How to reset macbook air keyboard

Hello, I have successfully installed emudeck on my Ayaneo air plus, everything went fine installation, emulators, etc although when try to launch rom manager I get a Java error, I have reinstalled everything few times, reinstalled Java, and still can’t run rom manager, any idea how to fix?
Thanks,

Hi all,
I've just sent an email to support about this issue but maybe this community can help me to fix my moonlander.
Yesterday the tripod arm of the right hand side felt (not dropped) and now the keyboard is not working. I tried to reset and load again the keyboard layout but only the left side is working and the weird issue is that the RGB leds are messed up, it looks like the right side is sending some signal and it's not sending the keystrokes nor the proper RGB lights.
Since the moment of the accident the right side is always in a red/orange light mode so I wonder if perhaps the PCB is damaged or some switches. Please any help would be highly appreciated.
Thanks.
​
https://preview.redd.it/mlcex1t4a55b1.png?width=3024&format=png&auto=webp&s=422790cc15e3618a9eb7add513bbd8a2a6974a75

I took quite a long route in education due too the fact that I graduated in highschool with a BSO diploma in electricity. This was due to the fact that in elementary school I doubled in the first year and skipped the last year.
Which was one of the worst decision I could have taken. My parents did not expect me the study after highschool as they them selves also haven't done that.
1. PERSONALIA

• Age: 26
• Education: Graduate degree in programming, Bachelor in applied computer science, app development, Master in business administration, finance
• Work Experience : 1,5 years in software development
• Civil status: single
• Dependent children (Kinderen ten laste/enfants à charge): 0

2. TYPE OF CONTRACT

• Current job title/description: Junior software developer The coding part is mostly backend. i think the job title is too narrow for what actually is part of the job, as you are also the analyst and the devops on the project.
  
• (Ancienniteit/Anciennité): 1y
  
• Official hours/week : 38 Real hours/week
  
• (excluding transport): 38 hours/week
  
• SectoIndustry: metal industry
  

3. WAGE CONDITIONS)

• Gross wage (brut): 3650 (-500 flexplan)
• Net wage (incl. net fees): 2150
• 13th month (full? partial?): Full
• Mobile phone? Laptop?: Macbook, phone with subscription plan
• Meal vouchers: 8 euro/day
• Ecocheques: no, actually I don't know, haven't received anything, I know collegues got these
• Group Insurance (% part employer): 5%
• Hospitalisation Insurance: yes and life insurance
• Other advantages (bonus, 14th month, stocks...): Bonus 5% of yearly bruto salary, internet at home 45 euro/month, working from home 130 euro/mobth

4. MOBILITY

• City/region of work: Flanders
• Distance home-work (km's): 25
• Distance home-work (time): 30’
• Do you need your own car?: no
• How is the travel home-work compensated: Company car
• Company ca-bike (what's the budget, do you have fuel card?): Car with flexplan costing me 500euro/month of bruto includes 100 euro/month that gets added to a fuel card

5. OTHER CONDITIONS

• Amount of official holidays: 20 days
• (ADV, RTT) : 6 days + 6 days unpaid
• How easy can you plan a day off: easy just take it into account before the sprint planning
• Shiftwork or daytime job? Daytime, I mostly work from 8h until 16h
• Flexible working hours: yes
• Amount of stress (standby for troubles at work)?: Low, but may change in the future as critical products will be rollend out
• How often does overtime happens: Never, it is also not possible to take overtime
• Education possibilities: You can propose ideas, mostly conferences, free online platform to learn Coursera, 0.5 days every two weeks to learn what you want
• Teleworking (besides corona-period): Not specified, you can work a whole week from home up to you. Tend to go 2-3 days to the office a week
• Responsible for personnel (reports): no

Hello all,
I'm looking for a laptop that can perform my everyday tasks silently / as quietly as possible, and that doesn't put too much strain on the battery in stationary operation.

• Total budget (in local currency) and country of purchase. Please do not use USD unless purchasing in the US: 2000€, Germany (Price as low as necessary)
• Are you open to refurbs/used? No
• How would you prioritize form factor (ultrabook, 2-in-1, etc.), build quality, performance, and battery life? N/A
• How important is weight and thinness to you? not important
• Do you have a preferred screen size? If indifferent, put N/A. N/A
• Are you doing any CAD/video editing/photo editing/gaming? List which programs/games you desire to run. nothing an office model can also achieve
• If you're gaming, do you have certain games you want to play? At what settings and FPS do you want? <1% of the time, no AAA, APU should be fine
• Leave any finishing thoughts here that you may feel are necessary and beneficial to the discussion.
• What are your everyday tasks?
  • Watching videos (e.g. youtube) and livestreams (twitch) via browser
  • Browsing the internet
  • Little office work
• Any specific requirements such as good keyboard, reliable build quality, touch-screen, finger-print reader, optical drive or good input devices (keyboard/touchpad)?
  • Be able to use external monitors, min. 1x 4K 60Hz (Main) & 1x WQHD 60Hz (Primary)
  • Charging via USB-C
  • A dock so the monitors and LAN can be connected (e.g. TB4)
  • No noise (Current reference: Custom water cooled PC)
  • Battery with no malfunctions, despite stationary use
• Leave any finishing thoughts here that you may feel are necessary and beneficial to the discussion. From my point of view, these are average requirements for the device, but I am cautious due to the previous history. A thin client and an additional office notebook should probably do the job, but I'd like to get some experience on whether one device might not be enough.

^{Back story}: In 2018, I bought the highest Dell XPS 15 9570 right after it appeared. It delivered for the advertised performance for CAD modelling and simulations, but annoying problems showed up since day one. The fans spin up at the slightest load in Windows Desktop and remain in that state all day with little use. In addition, the battery is a disaster, because it is a gamble every time whether several hours of charging have now led to 100% or yet only to 3% (All individual parts have already been replaced by Dell; In addition, cleaned by me, thermal paste renewed several times, re-installed Windows and following tweaking tips from the internet).
I look forward to your answers.

I have had the Samsung M8 since about Jan and had an M7 for a few months before that. I was always impressed how much could be done through 1 port. Usually I would plug in my tablet (tab s8+) or mobile (s23u) to the main usbc port of the monitor. I didnt think it would successfully detect the usbc cable through a hub, only hdmi. However I recently picked up some nreal (xreal now?) AR glasses and the thing is pretty picky with what it uses so I grabbed a OWC TB4 hub. I have had the hub for a bit but only just tried this setup out. Whats nice is a few things:

1. Additional USB-C ports for the M8 - The M lineup (atleast 7 and 8) let you switch what gets to use whatever you have plugged in the 2nd usbc port to either the monitor or the plugged in "main" device, in my case the s8 plus. I have a pair of bt/usbc speakers and I prefer to have them plugged in over bt. The speakers I plug into the monitor can be used by it as the main audio speaker or you can have it set so the S8+ gets the connection. This + usb audio player pro has made a noticeable difference (esp with Tidal) in how I hear my favorite songs.
   
2. Now I can just plug the speakers into the hub and it does the same as before. This will open up the 1 extra USBC port on my monitor. I dont plan on using that port if I have a choice as I had quality issues with the m7 and dont want to keep plugging things in and out on the m8. The monitor arm, the part where the cords go through, was horribkly designed. If you dont leave enough slack, bringing the screen down could completely pull on the actual port. I noticed my dex constantly connects and reconnects. Both mobile and tablet, but more frequent on the tablet. I tried cleaning the port like any here have gotten success with. I even tried to use those magnetic tips stotry and avoid wear n tear on the port. It was a 140w/40gbs right angle usbc magnetic tip. Unfortunately I didnt extract it properly (they get so snug) and damaged the port completely. :( Had extended coverage and got it swapped out. Hopefully using this hub will help out with that. The disconnects have still ocurred, but I noticed if I turn off my tablet display and just use the m8 screen for dex, that it happens like 90% less. I was thinking maybe my disconnect reconnect is due to some power issue. As it is always off/on . I also noticed it never happens on mirror mode, only when using it as an extended screen.
   

Ive been a dex only user for the last 2 years so finding out these little things is so interesting. If you use Dex alot, I cant not reccomend enough (at least checking out) the xreal air. If you use it for screen mode, it just like having a huge dex screen wherever you want. No strain like VR and actually look wearable without really being that noticed. 3D sbs works but even miror screen looks great, especially landscape mode. Also, I was wondering about the following:
-Is usbc superior than hdmi for just video as monitors can have both sometimes?sssss -Is there a big difference in audio quality between bt 5.3 vs directly pluggin in
Any other things like this that others have discovered?

Hello,
I don't know what happened, but somehow I have a mirrored screen and I cannot access the toolbar or anything other than the return to gaming mode and steam icons.
The toolbar was moved to the bottom of the screen. I cannot see it, so I guess the 32" 1440 display and the steam deck screen panned or zoomed in. I cannot figure out how to fix this.
I want to be able to launch Barrier once I get into desktop mode so I can use my PC's mouse and keyboard, but I have to launch that icon from the tray and I cannot do that when I cannot even see it. so I have no idea how to fix this situation and get the resolution set to be functional, or reset it and start over. Everything works fine in gaming mode, so this is just a desktop mode display setting issue best I can tell.
any help greatly appreciated!!

My voice seems to be really soft when I initiate a Mic Test on Discord with G Hub installed and i am not audible (i sound like i am far away) on voice chats. My voice sounds clear in G Hub itself. The problem goes away after i uninstalled G Hub always.
This issue has been persistent for a few months now, and i would always download G Hub to set a singular mouse DPI before deleting it. However for some reason the profile on my mouse keeps resetting after awhile and i would have to inevitably download G Hub again.
I am trying to fix this audio issues once and forever such that i don't have to keep installing and uninstalling G Hub.
Any thoughts on how i might fix this?

Hi when i turn off Soundsource my system sounds play just fine but with the app running I cant hear them even though i have system set to Macbook Air Speakers, any ideas?

I have a 4 year old laptop, that won't let me reset it. When I click on my PC the C drive don't have a assigned user. I went into properties of C drive and it won't let me add a user or make any changes, it says I don't have the permission. I can't even access cmd. How much would it usually cost to fix this? And how many days would it take normally, because this is the laptop I use for school.

I tried removing all nonessential plugs, first aid on disks, even factory resetting, but to no avail.
​

I used to work at a reputable audit company. Those familiar with me will recognize the company. I'm certain my colleagues will come across this on Reddit, as I've seen them browse the site during office hours.
It's been approximately two days since the incident, and I can't shake the feeling of being watched. Each passing night, the shadows in my room seem to grow darker and have more substance. I fear I'm losing my sanity.
My fellow coworkers, as you read this, I'm uncertain if I'll still be alive. However, please, heed my warning. You must put an end to this curse before it's too late.
It happened on the night of June 23rd. It was around 11 PM, and anyone passing by the office building would have noticed that only the lights on the third floor were on. My colleague Awais and I were the only ones working late, as we had an upcoming deadline and, thus, had some unfinished tasks. It wouldn't be fair to solely blame us for the delay, as our client had taken their sweet time in providing the necessary data. Such was the life of an auditor.
My fingers glided across the keyboard of my laptop, the sound of typing echoed through the empty floor. Both of us were surviving on caffeine at this point, evident from the scattered paper cups on the table.
In the midst of entering an Excel formula, a faint scraping sound caught my attention. I had paused briefly to double-check my calculations, and that's when I heard it. As soon as I paid attention to it, it abruptly stopped. I looked up from my laptop, surveying the dimly lit office, but found no source for the sound. Awais, sitting to my right, seemed too busy with his work to notice. Shaking my head, I returned to my tasks, convinced that I had simply imagined it. However, as I looked back at the laptop screen, the scraping noise resumed, faint but distinct.
I immediately stood up, and once again, the sound stopped. I scanned the room and heard Awais making a strange noise. I turned toward him, and he burst into laughter.
"Bruh, you should have seen your face," Awais said, struggling to contain his amusement.
"Dude, that scared the hell out of me. Don't pull such pranks when we're up against a deadline."
"Yeah, yeah. You definitely need some sleep. You're losing it right now."
"I'll get some rest once I finish this," I replied, plopping back into my chair and letting out a sigh.
"I hate my job."
"Not much longer, right? This is our last day. Do you think our replacements will be able to complete this?"
"Probably. We gave them a thorough briefing about the work earlier."
I looked at Awais, and he slowly closed his laptop.
"You're leaving, huh?"
"I have a lot on my mind right now. I need to take a step back."
"Sure, I'll probably leave in a few minutes as well. You go ahead."
Awais started gathering his belongings, and in the midst of packing, he asked, "Have you heard from Asjad Bashir? He left the company a week ago, and we haven't heard a word from him."
"Same here. I've tried contacting him multiple times, but his phone was turned off."
"You think it's related to that rumored curse?"
"Nonsense. Do you believe in such things?"
"I don't, but lately, it seems more than just a rumor, doesn't it? They say those who leave the company vanish."
"Asjad not answering our calls would definitely have a logical explanation, rather than some absurd curse. He did say that his phone was causing all sorts of problems before he left"
"Sure, but what about Sarah and Ahmed?"
"They both had plans to move to China, so it's possible that they haven't had a chance to reach out to us yet."
"Junaid, it's been three months, and Ahmed, your work buddy, hasn't even contacted you."
"I understand that his silence is bothering you, but I have faith that he will eventually get in touch with us."
Awais didn't seem satisfied with my response. He stared blankly at the vacant office space.
"Don't worry about anything. You'll be fine. That rumor is just a tactic to keep us in the company," I assured him, giving his shoulder a pat.
"I want to believe that too. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Let's grab lunch sometime and talk shit about this company again," Awais said weakly, letting out a faint laugh.
"Sure thing, buddy."
We shook hands firmly, and Awais picked up his bag, heading towards the elevator. The doors closed, plunging the space into darkness once again, I returned to my desk and resumed my work.
About 20 minutes later, I stretched my arms.
"Man, the newbies are going to have a field day with this assignment."
I closed my laptop, preparing to pack up. I gathered the empty paper cups and tossed them into the nearby bin.
As I stood by the elevator, I took one last glance at the empty office.
"Never thought I'd witness this day, especially not after four years of being here."
With that, I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the descent began, the floor numbers gradually ticking down from three.
Surprisingly, the elevator jolted and came to a sudden stop.
"Well, that was quicker than expected," I muttered.
I looked at the elevator panel, only to find the lower portion of "2" and the upper portion of "1".
"What in the world?"
Realizing that the doors hadn't opened, I pressed the buttons and attempted to force them apart, but to no avail. Of all the times, it had to be today. I decided to call the security guard, Kashif, I picked up my phone, and at that moment, the elevator doors opened.
Before me lay a dark corridor, without a single light. Glancing back at the panel, I noticed that it still displayed the same numbers. I tapped the panel and pressed the buttons, but nothing happened.
Letting out a sigh, I adjusted the strap of my bag and stepped out of the elevator. As soon as I did, the doors closed shut. I turned around, only to see the elevator panel indicating that it was descending to the ground level.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I found myself in an unfamiliar corridor. It didn't match any floor layout I was familiar with. With my phone's flashlight activated, I cautiously proceeded forward, noticing a partially open door a few meters away. In a final desperate attempt, I pushed the elevator button, but it remained fixed on the ground level. Admitting defeat, I slowly approached the door.
Carefully, I pushed the door open, my body on high alert for reasons I couldn't quite understand. Illuminating the room with my phone's light, I discovered empty workstations and chairs. I scanned the area, moving the light from one corner to another. In all my four years at the company, I had never seen this room before. I searched for a light switch, however, there were none, and I realized there were no windows either. Odd.
The only sound that came in the room was the sound of rushing air from the ventilation system. As I approached the first workstation, I noticed the name "Akhtar Ali" taped to the desk, accompanied by a photo of a man in his late thirties, I assumed the man in was Akhtar. Strangely enough, I had never seen or met him in the office before. I directed my flashlight towards the adjacent desk, where the name 'Parveen Nabil' was written—a name I had never heard in the office either.
Something felt off. I hurriedly passed by each table, each taped with a name tag and a picture of the person assigned to it. As I approached the end of the table, a particular name caught my attention. There was no mistaking it. Moving closer, I confirmed that 'Asjad Bashir' was written there, accompanied by a picture taken on his last day of work.
I took a step back from the table, feeling uneasy at what I had just looked at. Did the office maintain some bizarre memorial for all the staff members who had left? It sounded absurd, but that's exactly what was before me.
There were two desks next to Asjad's. I moved towards it, making me shiver at what I saw. The desks had mine and Awais' names taped on. What's more shocking was that the picture of either of us was the ones we took a couple of hours ago, when everyone had left.
"What in the world is going on? This is madness," I muttered.
I knew I had to leave. Something was severely wrong. At the far end of the room, there was another door. I approached it and cautiously opened it. Immediately, a horrendous, rotting smell invaded my nostrils, nearly causing me to throw up. Covering my nose, I took a step forward but tripped over something and stumbled to the floor. In the process, my phone was thrown a few feet away, its light illuminating the room. As I slowly rose, I noticed an arm lying next to my feet. Startled, I stood up, only to be confronted with a horrifying sight.
The floor was covered in dried blood, and several hooks with chains dangled from the ceiling. Lifeless bodies hung from those hooks, each with their mouths impaled on a hook. Limbs were strewn across the floor, as every body had been gruesomely dismembered.
I began to hyperventilate. What in God's name was I witnessing? This was sheer madness. Trembling, I reached for my phone, and as I retrieved it, I recognized the first body—the resemblance was unmistakable, it was Asjad Bashir. The corpse had decomposed slightly, but the face was still recognizable.
Three rooms stood at the end of the room, one of which was illuminated. I hurriedly made my way toward it, peeking through the doors' small window. Inside, a huge, obese man stood, easily seven feet tall and weighing over 500 pounds. His body was covered in scars and stitches, with a prominent red scar across his bald head. Gripping a massive meat cleaver, he was busy dismembering a lifeless figure on a table before him. With each strike, limbs fell off, and blood sprayed in all directions. I couldn't see the face of the body from my position.
"Gotta love it when the little fishy walks right into my hands," he chuckled, his voice hoarse.
Shocked and terrified, I stepped away from the door, realizing I needed to escape this place.
I heard movement in the room and quickly ducked into the next room. Just as I slightly closed the door behind me, the man emerged. Although I couldn't see what he was doing, I heard the sound of chains rattling and the piercing of flesh.
Footsteps echoed again, and it seemed the man was leaving. The footsteps halted, followed by the man sniffing the air, chuckling with delight.
"Oh boy, oh boy, looks like another little fishy was wandering around here. I do love me some good hide and seek."
With that, it sounded like he exited the slaughter room and entered the memorial room. Gathering my courage, I left the room I had hidden in, refraining from using my phone's flashlight to avoid being spotted. I used the light coming from the butcher's room to navigate my way to the butcher's room.
The room was a blood-splattered chaos. In the center stood a large table, with limbs on it from the previous victim. I frantically searched the room for a key, a button, anything that could help me escape.
But there was nothing. Overwhelmed with despair, I collapsed onto the floor.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
All hope seemed lost. That monster was sure to return any minute and kill me. At that moment, I noticed a large finger hanging on a cleaver keychain from one of the walls. I got up and grabbed it.
Then, I heard the door behind me creak open, and I felt a force pulling me upright.
"Well, well, the little fishy has strayed too far from the fishing net."
I turned and saw one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen, grinning at me. I struggled to break free from his grip, but he was too strong.
"Oh, the little fishy is putting up a fight? I do love me some strong fish."
He flashed a toothy grin and threw me onto the table. Placing his enormous hand on my neck, he began to strangle me.
"Now, playtime is over, fishy. Please die for me and create the music of death."
He brought his face closer to mine, a sadistic smile spreading across his lips. I clawed at his hands, but his grip tightened. I gasped for air and that made the man laugh.
"Give me more music fish."
Summoning my last ounce of strength, I clenched the cleaver keychain tightly and drove it into his eye with all my might.
The man howled in agony and stumbled back. Coughing and gasping for air, I scrambled to my feet. With one goal in mind to escape, I sprinted out of the room.
"You piece of shit! I'll skin you alive!" roared the butcher.
I took out my phone and illuminated my path with its light. Hastily finding the door to the memorial room, I entered it. The room was now a mess, with overturned tables. I didn't have much time to assess the full extent of the butcher's rampage. I exited the memorial room, rushed down the corridor, and reached the elevator.
Frantically pressing the buttons, I received no response. "Come on, come on!"
Despite multiple attempts, the elevator remained motionless. I heard a loud explosion behind me, signaling that the man had entered the memorial room. Ready to give up, I remembered the giant finger I had picked up. I decided to use it to press the elevator button, and to my relief, the elevator started moving up.
The elevator doors opened and with that, the memorial room doors as well. The light from the elevator shone in the corridor and I saw him running towards me.
"Get here, you little fish."
He raised his cleaver and hurled it towards me. I used the finger and pressed the ground level. The doors closed, stopping the cleaver from impaling me.
The elevator descended and stopped at the ground level.
The doors opened, revealing the reception area of the office, with the security guard Kashif sitting there. As he saw me, he quickly stood and approached.
"What happened to you? You're a complete mess, and what's with all the blood?" he asked, bewildered.
"There... I... He..." I struggled to form any words.
With that, I bolted out of the front door. I ran and ran, not even bothering to call a taxi. I needed to distance myself from that place and everything I had witnessed.
I reached my house in no time as I didn't live too far from the office, I locked all the doors and hid in my room. I don't know how, but somehow I managed to fall asleep. The next morning, I attempted to call Awais, but received no response. I tried calling the security guard, Kashif, but his phone was powered off. Each number I attempted to call yielded the same result—no connection.
During all this confusion, I noticed a text message notification on my phone. It was from Awais, sent to me just after he left the office last night. The message read:
"Junaid, what the hell is going on in this office? Why the hell are there dead bodies being kept here?"

Anyone here designed their own HVAC system? Any recommendation for good literature? Online/free preferred but a good book also welcome.
My focus is heat pump in heating mode only with central return in the corridor very close to the air handler.
My understanding of how that works is:

1. Calculate heating loads for each room. Will be based on square footage, ceiling height, windows, insulation assumptions and possibly other heat sources. Units: Watts or BTU/h
2. From heating loads get heat flow requirements. Units: CFM
3. From CFM determine the vent size area (unit: square inch) for each room
4. Place the (supply) vents at various locations at each room
5. Calculate the effective length from each vent to air handler (effective length is length incl equivalent length of all turns/bents/boots).
6. CFM requirement for the room and effective length gives duct size (?)
7. Total CFM requirement of the supply determines CFM requirement for the return (possibly with substantial margin factor)
8. Similarly, effective length and CFM give return duct diameter
9. Total required return CFM determines grille size area

​
Is this the right approach?
If would be great of the reference would discuss how to handle multiple vents+ducts per room and how to account for open living spaces (in my case there are no doors between stairs, living room, dining room, kitchen, corridor etc)
​
​

I used to work at a reputable audit company. Those familiar with me will recognize the company. I'm certain my colleagues will come across this on Reddit, as I've seen them browse the site during office hours.
It's been approximately two days since the incident, and I can't shake the feeling of being watched. Each passing night, the shadows in my room seem to grow darker and have more substance. I fear I'm losing my sanity.
My fellow coworkers, as you read this, I'm uncertain if I'll still be alive. However, please, heed my warning. You must put an end to this curse before it's too late.
It happened on the night of June 23rd. It was around 11 PM, and anyone passing by the office building would have noticed that only the lights on the third floor were on. My colleague Awais and I were the only ones working late, as we had an upcoming deadline and, thus, had some unfinished tasks. It wouldn't be fair to solely blame us for the delay, as our client had taken their sweet time in providing the necessary data. Such was the life of an auditor.
My fingers glided across the keyboard of my laptop, the sound of typing echoed through the empty floor. Both of us were surviving on caffeine at this point, evident from the scattered paper cups on the table.
In the midst of entering an Excel formula, a faint scraping sound caught my attention. I had paused briefly to double-check my calculations, and that's when I heard it. As soon as I paid attention to it, it abruptly stopped. I looked up from my laptop, surveying the dimly lit office, but found no source for the sound. Awais, sitting to my right, seemed too busy with his work to notice. Shaking my head, I returned to my tasks, convinced that I had simply imagined it. However, as I looked back at the laptop screen, the scraping noise resumed, faint but distinct.
I immediately stood up, and once again, the sound stopped. I scanned the room and heard Awais making a strange noise. I turned toward him, and he burst into laughter.
"Bruh, you should have seen your face," Awais said, struggling to contain his amusement.
"Dude, that scared the hell out of me. Don't pull such pranks when we're up against a deadline."
"Yeah, yeah. You definitely need some sleep. You're losing it right now."
"I'll get some rest once I finish this," I replied, plopping back into my chair and letting out a sigh.
"I hate my job."
"Not much longer, right? This is our last day. Do you think our replacements will be able to complete this?"
"Probably. We gave them a thorough briefing about the work earlier."
I looked at Awais, and he slowly closed his laptop.
"You're leaving, huh?"
"I have a lot on my mind right now. I need to take a step back."
"Sure, I'll probably leave in a few minutes as well. You go ahead."
Awais started gathering his belongings, and in the midst of packing, he asked, "Have you heard from Asjad Bashir? He left the company a week ago, and we haven't heard a word from him."
"Same here. I've tried contacting him multiple times, but his phone was turned off."
"You think it's related to that rumored curse?"
"Nonsense. Do you believe in such things?"
"I don't, but lately, it seems more than just a rumor, doesn't it? They say those who leave the company vanish."
"Asjad not answering our calls would definitely have a logical explanation, rather than some absurd curse. He did say that his phone was causing all sorts of problems before he left"
"Sure, but what about Sarah and Ahmed?"
"They both had plans to move to China, so it's possible that they haven't had a chance to reach out to us yet."
"Junaid, it's been three months, and Ahmed, your work buddy, hasn't even contacted you."
"I understand that his silence is bothering you, but I have faith that he will eventually get in touch with us."
Awais didn't seem satisfied with my response. He stared blankly at the vacant office space.
"Don't worry about anything. You'll be fine. That rumor is just a tactic to keep us in the company," I assured him, giving his shoulder a pat.
"I want to believe that too. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Let's grab lunch sometime and talk shit about this company again," Awais said weakly, letting out a faint laugh.
"Sure thing, buddy."
We shook hands firmly, and Awais picked up his bag, heading towards the elevator. The doors closed, plunging the space into darkness once again, I returned to my desk and resumed my work.
About 20 minutes later, I stretched my arms.
"Man, the newbies are going to have a field day with this assignment."
I closed my laptop, preparing to pack up. I gathered the empty paper cups and tossed them into the nearby bin.
As I stood by the elevator, I took one last glance at the empty office.
"Never thought I'd witness this day, especially not after four years of being here."
With that, I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the descent began, the floor numbers gradually ticking down from three.
Surprisingly, the elevator jolted and came to a sudden stop.
"Well, that was quicker than expected," I muttered.
I looked at the elevator panel, only to find the lower portion of "2" and the upper portion of "1".
"What in the world?"
Realizing that the doors hadn't opened, I pressed the buttons and attempted to force them apart, but to no avail. Of all the times, it had to be today. I decided to call the security guard, Kashif, I picked up my phone, and at that moment, the elevator doors opened.
Before me lay a dark corridor, without a single light. Glancing back at the panel, I noticed that it still displayed the same numbers. I tapped the panel and pressed the buttons, but nothing happened.
Letting out a sigh, I adjusted the strap of my bag and stepped out of the elevator. As soon as I did, the doors closed shut. I turned around, only to see the elevator panel indicating that it was descending to the ground level.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I found myself in an unfamiliar corridor. It didn't match any floor layout I was familiar with. With my phone's flashlight activated, I cautiously proceeded forward, noticing a partially open door a few meters away. In a final desperate attempt, I pushed the elevator button, but it remained fixed on the ground level. Admitting defeat, I slowly approached the door.
Carefully, I pushed the door open, my body on high alert for reasons I couldn't quite understand. Illuminating the room with my phone's light, I discovered empty workstations and chairs. I scanned the area, moving the light from one corner to another. In all my four years at the company, I had never seen this room before. I searched for a light switch, however, there were none, and I realized there were no windows either. Odd.
The only sound that came in the room was the sound of rushing air from the ventilation system. As I approached the first workstation, I noticed the name "Akhtar Ali" taped to the desk, accompanied by a photo of a man in his late thirties, I assumed the man in was Akhtar. Strangely enough, I had never seen or met him in the office before. I directed my flashlight towards the adjacent desk, where the name 'Parveen Nabil' was written—a name I had never heard in the office either.
Something felt off. I hurriedly passed by each table, each taped with a name tag and a picture of the person assigned to it. As I approached the end of the table, a particular name caught my attention. There was no mistaking it. Moving closer, I confirmed that 'Asjad Bashir' was written there, accompanied by a picture taken on his last day of work.
I took a step back from the table, feeling uneasy at what I had just looked at. Did the office maintain some bizarre memorial for all the staff members who had left? It sounded absurd, but that's exactly what was before me.
There were two desks next to Asjad's. I moved towards it, making me shiver at what I saw. The desks had mine and Awais' names taped on. What's more shocking was that the picture of either of us was the ones we took a couple of hours ago, when everyone had left.
"What in the world is going on? This is madness," I muttered.
I knew I had to leave. Something was severely wrong. At the far end of the room, there was another door. I approached it and cautiously opened it. Immediately, a horrendous, rotting smell invaded my nostrils, nearly causing me to throw up. Covering my nose, I took a step forward but tripped over something and stumbled to the floor. In the process, my phone was thrown a few feet away, its light illuminating the room. As I slowly rose, I noticed an arm lying next to my feet. Startled, I stood up, only to be confronted with a horrifying sight.
The floor was covered in dried blood, and several hooks with chains dangled from the ceiling. Lifeless bodies hung from those hooks, each with their mouths impaled on a hook. Limbs were strewn across the floor, as every body had been gruesomely dismembered.
I began to hyperventilate. What in God's name was I witnessing? This was sheer madness. Trembling, I reached for my phone, and as I retrieved it, I recognized the first body—the resemblance was unmistakable, it was Asjad Bashir. The corpse had decomposed slightly, but the face was still recognizable.
Three rooms stood at the end of the room, one of which was illuminated. I hurriedly made my way toward it, peeking through the doors' small window. Inside, a huge, obese man stood, easily seven feet tall and weighing over 500 pounds. His body was covered in scars and stitches, with a prominent red scar across his bald head. Gripping a massive meat cleaver, he was busy dismembering a lifeless figure on a table before him. With each strike, limbs fell off, and blood sprayed in all directions. I couldn't see the face of the body from my position.
"Gotta love it when the little fishy walks right into my hands," he chuckled, his voice hoarse.
Shocked and terrified, I stepped away from the door, realizing I needed to escape this place.
I heard movement in the room and quickly ducked into the next room. Just as I slightly closed the door behind me, the man emerged. Although I couldn't see what he was doing, I heard the sound of chains rattling and the piercing of flesh.
Footsteps echoed again, and it seemed the man was leaving. The footsteps halted, followed by the man sniffing the air, chuckling with delight.
"Oh boy, oh boy, looks like another little fishy was wandering around here. I do love me some good hide and seek."
With that, it sounded like he exited the slaughter room and entered the memorial room. Gathering my courage, I left the room I had hidden in, refraining from using my phone's flashlight to avoid being spotted. I used the light coming from the butcher's room to navigate my way to the butcher's room.
The room was a blood-splattered chaos. In the center stood a large table, with limbs on it from the previous victim. I frantically searched the room for a key, a button, anything that could help me escape.
But there was nothing. Overwhelmed with despair, I collapsed onto the floor.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
All hope seemed lost. That monster was sure to return any minute and kill me. At that moment, I noticed a large finger hanging on a cleaver keychain from one of the walls. I got up and grabbed it.
Then, I heard the door behind me creak open, and I felt a force pulling me upright.
"Well, well, the little fishy has strayed too far from the fishing net."
I turned and saw one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen, grinning at me. I struggled to break free from his grip, but he was too strong.
"Oh, the little fishy is putting up a fight? I do love me some strong fish."
He flashed a toothy grin and threw me onto the table. Placing his enormous hand on my neck, he began to strangle me.
"Now, playtime is over, fishy. Please die for me and create the music of death."
He brought his face closer to mine, a sadistic smile spreading across his lips. I clawed at his hands, but his grip tightened. I gasped for air and that made the man laugh.
"Give me more music fish."
Summoning my last ounce of strength, I clenched the cleaver keychain tightly and drove it into his eye with all my might.
The man howled in agony and stumbled back. Coughing and gasping for air, I scrambled to my feet. With one goal in mind to escape, I sprinted out of the room.
"You piece of shit! I'll skin you alive!" roared the butcher.
I took out my phone and illuminated my path with its light. Hastily finding the door to the memorial room, I entered it. The room was now a mess, with overturned tables. I didn't have much time to assess the full extent of the butcher's rampage. I exited the memorial room, rushed down the corridor, and reached the elevator.
Frantically pressing the buttons, I received no response. "Come on, come on!"
Despite multiple attempts, the elevator remained motionless. I heard a loud explosion behind me, signaling that the man had entered the memorial room. Ready to give up, I remembered the giant finger I had picked up. I decided to use it to press the elevator button, and to my relief, the elevator started moving up.
The elevator doors opened and with that, the memorial room doors as well. The light from the elevator shone in the corridor and I saw him running towards me.
"Get here, you little fish."
He raised his cleaver and hurled it towards me. I used the finger and pressed the ground level. The doors closed, stopping the cleaver from impaling me.
The elevator descended and stopped at the ground level.
The doors opened, revealing the reception area of the office, with the security guard Kashif sitting there. As he saw me, he quickly stood and approached.
"What happened to you? You're a complete mess, and what's with all the blood?" he asked, bewildered.
"There... I... He..." I struggled to form any words.
With that, I bolted out of the front door. I ran and ran, not even bothering to call a taxi. I needed to distance myself from that place and everything I had witnessed.
I reached my house in no time as I didn't live too far from the office, I locked all the doors and hid in my room. I don't know how, but somehow I managed to fall asleep. The next morning, I attempted to call Awais, but received no response. I tried calling the security guard, Kashif, but his phone was powered off. Each number I attempted to call yielded the same result—no connection.
During all this confusion, I noticed a text message notification on my phone. It was from Awais, sent to me just after he left the office last night. The message read:
"Junaid, what the hell is going on in this office? Why the hell are there dead bodies being kept here?"

Trying to book a flight with Air Asia to go to Siem Reap from Bangkok. The booking goes smoothly until I get to the payment in which it declines every method I have tried.
​
I live in Korea and have tried 2 different Korean cards plus an American credit card and it denies every one saying to call the bank. I called the bank for the American card and the bank told me that it's an issue with the company not accepting the card and not because of anything with the bank. The agent told me to call AirAsia but I can't find a phone number for them..
​
The funny thing is we were able to purchase round-trip tickets from Seoul to Bangkok but for some reason, there is an issue with getting these tickets. Does anyone know how I can get this payment to go through cause I am getting close to booking tickets through Airpaz or Kiwi

Hi miso mates! I’m using my throwaway to ask for some advice.
I read a recent post and have heard from friends about how excellent the new AirPods are. I’d really like to try them and retire my old over-ear headphones. Here’s the thing, though: I hate putting things in my ears because they’re a bit oily and I’m prone to breakouts…yes, in my ears. :( Has anyone had experience dealing with this particular issue? (I avoid earplugs for this reason, too.)

Hi everyone, I recently purchased a home. During the inspection there was a moldy smell and what appeared to be visible mold on a wall in the basement. We ordered a mold test of the wall and air throughout the house. It came back confirmed to be mold. Interestingly, most of the home air samples including that room in the basement was only slightly elevated spore counts, except the main floor bedroom which was over 2,500 aspergillus/penicillum.
We asked in our contract to have the sellers have the mold inspected and addressed by a licensed mold remediation company. I was told by my inspector that they should conduct a post remediation air and strip test like we had done and I could be provided with that as proof of their fulfillment. Once the company finished, all I recieved was a certificate that looked like something given to a kindergartener for graduating to first grade, no test report. I'm not even sure if they tested.
Anyways, we closed and I moved in but every once in a while I get a whiff of a moldy smell. Tonight I noticed this stuff on the wall in the primary bedroom and was wondering if it was mold. If so, how should I address it? Do I have any legal recourse against the sellers or mold company?

Exciting to read about x86s (I did notice it when it was announced some weeks ago but didn't have time to look into it). Here's my thoughts, would love some discussion/feedback on this:

1. Something I'm surprised haven't been discussed: I wonder if even modern UEFI 64-bit o/s'es in their current form might also face compatibility problems - I suspect they will. Even if they are native 64-bit UEFI they might still use those old modes during the boot process or for some non-obvious things. At least when starting up the other cores, changes will be necessary. Same goes for drivers or other low-level system software, virtualizers etc. So this means that not only does x86s break some old DOS or Windows 95-esque images, it is probably also the very latest current images that wouldn't even be able to boot on a x86s machine when it comes out. While all vendors will of course have updated their software long before it comes out, it will likely also cause problems that even fairly recent images will not be bootable. Might also cause some confusion for consumers - why doesn't this Samsung utility for my SSD boot after I switched to this new CPU etc. etc.
2. I expect little performance or power impact: It's just all the mode-related stuff, it doesn't have any impact of the actual instruction execution aspects of the core, which more or less doesn't know what mode is running anyway. The original 386 was only 275K transistors yet it had real mode, 16/32-protected mode, paging, full 32-bit instruction set, v86 mode, call/task gates, hardware task switching etc. Clearly, modes doesn't cost a lot. A modern CPU core is around 1 billion transistors, more than 1000 as much as the whole 386.
3. Why not use the opportunity to introduce a new ISA (or at least encoding)? The x86 decoders are enormous and power hungry. I don't think this will help much (perhaps they will be smaller but likely not much less power hungry in 64-bit mode). The hungriness is due to the enormous variability in instruction length and the prefix mechanics. I think Intel could have won a lot by at least a somewhat simplified ISA. Not _extremely_ simplified. It could even be semantically the same (all adressing modes and register etc. preserved) just encoded more efficiently by proper setup of opcode tables (and "levels") from the beginning.
4. Does anyone know what impact on SMM (System Management Mode) - no mention in the document? I'm not even sure if that normally runs with paging or if it's 32-bit or 64-bit currently?
5. Legacy virtualization: The removal of unrestricted guest suggests that legacy modes are also removed from virtualization, which makes sense since otherwise all the complexity would still be there. But it also means emulators will have to rely on software virtualization instead.
6. Seems that the RIP and initial value of CR3 will now be retrieved from a so-called Firmware Interface Table indexed from a fixed address before the execution begins (compared to execution starting from the RESET vector today). Interesting! I wonder if there's an internal non-x86 core for parsing the FIT table ;)
7. 32-bit submode preserved - it will still be possible to compile a program on Windows 95 using Visual Studio 5, then move the exact .EXE file to a new Windows 11 64-bit machine running x86s and run that .EXE file natively at full speed. Quite amazing - Win95 is already 28 years away!
8. Virtualization of 32-bit o/s: Can a virtualizer perhaps take advantage of the remaining 32-bit submode of long mode for handling virtualization of the time a guest spends inside 32-bit user mode? So the virtualizer would start off using pure software emulation for the 16-bit but later when booting e.g. Windows 95 and 32-bit user processes get control the virtualizer could use 32-bit submode to virtualize that and then switch emulation strategy again in case of interrupts etc. I guess the most obvious way would be to actually use VMX to run a long mode "virtualization-assist" guest that then has a 32-bit sub-task for hosting the 32-bit sub task from Windows 95 (in this example) so that the nested page table mechanism can still be exploited. Either that or the virtualizer will build a set of first-level PML4/PML5 page tables reflecting the virtualized environment and run the 32-bit task directly (without VMX). Perhaps such strategies can also be used for the 32-bit kernel mode using suitable binary translations (I believe this is how VMWare worked initially). So 32-bit o/s emulation might be faster than one might think.
9. Wonder if and when AMD will follow suit?
10. Timeframe? I've seen it referenced as a discussion paper - so a solicitation for comments. So the design is likely not finalized if even implemented at all. So maybe they freeze the actual architectural design in, say, a year. Then a few years for implementation and general CPU to-market turnaround and the observation from #1... I would guess we are at the order of 5 year time frame, if not more?

Link to part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/13qcl3m/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_book_2_finding/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Well, this is going to be a little different.
First thing I want to say is that Kev will be back. I’m not the type to sugar coat things, he’s in a pretty sorry state, but he’s going to pull through. He’s a tough bastard.
In case you haven’t clued in yet, it’s Mike, I might not be as much of a wordsmith as Kev but I think I can keep your interest.
She was about five foot four, pale greasy skin and pitch colored hair that was just about to cross the double line from shiny into gross. Early thirties I’d guess, but with the strange shit Kev and I have gotten ourselves into she could be a million, or put together yesterday for all I know.
She was a “ Shame Monger” which was as esoteric of a job title as it sounds, and the first context me and my little buddy had on our current assignment.
The place we’re in is an old, decrepit arcade, I’m surrounded by shadowy figures sticking to the dark recesses like insects.
Kev is somewhere deep within the place sticking his neck out with God knows what ( I mean, I do as well, but I’ll let Kevin relay shit when he’s up to it.), and I’m making small talk.
“You human? “ I say, she’s not offended but raises an eyebrow.
“Are you? “ She has an edge to her, human or not, she’s seen some shit.
I laugh, running a hand over the branded lines mimicking clown patterns Art left me with after that stay in his gulag.
“Sometimes I forget about the braille.
Yeah, %100 sadly. “ I lean on the counter as I speak.
“Me too, you haven’t been working with the watchers long, have you? “ She sounds concerned, “ I’d suggest finding a new job. They have a bit of a reputation. “
“Long enough. “ I’m wary now, information is a resource I’m not willing to part with easily.
I don’t think she’s wrong, mind you, every day I spend with these wizards by another name, I like them less and less. Being sent with Kev, Jr, and the voices in my head, wandering across the country to find something called “The Fleshsmith”, is the best case scenario in my opinion. Gives me some breathing room.
“How do does one deal in shame? “ I say after a long silence. The glitched beeping of the machines becoming grating.
“Not as spooky as you’d think.
You play airsoft? I’m Tori by the way. “ Tori says, lighting up a small black cigar.
“Never got the bug, but I’ve heard of it, and I’m Mike. “ I reply.
“Well Mike, I play, and it’s a great hobby. Lots of physical activity, lots of equipment to learn about, it’s got something for everyone. For the most part, it’s an exciting activity .
But, think of the factory that makes the plastic ammunition. It’s integral, but it’s cheap, easy to make, monotonous, and far removed from any of the interesting facets of the hobby.
That’s me. I brush up against all kinds of folks, but besides the little wrinkle your friend is dealing with, all of the real spooky shit is well past arm’s length. “ she coughs, the thick, cherry scented smoke hangs in rings, “ It’s a living. “
“Honestly, I couldn’t be happier.
I hear ‘ Shame Monger’ and I was thinking torture, and, I don’t know, ghosts maybe? “ I shrug, motioning for one of the cigarellos.
She gives me one, it tastes of rose and a rich, almost syrup like tobacco.
“Sorry to disappoint. No, extraction is pretty painless, uses a kind of blotter paper. And to the best of my knowledge, ghosts aren’t a thing.
As I said, things are safe and boring. “ Tori says, taking a seat on a black waist high stool.
I let her statement hang for a moment.
“So what’s with the big guy trying to blend in, waiting for me to leave the counter? And why did he come with 2 friends and a running engine? “ I say, low but casual.
I can tell she’s annoyed at my insight.
“That’s nothing horror adjacent. Just a good old fashioned shake down, cost of doing business.
He doesn’t know exactly what goes on here, but him and his associates know it’s profitable enough they can squeeze ten grand out of me a month. “ Tori shrugs, putting out her cigar.
“You can’t give someone a discount to rattle their cage? “ I ask, curious.
“Listen to you. “ Tori laughs, “If your butcher asked you to get shot for them, would you jump at the chance? “
I make eye contact, I can’t help but smirk.
“I’ve gotten shot for less. “ My comment gets a sideways look.
“Mike, I’m seeing you, and I’ve got to say, kinda seems like you’re full of shit. “ Her reply is harsh, but I can’t blame her. I’m dressed like salesman, facial scars or no.
I don’t reply. I walk to the grimy, dim, wet floored men’s room.
Someone who chooses my line of work doesn’t get into it because they have great impulse control. And unfortunately, I’m not unique .
Since I’ve got here, I’ve felt scared, small, ineffective. I know you guys have seen Kevin’s point of view on things, and it makes me seem like some kind of wrecking ball, but that is 50 per cent showmanship, 30 per cent planning and 20 per cent not caring if I lose a piece or two.
But this situation, some low rent semi-connected asshole who thinks he’s Don Corleone? It calls to me.
The clothing I wear is designed to be reversable, and with a few adjustments, I’m no longer wearing a cheap looking used car salesman’s suit, but an antique tuxedo with a 1940s design.
The mirror is grimy as hell, I try to clear a spot, but the sad, octogenarian Esque flow from the tap isn’t up to the task.
But it’s clear enough to reflect him, standing behind me. I jump, and my heart starts to pound.
“Not the time for this. “ I say, pacing.
I try to look away, but there he is, in the corner of my vision, each time. I’d close my eyes, but that’s what he wants, he gets closer when I can’t see.
For a half second my vision is taken up by a crystal clear image of his face. That angular, pale visage inhuman by any standard, but haunting in it’s echoes of a past rooted in mortality.
I stumble backward, slamming into the wall. Panting, my eyes locked on his almost-there form.
He’s tall, wicked, and everything about him exudes power. He’s taken to looking like me more and more lately. But a twisted, malignant reflection, what I could be if I let this pulp novel of a corner of reality have it’s way with me.
“Fuck off Demi! “ I say, getting to my feet, “ I’ve got shit to do. “
Still don’t know if he is just another hallucination, or who he says he is, but Demi and myself are on pretty poor terms as of late.
I hear the bodyless old ghoul whispering what I assume are dark threats as I open a small tube of what I like to refer to as ‘Mike’s Mix’.
A combination of preparation H, topical anesthetic, and just a hint of clown white. Laugh if you want, but it stops a hell of a lot of incidental injuries in my line of work.
Demi starts to fade and I see what I can of myself in the dull mirror.
I’m a little too old for the phrase, but I’m sure a lot of you folks out there would refer to the cliché spook I’ve cultivated as “Cringe”.
I don’t disagree.
But, it’s the game I have to play right now. I’m not some invincible cursed killer, but you know what, I can certainly play one on T.V.
(Did I just try to relate to kids, then make a joke from a 40 year old commercial? This is why Kev does the writing.)
I walk out of the bathroom, reeking of fear sweat and tainted water. The foot and a half lucite rod is tucked up my sleeve, I tap the end of it against the wall as I walk.
The guy is six feet, easily, he’s fifty or so, but making up for it with trips to the gym and a few friendly doctors if I don’t miss my guess.
He doesn’t take the bait, just keeps talking to Tori, once he looks to me, I can tell he is asking her who I am, she’s smart, she shrugs after looking over.
I had an entire plan where I would embarrass the man, get him to send some guys, and make things so costly he just gave up on Tori. It’s a classic, but if it ain’t broke and all that.
But plans, like the people that make them, tend to fail at the worst times.
Once I get within striking distance, the guy turns, his speed isn’t supernatural, but a lot more than I was expecting. His punch lands well enough that I don’t remember starting to fall.
The second finishes the job before I can get my bearings.
The darkness creeps in and in it’s peace I realize how stupid it was to go in this half cocked. I was jonesing for a fight I could win so badly, I went in without a plan B.
I need someone to reign me in, back home it was Eli, here, it’s Kev. As the last bits of conscious thought leave me, I feel bad about leaving him alone.
It's the stifling heat that wakes me up, before my vision clears I smell hot, cheap leather, old vomit and years worth of attempts to mask the smell.
I’m soaked in sweat, the air is like a sauna. I’m sitting in the back of a car, I wouldn’t call it a limo, but it’s clearly built for comfort, in optimal circumstances. There’s a tinted glass partition separating me from the front seat, it’s cracked slightly, I try to tell if anyone is there, but have no luck.
“Can’t say this is a new experience. “ I say, to whoever may be listening.
I try kicking out the windows and the partition, they don’t budge a millimeter.
“If you are up for talking things over, I’m game. “ I try to pry the overhead light loose, and that’s when I notice it.
It's a note, in a thick plastic sleeve, wrapped around my forearm and stuck with some kind of adhesive.
The pain is horrible, made all the worse by the constant pouring of sweat literally putting salt into the wound.
Said wound isn’t deep, a few layers of skin down, enough to weep blood, but far away from pouring. But if this kills me, it won’t be exsanguination. Depending on how long, whoever, plans on keeping me in here, I worry about infection, necrosis, pretty much all the members of the Untreated Wound crew.
I take off the suit jacket, and tear it into strips to use as makeshift bandages, I have a feeling I’ll be needing plenty by the time this is over.
My left arm is slow and clumsy as I open the envelope. I hope it’s just shock, or swelling, not nerve damage.
It reads:
Hey, Dracula, or whatever the hell you are.
Fuck yourself, you think we don’t have ways of taking care of your kind?
Have Fun
Niko Ferang
“Well, can’t say the guy isn’t succinct. “ I say, laughing.
If I just went up to the guy with a threat and a pipe, I’d have either won or lost, and that’d be the end of it. But my genius self succeeded in convincing him I was scary enough to toss me… here.
It dawns on me that there is something obvious I haven’t tried.
As I pull the latch on the passenger side door, something inside me tells me to stop.
Visually, I can’t really describe what it looked like opening the door. The brief period before I saw what was beyond was the visual equivalent of trying to catch a greased pig.
I was left with a view, an identical car interior. The other car parked impossibly close, Their doors seeming to blend with their exteriors.
I enter, as a great man once said “Buy the ticket, take the ride. “, and my dumb ass need for assurance, bought me one hell of a ride.
Once I get in, the driver’s side door closes, and I find myself in the same sweltering heat, in the same backseat.
The damp leather sticks to my arms, I start to calculate how much water I’m losing by the minute, and the math scares the hell out of me.
I try going through the door a few more times, but the more I do, the more I realize, it’s the same car.
The fear becomes as oppressive as the wet heat, I’ve researched a hell of a lot of things from the watchers library, but infinite Oldsmobiles didn’t come up.
I’ve been disarmed, but left with my phone, and wallet. I’m kind of impressed they managed to find 99 per cent of the equipment I can hide in a suit, but hey, %1 is better than nothing.
The phone makes a useless bludgeon, I quickly retire the idea, and figure, even neutered as it is ( I find I can get online, but little else.), it’s better doing phone things than broken.
The good news is frighteningly slim.
I’ve got a few feet of polymar tarp, folded in the wallet, useful for a lot of things, but most important in my situation will be trying to get some kind of drinking water.
An emergency credit card knife, barely useful little thing, won’t do me any good in a fight, but might be a useful tool.
Three strike anywhere matches, a small hook and length of fishing line.
My lips are cracked and bleeding, it can’t have been more than an hour or two, but I’m starting to feel heat exhaustion set in.
I think I’ve found something when the knife sinks into the thin leather of the overstuffed backseat, but the shoddy blade encounters some kind of solid matter, and as I pull the knife out, the leather seals itself.
I stay still, trying to conserve energy, trying to formulate some plan.
He sits beside me now, his looming hunched frame bent in the confines of the car. His face is a blur, but I know beneath the shadows he's smirking.
“I’m way too tired for you Demi. “ I say, wiping what feels like a liter of sweat from my forehead.
His repeating, echoing laughter proves me wrong, I shiver, despite the brutal heat.
It can’t have been more than a few degrees, bit It feels like getting splashed with ice water.
The light in the car begins to dim, and with it, the soul crushing temperature of the luxury automobile drops.
I scramble to set up the tarp, I was banking on this, without some kind of temperature drop, the plastic sheet is useless.
Within an hour droplets have began to create a small stream, collecting at the cone shaped tip of the suspended tarp. Lacking anything to put it into, I catch the liquid in my mouth.
It's foul, and likely contaminated, but it’s my only option. If I’m stuck in here a week I can get by without food, brutalized by heat, I won’t make it 2 days without water.
I feel exhausted, wondering exactly how long I’ve been stuck here I check the time on my phone.
It’s almost random progression does nothing to comfort the surreal sense of dread that is enveloping me.
I don’t know when I passed out, but I wake up laying across the reeking leather, being dragged backward.
I feel fingers, dozens of them, clawing, scraping, trying to gain purchase. A crevice begins to open in the deep black leather, and I begin to be dragged into it.
I throw myself forward, landing painfully on the sticky, grime ridden floor of the car.
Fear, and the awkward ergonomics of my situation make turning around a slow, nerve wracking chore. Once I manage to, I regret the decision.
Hands, some small, some large, some seemingly cobbled together from mismatched scraps, slowly pull themselves from the crevice between the seat and back of the back seat.
They prod and crawl like insects, none ever giving way to arm, just a lumpen flow of calloused, wrist like structure, giving each an segmented, centipede like appearance.
I sit up, watching the macabre display, trying to make some kind of sense of it.
I actually scream when there’s a sharp, loud, mechanical ringing beside my head. The type of analogue noise that went out of style long before land lines did.
It doesn’t take me long to find the handle and pull out an ancient car phone, it’s a two part wood paneled brick of a thing, I pick up the receiver, “Hello” I say, a question as much as a greeting.
The voice is male, probably early twenties.
“Don’t worry about them. They can be an issue if you don’t sleep on the floor, but I’ve never seen one drag itself more than half way across the seat. “ He’s calm, but has a survivors hushed impatience.
“Who are you? “ I ask.
“I won’t lie to you man.
I’ve been in here a while, but now that there is someone else, I think I can get out. Call me Pol. “ I catch the hopeful tone in his voice.
“How? “ I say simply, still trying in vain to put more space between me and the hands.
“Not to sound cold, but if I tell you, there is a chance you just take the information and leave me here.
The first step is us meeting, you’ll know the plan by the time that happens.
I don’t lie. “ If nothing else I can say Pol seems smart.
“Fair enough, what can I do? “ I Trail off at the end of my sentence, one of the hands is pointing at me.
“You need to understand a few things about this place.
First, don’t travel at night. Nothing you are going to find is going to be any better than the crawlers.
Second, remember the numbers, 1, 5 and 9. I’m assuming you have a watch, or a cellular phone? If the time ends in one of those, you’re likely to find a new space.
Last, what’s outside of the car, on the driver’s side, pretend it doesn’t exist. “ The instructions are cryptic, but I’m in no place to turn down good advice.
“How do I know I can trust you? “ I ask, knowing the answer.
“Don’t see how I could be anything other than what I say.
Wouldn’t it be pretty obvious if I was trying to lead you astray? “ Pol’s response is reasonable, but a lifetime of being blindsided makes me wary.
“I guess so. What should I be doing now? “ I say, flipping off the hand like thing that continues to point at me.
“Get some sleep. Time, day and night cycles, they mean nothing here, and passing out in a hundred and fifty degree weather is a shitty way to go.
I won’t be able to get through during the day, so listen carefully.
If you time your travel right, you are going to be looking for two main things. The first is going to be a pillow mint, eventually you are going to starve either way, the human body needs more than just sugar, but you should be able to find enough to keep you going till malnutrition kicks in. The second is a soda can, it’s a sip, and it’s turned, but it’s better than trying to lick the droplets from the windows. “ I listen to Pol, hopefully memorizing his instructions.
Daylight brings with it reek and heat, I watch the hands scuttle back to within the recesses of the seats, shuddering a bit as I see wave like, movements in the cushions.
“God damn it. “ I say looking at the display on my knock off phone. About %50, for all I know I’ll be out in 15 minutes, but I’m not banking on it.
I watch the numbers flash by like a stock ticker, waiting to see if Pol is trying to screw me over or not.
I see 1:39 and crack open the passenger side door.
The same sweltering heat, the same basic backseat, but I know, at a glance, things are not quite identical. Part repetition from the day before, part a decade and a half playing private eye, but I can tell Pol was telling the truth.
Lipstick, smeared on the passenger window, an old handprint. It seems like something bad happened here.
The leather of one of the headrests is torn, I purposely avoid looking at the certainly not stuffing inside.
It’s like this place wants to tell a story, I can’t help but try and hear it.
I don’t find any soda, but I do find a single, red and white pillow mint, wrapper mostly in tact, sitting in a sticky patch on the floor.
I try my luck a few more times, using the cell phone as a kind of metronome, and while I do get a lot of repetition, every so often, there is a little change, or quirk.
I’ve collected two pocketfulls of mints, and found myself desperately hoping to stumble upon anything to drink. Another night of distilled sweat, dust, and God knows what doesn’t seem appealing.
I must have been too slow opening the door, I’d done it over two hundred times at this point, and the grey haze of this new variation set off every danger instinct in me.
It felt like I was being watched from every angle, despite the gloom the heat was worse, and seemed to bake a fungal reek into the air itself.
The door handle on the passenger side is mangled, the steel colored plastic twisted into a useless lump.
The leather seems slightly rotten, weather stripping peels, light fixtures are cracked and loose, it feels very, old.
I watch the phone, my eyes instinctively darting around, there are noises from the front seat and I doubt they have my best interests in mind.
I’m trying the mangled door handle but something is broken.
That being, said, with a car this old, the fish hook, with enough persistence could work,
I Peel back some of the stripping around the window, te hook begins it’s slow trek down into the mechanics of the door.
I scratch my wounded arm, it hurts, but that isn’t what concerns me. I feel a small, irregular lump.
I peel back my makeshift bandages, and what I see attempts me make to vomit stomach contents that weren’t there.
Small, brown grey mushrooms, a half dozen, about the size of a grain of rice. I feel a tingling in the wound, and panic sets in.
Opening a door like this requires a steady hand, but between the noises in the front seat, and the literally budding body horror on my arm, my nerves are shot.
I hear the partition begin to lower, and that rotten, fungal reek becomes nearly a physical force. My eyes water, my nose runs, and I hear a noise, like flowing sand.
I feel the hook dig under the proper part of the lock and pull up as I feel something wet soak through my shoe.
The door opens violently, not that I’m upset, I toss myself forward like I’m going for a touchdown, my forehead slams off of the armrest in the newest backseat I find myself in.
Before the passenger side closes I catch a glimpse of the mess that spilled from behind the partition. Rot and flesh, an aborted rotten attempt at life enraged at the universe that spawned it.
I actually feel relief at the blinding sunlight, and shining leather, and find myself relating to the monsterous mass I left behind.
I look at my arm, realizing I didn’t leave all of it behind.
“Oh, fuck me. “ I say, fumbling the credit card knife together.
The mushrooms had doubled in size, the cheap tin knife makes a terrible scalpel, I scream as I err on the side of caution, flaying a half inch around each.
I’m bleeding heavily, half of the makeshift bandages barely keeping the flow at bay.
My vision swims, I feel sick, and I fight the urge to break down into a mentally and physically broken heap.
That’s where I’ll leave everyone. Night is falling, and without a little more help from Pol, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.
If this is the last time you hear from me, well I’m sure Kev will have you guys covered for the rest of what I hope is Art’s downfall.
If it isn’t, I’ve got a favor to ask, did you guys notice anything I didn’t? Is there anything that is more obvious from outside this displaced cluster fuck?

Does anyone else drink like this? I have read all the information about how bad alcohol is. I experience firsthand the negative effects on a weekly basis. Why then do I succumb to its lure every Friday night? Drink weekly recommended units in 5 hours, then feel sorry for myself feeling like shit Awake with anxiety and tremors 4 hours after going to bed , tossing and turning , palpations, and night sweats for a couple of hours before I eventually get back to sleep. Wake up Saturday morning and swear to myself that I need to stop. Actually stopping for 10 to 14 days, then convincing myself that my drinking isn't as bad as other people's, and it's okay to be like this. Why do I always forget how I feel when I have a drink? During the week I can really concentrate on my fitness and healthy eating, then when the weekend comes I ruin all the good work and make myself feel like a failure . So here goes yet another day one , hoping that one day I will be strong enough and wise enough to finally say no. Need to reset my clock