of what might happen. But she could also feel the determination and courage resonating throughout her. “I had a mental message sent to me.”
“The Justice Legion? Like Superman, the Flash, those guys? That’s a bit out of our league, Karen.” Lilith put her briefcase on her desk and sat in her chair, overwhelmed by the residual energy of the psychic plea for help that she sensed within her friend. J’onn.
“Believe me, I know. But we need help and we need it now. I know you’re not active anymore and I know you want nothing to do with this, but I can’t do this without you. Is there anyone in the city that we know that can contact other members? I tried Dick but he wasn’t answering.”
Lilith took a breath and regained her composure. If some of the most powerful heroes in the world had been taken down, they truly did need all the help they could get.
“I do know someone, but it’ll be pretty awkward for both of us."
Atlantean Embassy
Garth banged his head against the wall of the situation room, bored out of his mind. Richard Mission, their annoying liaison, had given him a mountain of paperwork to fill out in regards to a censure made by the ambassadors of the United Nations in regards to the massive earthquakes caused by the most recent conflict in Atlantis. Though it wasn’t the nation’s fault that a massive goddess decided to reenter the realm and try to control the world, Atlantis took the blame for not stopping her sooner.
“Initial here, here and signature here,” Mission said in his smarmiest voice, though Garth knew he didn’t mean to be this insufferable. Some people just couldn’t help themselves.
“Excuse me, ambassador, but you have visitors in your office that require your immediate attention,” one of the aides said from the door of the room. Before Mission could stop him, Garth rushed to his office, thankful for anything that would prevent him from drowning in paperwork. Then he found himself face to face with Lilith Clay.
“Hi, Garth,” she said, her voice just as soothing as he remembered it was. “We need your help.”
“L-Lilith,” Garth stammered, trying to close the door behind him only to completely fumble for the doorknob. The person behind Lilith that Garth now noticed, Karen Beecher, rolled her eyes and closed the door for him.
“Can we sideline the googly eyes and talk about how fucked this situation is?” Karen’s urgent tone broke Garth from his trance. He could catch up with Lilith later. “Lilith says you have Legion contacts?”
Garth nodded and moved to his desk, pulling out a small golden communicator emblazoned with the letters JL in black.
“What’s the situation? Is Psimon back in town?” Garth asked, half joking to try and lighten the tension and awkwardness. Lilith held her hands out and projected images into his mind of terror, destruction and mind control.
“By Poseidon,” Garth whispered, “They took down J’onn and Superman?”
“That’s why we need all the help we can get.” Karen held out her hand for the communicator, and Garth placed it gently into her palm. “How’s your magic nowadays?”
“Better. I’m stronger now than I was before. Maybe not strong enough to take on a man of steel but I can definitely keep him occupied.” Garth felt a nervousness begin to bubble within him, only for a feeling of excitement and confidence to replace it. He glanced over at Lilith, who winked at him. She always was the best at keeping him calm.
Karen pressed the device in her hand, bringing up a list of the active members of the Legion. “Now, who can we get to take down the most powerful people on the planet?”
Central City Police Department
“Okay… vic’ has bruising around the neck and defense wounds on the forearms. The cuts don’t seem to be deep, but there are a lot of them. Seven by my count. Their… skull is cracked. Point of impact is on the side of the head. The resulting trauma--” Patty Spivot clicked off the recorder. That was the third time she’d tried to get everything out.
Patty pulled off her gloves and threw them in the nearby trash bin as she walked away from the third domestic abuse victim she’d examined that week. It was a heavy caseload in such a short span, especially when she didn’t have her fiance around to help wash the brutality of the kills away like normal. Domestic cases like this were always difficult to see, how a relationship that might have been filled with love could turn sour. It was tough work for sure, and sometimes she had to step away for a moment, but Patty found it to be cathartic helping these victims receive justice.
“What’ve we got?” Detective Horn approached Patty, causing her to involuntarily sigh. Horn was probably Patty’s least favorite detective to deal with; he constantly toed the line of workplace harassment with the female employees, chalking it up to “being friendly.” She was in no mood to deal with his crass behavior.
“Pretty cut and dry case. Husband killed her, possibly with the hammer found at the crime scene. Shouldn’t be too hard for a conviction.”
Horn nodded, clearly relieved he wouldn’t have to put too much personal effort in the case. “Good. Have you seen your boyfriend around, by the way? Allen owes me a report on the Bates case.”
Patty hadn’t seen Barry in a few days. He said something to her about being needed in Keystone City for a few hours but didn’t give her any details. She knew better than to ask him specifics; Barry barely remembered to put his shoes on in the morning let alone check in with her if he was wrapped up in something. As usual, “a few hours” ended up being much longer, in this case a few days. If she was engaged to anybody other than Barry Allen, she’d be concerned he hadn’t returned her calls.
“He’s in Keystone right now, but I’m sure he left what you need at his lab,” Patty responded, brushing past the detective as she made her way towards the lobby of the precinct. She had other work to do.
At least with Barry out of town she could go patrol without worrying about missing anything fun with him. She knew he was concerned about her heroic side job, though he had since stopped talking about it as much. She was working alongside the Flash, Central City’s own hero, who was quickly showing her the ropes to her newfound speed powers. As she exited the building, she ducked into a nearby alleyway and speedily changed into her Negative Flash outfit.
Pressing the communicator on the side of her cowl, she quickly tuned into the police frequency. The Flash told her to stick with petty crimes while he was away on Legion business, and thankfully nothing dire had occurred in the interim. She was quickly becoming accustomed to sprinting the streets of Central City without a thought, knowing the dips in the road, the turns and patterns of the traffic. It almost felt routine now, weaving around unsuspecting cars and friendly patrons that instinctively waved when a gust of wind raced past them. This was a city for heroes, and she was happy to count herself among them.
Suddenly she heard a strange alert inside her communicator, one that didn’t match anything she knew from the police or their personal frequency. That could only mean one thing: the Justice Legion.
“Am I speaking to Negative Flash?” a voice on the other end of the call said, sounding somewhat frantic.
“Speaking,” Patty responded, quickly racing toward her own apartment to gain some privacy. “What does the Justice Legion need from me? Is Flash okay?”
There was silence on the other end for a moment before the voice replied, “How quickly can you get to Blue Valley, Nebraska?”
Law Offices of Freeman, Katz and Freeman, Dakota City
Augustus Freeman glanced at his watch, impatiently waiting for his client to arrive. Though corporate lawsuits generally moved at a glacial pace, this case in particular worried him. The company they represented, Ocran Industries, was being sued for their allegedly dangerous pesticide known as Draxx. The suit was being settled out of court, but the party suing Ocran had demanded a face to face meeting with the CEO himself before they would accept the lump sum of $4.2 million and the signing of an NDA.
Freeman found himself across the table from a colleague of his, Gerald Waldman and his clients. Though Freeman had seen the chemical burns sustained by the workers in pictures placed into evidence, the sight of the extent of their injuries was far more apparent in person. Augustus smiled at the opposing counsel, and cleared his throat.
“I have assurance from my client he will be arriving momentarily,” Augustus said, feeling a twinge of guilt for the white lie he just told. “Allow me to ascertain his current whereabouts. If you’ll excuse me.”
Freeman stood from his chair and buttoned his suit jacket as Waldman did the same. His client stayed seated, the pain on his face evident. Giving them a nod as he left, Augustus took out his cell phone and dialed the number for Peter Harlan’s office.
“Mister Harlan left for the day to attend a golf fundraiser,” Harlan’s secretary Madeline replied as Augustus asked for his client’s location. “He said to give the man an extra million and offered a lifetime supply of the product.”
Augustus fumed quietly. Though he very much wished to vent his frustrations over the phone, he knew poor Madeline was merely the messenger for her boss. As such, he quietly thanked her and steeled himself for the unfortunate conversation he would have to endure for his client at his own expense.
“Listen, you’ve covered most of this case,” Freeman’s partner Saul Katz walked up behind him, patting him on the shoulder. “Let me give them the bad news. Your father would be proud of the work you’re doing.”
“Thank you, Saul,” Augustus responded as his colleague entered the boardroom behind them and closed the door. Yes, his previous self as Augustus Freeman III might have been able to sleep well at night after winning a case, but he found himself a changed… being. That was all thanks to Raquel. His former partner in his other line of work had taught him so much about the world in a way that never occurred to him. It had been too long since he’d spoken to her, perhaps she would understand now-
Augustus’s hearing caught the almost silent alarm of the Justice Legion communicator he had stashed in the office. Rushing over to the copy of Frederick Douglass’s My Bondage, My Freedom placed lovingly in the bookcase in his office, he pulled the thin device from inside the novel and placed it to his ear.
“Icon, are you there? We need your help.”
Augustus listened to the voice relay the crucial information about the task at hand and announced his intentions to provide aid. Through the closed doors he could hear the angry cries of the affected worker, furious about his lack of an opportunity to confront the man responsible for his deformities.
Icon made a note to help the man receive the justice he required, but knew his power was needed elsewhere at the moment.
Just outside Blue Valley
Karen Beecher looked over the assembled members of the Justice Legion: The former sidekick turned ambassador Tempest, the mysterious, but keen Negative Flash, the stalwart Icon, and her friend, Lilith the empath. They stationed themselves at an abandoned barn on the outskirts of the city limits. The heroes looked ready on the whole, prepared to battle with all of their strength. She hoped they would be enough.
“Now that Omen has provided you with the information we have,” Karen began, referring to Lilith by her former heroic moniker, “You know the stakes of this mission. We can’t allow this infection, this… invasion to spread past these borders. Though we’ve lost some members to this attack already, we now have knowledge of what exactly it is we’re dealing with, something our predecessors weren’t fully prepared for.”
“Bumblebee has provided all of you with psionic blockers that should prevent these creatures from entering your mind,” Lilith continued for her, holding up the ear buds and headbands. “We aren’t sure how effective they’ll be until we put them to the test, but I’ll do my best to provide additional mental protection. Your best bet is to prevent the creatures from making physical contact, as that seems to be their point of entry.”
Karen nodded in gratitude to her former teammate, and held up the Spectrum Gun. “Because we’re going up against some of the Legion’s heaviest hitters, we made sure to bring along the arsenal to incapacitate them until we can find a way to sever their control. I’ll be working with Tempest to fight against Superman. With his magic and this Spectrum Gun, we might be able to weaken him to the point of getting him under control. Negative Flash and Icon will work on the Flash, as you two are the only ones close enough speed wise to him. Lilith will be providing support as well as attempting to find the source of the control.”
She handed the particle decelerator to Negative Flash, who looked at her nervously. “This won’t… kill the Flash, will it?”
“All my equipment is strictly non-lethal, but I won’t lie and say it’ll be painless for him,” Karen explained, looking the speedster in the eyes. “We know they can take it, and this is our best chance at preventing them from hurting others.”
“What about Mister Miracle and Martian Manhunter? Weren’t they a part of the initial team?” Icon asked, his red and green outfitted form towering over the rest of the heroes.
“From the psychic blast I received, it seems as though Manhunter has shut his mind off to prevent the aliens from taking control of it,” Karen explained, pushing the memory of the total blackness from her mind. “I think the best bet is to leave him in that state until we can be sure the others are back. As for Mister Miracle, we might have to tag team him. There’s not a lot of information on him, so we’ll have to be prepared for anything.”
“What happens if one of us gets taken down?” Garth asked the question quietly, but it was one that was clearly on everyone’s mind.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Karen nodded solemnly. “Any other questions?”
The heroes all shook their heads, and the feeling Karen used to get before every battle soon filled her stomach. She’d been waiting for that feeling; it made everything real for her.
“Okay, let’s go to work.”
Karen flew high over the town, shrunk down to the size of her namesake as she surveyed the layout of the town. The downtown area of Blue Valley was covered in townsfolk, walking from building to building in a twisted mocking of normal life. She spotted Superman hovering over the general store, his vision passing over the controlled population as if a prison guard inspecting the inmates. The Flash buzzed up and down Main Street, stopping at each end for a few seconds before zipping back the way he came. It was an odd sight for sure.
Karen flew away from the town center, hoping to catch a glimpse of another place of interest that might house the master control center, but found nothing. It seemed like the only way forward was taking out the heroes and hoping they could provide some information.
Knowing Superman’s hearing would pick up any verbal communications to the other heroes, Karen typed out the situation for the rest of the team. After explaining the positioning, she knew she’d have seconds to get into place. The name of the game was keep away, as in keeping the heroes away from the civilians to prevent collateral damage and potential exposure to the parasites crawling over the people of the town.
Superman’s eyes passed over the buildings to Karen’s right, causing her adrenaline to spike. The usually friendly Man of Steel looked menacing as he malevolently searched for intruders, and Karen could see how many of the starfish-like aliens covered his body. She waited until he was almost looking directly at her, then fired her Spectrum Gun.
A flash of red heat burst from her device, colliding with the young man’s chest as he was sent flying backwards. That was the signal to attack.
Karen saw the Flash turn towards her and begin to sprint, only for another rush of wind to intercept the red blur. She couldn’t physically see what happened, but she knew Icon and Negative Flash had whisked the Fastest Man Alive away from the town. The rest of the townsfolk turned toward her simultaneously, and she took off into the air towards where Superman was shot.
Seeing the collapsed structure of a house a block away, Karen rushed towards it. Superman was just beginning to rise from within the debris, his chest smoking from the concentrated radiation. He fired a blast of heat vision in her direction that she nimbly dodged. The concussive blast sputtered as it came from his eyes, a sign that her Spectrum Gun had done its job. She saw Garth rush towards him, his own eyes glowing violet as twin beams hit the Man of Steel right in the still steaming spot. She saw him writhe with pain before dodging the beams. He tossed the siding of the house towards Garth, who sliced it in two with a large gush of water.
Karen felt the gun prime in her hand for another blast and fired towards Superman. However, the half-Kryptonian was ready for the attack, and quickly brought up the refrigerator door to block the shot.
Garth looked worriedly at Karen, his thoughts mirroring her own. He was starting to get his powers back already. They were in for a tough fight.
“Flash, this isn’t you! Snap out of it!”
Patty pleaded with her partner as she and Icon pushed him through the city streets into an aged auto shop. She looked into his eyes for any sign of the hero she knew, only to find them blank and vacant. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the stars attached to his side leap at her, causing her to pull one arm off of the Flash in order to bat it away from her. He slipped from her grasp and vaulted over Icon, landing with a flourish on top of a raised hatchback that had been in the process of getting inspected.
“They only called for one of you I see,” the Flash said in a voice that wasn’t his own. “You need the whole gang to take me down.”
Patty raised the decelerator and fired it at the Scarlet Speedster, who phased through the truck as the blast struck the wall behind him. Icon stomped the ground as the Flash landed, sending the speedster tripping onto the floor. Seeing the opportunity, she aimed and fired, connecting with the crimson costume. The blurriness began to come into focus as the blast hit him, almost freezing him like a snapshot.
“You’ll need to keep firing at him until we can come up with a more viable solution,” Icon reported as he continued to stomp the ground. Negative Flash complied, firing shot after shot into the Flash as he tried to get up and approach them. It would’ve almost been comical seeing him frozen in the various positions if she didn’t see how terrifying his face was. A large smile creeped over him, and Patty noticed he was getting closer and closer despite Icon’s destruction of the pavement below him and her deceleration gun. Soon he was right on top of them, and his hand was reaching for the gun.
Icon cocked his fist back with astounding speed and slammed it into his chest, sending the Fastest Man Alive through the wall of the auto shop.
“You killed him!” Patty shouted, seeing his crumpled form through the massive hole in the wall.
“I believe you are mistaken,” Icon said, priming himself for round two as the Flash effortlessly rose like a puppet on strings. It was clear what was in control of him, and Patty steeled herself for the next wave.
Lilith made her way through the streets of the town, projecting a mental screen around her that normally enabled her to become invisible in the minds of those in her area. Judging from the lack of response from the townsfolk that walked past her without a care in the world, she saw that the old trick still worked, even with mind controlled civilians.
Karen was right, there seemed to be no sign of where the creatures originated from. She had tried to reach out to one of the citizens that passed her, only to find their own mental block was in place. Nobody seemed to be protecting anything. It was like they were just lying in wait.
She felt a shadow pass over her and saw the caped form of Mister Miracle appear out of the general store. He seemed to be headed in the direction of one of the battles her friends had started, and Lilith knew she couldn’t allow another opponent to impede their tasks. Reaching out with her mind, she felt the familiar green aura surround her as she sent shards of solidified psychic energy hurling towards the twin disks he flew on. The shards connected, causing Mister Miracle to begin careening towards the ground at a fast pace. He quickly regained his feet and rushed over to her, the mental smokescreen clearly broken. However, she saw him stop abruptly inches from her, the star creatures on him seemingly frozen.
“Help… me…” he whispered as the eyes beneath his mask became clear. Lilith realized that somehow he was fighting the control. She nodded, and quickly wracked her brain for ways she could break him out of it. She tried prying the starfish off of him, only for them to latch onto him even more. She projected a mental shockwave towards them, but they seemed unaffected. The only way she could fight them, she deduced, was within.
Judging how all the star aliens seemed to react simultaneously to everything she tried, Lilith deduced they might be connected by some sort of hive mind. If she could travel within the network that they all seemed to be linked by, she might be able to free the heroes. Especially if the bodies they were controlling were currently preoccupied with their own battle.
Taking a deep breath, she removed her psychic-shielding circlet and quickly touched one of the stars on Mister Miracle’s body. The alien seemed to realize a new host was available as it leapt at her face and sunk her into blackness.
Lilith felt the urge to relax, to let go of the struggle. It almost consumed her, like a wildfire spreading rapidly through a dry forest. However, the thought of her friends in need, combined with the psionic blockers and her own mental fortitude allowed her to push past the need to give up and gave her light again.
She found herself in a large pulsing sky, with veins running across the red flesh that had absorbed the stars. She saw people suspended from the ceiling, floating in the void of the mental network she had hacked her way into. Lilith had astral projected herself on one mission with the Titans, and the sensation she felt in this strange new world was not unlike the feeling of her soul leaving her body.
Rising up to the people, she saw a transparent webbing covering their minds, their eyes blank and heads tilted towards the red void. She recognized the bodies of Superman and the Flash, each one quivering as if beginning to seize. On the far side of the line was Mister Miracle, and Lilith could see that the hero seemed to be actively struggling against the webbing connected to his head.
She had heard he could escape anything.
Quickly, she grabbed his hand. He seemed to jump at the new presence, but as Lilith projected her positive energy into him, he renewed his struggle. She saw the sinew begin to detach from his face, the grit and determination etched across his maskless face. Soon the webbing tore free, leaving her next to a panting Mister Miracle.
“Wow, that’s the toughest escape yet,” he joked, catching his mental breath as he examined the woman that helped him. “Glad you came along when you did, but honestly I would’ve been out of there in another hour.”
“I believe you,” Lilith said, her words mentally landing in his mind. “Would you like to help me free the others?”
Scott Free smiled. “It would be an honor.”
Karen dropped her Spectrum Gun as the shell began to glow with energy, knowing she’d pushed the weapon to its breaking point. The skirmish that seemed to have lasted for hours she knew had only been a few minutes, but as she looked at Garth’s fatigued face she had the sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t last much longer.
“Running out of tricks, I see,” Superman growled, batting Garth aside as the Atlantean charged him. “Soon we can put your mind to better use than those toys you created.”
Superman began to approach Karen, his eyes glowing red. Suddenly, the star creatures on him began to shudder, as if a massive wave struck all around them. Karen saw Superman’s eyes turn back to the familiar shade of blue, a pleading look replacing the vacancy that was there before.
“Help me… fight it,” he moaned, his arm quivering as it reached for one of the stars. She saw him pull it off as he gasped in pain, the alien shriveling in his hand as it disconnected. She rushed up to him and began tugging at the creatures with all of her might, blasting them with her stingers as Garth soon joined the fray. Superman fell to his knees from the immense pain overwhelming him, the stars around him dying as they lost contact with his body. Soon one star remained.
“This is going to hurt,” Garth said to the Man of Steel, who summoned enough energy to say-
“Do it.”
Garth unleashed his violet eye beams at the star on Superman’s neck as the hero screamed in pain. Karen saw the alien bisected as it fell to the ground, with the hero following suit. They had freed him.
“Bumblebee, this is Negative Flash. We’ve managed to free Flash from the parasites. We can provide assistance if needed.”
“We’re all set here,” Karen breathed in relief as the Man of Steel slowly rose up, his eyes clear and full of gratitude. “Let’s regroup and figure out our final moves.”
The recovered heroes gathered in the empty shell that was the general store, surrounding the unmoving body of J’onn J’onzz. Icon and Superman stood by the doors of the building, watching for any signs of intruders or wayward aliens. Though Karen wanted nothing more than to celebrate their hard fought victory, she knew there was still work to be done.
Lilith bent over the Martian Manhunter and placed her hands on his temples. The store was silent as they waited with bated breath for the martian to revive. The green skinned alien’s red eyes opened suddenly as he quickly rose from the ground.
“You should not have woken me,” he said gravely. “We cannot allow the aliens to gain access to my abilities.” He looked around the room, now recognizing the heroes surrounding him. “You have been freed.”
“The cavalry arrived, just like you wanted,” the Flash said with a smile. “We need you for the final battle.”
“We have a general idea where the source of these creatures might be, but we don’t have any specifics,” Superman said from the front of the store. “Think you can lend us your mind to find it?”
J’onn nodded and placed his hand on the Flash’s cowl. “It seems the point of origin for these creatures is underneath the town itself. The strongest signals are coming from beneath this very store.”
“That’s weird. I made a pass with my x-ray vision and couldn’t see anything like that,” Superman said uneasily, clearly disappointed he hadn’t found an entrance.
“The hive mind placed blocks on your mind, preventing you from gaining access to their vulnerable areas,” the Martian Manhunter explained. “You cannot see what they won’t let you believe even exists.”
Karen pressed her goggles and did a scan of the store, noticing a trapdoor beneath the frozen food section. “I’m picking up a door in the freezer. Maybe that’s our way in?”
The heroes rushed for the door, only for the entire building to suddenly shake with the power of a massive earthquake. Karen felt herself get pulled suddenly by an unseen force, only to find herself outside the store as the Flash dropped her and Lilith off on the sidewalk across the street. The rest of the heroes followed as the ground beneath the store began to crumble. The storefront collapsed, revealing a giant version of the alien creatures that rose from the wreckage. Dirt and debris plummeted towards the ground and the civilians wandering below. The Legion leapt into action, with Superman and Icon swooping in to save a couple while the Flash and his negative counterpart rushed to push the controlled victims out of the way of falling rocks. Tempest magicked a wave of water that froze above the crowd and blocked the debris from reaching them. Mister Miracle rushed into the rising dust to pull out a small boy and Karen found herself reflexively flying into the frey herself, pulling a girl and her mother out of the way of the storefront that fell where they once stood.
As Karen inspected the mother and daughter, she saw the stars attached to them suddenly pry themselves off and fly into the sky, entering the massive star at an alarming pace. Looking around her, she saw the entire town covered in the star creatures as they rose into the air to join their fellow aliens.
“They’re making a tactical retreat,” Icon remarked as the heroes gathered with the townspeople below the shadow of the star ship. “Shall we pursue?”
“I think they know they’re outgunned,” Superman said, a smile crossing his face. “Looks like we live to fight another day.”
Karen couldn’t help but smile as she saw the town slowly blink back to life. Families embraced each other, friends and neighbors shook hands and exchanged laughs. The town would take a long time to heal, but she was sure they would be alright.
The Watchtower
“Quite the view, isn’t it?”
Dick Grayson approached Karen as she stared out the window into the vast expanse of space, gazing at the stars that she’d longed to visit when she was young. Now, here she was among them.
“I bet it’s something you never get used to,” Karen replied, prying her eyes from the beautiful view of Earth as she turned to greet her old friend. They hugged, the weight of their shared years behind the masks they wore momentarily suspended by each other’s presence.
“It really isn’t,” Dick remarked, pulling out of the hug. “How would you feel about being able to see that view whenever you wanted?”
Karen studied Dick’s face, trying to tell if he was joking or not. As usual, the old Boy Wonder was impossible to read.
“I hope you mean as a visitor, because you know I’m retired,” she said.
Dick nodded, but she could tell it wasn’t a nod of acceptance. “The Legion was impressed. I was impressed, and I know what you’re capable of. You’re a natural born leader, and we can use someone like you.” Dick reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the Legion’s coveted communicators.
Karen looked at the thin piece of technology in his hands and weighed her options. On one hand, the idea of suiting up like in the old days exhausted her. She wasn’t the spry young girl that joined the Teen Titans searching for adventure and friends. She did her time as Bumblebee, it was time for others to step up.
On the other hand, she couldn’t deny how great it felt seeing the people she saved in Blue Valley, Nebraska. Without her and the rest of the Legion, they might have never broken free of those Starro creatures. The thrill was still there, she couldn’t deny that. And what harm would it be to help out every once in a while? It’s not like they needed her to be a hero 24/7.
Karen placed her hand on the communicator and picked it up, a large smile creeping onto her face.
“Let’s go to work.”

Since Riggs, Trent, and Frankie have turned their golf positions at Barstool into less blogging and more playing with themselves and selling $50 cases of soda, I decided to take a dull, butter knife stab at a preview blog for this weekend’s Memorial Tournament.
Last Week
Real quick let’s talk about how much we should all hate the PGA after Sunday’s off-air debacle, and then about some questionable feature groups this week. For weather reasons on Sunday, the Workday final round tee times were moved up so players could finish before incoming storms. Great, that all makes sense. But somehow the PGA was not able to broadcast the round on TV, and when they did have to kill the live broadcast, they didn’t even mention where to go watch the rest of the tournament. THERE ARE NO OTHER FUCKING SPORTS ON, WHAT COULD CBS HAVE MADE PRIORITY OVER THIS FINAL ROUND? No seriously, someone please tell me because I would love to know what aired on CBS from 11 am to 3 pm instead of live sports. Can we also talk about how terrible the Thursday/Friday coverage is every weekend on all networks? You usually get 2-4 featured groups you can stream online from 9-3 (even these groups you often need NBC Sports Gold to watch), and then get maybe 3 hours of full coverage in a TV broadcast. There is legitimately a channel called the Golf Channel, who are airing a shitty preview/talk show while you are missing coverage. Here’s a fucking mad idea - put live golf on the golf channel before the major networks get prime coverage.
Then we got a look yesterday at the featured groups for the Memorial. How do you fuck this up? If you are younger than 70 and even sporadically watch golf, you could do this job better than whoever does it for the PGA. Here’s the formula: Brooks Koepka makes a joke about Bryson Dechambeau using steroids one week ago = you put them in the same group. Golf has so little drama because all these guys are friends and making millions of dollars even when they aren’t winning. Fans need these storylines/rivalries to be buffed up, not ignored because they might hurt Bryson's feelings.
This Week
As far as a course preview, we get a strange twist this week with the players coming back to Muirfield, who just hosted the Workday Charity Tournament. I’ve been watching golf for a long ass time and cannot remember the last time this happened, but it’s not a major headline at all so maybe this does happen on occasion. Either way the setup this weekend will look different than last weekend, with much faster greens, thicker rough, and some changes in tee box locations. I think we see some youngeinexperienced players struggle with the change in green speeds, especially since they just played these same greens and they were rolling like carpet (stimpmeter will go from 11 to 13.5). My gut tells me the winner is either a veteran or someone who didn’t play here last week. This would rule out guys like Hovland, Burns, Merritt, Niemann, etc.
Finally, we have to mention that Eldrick Tiger Woods returns to the field this week. I’m looking at his +2000 odds and hate the value because we have no idea where his game is at right now. That being said, Tiger has won the Memorial five times and placed T9 last year, and T23 the year before. I will root for Tiger to win every tournament he enters, but I won’t look at a future for him at these low odds, and for his first post-break golf since The Match.
Now let’s go over wagers this weekend and what you should look for. I am usually not a fan of betting on outright winners, before any golf has been played. The odds always look so good but you will rarely have a profitable year trying to bet winners every week. That being said, here are some of the best value picks IMO.
​

• Dechambeau +850
  • This man is -69 (nice) in his 4 tournaments since the resumption of the season, with final results of 3rd, 8th, 6th, and 1st. Not only is he launching drives 10% further than the field consistently, but his confidence is sky high and that mental edge goes a long way. Bryson also won here 2 years and 40 pounds ago, so he does like this course. But let’s not forget what a whiny bitch he is. Give me odds on if he will punch a cameraman this week and I would hammer yes.

​

• Rory McIlroy/Justin Thomas +950
  • Rory holds the current #1 world golf ranking, and JT holds the current #1 FedEx cup ranking. Neither golfer has won since returning from quarantine, however they each grabbed a trophy or two early in the season (pre-pandemic). Both have seen some inconsistencies in the past month, with over par rounds or missed cuts, but undeniably still playing great golf. You might want to think about JT’s state of mind after blowing a lead and then a playoff last weekend, but I still like him to show up and be in the mix.

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• DJ +1500
  • DJ recently daddy-dicked Brendan Todd in the final round of the Travelers, starting his final round 2 shots behind and leaving with a 1 shot victory (6 shots ahead of Todd). He might win, he might not, either way he’s going home to Paulina Gretzky and a Johnny Depp style lunch spread.

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• Koepka +1750
  • I’m going to choose to ignore Brooks’ round one 74 at the Workday this weekend, followed up by a missed cut. His previous two tournaments he posted 8 consecutive rounds under par, and a Sunday 65 to place 7th at the RBC Heritage. That being said, in my brief research it looks like his best finish at the Memorial was T31 in 2017, so maybe he hates this course. But Petty King’s hate for everyone besides himself is a great motivator. Can’t wait until we get a “suck on that Faldo” on a hot mic.

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• Morikawa +2000
  • My guy Collin is less than a year removed from his amateur status, and has now made 24/25 cuts to start his career. Three weeks ago he lipped out a 3 footer to lose in a playoff, had a rough 2 weeks at the RBC and Travelers, but then he came right back and won in a playoff this past weekend. This dude is a sniper from the fairway, but can he stay straight off the tee and hole some putts? 2 playoffs in his last 4 tournaments would indicate yes.

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• Cantlay/Matsuyama/Rose/Kuchar +1250 to +6500
  • All four of these guys have won the Memorial in the past, with Cantlay at the best odds trying to repeat his title from 2019. I sneaky love Justin Rose here who has been playing great golf, and reminds me of a slightly less hate-able version of Adam Scott. Always fun to root for Kuch daddy as well, but his association with Sketchers is unforgivable.

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• Hovland/Simpson/Schauffele/Berger +2000 to +3000
  • Three young studs who have won or come close to winning this season, and a veteran who has been playing lights out golf (Webby). I would not be surprised to see a slow start for Hovland after two disappointing Sundays in a row, but he is too good not to make a push if he makes the cut. Schauffele actually scares me, he is definitely the odds on favorite to be a serial killer after his PGA career (eh maybe Mickelson). But that focus and weird fatheson relationship has been working for him, and he’s sitting just a few spots outside the FedEx cup top 10 and playing great golf. Meanwhile Webby is sitting at #2 in the FedEx cup rankings with a win at the RBC Heritage and a top 10 at the Rocket Mortgage Classic. Side note, why is there a “t” in mortgage? Fuck that word.

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My pick: once again reiterating I will likely not bet on a Sunday winner before Thursday starts, but if I was I would put my money on Justin Rose +4500 or Xander Schauffele +2500.
Thursday Matchups
Easily the best way to bet on golf, and in my experience the most profitable. Here are a few picks I’ll be making before Thursday. Currently I am 4-2 betting matchups (last 4 PGA events) and I’ll track my picks moving forward. If I get to Jack Mac or Reags level of bad betting, I promise I’ll retire and not pretend I know what I’m talking about. I’m only going to pick matchups in the featured groups for Thursday. Nothing worse than betting on someone like Marc Leishman, and having to refresh the golf cast simulator thing instead of watching live play.
Dechambeau (-115) over Thomas (-105): everything is so planned out and calculated with Bryson, and his sit-out at the Workday feels like a part of his plan. Fucking hate rooting for this kid, but I see him coming in fresh against JT who blew an enormous lead last weekend.
D. Johnson (even) over Morikawa (-120): my favorite first round matchup bet. It seems counter-intuitive going against the guy who won at this course a few days ago, but don’t forget the major change this week will be how the greens roll. And Morikawa is 150th on tour in strokes gained with the putter. Lock it in.
Take a flier - round 1 leader
I don’t think I’ve ever bet this prop but I’ve also never written a golf blog before so let’s take a shot here. I’ll put a half unit on it as well: Rickie Fowler +4000
Rick's finishes at the Memorial the past 3 years: T14, T8, solo 2nd. In 2017 when he placed 2nd, he shot an opening round 66. I also feel like I see him in the mix a lot in early rounds, but can’t quite put together those low weekend rounds.
That’s all I’ve got. Sorry it’s not funny but it’s better content than we’ve gotten out of Foreplay.
Let’s make some money and blow off work Thursday and Friday.

First half of my experiences posted here.
Okay guys, before I go on, I just want to say that we’re getting to the really goddam weird part. I don’t know if they’re telling you something different on Twitter or the radio or whatever, but trust me, what I’m about to tell you is what I personally saw happening in my city. And call it a hunch, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s bigger than just here. So I need you to take a breath, try and keep an open mind, and bear with me. This is gonna be a hard one to believe, but truly fucked up shit always is.
When Cam and I exited the service hallway onto the roof, we were immediately immersed in the dark cloud I’d seen out the lobby window earlier. The sun had only just started to come up and the light was barely diffused through the haze. I could see maybe four or five feet ahead of myself but I’d been up there enough with contractors to know vaguely where the generator was. First, though, I wanted to check the ledges to see if those two creeps were already preparing to do a swan dive.
Making our way through the fog towards the nearest ledge, we found Twitchy first. There’s a bit of thick, pipe-like railing, about a foot in diameter, that runs the whole perimeter of the roof, about two feet inward from the edge of the building itself. It’s not very tall; maybe three-ish feet; just tall enough so someone not paying attention would bump into it before walking off. As we approached the edge of the building through the fog, I could see that Twitchy had climbed up onto the top of the railing and was clinging to it like a child hugging the thick branch of a tree. Her arms and legs were completely wrapped around the rail and she was squeezing the ever-loving shit out of the thing as though holding on for dear life. I felt a little hit of panic release into me at the sight; after everything else today, seeing this portly, middle-aged, jacked-up soccer mom desperately clinging to a rail like a cat stuck in a tree freaked me the hell out.
“You doing alright, lady?” I asked cautiously as we approached. I wasn’t really expecting anything good at this point, but there was a desperate part of me still holding out hope that maybe she was just a run-of-the-mill crazy person. Her face was turned away from me with her cheek pressed tightly against the rail; it was like she was trying to seal every inch of her body to its surface. Looking down at her, I could see that she’d scratched the back of her neck into a bloody mess. I stared in disgust for a moment and then, briefly, thought I saw something within the wound move. My jaw dropped in disbelief under my mask and then I heard Cam scream, scaring the shit out of me.
I whirled around in a panic and spotted her a few feet away. “What is it?!” I ordered urgently, scanning for Antony and his letter opener to appear out of the fog like Freddy Krueger.
“There’s… in the fog!” she croaked, pointing upwards into the haze of sky. I traced the direction of her point and narrowed my eyes, straining to see whatever it was she’d spotted in the dark cloud around us. After a few moments of fruitless investigation, I turned to Cam.
“I’m not seeing anything, what was it?” I asked, my muscles tense.
“I… I don’t know,” she stammered. “I thought it was just a shadow or something in the fog but then… I… thought I saw an eye looking at me.” She looked at me fearfully, bewilderment in her face.
“Well… that’s fuckin spooky.” I stared back up into the fog for another few seconds, not knowing what I was looking for. I was sure she saw something but wasn’t exactly sure if this was actually another threat or just one more thing to add to the “weird shit that happened today” list.
I turned back to Cam and tried to put on a reassuring voice. “Okay, fuck this- let’s check out that generator real quick and then get the hell out of here. We can hang out in my office until the police show up and let them sort this weirdness out.”
Cam looked at me with urgent concern in her eyes but nodded her approval. I oriented myself towards the direction of the generator and started cautiously picking my steps through the mist.
It took us a minute or two to make our way to the generator because I was trying to stay vigilant against coming too close to a ledge or running into our mail boy again. Cam walked beside me, waving her pepper spray around in front of her like a priest walking through a brothel with a cross. When we made it to the generator itself, which is housed in a big metal casing bolted to the roof, I saw we’d been beaten to the punch. Antony was already there and had climbed on top of the thing. He was about six feet up from us so I couldn’t see him perfectly, but was down on his knees and elbows as though in prayer, hands clenched onto the roof of the casing.
“Whatcha doing up there, bud?” I yelled up into the mist.
No reply.
I sighed and glanced at Cam, who was looking up into the indiscernible sky.
“Okay, I gotta unlock this maintenance panel and take a look at the control unit for a readout on this generator. If it comes up with an error, I can reset it and then we are outta here,” I told her, trying to remind myself the process more than anything. She didn’t reply so I took another cautious look up at Antony. His body was twitching but he remained on all fours, frozen in place.
“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath, and got down to be eye-level with the door to the control unit. I’d just gotten it open and had started to run the diagnostics execution when I was interrupted by another scream from Cam.
“MR. WALLACE- it’s Antony!”
I sprang up from my knees and backed up a pace or two, braced to take a letter opener in the chest.
“What’s up with Ant-OH MY GOD!” I screamed, as I focused on the mail boy in the mist.
Antony had gone rigid and something had split out the back of his neck. A dark red tendril, about the width and length of a beer bottle, was stretching upwards from the base of his skull like an antenna. Rounded, golf ball-sized orange growths pulsated on its sides. The tip of the tendril was swaying gently, as though searching the air around it. As I stared I could tell it was still growing; slowly inching its way further and further out the back of his neck.
I hadn’t processed the horror unfolding atop the generator when I heard the cry. At least I think it was a cry. It was a sound my brain didn’t have the equipment to comprehend; something that felt more like a sound than perhaps was a sound itself. The first place I heard it was inside my head; a thundering, horrible screech that started in the center of my mind before rippling outwards, overwhelming all my senses at once. My vision flashed patterns of white and I felt like I was about to pass out and throw up at the same time. The cry echoed up, through, and out of me, leaving a pitchy ringing in my ears and my body tingling. My vision refocused just in time for me to see something drop out of the fog.
I’m not gonna pretend I got the best look at this thing. It was still foggy and early-morning-dark out, and it came and went fast- the whole scene was over in maybe one “Mississippi.” But it was a massive, flying creature, at least twenty feet long, shaped like a manta ray. It kind of flew like a manta ray, too; the fleshy sides of its flat, disc-like body rippled forcefully around it, sending gusts of air that whirled the fog and knocked Cam and I off our footing. It was fleshy and pure white, with pronounced, dull-orange veins criss-crossing over its body. On its underside were two bird-like arms covered in tightened cords of tendon that ended in a pair of outstretched, three-toed talons. A single, horrible, plate-sized eye stared downwards from the underside of its body, glowing yellow in the fog like a distant lighthouse. The creature dive-bombed down from the clouds, caught Antony’s torso in its white talons, and ripped him from the top of the generator and into the fog, like an owl snatching a mouse from a field. A single arm, so tight-gripped as Antony’s fist was to the top of the generator, ripped from his body at the shoulder with a horrible snap as the creature shot upwards again, remaining fixed to the top of the box. At the moment of the rip, droplets of blood sprayed outwards, hitting my face and chest.
It took my brain a moment to catch up with everything I had just experienced. But as soon as it had, I turned on my heel to Cam. She must have thrown up when the creature first cried out because the back of her hand was frozen in mid-wipe on her face; her mask scrunched up in her fist. Antony’s blood was misted across her face. Our eyes locked in mutual recognition that what just happened really just happened before I broke the pause with “let’s get the fuck out of here.” She gave me a single “mhm” of urgent agreement.
At this point the only thing I wanted in the world was to be off that roof. I was alternating between jogging and power-walking to get back to the access door, dodging steam vents and electrical boxes in the dark mist. For a second I thought I saw a helicopter-sized shadow pass through the fog above me, but otherwise we made it to the door without disturbance. Soon we were clanging our way back down the staircase in the service hallway and back into the law firm. We’d taken two steps past the door when I saw figures in the darkness, shuffling towards us down the hall.
They were coming from the direction of the lobby; silhouettes in the dim light moving in the same awkward, jerky manner Twitchy and Antony had. There was maybe four of them making their way towards us, some scratching behind their necks as they hobbled in our direction.
I was internally debating between standing perfectly still like a possum or finding out if I was ever cut out to be a linebacker when Cam grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side.
“We can use the back door,” she hissed, pulling a key card on a lanyard out of her blazer pocket. She took lead and we rushed down a side hallway to another door in the back of the firm as I listened to the newcomers’ uneven footsteps echo up the stairs to the roof from behind us. Cam unlocked the door and we jogged out, turning left towards the elevator area. We got there right as one of the elevator doors dinged and slid open, revealing two more strangers.
I could tell in an instant that these guys were fucked up, too. Both were strangers to me- one was a younger guy dressed like he’d just come from a club, his short-sleeve button-up dirtied and his white tennis shoes filthy. The other was in his 60s and dressed in faded denim and a red hat, one hand still locked around the carry handle of a shopping basket. They both lumbered out while Cam and I hurriedly backed up. They didn’t seem to pay us any mind though, and after a moment of jerky head movements to orient themselves, stumbled in the direction of the law firm lobby. Cam and I looked at each other like two people who just narrowly avoided a car accident before rushing into the elevator. I hit “B” for the basement parking as the doors slid back together and the elevator begin its descent. Screw the office plan, I was getting the hell out of here.
“So… you got a car or something? Do you need me to take you somewhere?” I asked Cam, staring fixedly forward.
“I take the bus… I live kind of a ways out behind Northtown.” She seemed to ponder something for a moment before turning to look at me.
“I live alone in an apartment complex on the top floor. All these guys were trying to get onto the roof… I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to go to my place.” She hesitated. “Where are you heading? Think I could stay with you for a bit?”
I faked my best “I’m in control of the situation” smile. “Yeah Cam, you bet.” Her body seemed to relax and she thanked me, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand and stowing her pepper spray in her pocket with the other.
By the time I pulled my Honda out of the garage onto Howard Street the fog was finally lightening up around us by the obscured morning sun. As I navigated my way north through downtown we saw a few more people twitchily walking the sidewalks, shuffling about like poorly made wind-up toys set loose on the city. I kept my eye on the misty sky above us, watching for anything suspicious. The worst I saw was another shadow darting ominously through the clouds, but nothing more. However, we did spot a few more people on the roofs of some smaller office buildings; motionless as they clung to flag poles, electrical boxes, and other fixtures.
“What do you think is happening,” Cam asked, staring out the passenger-seat window at the bizarre happenings around us.
“Hell if I know. I’m heading home to my cat and to give the news a pretty serious read.”
“Sounds good,” Cam agreed, watching homes and chain businesses pass by as we turned on to Monroe.
We spent the rest of the drive in silence, my brain replaying the events of the day. When driving back down Driscoll I watched keenly for Mr. Asshole’s house, curious to see if he was still on his roof. When we passed by I could see he wasn’t. Only a short stretch of rope remained, dangling from the chimney stack. I shook off a shiver at the sight and a moment later turned left into my own driveway.
“Alright, here’s my place. I don’t know if your phone is still out of signal but I have a landline you can use.”
Cam said nothing in response and I glanced over at her. She was giving me a sort of vacant stare, like someone who had just woken up from not enough sleep. She reached behind her neck and began vigorously scratching behind her neck.
“Ah, shit, Cam. C’mon. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me something.”
She stared at me with a confused, pained expression before sporadically choking out words in a voice not quite her own. “Can we go… up?”
“Ah, Cam. Fuck.”
I debated just leaving her in the car and calling the police but my mind flashed back to the rope tied off atop my neighbor’s house, hanging limply in the fog.
“Alright, Cam, you bet. Up is this way. C’mon.”
I walked around the front of the car and helped her out of the passenger side door. Her body motions weren’t yet as jerky as the others I’d seen, but her motor skills were definitely not what they were. We lurched through the front door into my house and I quickly locked the door behind me. As I shifted myself to hold Cam’s weight better Ophie stalked into the living room and hissed frightfully at Cam.
“Yes, yes, I know, Oph,” I responded, exasperated. In my head this whole thing felt like some kind of World War 3 shit, so my plan was to barricade myself down in the basement where I had some food and camping stuff. As soon as Cam saw that we were about to head down the stairs she began to scream at me.
“No! Up! Up! No! UP!” She spat, struggling vainly against me as I practically lifted her up by her armpits to carry her down the stairs. Thank god she was such a small lady. She threw her head back, though, catching me pretty good on the lip, and I felt blood trickle down to my chin behind my mask. I managed to get her down there before lifting-dragging her into the laundry room and locking her in. I cleaned up my face a little bit and changed my shirt before grabbing a water bottle from my basement mini-fridge. I rapidly opened the laundry room door, rolled it in, and locked the door again. I could hear Cam in there, pacing around aimlessly, slamming on random walls and shit, demanding “UP!” every few seconds.
And that was all about five hours ago now. I gathered up Ophie and we’ve been down in the basement ever since. I called 9-1-1 about ten times since I first locked myself into my little suburban bunker, but it’s a busy tone every time. So mostly I’ve spent today huddled up on an old couch, reading news reports on my phone and trying to mentally block out the intermittent screams of “UP!” coming from my laundry room. But like I said, they stopped about an hour ago. To be honest, I preferred when I could hear her.
And that’s what’s really happening, guys. If you’re able to see this message, I need you to know there’s some kind of new ecosystem happening out there and it is making people sick; killing them. I don’t know where it came from or how far it has spread but you sure as shit aren’t gonna survive it if you’re not being careful. Listen to someone who’s actually seen what’s happening out there first hand- it’s worse than you can imagine. So please, please, please. Stay safe. Stay home. And for the love of god… wear a fucking mask.