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Vuxten walked quietly next to Sergeant Addox, listening in on the rest of the platoon talking to one another on the chat channel. They were either taking bets on how long the little green mantid had been in cryostorage or bitching about the taste of the nutripaste or their water.
All good.
Addox stopped in front of the door that the little green one pointed at before settling back down on the top of Addox's helmet. Vuxten checked and saw that Addox was running his internal heat at three degrees above normal and raising the threshhold for dumping heat into his heat sinks or deploying the small cooling fins.
"Past. Open and there," the little greenie said. It settled back down and began gnawing on the beef jerky that Casey had run up for him.
"Casey, crack the door," Vuxten ordered. He opened the channel to the rest of the platoon. "Everyone, weapons off safe but fingers off the trigger."
One by one the icons went to amber.
Casey knelt down and started working on the door, bypassing it in only a few minutes. It took a few more minutes to break the weld holding the door closed and Casey took a minute to lube the track the door was set on.
"Ready?" Casey asked, holding up the two wires.
"Ready," Vuxten told him.
Casey touched the wires together and the door slid open. Helmet lights and shoulder lights illuminated the inside of the room with harsh white light for the first time in millions of years.
"Mantid automation, man," Addox said softly.
The computer was obvious. Quantum systems, supercooled, the piping repaired over and over again. The dangling superconductor wires woven through everything.
Vuxten saw the "Phasic Control Maintenance Manifold" right away. Looking at it gave him a headache as the psychic shielding jumped six points. The system was complex, the shielding and casings removed on half of the equipment.
"Dropping my psychic shielding five percent," Addox warned. He gave a low grunt. "Wuff, I can feel the tingle across the back of my teeth."
"471, talk with your ancestor, check the system, see what you guys can do," Vuxten said.
--roger roger-- 471 sent back. --better have turkey for us--
"I'll have Casey fab you up some turkey jerky," Vuxten promised.
--casey use too much lemon pepper-- 471 said, opening the clamshell.
The psychic protection clamped down hard enough the little mantid's knees buckled for a moment. He shook his head, the other dozen green mantids following suit. He climbed down Vuxten, moving across of the floor to the electrical conduits.
--it appears to run off of some form of power-- 471 sent.
Vuxten laughed.
--checky checky-- 471 said. --we will see what we can see--
Vuxten watched the greenies check out the computer systems, the phasic system, the wiring on the walls. He moved over and leaned against a computer console, watching everyone get to work.
"He's asleep," Casey said, jerking a thumb at the green mantid on top of Addox's helmet. "Poor little guy has some serious freezer burn. Probably been in cryostasis on and off since the Precursor War."
Vuxten nodded, remaining silent.
Long minutes passed while Vuxten chewed a piece of gum and watched.
"Glory, do you read?" Casey asked from where he was standing next to one of the computer consoles.
"I read you, Sergeant. Line's full of distortion and interference though," Glory answered.
"How's your dataslicing? Any good at it?" Casey asked.
Glory chuckled. "I'm a DS, what do you think?"
"We've got a Precursor Era computer system here, VI run. Can you do your thing and, you know, take over the system?" Casey asked.
There was a pleasant laugh. "No can do, Casey. Your pipeline is wide enough for me to talk, maybe do some data exchange, but the interference would cause too many errors and your pipeline is too thin for my fat ass."
"Heh, first time a woman's ever complained about the width of my pipe," Casey laughed.
"I'm hard to please," Glory laughed with him. "I'll help what I can, but you're going to have to depend on the greenies. 680 was in Digital Warfare Corps before transferring to the Telkan Marines," she said.
"680, can you lead everyone into cracking that computer open?" Vuxten asked.
--easy peasy lemon squeezy-- 680 sent back.
The greenies crawled over the equipment, using access hatches designed for them but not.
-----------------
Cordexen sat in his command chair, staring at the console he had moved in front of him. He had traced, as best he could with only limited permissions, the areas where the servitor caste had stopped responding for a long period before responding again.
It was a wandering, meandering path from the Deep Ore Miner Maintenance and Processing Bay that led the empty area on his map that Cordexen knew contained the Hive Queens chambers, the primary phasic control system, and the facility's master control computer systems.
He wracked his brain, trying to figure out how the mere passage of the bipeds could be disturbing the servitors. Perhaps they left behind some of their numbers to be devoured?
No, that would be done by primitives, and primitives didn't fashion high tech combat armor or work Substance W.
Cordexen knew he should be alarmed by an alien species invading the facility but he honestly could not muster up the emotion to care much. If they destroyed the facility, he would be free. If they busted down his door and shot him, he would be free. If they destroyed the computer and the phasic system, he would be free.
No matter what happened, as long as it changed the unending status quo, he would be free.
"Warning, unauthorized entry to computer mainframe detected," the facility VI suddenly said. "Security control alert: unauthorized entry to computer mainframe housing."
"Open the door. I will examine the breach," Cordexen said, sitting up.
"Unable to comply. Message is as follows," the VI said.
Cordexen slumped in his chair as the Queen's words were repeated back to him.
"Unauthorized breach to..." the computer started. "Access granted. Welcome 'little teapot', admin access granted. Maintenance access granted. Power user group 'all your base' has been created."
Cordexen perked up again, watching his screen. Data was flowing by at an incredible rate, the screen's refresh capability actually being overloaded by the amount of data flashing. The VI kept reciting groups being created, access being granted to groups, power users logging on.
He watched as the facility actually posted a maintenance update to his screen.
Half of the facility was dormant. The cryopods were at critical. The power was running at one tenth power. Life support was at bare minimum.
He felt the heaters kick on, blowing warm air into the control room.
Cordexen slowly unfolded from his chair, moving over and standing under the vent.
He raised his face up, closing the armored eyelids, relishing in the warmth.
He imagined he was standing outside.
----------------
Klakeka stirred as the lights came on in his command center. He heard the environmental system kick in and felt warm air pour from the vent, enveloping him in a warm blanket of heated air. His monitor was showing a deep level scan of the facility's status.
"Environmental system lockout lifted by admin power user 'hip hop soldier'," the VI stated. "Nutripaste lockout lifted by power user 'delicious delicious turkey'. Facility lockout under review by power user 'all the electrons to my yard'."
Klakeka stared at the monitor as data flashed by almost impossibly fast. User groups he had never heard of were taking over systems, rebooting some systems, powering down others, powering up the rest.
"Power user 'Great and Powerful Zig' has issued autonomous mining machine recall and maintenance phase," the VI reported.
"Define user 'Great and Powerful Zig'," Klakeka ordered.
"Cannot comply. Message is as follow," the VI said and Klakeka started to huddle in on himself.
"Hi. My name is Technical Sergeant Grade Six 'proton movement in high gravity low temperature semi-solid strange matter' but you may call me 538. If you shoot at us we'll kill you. This facility is under lockdown by the Terran Confederate Military. Please keep all hands and bladearms inside the vehicle and remain seated at all times. Question and answer period will be after full facility control. The war is over but we'll still kill you if you resist. Turkey is delicious and we will share it with you. End message," the VI said.
Klakeka just stared. "Computer, replay message."
The VI obediently obliged, repeating it.
Klakeka frowned slightly, his antenna crossing slightly.
"Computer, define... 'turkey'," Klakeka ordered.
"Cannot com... data loading. Loaded," the VI said. It suddenly showed a picture of a fat strange looking fowl. The feathers flew off of it, the head fell off, and it suddenly fell in boiling grease. It emerged looking golden brown and covered with a light crust of ground up grain flour. The skin and meat was pulled away, revealing moist white meat that dripped grease and juices.
Klakeka found himself salivating just staring at the image.
The meat was ripped away and dropped to cartoon green servitors, who were all dancing with strange little icons replacing their eyes to display happiness.
"Turkey," the VI stated with authority. "Is delicious."
"I would very much like some," Klakeka said softly.
"Cannot comp..." the VI started to say. "Do not resist. Resistance will be met with 15mm high explosive armor defeating phasic enhanced antimatter kinetic rounds delivered in groups. Compliance will be met with delicious turkey."
Klakeka kept salivating, watching the picture.
Comply? I'll do more than comply. I will put on a hat and dance like a Vurkeent at a mating ritual for a chunk of that delicious looking meat, he thought to himself. It sounds much more delicious than bullets.
----------------
Abriketa petted the little green servitor in his lap gently. He was able to generate enough of a psychic field that through contact he could ease its anxiety at not working on the task it had been ordered to complete. Its chitin was dull and flaky, waxy and distressed, but it huddled up against Abriketa in the cold and dark of the command center.
"Someone please talk to me," Abriketa mourned.
"Cannot comply. Message is as..." the computer suddenly cut off. It had been spouting gibberish for the last few minutes and Abriketa had tuned it out.
"Hi. My name is 'P2=G1(M1m2/r2^3)3' which is the universal law of phasic strength over distance accounting for gravity but you may call me '680'," the computer suddenly said.
"I am Abriketa," he said. Part of him, ancient commands from a queen long dead, wanted him to immediately storm out and kill this '680', but he ignored it, the command no longer having the power to induce anxiety or stress. "One of the facility security commanders. What of you?"
"I am a Technical Sergeant Grade Five with the Terran Confederate Military, specializing in computer system penetration and protection," the computer stated. It sounded different, like the words were almost tumbling over one another despite the steady cadence from the computer. "I'm only dataslicing your archive records so I can spare attention speak with you while I carry out my task."
"Are you real or is this another hallucination?" Abriketa asked.
He had once suffered hallucinations for the entire time he had been outside of the cryopod, his brain taking him back to the time he was in the creche learning to be a warrior caste. Not that the VI had cared. It had merely put him back in cryosleep.
"I'm real, but that's what a hallucination would say, isn't it?" the voice answered. "Huh, rare earth mining, like we suspected. Interesting, the liquid nickle-iron core is nearly 11% rare elements, down from 14%. You've been busy. Oops, sorry. What do you want to talk about?"
"Who are you?"
"I told you already. Call me 680, it takes forever for you non-technical types to say my name and you sound dorky," the voice said. It repeated the longer name, only with an accent that made the name sound mangled and stupid. "So, how long have you been here?"
Abriketa exhaled slowly through his abdomen, slumping down slightly. "Forever. I have been here forever. Since the Atrekna released their great war machines upon the Lanaktallan and us both, betraying us."
"So the Atrekna fired the first shot? Good to know. Willing to talk about it?" 680 asked. "Hang on, you've gotta be miserable."
Abriketa nodded. "I am indeed miserable."
The lights came on and the fans whirred to life. Abriketa felt warm air begin to circulate and sighed deeply.
"I thank you, 680," the massive mantid warrior said.
"How long have you been in the dark?" 680 asked.
"Since we slew the queens. We did not know that they had prepared for that eventuality and they entombed us all here, for all eternity," Abriketa asked. "The phasic regulators allow the computer to give orders to the mantid as if it was a queen. I am unable to countermand the computer's commands to the servitor castes."
"That's interesting," 680 said. "So the servitor caste's higher brain functions are controlled and suppressed?"
"Without the phasic regulator the servitor castes would return to primitive hunter gatherer reflexes," Abriketa said. He gave a sigh. "I so wish they could talk. I have been so lonely."
"Don't move. We have to reset the system. It'll come right back," 680 said.
The lights clicked off and the environmental system went dead.
Abriketa didn't care, still petting the servitor in his lap.
Even if it had only been a hallucination, being able to speak to another after so long meant he would die happy.
--------------
"How's it look?" Vuxten asked from where he was sitting in a chair designed for a massive mantid.
Addox had a good dozen green mantids huddled on his shoulders, on top of his helmet, and on his legs as he sat on the floor. Some were shivering, almost all of them were munching on turkey or beef jerky that Casey had ran off his nanoforge.
Another green mantid came in, started moving toward the computer, passed within a few feet of Addox and stopped. Its antenna lifted and it looked around, almost as if it was waking from a long sleep. It moved over next to another one of its kind.
"Food?" It asked.
"Is good," the one eating said. "Is turkey."
"Here, little guy," Addox said, holding out a piece of turkey. The little greenie took it and sat down next to its brethren.
"How's it look, Sergeant Addox?" Vuxten repeated.
"Pretty good. The phasic system is on its own dedicated systems, the software is all hard encoded, no way to patch it. It's different than the phasic systems used by the Confederacy to ensure no queen pops up and slams a hive-mind down on our Mantid allies and members," Addox said. Several little green servitors were in his lap and he was carefully petting them with one armored gauntlet. The ones on his lap had eaten more beef jerky and then gone to sleep. "If we want to disrupt it, we'll have to blow it in place."
"What about the active mantids? Any data on them?" Vuxten asked.
Addox nodded. "Three warrior caste are awake, pulled from cryostasis. That represents over half of the remaining warriors. No speakers, no queens, looks like most of the warriors and speakers were killed attacking the queens. There's about twenty active greenies, but the computer keeps sending them in here. There's only about fifty more in cryostasis. The remaining ones have largely succumbed to cryo-shock."
"How long?" Plunex asked.
"They've been down here for longer than anything I've ever seen. I'd say the Precursor War. They weren't hatched later. From the records 680 pulled, it looks like the computer would wake them up for emergencies it couldn't handle then refreeze them," Addox said. He gave a slight shudder. "They're the oldest living things I know of, frozen and thawed over and over for over a hundred million years."
"By the Digital Omnimessiah," Plunex said softly. "Talk about endless torment. May the Grave Bound Beauty comfort the damned."
Vuxten noticed that Casey was off to the side, doing something with a hologram projection. He shoved himself off of the chair and moved over to Casey.
"What are you doing, Sergeant Casey?" Vuxten asked.
Casey didn't look away from the hologram. "Back when I met Peak, oh, a hundred or so years back, she worked in psyops. Memetic Warfare Division," Casey said. He adjusted the colors slightly. "You've probably seen her handiwork a couple dozen times."
"OK," Vuxten said. The image was blurry to him, looked like it slightly overlapped itself over four columns.
"Well, explaining concepts to these guys is going to be difficult. We want to make sure they understand if they try to fight us, even if they overwhelm you and your people with their psychic power, Addox and I will rip them apart with our bare hands," Casey said. "Now, funny thing Peak taught me about memes is something I'm going to put to work."
Vuxten waited a moment. Finally, he tabbed up another piece of stimgum and sighed. "What's the weird thing, Sergeant?"
Casey shifted an image slightly. "OK, the more text on a meme, the less effective it is. Nobody wants to read your blathering manifesto, they want to look, laugh, and move on, or get the data quickly. The less words you use, the better. If you have a dual meme, they need to be on top of one another or side to side, instantly comparable, not 'turn over' or 'next page' crap," Casey said. He adjusted some of the lines again. "Now, a properly done image meme doesn't need text to convey its message. In some ways, the less words the more information you can have in the meme."
"What's the weird thing?" Vuxten repeated.
"A good, properly done meme, bypasses language and cultural barriers, even species barriers. We might not know anything about them, but there is a way to communicate, and that's memes," Casey said. "680 is talking to one through the computer, but the language drift and syntax morphology is damn near insurmountable outside of the computer. I want to make sure my meme works right and we don't have to fight these guys."
"So you're going to meme the warriors to death?" Vuxten asked.
"More like meme them to life," Casey said. He laughed. "There's an old classic song I could parody, right there."
"Think it'll work?" Vuxten asked.
"Might be a good idea to try this before we blow up the mountain, sir," Casey said, turning and giving a grin. "If it doesn't, I'm pretty sure we just blow the geothermal in place and ride out on a tsumani of lava."
"Hardy har har," Vuxten said, turning away. "Let me know when your magic meme is ready."
"I'll need a map of the facility, sir," Casey said, his voice distracted.
"Then I'll make sure you get it," Vuxten said.
---------------
General No'Drak moved into the situation room, putting a cigarette between his mandibles as he moved up to the holotank. He'd managed to get a good night's rest and a meal, but once again duty pulled him back.
The Precursors were largely defeated. Mopup was down to the infantry units. The tanks and strikers were largely cycled back for maintenance and crew relief.
Great Most High/General A'armo'o was requesting complete refit of his tanks. More than a refit, a "Service Life Extension" performed on them to bring them up to "parity or near-parity with Confederate allied military forces" that would require the least amount of retraining for his troops.
No'Drak considered it for a long moment. The decision was his, all the way to deciding if he wanted to offer a place in the Confederate military to the Lanaktallan soldiers.
It had proven highly effective in the case of the Warsteel Herd.
General No'Drak thumbed the approval button.
Next up was priority and No'Drak stared at it.
A list of template requests from that psycho Casey.
The most recent one was a recon drone with holoemitters calibrated for Mantid eyes. It had to be able to problem solve navigation issues, among other things, but didn't require a VI since his data bandwidth was low and depending on spooky particle boojums.
Oddly enough, there had also been a template request for turkey meat with Mantid vitamin additions as well as beef of the same kind.
General No'Drak frowned.
What are you up to? he asked.
Next up was notification that his request for a full Elven Court had been approved and was enroute from Telkan with an ETA of less than four days.
After that was meteorological reports on the damage all the atomic weapons and the Precursors had done to the ecosystem.
Well, at least there's going to be living people to worry about their ecosystem, No'Drak thought to himself as he settled in and began reading the reports.
Behind him, Second Most High Ge'ermo'o entered. He slaved his monitor to No'Drak's so he could see what decisions the General was making. No'Drak authorized it with a tap of his bladearm almost absently, noting the radiation levels in the sea water was far lower than initial projections.
Ge'ermo'o sat and watched the data Smokey 'No was looking over and contemplating why the Treana'ad officer made each decision he did.
He was a most observant officer, he was sure he could deduce, given time and information, each of General No'Drak's command decisions and the reasons behind them.
------------------------
Cordexen opened his eyelids at the hissing noise. He looked at the door and saw the bright sparkle of a fusion torch cutting its way through the endosteel. It was a round half-circle, roughly the size of a russet servitor.
Cordexen reluctantly moved away from the air blowing through the vent and his fantasies of standing in a field of grass. He moved to his command chair and sat down, watching.
After a moment the metal fell to the floor. There was burst of mist and then the strangest thing rolled through the hole.
It had two tracks providing mobility. It was a large box with a row of infrared sensors with a pair of infrared projectors on each side to provide it with the ability to see. The little thing rolled into the middle of the room and shifted until it was facing him.
It suddenly played a little tune that Cordexen found pleasing. A mathematical arrangement of audible tones.
Suddenly a hologram flickered to life and Cordexen stared at it.
It was designed for his compound eyes to see clearly, the colors pleasing and well defined.
It was two columns of three pictures. Drawn, stylized pictures that made the subjects enjoyable to look at even if the colors were arranged in a slightly humorous fashion.
On the left it showed a warrior caste Mantid holding his rifle and pointing it at the door. The picture below showed bipeds and green servitors coming in and the warrior caste mantid shooting at them. The bottom picture showed the warrior caste mantid dead in the chair with little skulls for eyes and symbols of displeasure and sadness over the dead warrior.
On the right it showed the warrior mantid's rifle on the floor, the warrior mantid's arms and bladearms were lifted up. The one below showed the bipeds coming in and the warrior mantid holding a little stick with a square of white cloth on it and waving. The bottom picture showed the warrior mantid eating turkey with symbols indicating happiness around it.
They wish me to surrender or they will kill me, Cordexen thought. If I fight, they will kill me. They are familiar enough with my people to create this image. It can be clearly seen, the colors are pleasant, and the artistic style is stylized to be pleasing to me. They know my people and this message tells me that they will not only try to kill me if I resist, they know they can kill me.
He looked at the little robot and it played the tune again. This time the back opened and Cordexen flinched, expecting death to come from the little drone.
Instead it popped up a plas stick with a white cloth on it.
I would do anything just to see the sun once more, Cordexen thought.
He moved forward, picking up the flag from the little robot.
It made happy beeping noises.
The back slid open and steam billowed out. Cordexen jerked back reflexively. He could smell cooked meat, strange spices, and his sensitive antenna were almost overwhelmed by the first taste of something besides nutripaste he had sensed in lifetimes.
A cooked fowl raised up with a little triumphant tune.
"TuRkEy Is DeLiCiOuS" appeared above the little robot in maintenance runes. It turned and clattered away as Cordexen took his two prizes and returned to his command chair.
At the first bite Cordexen had admit the robot was right.
Turkey was delicious.
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Alright, its been a truly chaotic fortnight, that is no lie.
​
Some big shit went down, but this isn't about that.
More will come on that, but if you want to get up to speed then click here.
We have seen a huge spike in numbers, mod-mail has gone into over-drive with ''why was my comment/post deleted'' Whining, Auto-mod has been taking no prisoners and there are bans and bets a plenty.......
​
New levels of degeneracy have been reached, its all catalogued for you below.
Noobs read these posts carefully, when you say dumb shit we hold you accountable to following through on dumb shit or you don't get to play in the cesspool anymore....
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We have ALOT of shit to get through, so dive in and then we can fuck off to enjoy the weekend....
​
Also just a friendly reminder:
make a bet?
Tag a Mod
Don't tag Auto-Mod though, bitch is cranky......
​
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HIGHLIGHTS AND UPDATES
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- The media jackals have been sniffing around again and have been in contact with the Mods.
We see the chaos everywhere, so Mods have made our OFFICIAL RESPONSE: BOOMER AND AUTIST VERSIONS public so y'all are up to speed.
​
- Our Euro-Trash connection, u/WolfofAnarchy has made a 500K YOLO on IBG.
After a comprehensive DD piece posted a while ago, user has back their Autism in for early retirement and free flowing tendies.
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- Purveyor of the finest Beverages, u/SuntoryBeverage has jumped on the big boy YOLO train as well, punting 300K into MEP.
They did however, post up a DD piece on said YOLO prior, another glowing example of putting your money into whatever you gleaned and copy/pasted from Hot crapper. (jokes..... it was a decent write up)
​
- u/bshezza has drunk the kool-aid, making made a $350,000 YOLO on TYR.
There is a bet attached here, so more on this below...
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- u/theoriginaluser01 has made a big boy YOLO into RAC, rounding out the seriously large plays with a ''bio-tech speccie buy out from big pharma'' hay-maker.

- u/DareBottle has finally explained their asx_bot in detail.
This is actually a really interesting/in-depth look at our collective Autism from the 'boy and his bot' and well worth a read.
​
- u/BOTANIXtoTENDOLLA had a truly magnificent episode during their Meltdown over GME. We have been keeping a tight leash on these posts, but this one was truly a unique rant and demanded to be preserved.
Caution, reading their post may cause severe haemorrhaging......
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- u/timbuckley66 has donated $200 to the Autists supporting Z1P fund. Enjoy that shiny new flair young Timmy....
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​
NEW BETS
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- u/24caratcommodes made a bet with the mods that BBUS would open at $1.70 or higher after the great Red Monday Open.
Credit to this user for developing a bear thesis that they posted up on Big Daddy sub (got deleted), but the theory was blown apart by a nice shrek-coloured dildo the next morning courtesy of the split personality exchange we all know and love.
Perhaps they should have invested in DLC instead....
​
- u/sweatygooche has made a bet with the mods, claiming that the indefinitely stalled NVA rocket will take off too 20c by the end of February or its ban time.
Maybe this is the spark needed to ignite said stalled rocket, or maybe the mighty Tom will look unfavorably upon the lack of, ahem, tribute......
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- u/limputg has gotten on board with the body hair bets, stating that 4DS trades at 30c by the end of feb or they will submit a film of eating their own pubes.
It baffles Mods as to why this phenomenon has caught on here, but hey if it keeps us entertained then go crazy.....
​
- Not to be outdone in the consumption of bodily refuse, u/jamesnangs has upped to ante and has gone on the record that JAT will touch 2.5c by the end of Monday 8th or they will eat their own shit.
We don't know why, we just know that is their wish.
And the market provided opportunity for you to act out your pervy scat fetish, yet you were nowhere to be found....
Folks, can you guess what comes Next?????????
​
- u/tuzymandias got in on the act as well, promising that if Z1P hit $10 on Monday they would swallow a sweet load.
Well......... here is the link.
I still feel dirty....
​
- Sub veteran and owner of the ASX_Bets most coveted flair, u/kooksy_monster has made a pact to memorialize their AVA diamond hands by getting some Ink when AVA hits $1.
We will not need to follow our favorite dole bludger up on this claim, mods know they are an autist with a code and shall post up if the mark is hit.
​
- u/bshezza was freed from ban captivity after they made a $350,000 YOLO on TYR.
There is a bet attached, u/oxymoreme has bet against the shezz, claiming that for every 1% up till the end of FEB they will take a 1 week ban.
We enjoy an accumulative ban, its like compound interest, Scotty would be so proud.....
​
- u/luner124 made the commitment to order custom ASXBETS number plates if LKE finished green on Wed Feb 5th.
Let the record show that whilst questionable bodily fluid tributes seem to make green candles, custom number plates seems to be the recipe for red ones, as LKE continued on its merry way down that day....
You'll have to pimp your ride with some alternative bling...........
​
- u/Evilshogun and u/xxt3nt4c10n have a bet running on LKE.
One users likes the LKE, the other no likely the LKE, someone is getting a ban if it misses or hits the 40c mark by Friday 12th, that's all we really need to keep in our short attention span.
​
- As far as we can tell, u/1stPostISwear has missed the 1st post on their convoluted double bet with BRN.
This was a fucked up scenario for Mods to follow, but u/jbent has provided you all with a little video containing just the right amount of spite to try and send their fellow conspirator packing......
BUT WAIT!!!
u/jbent09 is in mourning this weekend.
The scintillating, raw, oddly sexually charged chemistry between these 2 degenerates has been strangely compelling, but u/1stPostISwear has pulled the ultimate ghosting, deleting their entire reddit account and vacating the reddit universe.
Was this a jilted love story gone wrong?
Was it knowing they had fucked up with the bet?
was it the pressure of becoming another failed Prophet?
All we know is that when you leave the table before the end of the game, you lose it all.
So u/1stPostISwear will be receiving a Perma-Ban, albeit a theoretical one...
​
Love, it appears, is fickle indeed.
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- u/nomadnobad has jumped on the LKE train, with a $1 by Easter or Ban bet.
Train is currently boarding, a few have purchased tickets to feast on tendies or bust in the dining car.
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- u/phishbaron and u/nundee have a bet running on RNT. The loser of this bet has agreed to donate $1K to charity and post proof on the sub.
There will be no banning here, unless there is a failure to come through then there will be a fucking lot of banning. Seriously though, this reminds me of the Salty Toppings Fight card charity bets we ran a few months ago, hats off lads for doing the good thing....
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BANS
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- u/itsdankreddit has finally lost a ban bet on DW8. For the record, this use has won every bet up until now so whilst its an impressive ride for the cycling trader, it had to close out sometime.
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- u/markz91 has been banned for 6 months after a coward gains post drew the ire of some of our more attentive users.
Baby Mod u/mcfucking asked for further proof of the claim and the user has been conspicuously absent since then....
We take our gains seriously people, make a claim and don't back it up at your peril......
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- u/Beavoir was banned for 1 month after calling out the hairy bear, only to find the bear had out-stonked them and gone temporarily bull.
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- u/DareBottle comes in with their second mention in the post, but this one is for a ban after PEN failed to reach 20c. enjoy the month off, that bot better be predicting tendies for all upon your return.
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- u/MS_Travels has been banned for failing to come good on a proof or ban.
Flog.
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- u/drag0nb0at, u/ASXrockets69420, u/bruinjack, u/snitchles007, were all banned for 3 months after various 'can ASX_Bets organise a short squeeze' posts.
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- u/ssayrus has received a Perma-Ban for continually spamming Auto Mod with MYR pump posts and comments.
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- u/Trader786 has also received a Perma-Ban for the same offence
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- u/Dependent_Will_5798 has been banned for shilling a silver pump website repeatedly. I mean seriously...........
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- u/redlegs1123 has been banished for 3 months after betting that GME would close below 50 the week after the rally. At least he doesn't have to read posts from retards anymore.
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- u/Maj11k has been banned for 3 months for an attempted short squeeze call to arms.
User seriously needs to learn what the % actually means on shorts.........
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- u/Xsouleater and u/jarfour offered themselves as sacrifices to the random ban length act for survey posts, earning a 64 day and a 128 day holiday respectively.
However, we really needed to flag a special shout out to u/NezyReddit, whose first post on the sub earnt them a 1024 day ban in accordance with the survey post exponential ban length program.
Mods thought that was epic, but then u/ItsSpyroTheBandicoot rolled the dice and levelled up to a 2048 day ban.
But, if you really want to indulge in this frenzy go and pay your respects here, this user is currently serving a 8192 day ban...
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Exponential ban gains for the mods every-time someone rolls the dice, and u/phantom_hax0r loves them dice rollin games...
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calls on bans people!!!
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TLDR: Πρώτα για να αποκωδικοποιήσετε το πολύ μεγάλο χρονικό διάστημα που δεν διαβάζει παίρνει μια λαμπερή νέα αίσθηση, βεβαιωθείτε ότι πληκτρολογείτε πρώτα στο σχόλιό σας

Etho was imposter 12 out of 21 rounds and the lobby became the saltiest I've ever heard them. Etho had a great night killing constantly. Despite the snippiness and saltiness everyone seemed to have a ton of fun and were just laughing the whole time. The times after the Round number are based on Tango's POV, as always. Twitch links altered for youtube links where possible. Youtube: Tango's POV (Tango edited out the first two rounds so the times don't match anymore), Evil's POV, Impulse's POV, Brody's POV
Round 1: 25:44 Etho/Evil's POV
A mess of proximity chat. Bad start to the game and nearly unwatchable. :(
Round 2: 35:40 Etho/Impulse's POV

MrsTango sees Etho kill Skizzleman and Etho reports first but Etho is saved by the server crashing so he doesn't get voted out. Etho: Hey everybody! MrsTango: I just watched Etho kill Skizzleman! Etho: Saved by the server.
Etho: MrsTango, you saw nothing. Brody: So Etho, you were actually really imposter? Etho: I didn't want to kill you first, Brody, 'cause I keep killing you first. Brody: Yeah, I was like hold on, the lights went out, okay, I'm gonna die right next to Etho and you didn't. Etho: It would've been an easy kill but I was trying to be a little nicer. Brody: No, don't be nice to me. Joker: Yeah, don't ever be nice to him. Etho: We always take the same path so you're always first on my list. Brody: It's good to get rid of me first. It's smart.

Etho: All right, the fun starts now! Tango's gonna die first, it's gonna be just like old times.
Round 3: 38:28 Etho/Skizzleman's POV
Unfortunately, Skizz doesn't have the game captured when he starts the round but it figures it out a minute or two in.
Round 4: 44:44 Etho/Impulse's POV

Brody: All right Etho. I knew, I knew. Saw Etho vent right after he killed Endless and I knew you were iffy when I saw you do that task. Tango: Do you have any defense for this? Etho: I don't like how he's pushing on me like this. Brody: That's because I just watched you do it. I don't even know why you would do that when the reactor was going off. Etho: I had issues with getting into the vent. Um, I would've had time if it didn't mess up on me. I pressed spacebar and my tab list came up. It was a disaster. Tango: Curse you, vent technology! Brody: Is this Scooby-do right now? 'If it weren't for you darn kids'. Etho: There's too many kills, I'm not going to fight this one.

Round 5: 51:41 The Endless/Tango's POV
Context: In a previous round Endless and Joker just vote Impulse (crewmate) off on a whim so this is Impulse getting Endless back.

Impulse: I'm pretty sure it was Endless; I feel it in my bones. Endless: I felt like Impulse might have been leaving... Impulse: I haven't seen him since we left the table when the match started but I feel it in my bones. Etho: Oh, there's some salt flying!
Vindication for Impulse while Tango is flustered. Joker: Don't act surprised, Endless! I watched you walk away from the body falling over, dude! Impulse: You guys ready to follow my lead yet? Endless: I'm voting Impulse. Impulse: Of course you are. Etho: Impulse, that was salt the first round though right? I just wanted to make sure, maybe you actually saw something. Impulse: No, I had zero information. But it is nice to know that he's imposter and getting thrown off. Tango: Etho, what do you think. Etho: I'm voting Endless. Impulse: And now Tango knows he has no chance and has to vote Endless as well, his partner. Tango: I don't know, I don't have enough information but sure. Etho: Joker told you he saw a body flop and Endless there!

Round 6: 1:00:40 TheEndless/Impulse's POV
Round 7: 1:11:37 EvilNotion's POV/Brody's POV
Round 8: 1:17:23 Skizzleman's POV/Brody's POV

Brody: Hi Etho. Etho with a sh!t-eating grin: I caught Brody venting. Brody: How did you catch me venting? When? Etho: Uh, I checked Admin. There was somebody in electrical and then all of a sudden there was someone in Med and when I went to Med there was Brody coming out of it. Brody: Look at you.

Round 9: 01:34:20 Etho/Tango's POV

Joker: Tango's not dead first so I think it's Tango. Etho: Oh, the salt is flying! Fight fight fight!!
Joker: Someone want to defend themselves before I start accusing? Etho: "..." Etho is able to manufacture enough doubt that no one votes for him except Joker.
Etho: You are incorrect, my sir, and I would appreciate it if you stop voting me. That's my threat.

TheEndless: Etho has transcended Etho. He reported the body in a completely different location than he reported the body! Tango: I was very confused too.
EvilNotion: Etho had the amazing Canadian moment where 'well, you're wrong, good sir and I would appreciate it if you stopping voting for me!' Tango: He's very polite!
Round 10: 01:45:49 Etho/Tango's POV
Round 11: 01:52:25 Etho/EvilNotion's POV
Context: Skizz has been killed by Etho first many times this stream.
Skizz: Etho, in grade school, did you have a bully who picked on you? 'Cause I just wanna drive something home: that wasn't me. I don't know why you're killing me so fast every round, man. Etho: I'm sorry. You kinda go off on your own a lot. That's what gets ya. You gotta stick with the group.
Round 12: 02:04:36 JokeMrsTango
Context: MrsTango outfoxes Tango, Etho, and Evil with her fast kills. They completely disregard MrsTango to their downfall.

Impulse: I feel like Etho wouldn't have killed Skizz based on what Skizz said last round. (See the clip above for what Skizz said.) Tango: I don't think Etho sees names, he just sees bodies. Etho: Oh, I would do it. I would do it :D Impulse: Oh, you are a sociopath. Etho: Not in front of that many people though.

Tango: There was so much killing, I did not think it was MrsT. Etho: That got real real fast. Brody: Etho, Evil, and Tango, you were basically the Spiderman meme leaving MrsTango out of there.
Tango: That was some of the most aggressive killing and not being caught. Etho: I don't know why you were still sussing me. Tango: I'll be honest, I'm flattering you here but when there's a lot of fast killing there's certain people I look at. Etho: Uh huh.
Etho: People always make fun of me for buying pre-builds. Tango: Etho, you're a pre-buyer!? :O Etho: I used to do customs but they always had some stupid problem with them. Tango: I just know you and I feel like you're the definition of [a custom build guy]. Etho: I used to do over-clocking and all this stupid stuff but it just saves so much time to get a pre-build.
Map Switch to Polus
Round 13: 02:22:08 Etho/MrsTango

Etho kills Skizz first for the 18th time in a row. Etho: Skizzle's like the new Tango.
MrsTango kills Tango and Etho kills Impulse together at lights. Tango: Really? With Impulse right there? OHHHH That Etho/MrsT kill!!!

Etho: MrsTango joined me on the doublekill it was so good. MrsTango: I'm so proud of myself :D Tango: Well done! Etho: That was slick, MrsTango. Brody: You ready for a stat? Etho's been imposter 54.55% of the time. Etho: But I'm innocent next round, that's the way this works. Brody: We're voting him off first, just call emergency meeting.
Skizz: I wanna talk to all of you. I love you all. Etho: Sorry Skizz. Skizz: Etho, you're dead to me.
Round 14: 02:31:50 Evil's POV/Tango's POV
Round 15: 02:39:07 Etho/MrsTango
Tango: Etho! Can we just calm it down, now all right? Etho: MrsTango, you are a killing machine. Endless: Etho killed me and he reported even before I fell to the floor! Etho: Well, I know you're the only one with vitals information. Endless: You're my least favourite person, that's all I'm saying.
Round 16: 02:44:34 Etho/Joker's POV (will be deleted from twitch in 2 months)

Joker: We're just gonna vote Etho out right away, right? Etho: I dare you Joker, I dare you. Joker: I'll do it.
Etho: Brody, who you voting? Etho: I'm voting for you Etho 'cause I'm done. I'm done. Etho: Well, I'm voting you then with no info. Brody: That's fine, that's fine. Endless: Got your back, Brody. Brody: Thanks buddy. Etho: Oh come on, what is this. Skizz: If this is the only way I can kill Etho, I'll do it! Tango: I got your back, Etho, nevermind, not good enough. Endless: Just go away, Etho, even if you're not imposter. Etho: Joker, I hate you! Tango: You guys and your past round drama. Joker: I told you I was gonna do it, Etho. Etho: It was a joke!

Endless: Did Joker just sink his partner?! Etho: He did, he pulled the trigger. I wouldn't have minded early, but that was a key moment, Joker. You got balls.
Round 17: 02:51:42 Etho/Endless

Tango: Let's be friends! Etho couldn't possibly be the killer! ... Hooooow? Brody: Throwing this out here, maybe it's 3rd imposter stuff, Etho, you know where this is coming. Last person I saw near Tango was you. Endless: I'm pretty sure it's Etho. (Somehow Brody gets voted off lmao)

The group is super salty about Etho being Imposter all night (at this point it's 11/17 rounds) and the seemingly lack of randomization.
Etho: Tango, there's a reason I didn't wanna to vouch for you on med because then I had to kill ya. Endless: Etho killed everybody! Etho: I'm not it this time, guys, I promise. Tango: I'm still voting Etho by the way. Etho: Oh my goodness. Joker: It's Etho.
Round 18: 02:59:28 Evil's POV/Brody's POV
Everyone is super salty that Etho is dead first because they can't vote him off xD

Impulse: It's about time it's not Etho! Tango: Oh, I can't even vote him, what the crap, this is dumb! I'm literally hammering on the button to try and vote him off. Joker: We can just skip this, we don't need to- Skizz: I think it's actually still Etho. Tango: I'm gonna vote Etho, yeah. I'm voting Etho. Joker: This is really next level, Etho, I'm impressed. Brody: Yeah, he threw himself into lava. Skizz: We have to all stick it to Etho. First of all, I literally saw nobody. Can we just send a message and everybody skip. Joker: I mean, I think we were gonna do that anyway. Tango: That's what a self-[reporter] would want. Skizz: Etho, I love you buddy, I love you, but I want you to see all these people who don't care that you're dead! Etho: Oh, there's some salt flowing through the tears! Tango: Hey, shut up, you're dead, killer! Skizz: No talking, corpse! Etho: Well, I've never been dead, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Tango: Yeah, well, learn! MrsTango: losing it Evil: Oh god I love you Etho.

Round 19: 03:08:18 Etho/Brody's POV

Skizz gets killed by Etho for the 41st time. Skizz: At this point there's no way he's not enjoying it.

The salt continues.
Etho: I'm innocent, I'm innocent! Joker: When in doubt, vote Etho out. That should be our motto. Impulse: Game broken/randomization not working. Endless: What hacking are you doing, Etho, what's the deal?
Etho: I feel like this happens everytime I play, like someone gets it a lot. Impulse: Exactly, it's not hitting a clean randomizer. Etho: Hoo! They bought it. They didn't suspect my hacks! Brody: Did someone say that that was their last one? Evil: Yeah, I might have another one in me if y'all do. MrsTango: I'm up for one more. Tango: I got 50 in me, just letting you know. Endless: Unless Etho is imposter, then I quit. You have to announce it if you're imposter Tango: This week has been so weird, it was Grian 7 times in a row, now it's Etho like 100 times in a row. Etho: I got a coin with two heads on it. Brody: Voting Etho! Tango: Same. Etho: Hey, come on! Joker: Hey Etho, I love you buddy.
Round 20: 03:14:23 Etho/Impulse's POV

Tango: Oh, look, he still killed someone too! Etho, impressive! MrsTango from beyond the grave just laughs. Etho: Oh come on, you guys aren't actually gonna go for it? Tango: Anyone who hasn't voted yet is a failure. Impulse: Are we just memeing this now? Etho: You guys are insane! No logic anymore? Tango: What do you mean, are we memeing, of course, of course we're voting him off! Is there any other possible option? Impulse: Oh, Evil skipped. Etho: Evil's a standup guy. He's got my back. Brody: Or he's the other imposter! Etho: Good luck you guys, you just lost a crewmate. Joker: Worth it. Impulse: Oh, wow, did I ever get screwed! I finally get imposter and they just vote off my partner for giggles straight away. Are you kidding me! Are you kidding-what am I supposed to do now?

Etho has broken everyone and the game devolves into just everyone talking out loud as a pseudo-proximity chat and it's hilarious.

Impulse: You guys suck so bad right now. You voted off Etho as a joke, I finally get imposter and I almost got it! Endless: Was it Etho again, for real? Impulse: Yes! Etho: Unlucky partner there, Impulse. Tango: It was seriously Etho again, oh my god. Brody: You guys remember when Tango gave me grief for voting Etho everytime. Look, he's good at this game, it's just good enough to have him off of here. Endless: I say we play until Etho isn't imposter. Impulse: That's crazy. Tango: Right! That sounds like a ridiculous statement but we play until Etho is not the imposter. Etho: Going all night! Skizz: I have to be somewhere next week. Tango: We may be here until 4am, kids, I'm not sure. Joker: Or until next week. It may take awhile. Evil: Guys, I know there's been some snippiness which has been hilarious but I've been laughing my butt off so hard this last round I'm crying!

Round 21: 03:22:43 Endless/Evil's POV

Etho: RUN RUN RUN Impulse: You're all gonna die. Skizz: So, uh, Etho again, right?

Tango tries to be 3rd imposter and Etho takes it upon himself to defend him.

Etho: What? No no no, Tango wasn't anywhere near there. Brody: I thought we were voting Etho. Choose me over Tango but it's not me though. Endless: That's a glowing endorsement. Tango: Wow, how can I not believe you at this point. I'm the imposter. Etho: I don't know how you could do that, Tango. I don't think that's possible. Tango: I didn't get any votes!

As soon as Tango is able to vote, he votes Etho.

Etho: I want to take this opportunity to defend Tango again. Seems like a stand-up guy. Tango: That's cool, 'cause I voted for you. MrsTango: laughs Skizz: Here's what I think is happening. I'm voting for Etho. I think Etho is so next level he's killing slower. Brody: Well, he does that, he does both but I don't think he's doing this time but he could. Etho: Oh good, Tango survived again. Tango: Yeah, that's all that matters to you, Etho. Etho: That's my mission this round. Let's be buddies. Tango: I'm with you Etho, let's go.
Etho: I would like to take this moment to defend Tango, my queen! She is innocent. Er, he is innocent. Tango: Voting Etho. Skizz: I'm telling you at this time at this point it's mathematically stupid to not vote for Etho. Evil: You are awful pushy, Skizz. Tango: He called me his queen? What?? Etho: I can't defend Skizz like I can defend Tango so it's up to you guys. Tango: Etho! Queen?? We have to talk, my friend. Brody: More like drama queen, am I right? Tango: Mmhmm. There we go, that's good. Etho: Still voted me... Tango, my queen, I accept your judgement. everybody loses it MrsTango: What is happening!
Endless: This game is dumb! It's Etho! Tango: Confirmed. Impulse: Evil, what was it like being partners with Etho? Evil: It was awesome. He's a good guy. Impulse: He is a good guy.

Tango: Etho, this has been an amazing night. You did well. Etho: It was fun. I got my killing satisfied for quite a while. Tango: You're good for at least 3 years. Impulse: After the first like 10 rounds I bet his blood pressure didn't go up anymore after he got imposter. Etho: Just a normal state of being. Tango: Just that frustration: againnnnnn, ahhhh. Joker: He doesn't even clean the knife anymore it's super red. Tango; Right, right, he's just stabbing with a bloody knife at this point. Evil: At some point you start to get imposter's guilt like aw man stop, I don't wanna be it. Etho: I was like, I had a menu: I'm going to kill this person this time and then that person...
Endless: Running around like a champion. You go away, Etho. Jerk. MrsTango: It's like the champion prance after the race. Endless: Running around like a boss, you're like 'hey, I'm the best'. Etho: The salt of my victims, I love it.

Hello everyone!
I apologise sincerely for the delay in predictions this week, I had a lot happening, Blood tests for glucose levels and such, a Job interview, overall not feeling super well, but I didn't want to let you guys down.
This is a fun card, not an amazingly stacked card, but a fun one, and an end to the question "Can two team mates destroy each other in the Octagon?".
(c) - Champ
(D) - Debut
FLS - Fight Lose Streak
FWS - Fight Win Streak
NS - No Streak
(#x) - Rank in Division
Lets go!
Prelims
Women’s Flyweight
Gillian Robertson (#13) (9-5-0, NS) v Miranda Maverick (8-2-0, 6 FWS) - This is an incredible match up. Robertson is a savage, one of the most underrated and dangerous submission artists in the division who hasn’t really gotten a strong hold on climbing the ranks. Regardless of her record, she has an excellent ground game, she works incredibly hard to get the fight to the ground, and when she does, she instantly works for a submission position, and most of the time, that works and her opponents succumb to pressure and present their neck or limb. Now, a lot of her opponents are aware of the threats on the ground and now work to avoid and defend takedowns, and thus keep the fight on the feet. This is key for Maverick, and I firmly believe that Maverick can quickly outpower Robertson, she’s an incredibly physically strong fighter who has great power in her hands, and being so young in her career. She has made great strides in her career since her debut in Invicta in which she dominated most of her fights. She has pretty effective striking, and she throws leather when needed, but most of her best work is done on the ground, she’s a very good submission artist and even though she’s probably not going to force the fight to the ground against a great grappler like Robertson, she would know how to get out of submission positions and work back to the feet. I love Robertson, she’s an animal, but she’s relatively one dimensional, and I love what I see in Miranda. So, another hype train i'm gonna ride for a little longer…
Maverick via KO R2
Welterweight
Gabe Green (9-3-0, NS) v Philip Rowe (D) (7-2-0, 7 FWS) - This is a great fight between two newcomers, Green had a fantastic debut against Rodriguez, and even though he did lose, he did manage to put on an incredible performance, he even came in as a late replacement so this wasn’t a full camp performance and yet he still landed 120 plus strikes, and he ate shots from Daniel Rodrigeuz for 15 minutes, it was a beautiful, violent fight. I love how Green fights, he has an interesting defensive shell and he gives off a lot of different looks that allowed him to land a few decent shots on Rodriguez. Green will no doubt look a little bit different this time around because he has had a full camp and is more prepared for this fight. Rowe has turned around his career since his two back to back losses at the start of his professional career. Nothing but submissions and knockouts on his record, but in regards to this fight, he has one major advantage and that’s his reach, he’s very long, and has a 7.5 inch reach advantage, if he can avoid the pressure of Green (and Green is the type of fighter to push forward nonstop), and maybe take the fight to the ground, I can see Rowe getting a slick submission in, because from what I can see when it comes to Green’s chin, it’s pretty damn solid. So the best bet for Rowe in my opinion is to take it to the ground, and slip in a choke.
Rowe via Sub R2
Featherweight
Ricky Simon (17-3-0, 2 FWS) v Brian Kelleher (22-11-0, NS) - Any fight that has Ricky Simon in it, sign me up to watch it end to end because Simon is a specimen. I could easily copy and paste what i wrote about Simon when he fought Pirrello, but this time it’s a little bit different, it’s at featherweight and he will no doubt be carrying more mass, exuding more energy when he throws punches, or slams opponents, and that’s a bit dangerous when coming against someone who has fought in Featherweight beforehand in Kelleher, but the skillset and the power will still be there, i’m just weary about his cardio, Simon has excellent cardio at Bantamweight, but at Featherweight that’s a whole different question. Simon is incredible at creating pressure and throwing everything he has into every round, wild striking, vicious wrestling and a non-stop pace that is as exhausting for us as it is for his opponent, and that’s a good thing. Simon is facing a very durable and experienced, well rounded fighter in Kelleher though. Kelleher has an interesting array of techniques, with his signature, most mastered technique being a guillotine, but his stance (a somewhat blocky wrestling/striking hybrid) allows him to stand firm, defend any takedowns and throw hard, and with Kellehers proclivity to takedown and wrestle, his stance also allows him to dip and level change effortlessly, he’s a very good wrestler as well so he has a huge variety of weapons he can use to defeat Simon, but honestly, i’m still riding a Simon hype train, and I feel like by the time Kelleher throws something, Simon would be somewhere else, out of view and attacking, Simon is fast, durable, exceptionally well rounded and always entertains. Lets go Simon!
Simon via UD
Catchweight (140)
Andre Ewell (17-6-0, 2 FWS) v Chris Gutierrez (15-3-2, NS) - This is an interesting match up. Ewell is someone who a lot of people kinda overlook because of how talent rich the division is, but if there’s one thing you need to keep an eye out for with Ewell, it’s his volume, he just throws, and throws, and throws. He is a kickboxer at heart, and his length and range allow him to adjust his style of attacking to fit the situation. He can keep at bay aggressive fighters by hitting then evading, he can push forward relatively aggressively, but he’s somewhat smart about his range whenever he strikes. His left straight is by far his best weapon, but he does have one flaw, and that is he looks maybe too loose on the feet at times, if you look at the Jonathan Martinez fight, you’ll notice that he was milliseconds away from being cleanly hit by Martinez’s super fast kicks, you can’t take that risk when you fight someone like Gutierrez. Gutierrez is a powerful striker, everything he throws is just… dangerous, and sharp, and has the shortest travel time from Point A to B, it’s pretty awesome to watch him get loose in the octagon, landing heavy leg kicks, body kicks, combo’s, anything really, The way he methodically dismantled Morales was beautiful, those leg kicks were powerful, landing in the same spot over and over again. Gutierrez landed 36 leg kicks in that fight I believe. He had a gameplan and he followed it through. He will need to do the same to disable the aggression from Ewell, chop at those legs, bring Ewells hands lower than they sometimes already are, then target the head. That’s what I feel like will happen.
Gutierrez via KO R3
Women’s Strawweight
Polyana Viana (11-4-0, NS) v Mallory Martin (7-3-0, NS) - Odd little tidbit I noticed, this is the second Strawweight fight of 2021, both the Bantamweight and Flyweight divisions have way more fights, so i’m glad Strawweight is getting a little bit of love. Viana is a great submission artist, she’s always looking for the fight to go to the ground so she can work her magic, Viana is like a snake on the ground, always finding the better positions to fire off a few submission attempts, and whilst her striking isn’t exactly clean or effective, that threat of being knocked out is always going to be there. Martin has a solid stand up game, she’s got decent striking and mixes her attacks very well, and I strongly feel that she will want to keep this fight standing otherwise she’s going to get outworked on the ground. I’m not too sure about who is going to win this fight though, if it goes to the ground Viana has a solid chance of getting the win, but Mallory is a tough striker to beat, and I’m not too sure if Viana will want to risk a striking exchange. This could be a methodical, boring fight, i’m not too hype about this fight, but overall i’ll be leaning on Martin to win.
Martin via UD
Welterweight
Dhiego Lima (15-7-0, 3 FWS) v Belal Muhammad (#15) (17-3-0, 3 FWS) - An incredible match up to start this event. Lima is a super tough fighter, and whilst he hasn’t had a finish in quite a while, he still puts on pretty decent performances. Recently his performances haven’t been super good, throwing but not landing, grappling seems to be his main weapon, but with how inactive Lima has been, and how sporadic his fighting timeline has been, it’s pretty hard to see too many positives in comparison to the rise that Belal Muhammad has had in recent years. Muhammad is an animal at the moment, his style makes it very difficult to take him on, or even read him. He has two major threats for most of his opponents, his wrestling and his powerful, crashing right hand. He typically dips to level change but then launches that right hand. His wrestling is incredible and he is quite controlling when it comes to the ground game. Everything about Belal is something I like to see in a developing fighter. I can see Lima getting hit brutally over and over with those power right hands, then taken down and eventually submitted.
Muhammad via Sub R3
Middleweight
Rodolfo Vieira (7-0-0, 7 FWS) v Anthony Hernandez (7-2-0, NS) - A very interesting fight, and it’s always good to see an undefeated heavy favourite put his streak on the line. Vieira is a submission specialist, not a submission artist, a specialist, that’s a whole different level of whoa. Over 100 grappling bouts, multiple gold medals and tournament wins, Vieira is one of the most accredited grapplers that the UFC has at the moment, that’s still young and still has a chance to show off his striking, but holy crap he’s a solid grappler… he won 5 championships in 3 years, that’s not only impressive, but on a whole different level of skill. He’s called the Black Belt Hunter for a reason and well, Hernandez is going to go to sleep if he’s not careful. Hernandez has had a rough time in the UFC, and i’m hoping they’re giving him this fight not to beef up Vieira, but to give Hernandez an excuse to stay in the UFC. Hernandez has had some decent wins in his career, but most of those wins were in LFA. In the UFC he hasn’t been too successful, his recent loss against Holland kinda showed me that he isn’t great at being pressured, and if Vieira pushes forward, works hard for a takedown and absolutely dominates from there, I don’t see Hernandez getting the upper hand on the ground, he has a punchers chance but I mean… Vieira is a phenom at the moment, a rare addition to the UFC and i’m on the train, first class tickets!
Vieira via Sub R1
Main Card
Middleweight
Julian Marquez (7-2-0, NS) v Maki Pitolo (13-7-0, 2 FLS) - It’s a shame that 2020 was a horrible year for Pitolo. Marquez is coming back from a 2 year hiatus, after suffering a heavy loss at the hands of Alessio Di Chirico, or as we now probably call him, the Hype Train Derailer. Marquez is a powerhouse, he explodes and lands incredibly hard, he has insane power in his hands and everything he does has that extra oomph that you can probably hear in a full arena. Marquez however is somewhat one dimensional with his style, he loves to strike, he loves chaos and hates order, and that’s going to be dangerous for Pitolo because numerous times we’ve seen Pitolo succumb to pressure. Pitolo is a mad man, don’t get me wrong, he has insane striking, he’s wild, a showman and someone who you really want to see fight for a while, but he can’t go one on one against Marquez and think “i’ll just go wild”, he needs to keep Marquez pushing him for the first round, see where the cardio holds up (I don’t think Marquez has much cardio because of how explosive he is), and then start attacking him in the second or third, but again, it’s hard for me to tell how good a returning fighter is cardio wise, so this is a very rough prediction. I’m leaning on the Cuban Missile Crisis to win this one though.
Marquez via KO R1
Lightweight
Bobby Green (27-11-1, NS) v Jim Miller (32-15-0, NS) - Green is lowkey one of my most favourite fighters, the amount of work he does in the octagon is pretty impressive, especially when you watch his fight against Vannata, that fight will go down as a classic I can assure you. Green has gorgeous boxing, he’s incredibly crisp and fast with his punches, and he has his wrestling to add even more frustration and drain his opponents of their gas. Green had one set back during 2020 and that was against the incredibly talented Thiago Moises. Green has every skill that one would need to succeed in the UFC, especially with his crisp boxing and head movement, he’s going to be a dangerous fighter for Miller who has a more grapple heavy approach. Miller has had some significant wins over his very extensive career, recently submitting Clay Guida, Roosevelt Roberts and Jason Gonzalez to name a few, Miller is a dangerous, dangerous grappler, he can strike though but not to great efficiency, he mostly uses his striking to set up a takedown, where he does his most effective work. Miller is on a rough run at the moment, ever since losing to Anthony Pettis, or even prior to that against Poirier, he hasn’t really strung together any major streaks, a win here and there, but nothing to great significance, and since this is the Lightweight division we’re talking about, significance is important. I have Green in this fight, he can keep this fight on the feet, keep at a distance and keep striking, he’ll win this one.
Green via UD
Middleweight
Kelvin Gastelum (#11) (16-6-0, 3 FLS) v Ian Heinisch (#15) (14-3-0, NS) - This is going to be beautiful. Gastelum has incredible boxing, he’s the only one that gave Israel Adesanya trouble on the feet by using his beautiful pressure and interesting hopping technique that got him into range. Gastelum is on a losing streak but he has faced incredibly tough challenges. He went to war with Adesanya, he fought a highly technical bout against Till and has now lost to the submission artist in Hermansson. He is now facing the wild and explosive Ian Heinisch, which is going to be a brutally tough fight because Heinisch is pretty damn aggressive and has explosive takedowns that come with his explosive strikes, overall, Heinisch is an explosive dude and a perfect matchup for a methodical and tactical boxer like Gastelum. Heinisch is someone who is always improving, so there’s no doubt that what you saw in 2020 will be what you get in 2021 and more. That makes me wonder what his game plan will be, whether he will come in with a wrestling heavy approach to negate the power that Gastelum has on his feet, or if he’ll be incredibly aggressive and keep Gastelums back glued to the fence. Either way, Heinisch is going to be unpredictable, and I think it will be a true test of what Gastelum can accomplish if he can handle Heinisch. This is a great fight, one that I don’t want to overtalk this fight because well, it’s hard predicting a fighter on a losing streak, to win, i’ve done that one too many times (Michael Johnson being the most recent one) and it didn’t turn out how I expected… So this is a risky prediction, but War Gastelum!
Gastelum via KO R2
Co-Main Event
Women’s Flyweight
Maycee Barber (#9) (8-1-0, NS) v Alexa Grasso (12-3-0, NS) - An interesting fight to say the least. Barber is coming off a heavy loss and a horrible injury to her knee, so there’s a lot of variables coming into this fight. Barber has always been an incredibly aggressive and tough fighter, she pushes forward, launching punch after punch that can overwhelm her opponents, she put away Robertson very effectively, bloodied up Cifers and destroyed Aldrich. She’s no doubt still a prospect and if she can get past Grasso then that certifies her prospect status in the Flyweight division. The one thing i'm worried about is her knee… It was probably her first ever injury and that would hang on your mind for quite a while. Barber is going to have to get past the excellent boxing of Grasso if she is to win this one though, and that’s going to be pretty tough. Grasso has made her rounds in the UFC before, facing pretty much every up and comer that the UFC threw at her, Grasso is yet to get a solid winning streak going and her main weakness seems to be her ground game, She doesn’t have the best takedown defence, nor the best defensive submissions, her main style is her boxing, and if she can avoid the ground with Barber and keep the fight on the feet, I can see Grasso getting the upper hand. But Barber is a solid, solid prospect and one minor setback isn’t going to hurt her. Barber is still a very promising fighter and i’m gonna lean on her a little bit longer.
Barber via UD
Main Event
Welterweight Championship bout
Kamaru Usman (c) (17-1-0, 16 FWS) v Gilbert Burns (#4) (19-3-0, 6 FWS) - A fight that we all needed to see. Every match up has happened but this one. Usman is an athletic freak, he’s one of the most durable and strongest welterweights in the division right now, his wrestling is incredible, his striking is somewhat great, his cardio is neverending, and he has defeated the best the welterweight division has to offer, all but one. So many people think Usman is boring, the whole footstomp meme is everywhere this week and whilst it’s a good chuckle, I feel like some people are sleeping on the potential that this guy has. There is so much story behind this fight, training partners, Usman leaving his own gym to train with Wittman (which is a pretty great substitute), we might see a change in style from Usman, because I highly doubt he will wrestle with Burns considering Burns is one of the best BJJ practitioners in the welterweight division. I feel like Usman will try to trade hands with Burns, or at least grapple against the fence but not on the ground. Burns is one of the most improved fighters of the division, he was mostly a submission artist but in the last year or two, we have seen him become far more comfortable on the feet, and that throws off a lot of his opponents. His ability to change and adapt, and include striking to his skillset is second to none the best change I have seen in a fighter. It’s kinda like when Gaethje finally learnt to become patient and we saw an upgrade to Gaethje’s skill set. This is what is happening to Burns at the moment, we are seeing a newborn striker who carries significant power and isn’t afraid to show it. This is a super tough fight to predict. Both fighters have a solid chance of winning… but I feel like Usman will be holding onto that gold a little longer. I’m feeling a little ballsy with this prediction.
Usman via KO R4
And that's it!
Again, sorry for the late predictions, been a stupid crazy week.
f you wish to support me please message me and i can provide details on how you can do so.
If you would like to follow me on twitter, you can find me @Slayer_Tip or if you want, add me on discord and we can have a super friendly chat about all things MMA: Slayertip#7013
Lets have a fun discussion down below, let me know if you agree/disagree with my picks :)
But for now, have a beautiful week, take care of yourselves :)

Due to COVID, Atlantic City casinos have gotten pretty aggressive with their free play offers to get good players in the door, and a nice batch of those offers lured me out this past weekend. I didn't want to be in town for the insanity of Super Bowl Sunday, so I got in Thursday night and left Saturday night.
If you don't know, Atlantic City isn't like Vegas with dozens of smaller casinos around. Atlantic City has 9 casinos, and 3 are on the same players card system (Caesars). I don't bother with Bally's since it's not convenient enough for the niceness or the comps they give, so each trip has 6 stops.
Most AC casinos have 5x odds, and a bunch of them have a weird version of 5x odds where a $30 pass line or come bet allows you to take $250 odds on 6/8, $200 odds on 5/9, and normal 5x odds of $150 on 4/10 (so any hit pays $330). I typically do $30 pass line and $30 come bets to get 4 total targets on the board, but on my own rolls I usually keep doing come bets until I 7 out. If a table is good I'll do $300 each 6 and 8 before doing come bets as well.
I started my trip off at Tropicana since that where I was staying. I brought $3k and got a $5k marker to start off, and instantly went on a nice run, winning a quick $2k and deciding to hit and run after less than an hour. I also had $100 free slot play and some dining credit, so I used those and got another $100 profit and some decent food.
Friday morning I headed over to Hard Rock for some nice free play ($500 table play and a $300 Amazon gift card). I did my free play over at BJ and won $250, then headed to craps. The table was rough for a bit, I was down $4k or so, but then I had an awesome roll, got up $3k and quickly cashed out. (+$5.4k running total)
Resorts is probably the worst casino in AC. Weak comps, bad free play, not many other benefits, terrible rooms (so I've heard), old, run down casino, etc. I still go there each trip since it's right next door to Hard Rock anyways, and it's nice to walk on the boardwalk in between them for a few minutes. I only do quick sessions there. I was up $1000 after my first roll there and just left right away. Some minor free play got me another $50 or something. (+$6.4k running total)
Next stop was Ocean casino. This was another rough table at first, leaving me down $3k rather quickly and considering just cutting my losses since the rolls were all particularly bad. However on my second time getting the dice I went on another nice roll, lasting about 40 minutes, and ending up turning a $3k losing session into a $5k winning one. I won a couple hundred off of free play as well and had a nice dinner at their VIP lounge. (+$11.7k running total)
Saturday morning I ventured out again, heading back over to Hard Rock for $300 slot free play. I won $300 off of that, and headed over to craps. At this point I'm up $12k and want to leave up at least $10k for the trip, so I only buy in $2k. Luckily, I have a hot run right off the bat, and wind up winning $3k over an hour session and leaving. (+$15k running total)
My second to last stop was Borgata. They only gave me $200 match play and some dining credit, and I broke even on the match play and headed to craps. It was very back and forth, but finally caught a decent roll and left up $1k. (+$16k running total)
Last stop was Golden Nugget. I won $300 off of free slot play and then jumped on the table, where I broke about even for a bit and then got the dice again, and had another 40 or so minute roll, hitting a ton of 4s and 10s. People were going nuts because I kept throwing hard way winners, and multiple people had $50-100 on them (I never bet hard ways). After my roll I instantly colored up and left with exactly $5k profit. This put my total winnings for the trip at $21.3k cash and the $300 Amazon gift card. Best of all, I never left a table down. Talk about a hot run. Not bad for a 48 hour trip!

Okay so this happened about 10 years ago in a game of Vampire the Masquerade Revised edition. I’d already been playing and GMing the game for about 10 years so I had a lot of experience myself and I knew everyone in this group. Some of this will be paraphrasing because I can’t remember the exact words that were said, but the meaning is the same. I’ll never forget a room full of nerds jeering and laughing at me like the very high school bullies they always complained about.
GM on the whole was pretty good, but this was their first time running a Sabbat game and I felt they made a bunch of mistakes and I advised them of this beforehand:

1. They allowed the players to each pick a different path of enlightenment for their character. This resulted in a group of 7 PCs with at least half being on a conflicting paths.
   
2. They allowed non-Sabbat paths, in particular the Path of Blood, which is outright heresy in the Sabbat because it elevates mortals and worships an antediluvian.
   

These two mistakes were the cause of what eventually snowballed into a horror story but they themselves are not the real horror story.
So the basic premise of the plot is that we were a Sabbat pack tasked with scouting out an Anarch stronghold and probing it for weaknesses prior to a Sabbat siege. Since the Anarchs were known to be pretty welcoming over outsiders, since they’d had no issues with the Sabbat (city was in Australia and was very remote), I had the bright idea of smuggling us into the country as corpses and then taking over the funeral parlour when we arrived. This plan goes off without a hitch.
The ductus then tells us to split up and scout out these different places. We all agree. I get paired up with the idiotic heretical Assamite sorcerer on the Path of Blood. This guy, of course, does not want to do the Sabbat stuff we were told to do by the ductus because it’s against his path. I point out it’s heresy and say that I will drive us to where we were told to go by the ductus. However, because I have no dots in drive the Storyteller says that I can’t drive the vehicle to get us anywhere and instead the heretic has to drive. “Okay, fine” I think to myself, “I don’t want to mess up the game... plus I can collect evidence of heresy and report back to the ductus like a good Sabbat cainite.”
So we go and do his silly heretic side quest and report back to the ductus. The ductus, who is another PC, is understandably a bit butthurt that his orders were disobeyed. However, he doesn’t seem to give two craps about all the Path of Blood heresy that I mentioned Sorcerer saying and doing despite the fact that Ductus is on Path of Caine - two directly opposed paths.
So Ductus decides that the most important thing to do is be butthurt about his orders being disobeyed. He doesn’t seem to think it’s important to investigate the heresy in any way or work with the Cainite that’s actually helping the regent of the Path of Caine here (me). Instead he uses his early riser merit and his use of quietus (because of course he was another Assamite) to hook me and heretic up to car batteries and electroshock our nipples. Not only was this kinda creepy in itself but it was pretty unreasonable given that I did the work of a good Sabbat agent and exposed a heretic. Oh and did I mention that I was an initiate on the Path of Caine as well so we were supposed to be allies? Well it seemed like I was the only one trying to actually further the interest of the Noddists. Oddly, that’s not where Ductus’ priorities laid: apparently I was instead supposed follow his orders to the letter and walk through the desert on my own, likely dying to the claws of lupines or to the rays of the sun, rather than taking the far more sensible course of action of getting in our only vehicle and spying on the heretic Sorcerer who could well be trying to bring the Sabbat down from within. I spoke to Storyteller after the session and aired my concerns both in and out of character, but Storyteller didn’t want to intervene and just wanted to see how things played out. Storyteller was just very non-committal in all responses despite my concerns. I said that if we can’t discuss this OOC then it may end up causing major problems for the group, but I wasn’t really listened to. I should probably point out at this juncture that Ductus was Storyteller’s partner. Maybe that was why? I don’t know. They’re both very reasonable most of the time but this time I felt I was being shut down right from the start, where I first aired my concerns about conflicting paths causing in-character conflicts between pack members.
Anyway, after all the weird pseudo-sexual nipple torture, Sorcerer and myself are both low on blood from having to heal all the damage. I go hunting like a normal Sabbat vampire, no problems. Sorcerer reasons that his path only allows him to take blood from willing humans unless he embraces them and inducts them onto the path of Haqim. He decides that the best idea is to embrace the ghouls who we need to run the funeral parlour during the day. In the Sabbat ghouls are effectively property with no rights and the ghouls in this case were mine by rights (since the funeral parlour thing was my idea) so when my character comes back from hunting the Storyteller decides that this is a frenzy level insult.
This, coupled with a new vampire low on blood, results in a cascade of frenzies. I frenzy on Sorcerer and deal some aggs, rest of the pack pulls me off and is dealing with my frenzy (run by the ST). Sorcerer heals the aggs and is low on blood, his new childe hunger frenzies at the sight of blood and starts feeding on him whilst the rest of the pack is holding me down (bear in mind that I am not in control of my character at this point). New childe ends up diablerising Sorcerer.
When the dust settles, Ductus decides that this is all my fault for no apparent reason and hints that he plans to have me executed for murder of a Sabbat member (which doesn’t make any sense as I had nothing to do with the diablerie and can’t control my frenzy past a certain point on an instinct path). Seeing my only chance at survival, I ask the Storyteller if I can roll performance to fake a frenzy on Ductus. I roll spectacularly well and everyone else rolls terribly. I bite Ductus for a bunch of aggravated damage, though specifically not enough to kill him as that wasn’t my intent. The rest of the pack breaks it up and when I finish my “frenzy” I challenge Ductus to monomacy for leadership of the pack. I can choose the time and place as the challenger: I choose tomorrow at dusk. Since Ductus is on 5 agg and low blood that will give me a significant advantage. This was not my ideal option but since Ductus was planning to have my killed for a bunch of shit that wasn’t my fault either in-character or out-of-character, I didn’t see any other choice. I had to think fast.
Ductus says that he’s going to go and hunt to prepare for the monomacy tomorrow. I say that I am prepared to carry out Ductus’ orders that Sorcerer ruined. I ask City Gangrel to come with me for backup (and to drive the damn vehicle because derp) and he agrees. I know City Gangrel has a low vaulderie rating to Ductus and a high rating to me, which is why I asked him. He’s also not supposed to get involved in politics according to the ethics of his path so seemed like a safe bet.
We drive out to the location and perform the mission to the letter. We are efficient Sabbat members and we get the info the pack needs. Turns out when you don’t have conflicting paths things go pretty well. We tell the Storyteller we are returning to the vehicle to drive back to the pack. The Storyteller ends the session and says that we’ll be taking a 2 week break. I can’t remember why we had the break but I do remember having to leave early because I had to meet my girlfriend after the session. I was therefore the first to leave at the end whilst everyone else remains for the post-session social chat, etc.
So fast forward to two weeks time, we all arrive at Storytellers house and sit down to play. Storyteller turns to me and says:
“You take 9 levels of damage and die.”
Everyone laughs at me.
Me: “This is a joke, right?”
Storyteller: “No.”
Everyone laughs again
Me: “Why do I take the damage? Is there anything I can do?”
Storyteller: “No. Gangrel attacked and killed you after you left the session two weeks ago. We did all the rolls while you were away. Gangrel rolled really well so we don’t think it would be fair to let you roll now.”
Everyone laughs again.
Me: “But I wasn’t even there. Why did he do it?”
Gangrel: “I decided that you were a danger to the pack.”
Me: “How, exactly?”
Gangrel: “Because people around you die.”
Everyone laughs again.
Me: “People die around all of us. We’re Sabbat. Besides, I’m not the one who killed pack members, nor am I a proven heretic who openly espouses heretical views. Also, you’ve got a really high vaulderie rating to me. It doesn’t make sense.”
Gangrel: “Well I spent willpower to ignore all of that.”
Everyone laughs once more.
Me: stunned silence before turning to Storyteller “If you were going to kill my character off without me even being here then the least you could have done was told me two weeks ago so that I could have emotionally prepared for this, made a new character, or even just decided that I didn’t want to play in the game anymore.”
There is an awkward silence that hangs in the room for several seconds before the storyteller says “make a new character” and everyone laughs again.
So it turns out that after I’d left to meet my girlfriend at the end of the last session, certain members of the group conspired to kill my character and convinced the rest of the group that not only should it be done despite no reasonable in-character justification, but that it should be done without me even being there. The best justification they could give was “because it was hilarious, lol”.
Anyway, I learned a lot of lessons from that: how to manage the potential for group conflict by ensuring the PCs goals and motivations align rather than conflict, giving grace periods for character death, properly listening to the concerns of my players, and knowing when to leave a group before things get to this level. I gotta admit that I’m a forgiving person and I still speak to Storyteller and Ductus as friends, and Storyteller eventually did admit that they made a mistake. However, I never gamed with that group again.
I think I was pretty restrained not to completely lose my shit. I was so absolutely shocked by the whole thing that I didn’t really know how to react. How do you think you’d have felt/reacted in that situation?

The new BoS armor that’s in the PTS does not have the option to craft legendary variations, and it also untradable.
Let’s assume that you have already learned the plan, and that the RNG is not skewed against you because Todd hates your guts. We will also assume that you haven’t learnt any of the secret service armor plans to keep your loot pool as fresh as possible, and since the Purveyor has a smaller loot pool we shall use that to help you get your gear as quickly as possible. Your goal is to get a specific armor piece. An assassin’s powered sentinel’s BoS chest piece to replace the leather chest piece you lost from the vendostash steal glitch (remember, this is hypothetical. Don’t even start with the “I don’t PvP crap”, this is hypothetical.)
There are currently 22 armors in your loot pool (including light, sturdy and heavy variants, and assumes the new BoS armor will not come in the heavy/sturdy/light subcategories.)
This puts your odds of getting a BoS armor piece at 1/22. That doesn’t seem so bad, does it? Its the same as rolling a 20 in D&D. Well now you have to get a chest piece.
There are five potential outcomes for the armor piece - right leg, left leg, chest, right arm, left arm. 1/5 of getting a chest, right? So now it’s a 1/110 chance of getting a BoS chest piece. Ok, you’ve faced worse odds, the chances of getting 7 heads in a row coin tossing are 1/128, and you won that bet with your friend despite the odds. And this is a multiplayer game that you need to have some sort of sense of progression in, rather than having it all handed to you on a plate.
Here’s where the numbers start to really stack up against you. There are 18 different potential prefixes for the first star, so if you wanted a 1* assassins BoS chest piece you’re dealing with 1/22 for BoS, 1/5 for the chest and then 1/18 for assassin’s. You got odds of 1/1980 to get a 1* Assassin’s BoS chest piece. You know what you’re more likely to do? Four times more likely, for that matter? Die of food poisoning. In 2009, roughly 1/500 US deaths were caused by food poisoning
Here’s another layer of RNG for you! You want powered on your chest piece, right? Well there’s a 1/11 chance of the second star being powered. So you rolled a 2* armor piece from the Purveyor, and you’re facing 1/22 for BoS, 1/5 for the desired part, 1/18 for the first star and now you’re piling another layer on top. The odds of all the criteria being met are a whopping 1/21780. Yep, one in twenty one thousand, seven hundred and eighty. You are roughly twice as likely to be injured by a toilet, according to CDC study
So far, the odds here make me want to cry. And knowing I’m more likely to get injured by a toilet than roll a 2* ass/AP BoS chest is quite frankly depressing. But I’m not done yet! Remember what I said earlier? You’re an avid PvPer who lost his PSA heavy leather chest to a glitch and you want to replace it! The odds of rolling sentinel as the third star? One in thirteen. So, with 1/22 odds of getting BoS, 1/5 chance of a chest piece, 1/18 chance of getting assassin’s, 1/11 of getting powered, and 1/13 to get sentinel’s, you’re looking at 1/65340 odds of getting the exact chest piece you want, with an optimised loot pool, from the Purveyor. Similar odds to dying in a tornado, as a matter of fact.This article places the odds of tornado death in the US at roughly 1/60,000. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can roll over sixty three thousand armor pieces in my lifetime.
Don’t you think dying in a tornado being more likely than getting your perfect armor piece from the smallest possible loot pool is just a tad excessive when there is literally no other way to get it? Are you going to let a small minority of the playbase ruin it for the hardworking and honest players that have put up with two years of bullshit from you Bethesda? Come on, at least allow us to craft legendary variations if you insist on keeping it untradable.

Half an hour after the sun rose, I unlocked the front doors to the store and turned the sign to read OPEN. In the silence, the flipping pages of my paperback copy of Peyton Place were deafening. It was cool now, but the signature July heat would settle in a matter of hours. They predicted triple digits for the next few weeks.
I looked out the window at Hannah’s Diner across the street. I could see my wife Lorelei bustling along the lunch counter with a fresh pot of coffee, topping off the early birds’ steaming mugs. I smiled faintly. We both had dawn schedules. If I didn’t have my own customers to deal with, I probably would’ve been over there myself.
The bell chimed abruptly. Heavy shoes clacked on the tile as they walked towards the counter. Without looking up I tried to guess if it was Dr. Cook or Mr. Dugan. Dugan was probably just starting with Ms. McCabe for her funeral, so I assumed the former.
“Mornin’, Rex.” Dr. Cook’s voice rang out. I was right. I looked up at him in his white coat and eyeglasses, the black medical bag clutched in his hand. He’d been the town doctor for as long as I could remember. “Mornin’, Dr. Cook.” I replied. I instinctively reached towards the display case of cigarettes. “Pall Mall’s, the usual?”
Cook shook his head. “None for me today. I finally decided I’m gonna quit. I’ve been breathin’ smoke in the patients’ faces for who knows how long, I figure if I’m ever gonna stop it should be now. I will take a bottle of Coke, though.”
I grabbed one from the cooler by the register and rang him up. “That’s very good thinking, Dr. Cook. Did Ms. McCabe last night finally push you over?”
He nodded. “Rest her soul, the poor woman. I thought those things were supposed to be clean. It’s all over the papers now, how tobacco and menthol and all that jazz rots your insides. I’ll bet when Dugan finally cuts her open her lungs’ll look like overcooked pot roast.”
Cook stiffened. “Say, speaking of, that bastard hasn’t been here yet today, has he?” He asked.
I took the dollar he handed me. “Nope. You’re the first one here.”
He sighed as I gave him his change. “Well, when you see him, tell him it won’t do no good telling everyone I killed her or somethin’. That old joke wasn’t funny the first hundred times he told it.”
As if on cue, the bell rang. “It don’t matter, it’s still funny to me.”
Dugan, the town’s undertaker, stood in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual natty black suit dotted with formaldehyde stains. The gold chain he always wore around his neck glinted in the sunlight.
Dugan glided across the room towards him, skin sallow and pale. “Thanks for Ms. McCabe last night, doc. I was afraid I wasn’t gonna be able to pay the mortgage this month.”
Cook grimaced. Both of them knew how much he hated being called “doc”. He snatched his Coke bottle off the counter and began walking towards the door. “See ya later, Rex.”
Dugan stopped and put a thin hand on his shoulder. “No, listen doc, I mean it. That’s what, three in the past month? If you keep it up I’ll be able to buy so much embalmin’ fluid and coffins I could bury this whole town come Judgement Day.”
Cook shoved him brutally to the side, almost knocking him into the lotto display. As he opened the door, he turned. “And if you keep it up, no one that comes through your door’ll die a virgin, alive or not.” Dugan’s face twisted into a mask of anger. The doctor was far down the street before he could retort.
I already had his Malboros on the counter waiting. He threw a couple bucks at me and took one out, fishing his lighter from his pocket. The awkward silence was getting to me, so I blurted out, “Dr. Cook bought a Coke today instead of his Pall Malls. Said he’s trying to quit for the health of his patients.”
Dugan took a long drag and held the cigarette out, blowing smoke from between his lips. “Rex, I ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ like that. My patients are already gone. They don’t give no lip if I smoke in front of ‘em. Tar and black lung and all that nonsense. Buncha crap if you ask me. Doc’s just trying to look good.”
As I put coins in the register, he continued. “I don’t get him. He thinks that just ‘cause he went to medical school everyone should feed him with a silver spoon. Acts all high-and-mighty. It gets real tirin’, it does. Someone should teach him a lesson.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Mr. Dugan. He never bothered me all that much.”
He took another drag. “If there’s one person’s grave I’d dance on if they died, it’d be him. He’s been deliverin’ his failures to me for twenty-odd years now. It’s about time he came through my door in a box.”
He walked towards the exit but stopped and turned. “He makes me question my practice, he does. You can draft wills, and hope everythin’ is taken care of after you’re gone, but it don’t matter. The only person that can make sure it’s just the way you want it is you, and you sure ain’t gonna be there to stop it if somethin’ goes wrong. If idiots like him are all that’s left after I’ve croaked, is it worth it? Every man digs his own grave. You just gotta hope the living will see you through.”
I said nothing. I never knew how to respond when he went off on tangents like that. He stepped through the door with a smile. “You have a nice day now, Rex.”
That night, I told Lorelei about the encounter in the store. She dropped dumplings into simmering broth with two spoons. “I just don’t understand why those two to hate each other so much.”
I sat in the chair by the kitchen door, crossing my arms. “Every mornin’ at open, day in and day out, even since when papa still had the store. Dr. Cook comes in for his Pall Malls, and Mr. Dugan comes in for his Malboros. They snipe at each other for a minute or two and then go about their day. It has to get old after a while. I know it does for me.”
Our dog, a pit-bull mix named Tallulah, stretched on the rug by my feet. She sat up and turned to look at me for a pet. I smiled and scratched her behind the ears. I looked down at her swollen belly. She was expecting pups in the next few weeks.
“They were in Mama’s grade durin’ school.” Lorelei said, stirring the dumplings. “Dr. Cook got a big scholarship and went off to the city and Mr. Dugan just waited for his daddy to die so he could take over the practice. It’s not unlike you, Rex.”
I shot her a fake outraged look. She smiled. “Sorry. Mama said they even hated each other back then. Dr. Cook always got the grades while Mr. Dugan sat in the back, starin’ daggers at his head. He knew Dr. Cook’d never have to work to be successful. It’d just always come easy to him.”
“Well, that’s no reason to hate a man. Just because he’s a better student than you.” I replied, getting up and moving to the table. Lorelei ladled the broth and dumplings into bowls.
“Since when is life fair?” she asked. We sat down to eat, Tallulah staring longingly from the rug.
The next two weeks passed as normal. Every day it was like clockwork. Dr. Cook came in to buy Coke, Mr. Dugan came in while he was leaving with just enough time to get an insult. On a few off days, Cook came earlier or Dugan came later, meaning they didn’t meet.
Wednesday morning started like any normal day. I opened the store at 6:30 and sat down with my book. It was Valley of the Dolls this time, as I had finished Peyton Place a few days earlier.
I heard that familiar chime and looked up to Dr. Cook walking towards the counter, a slight smile on the corner of his lips.
“Good morning, Dr…” I started to say, but before I could finish, he pulled out a handful of coins and threw them on the counter.
“Mornin’, Rex. Gimme all of your Malboros, if you please.”
I stared at him, my finger slipping from my page in the book. “Dr. Cook, I thought you said you were layin’ off the cigarettes. Besides, that ain’t your normal brand. Even if it was, what about you kickin’ the habit?”
He looked impatient and tapped his fingers on the counter. “Just hand ‘em all over. This should teach that rotten crabapple to make jokes about my business.”
I reached for a single pack.
“I said all of them, Rex. Every last one.”
I started to protest but shut my mouth. Selling all the Malboros at 33 cents a pack wasn’t bad. Who was I to pass up a profit?
I pulled all the cigarette packs with the familiar red triangle off the shelf and laid them on the counter. “That’ll be…$6.60.” I said, carefully counting out the rough ball that Dr. Cook had given me. The whole time, his eyes flitted from me to the door, sweat dripping down. I knew who he was waiting for.
I finished and told him he had $0.50 extra. “That’s fine, Rex. Keep the change and put ‘em all in my pack.” I nodded and slid the small pile off the counter and into the bag. Just as I reached across to give it to him, the bell chimed again. I winced.
“And just what are you up to today, doc?” Dugan’s voice rang out.
Dr. Cook turned to look at him. “Don’t mind me, Dugan. I’m just savin’ your life.”
Dugan looked confused for a moment, then looked at the bag in the doctor’s hand. His eyes shifted from the contents to the wall behind the register, clearly seeing the empty space where his normal brand usually sat.
“It’s for your own good, you know. Those little cancer sticks’ll sneak up on ya. You’ll be takin’ off your condom after finishing with Alice Spaulding and fall right over dead before you know it. Think of it as a favor.” Cook grinned.
Dugan’s hands curled into fists. “You son of a bitch. Listen here, I can do what I want. Just because you got your fancy medical degree don’t mean you’re the bee all and end all on what’s good for me and what ain’t.”
Cook clutched the bag tighter to his chest. “It’s a free country, ain’t it? And if I want to buy this here store’s complete stock of a certain brand of cigarette, who’s gonna stop me?”
A vein throbbed in Dugan’s forehead. He opened his mouth to say something but Cook cut him off. “Thought so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got Mr. Newman to attend to. He has a nasty fever, you know.” He pushed past Dugan, shoving him with his shoulder, before disappearing down the street.
I tried to pick my book up again and look nonchalant, but Dugan’s eyes narrowed in my direction. “You knew what he was gonna do, an’ you didn’t stop it?” He demanded, nearly charging up to the counter in his fury.
I smiled apologetically. “I know it’s a pain for you, Mr. Dugan. But when I make a sale, I can’t pass it up.”
Dugan shook his head. At least he realized it wasn’t my fault. “That’s the damndest thing I ever saw. Spendin’ over five dollars to swindle a man out of his earthy pleasures. Doc is gonna get what’s comin’ to him, and soon. You’ll see.”
He settled on some Parliaments instead, not even waiting before he got out of the store to light one up. After the first puff, his face soured like he’d just put a worm in his mouth. “It just ain’t the same. It tastes like campfire ash.” He flicked it in the bin outside and was gone.
Dugan was missing from the store for the remainder of the week. Cook still came in and bought his Coke, grinning with triumph.
I closed the store on Sundays to spend the last day of the weekend relaxing with Lorelei. However, I got a call from Dugan late Saturday night asking me to deliver a case of beer to his house. Apparently he was going on a trip that would last a few days and wanted to have a cold one the second he got back. Since he was a regular customer, I agreed. The extra $5.00 he threw in as a delivery charge didn’t hurt, either.
Since it was such a beautiful Sunday morning, I decided to walk instead of drive. I kissed Lorelei goodbye and grabbed the case of Pabst, heading out for the two mile trek to Dugan’s.
The sun shone through the branches of the trees, casting shadows on the road. About ten minutes in, I found myself passing Cook’s house. He was standing in the driveway, fiddling with the van he used to visit patients way out in the sticks.
“Mornin’, Dr. Cook.” I called. His head whipped in my direction.
“Rex.” He sounded angry. “What are you doin’ out so early on a Sunday?”
I held up the Pabst. “Mr. Dugan’s paying extra for me to deliver this to him on my off-day.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, when you see him, tell him this ain’t over. I woke up this mornin’ to find this waitin’ for me.” He pointed to the left rear tire of the van, which was flat. A portion of the rubber was shredded, as if it had been slashed with a knife. “I’ll admit buyin’ all those cigarettes wasn’t the nicest move, but I didn’t damage his property or nothin’ like that.” Cook threw the tire iron he had been holding down to the ground.
“Well, I’ll tell him so when I do.” I said.
Cook frowned. “You better. He ain’t gonna be happy.”
I said my goodbyes and left, feeling his eyes on me as I walked away. Another fifteen minutes later, I arrived at Dugan’s. It served both as his home and place of work. It was a monstrous, gothic thing with a tower on the right side and a gabled roof. I walked up the to the front door and knocked loudly. No one answered. I yelled his name loudly.
“Rex? That you?” someone called from behind me. I turned to see Dugan stepping out of the trees on the other side of the road. His hands were covered in dirt and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. That gaudy gold chain around his neck glinted as much as ever. “Bring it right over here, if you please.”
I nodded and crossed. Just as I went to hand him the Pabst, he shook his head. “Wait. You gotta see this.” He said with a bit of excitement.
Truth be told I just wanted to go home so Lorelei and I could sit on the porch, but he was paying me good for this excursion, so I humored him. “Sure. Show me the way.”
We walked down a short path through the trees that let out into a clearing. “Sorry if I’m keepin’ you from the missus, but I don’t show this patch of land to just anybody.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but once I saw what lay in front of me, I had my answer.
A ramshackle graveyard spread lazily over half a small clearing. Misshapen tombstones that looked hand-carved marked depressions in the grass where it had never quite grown back. There were at least twelve in total, but a few were bleached white by the sun or knocked over in pieces, so it was hard to tell.
“Uh…is this the place where you bury the folks who can’t afford a place at the county churchyard?” I asked.
He laughed. “No, it ain’t that. It’s the family plot. The Dugans’ve owned the undertakin’ businesses in this town for nigh on a hundred years now. This land’s been with us almost that long. Whenever one of us kicks the bucket we’re buried out here with all the rest.”
I looked over and saw a shovel leaning against a nearby tree. A few feet away was a freshly filled-in hole. He looked over and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just Spot is all. That dog was getting’ old, you know. We got him just when Gordon started first grade. Oh, Dorothy didn’t want him in the house. Too rowdy, he’d break all her fine china. And he did! God bless her soul. She’s buried right over there.”
He pointed to her grave twenty feet away. Dugan’s wife had been dead for six years now, and his son Gordon was off in college.
“Yep, this is the place I’ll rest my bones when the time comes. I jus’ hope that Gordon has enough mind for tradition to bury me here. He finds it mighty ghastly, living across the way from where all his ancestors lie. But what does he know? Young people these days. I’d sooner be cremated and have my ashes stirred into the cake batter at the church ladies’ Sunday luncheon than be put in a hole any other place.”
The sun disappeared behind some clouds, causing the light in the clearing to fade. “I gotta finish up now, Rex. Thanks for bringin’ the beer all this way. It’ll be mighty nice to drink one after gettin’ back from my sister’s up in Riverside. I’m leavin’ as soon as this hole is dug. Just leave it on the porch. The money should be there too.”
I nodded and turned to leave when I stopped. “Did you pop the tire on Dr. Cook’s van?” I asked. “I passed him on the way over here. He was madder than all hell.”
Dugan smiled evilly. “That I did. Teach him a lesson for buyin’ all my cigarettes. God forbid he’d have to blow some of precious salary on a purchase such as that.”
I dropped the beer on the porch and started for home again. I was just passing Cook’s house when he burst through the front door, running towards me at full speed.
“Rex! Thank God you’re back. Mr. Newman’s fever got worse durin’ the night. He stopped breathin’ a few minutes ago. That fuckin’ bastard popped the tire on my van and I can’t get there in time by walkin’. Can you give me a ride? His life is at stake!”
I nodded and we set off, practically running down the road. Five minutes later, we rounded the corner and started towards the driveway. I saw that Lorelei was pulling out, backing up down the path. She stuck her head out the window and slammed on the brakes when she saw us.
“My goodness, Rex, what’s the rush? I was just goin’ to the post office. Why’s Dr. Cook with you?”
I explained the situation to her while trying to catch my breath. Her face went white. “Oh my, that is serious. Get in, Dr. Cook. I’ll take you there myself right away.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He said, jumping in the passenger seat. They sped off, sending a cloud of dust in their wake.
I waited for the next hour or so on the porch, scratching Tallulah’s ear and watching the road. I must have dozed off, because I woke up to the sound of tires on the gravel. I jumped up and ran to the car. Dr. Cook and Lorelei climbed out. Both of their faces were grave. Cook’s eyes were red.
He threw his bag down on the ground, hard. “He didn’t make it. I got there too late. Mr. Newman hadn’t breathed in fifteen minutes by the time we got there. I tried usin’ the defibrillator, but it didn’t work.”
He sat on the hood of the car, hanging his head in his hands. “This is all his fault. Dugan. Twenty-five years now and I’ve never lost a patient that didn’t have to be. If that cocksucker hadn’t popped the tire on my van I coulda been there ten minutes sooner. He’d be talkin’ to his wife right now. He should be.”
His voice broke. Though he managed to hold back the tears, his face got redder. I couldn’t think of much to say. I put my arm around Lorelei. “My god, that’s awful. I wonder what Mr. Dugan’ll say when he gets back from his trip in a few days.”
Cook froze for a moment. I thought he was heaving for a sob, but instead he wiped his eyes and stood up. He was looking at something in the distance, as if deep in thought. Just as suddenly as it had come, he snapped out of it. “Well, I guess I outta be goin’ home now. Thanks for your help today, you two. If you ever need anything at all, just give a holler.”
As he walked away, I could have sworn I saw a smile at the corner of his lips.
“He sure got over that mighty quick.” Lorelei said as we walked back towards the house.
I wasn’t sure what day Dugan would be back, so when I opened the store that week I only expected to see Cook early in the morning. But I didn’t see him, either. I waited there with the water bottle on the counter for four days straight, but there was no sign. I assumed he was still pretty broken up about Mr. Newman’s death and was taking a few much-needed days off.
I closed the store at 7:30 every night. If I didn’t have a customer between 6:45 and 7:15, sometimes I shuttered early. Thursday evening was shaping up to be just that. I put my book back on the shelf under the counter and went around to start turning the lights off.
I reached down to pick up a soda that had fallen behind the fridge when the door burst open, banging hard against the wall beside it. I dropped the soda, sending the bottle crashing to the floor.
“Now, what’s the meaning of…” I turned around to say, but stopped. Dugan stood in the doorway. His suit was crumpled like a tissue, marred by dark stains. His face was as red as a ripe tomato. His hair stuck up this way and that like he’d just gotten out of bed. When he spoke, his voice hoarse.
“Rex, I need you to gimme every last drop of cleanin’ supplies you have in this here store.”
I looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded. “Uh, Mr. Dugan, I’m not sure if I’m at liberty to do that. The other folks in this town might…”
He came running up and stood within a foot of me. “You don’t understand. I need it all and I need it now. Do you know what that jackass doctor did to me?”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine. Now, I can sell you maybe half of it, but…”
He continued like I hadn’t spoken. “After I left town Sunday evenin’ he slithered like a water moccasin over to my property and chopped down the power line. With an axe. Ain’t nobody there to report the power’s gone out. D’ya know how I make sure that all of my customers get their grandmas and grandfathers and great aunts and all the rest back lookin’ as nice as their wedding day?”
I gulped. I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“I put ‘em in freezers. Ones that must be kept with a chill to preserve ‘em. Now, tell me, if your power’s gone out and your freezer don’t work, what happens to all your ice cream and bags of Birdseye Vegetable Medley after all that cold is taken away? And it’s a hundred degrees for three days straight?”
I felt the color drain from my face.
“I opened my front door half an hour past and it was like I’d walked right into the Devil’s ballsack. I went down to the basement and you wouldn’t believe what I saw. Flies everywhere, like the room was made out of honey. Black liquid drippin’ out of the doors of the freezers. I near fainted, it smelled so bad.”
I didn’t need to be told anything more. I went over to the cleaning section and started handing him bottles of Clorox and Pine-Sol.
“He’s done it. He’s really done it. I passed the doc on my way over here. You wouldn’t believe the smile he gave me. Like he’d just heard the whole town came down with scarlet fever. I popped that damn tire on his van, but how was I s‘possed to know what happened to Mr. Newman? He’s gone and ruined my entire livelihood. I’ll never hear the end of this. Folks’ll start crossing the county line to get other business. They’ll whisper. They’ll point. I’ll have to deliver Mrs. Jameson to her family in a fucking paint can now. I won’t have it. I won’t take it for one second longer.”
As I rang him up, I saw that awful gleam enter his eye again. It glowed almost as brightly as the gold chain around his neck. He hoisted the bag up and turned to leave. As he slipped out the door, he grinned again. “Doc’ll never know what hit him. Maybe I’ll just have a new body for the graveyard soon.”
With that, I was left alone in the store.
I spent the rest of the night with a pit in my stomach, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. This was getting out of control. Had Dugan threatened Cook with murder? I’d hated many a person in my lifetime but I’d never hated them so much I wanted them dead. Lorelei must have sensed that I was troubled, because she leaned over and put an arm around me. I sighed and fell asleep soon after.
I was terrified to open the store Friday morning. I didn’t want Dugan to walk through the front doors, blood dripping off his hands, and ask for some garbage bags. Or Cook, for that matter. But I didn’t have to worry. Neither showed up all day. Late that afternoon, I was almost falling asleep. The bell chiming on the door woke me up. It was Josie Larkin, daughter of a farmer that lived outside of town.
“Hello, Mr. Clark!” she chirped, walking over to the refrigerated section and grabbing a bottle of Fanta.
“Good afternoon, Josie. What are you up to on this fine day? Did your father give you the day off?”
She popped the cap off with an opener from her pocket. “Yep. Daddy’s cuttin’ wheat all day and said he didn’t need any help. So I went walkin’ in town and ran into Mr. Dugan. He came up and asked if I’d make a special delivery for him. Said he’d give me ten dollars for doin’ it.”
I nearly froze as she handed me her money. “Did he now? What…uh, what kind of delivery?”
She grabbed the change and stuffed it in her pocket. “Sorry, Mr. Clark, I can’t tell you that. He had me sworn to secrecy. I can’t tell nobody. I just popped in here to get a drink before I drive over. It was hard work loading it all into the truck. Made me real thirsty.”
She started towards the door. “What? What did you load into the truck?” I called, but she just waved.
“You have a nice day now!” Josie bounded down the steps and jumped into her father’s pickup. The bed was covered loosely in tarp and rope. As she started the engine and drove away, the tarp flew up a moment and I saw it.
The back was full of gas cans.
I drove home from the store at 7:30 in a daze. Lorelei greeted me at the door. “My god, what’s wrong with you? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I mumbled something and slumped down in a chair at the table. She glared at me, closing the door of the fridge. “Rex Clark, you ain’t gonna get a single bite to eat until you tell me what’s got you all riled up.”
I told her about the gas cans. She shook her head. “You don’t really think Mr. Dugan is thinkin’ about torching Dr. Cook’s house, do you? That seems like a bit much of a reaction.”
I hadn’t told her about the power cut. But I wanted to believe it. I wanted to tell myself that Dugan had a perfectly harmless explanation and it would all be over. So I nodded. “You’re probably right. Maybe he’s just plannin’ on having a bonfire or something.”
I buried my head deeper in the sand as the night wore on. Tallulah disappeared for a few while but came back later, barking happily. Lorelei looked down at her. “I thought for sure those pups were comin’ today. Looks like she might’ve gone off to try and find a good place for later.”
After supper, we went to the bedroom. I hadn’t thought about the cans for hours. Soon after we were done, I slipped off into a dreamless sleep.
I woke up at 4:30 in the morning to the acrid smell of smoke. I coughed and sat up in bed. Lorelei called my name from the living room. I rushed down the hall to find the front door wide open, with her standing on the lawn. I stepped out and looked up.
Black smoke was rising from a mile away, floating above the treetops in black clouds. I knew where it was coming from. There was the distant sound of fire trucks blaring their horns. I walked down the steps and wrapped my arms around Lorelei. She gulped. “Well, I guess that wasn’t too much of a step up, was it?”
I decided to close the store that day. I drove there myself half an hour later to flip the sign and write a note of explanation. On my way back I almost stopped at the sheriff’s to tell him what I saw, but I knew there wouldn’t be any proof. Dugan would’ve taken every precaution so that he wouldn’t be caught.
Saturday passed in a relative blur. Lorelei and I spent the afternoon and evening chopping wood and putting it in the shed for winter. Though the day started out sunny, clouds rapidly overtook it, growing darker with each passing hour. When the wind started to pick up and there was that electric feeling in the air, I knew we were in for a storm.
We finished around 8:00, just as the rain was really starting to pick up. Lorelei went into the house to change her clothes while I put the tools away. Just as went to walk up the porch steps, I saw Cook passing slowly by on the road in his van. One new tire stood out in contrast to the three old dusty ones. A pit formed in my stomach.
He turned his head and saw me, slamming on the breaks. I ran over. “Dr. Cook, I think I know where you’re goin’. I just want to say that before you…” but I stopped.
His eyes were unfocused, staring off into space. I saw a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam lying on the passenger seat, next to his medical bag, which was spilled over. His hair was scorched in some places and I could see burns on his arms.
His laugh was low and solemn, almost as slurred as his words. “Rex. I shoulda known that bastard would do somethin’ like this. That…that there house was in my family ‘most as long as his family’s been puttin’ people in the ground. My great-grandaddy built it with his own two hands. We’ve added onto it for years. Me n’ my sister were born in the guestroom. My mother died in the upstairs bedroom. All them mem’ries. And you know what? It all gone. Gone. Reduced to cinders. All because he couldn’ have his Malboros. My house looks like his lungs now. All black and ashy. Well, I got somethin’ for him. Somethin’ reeeeal nice.”
I shook my head. “Dr. Cook, wait, you can’t…” but before I could stop him, he slammed on the gas. The car thundered down the road, raising a dust cloud in its wake.
I stumbled back to the house. Night was falling rapidly, almost as fast as the rain was picking up outside. I went through the door and sprawled onto the couch, hanging my head in my hands. I had no idea what to do. As the rain beat harder and harder on the roof, I sat there lost in thought.
My stupor was interrupted by the back door opening and Lorelei stepping through, a panicked look on her face. “Oh, Rex! I can’t find Tallulah anywhere!” she cried.
Her yells broke me from my daze. What was I doing? I needed to stop this. “Lorie, I know that sounds bad, but I got somethin’ to tell you, Dr. Cook…” but she cut me off.
“Look at it outside! It’s rainin’ harder than hell and she’s got her pups! If we don’t find her soon they could be drowned! What if she’s holed up under a tree somewhere? Have you seen her since this afternoon?”
I tried to bring up the van again, but she ran towards the back door. “I’ll go look in the yard!” I almost protested but stopped. I looked out the window at the spot where Cook’s van had resided twenty minutes before. An idea formed in my mind.
“Yeah, you do that! I’ll jump in the car and go out lookin’ for her!” I grabbed my keys off the peg by the door and rushed into the storm.
I felt bad about lying to Lorelei where I was going. I really did care about Tallulah and her pups. But I had to stop Cook before he did something terrible.
I raced down the street as quick as I could. The wipers were on their highest setting and I still had trouble seeing out the windshield. Puddles had already started forming on the road, sending up large sprays of water whenever I went through them.
I was going so fast I nearly sped right by Dugan’s. But I slammed on the brakes just in time, almost running into Cook’s van parked in the driveway. The storm clouds loomed over the gothic house, making it look like a haunted mansion. I climbed out of my car and started towards the house. It was full dark by then, and I was soaked to the bone by the driving rain. As I passed the van, I saw that the driver’s door was wide open.
I mounted the steps, pounding on the front door. “Dr. Cook! Mr. Dugan!” I cried. “It’s me, Rex Clark from the store? Don’t…”
The door swung inward lazily. It was already open. No one answered my calls as it stopped, hitting the wall beside. I could see through the short, dusty front hallway and into the lighted kitchen beyond. A large pool of blood covered the tiles, seeping through the arch and staining the wood floor.
I moaned in horror and turned around, faltering down the porch steps. I was too late. If I hadn’t wasted those ten minutes doing nothing, this all could’ve been prevented. But now there was a man dead, and it was all my…
My train of thought came to a stop when something caught in my headlights. The car was positioned at an angle, sending two bright jets into the woods across the road. The first thing I saw was Cook’s medical bag lying in the ditch. The second was the figure in the trees.
I recognized the natty black suit right away.
I stumbled forward, collapsing against the hood of the car. Dugan was rapidly disappearing down the path towards the graveyard. Something was clutched in his right hand. I followed it down to the ground, where a dark shape was being dragged through the mud. The beams lit up the rain as it fell, making it shine like liquid gold.
I managed to let out a hoarse cry, barely audible over the wind. Dugan froze in his tracks. I realized too late that I didn’t want to see. But I didn’t look away. The first thing I saw when he turned around was the blood coming out of his mouth. It was pinkish and diluted from the rain, but I could tell what it was all the same. His hair was plastered to his head, greasy tangles taught against his face. The suit was stuck to him as well, emphasizing his skeletal frame. The large thing he dragged down the path was covered in muck and grime.
His bloodshot eyes settled on me for a moment. They seemed to glow in the lights. A few seconds passed before his mouth split open in a grin. It was the most terrible thing I’d ever seen, like putting your head underwater and seeing a shark baring its teeth at you from the depths. As I watched, he put one finger up to his bloody lips, like this was an inside joke that only him and I knew about.
He let it drop and turned around, dragging the body towards the graveyard again.
The next few minutes are lost to me. I vaguely recall getting in the car and driving in the direction of home. I know I hit a few potholes and bumped a thing or two along the way, because the car was covered in dents in the morning.
At some point, I stumbled through the front door to find Lorelei sitting by the stove, petting Tallulah’s head. Eight puppies were lined up along her stomach.
“She was behind the stove the whole time! Look at them, Rex! Couldn’t you just eat ‘em…” but she stopped when she saw my face. “Holy hell, what happened?”
But I ignored her as I stumbled into the kitchen to call the police.
Sheriff Winscott came to get me the next morning. Lorelei kissed me as she put Tallulah’s dish out. I climbed into the passenger seat and we were off down the road.
Winscott shook his head. “I knew somethin’ like this was bound to happen. Those two have been snipin’ at each other for many long years now. You can’t hate someone for that long without wantin’ to kill ‘em at some point.”
I said nothing. Five minutes later, we pulled into the driveway. Cook’s van was still parked, the cab flooded with water from the previous night’s storm.
Winscott stepped out, breathing in some early morning air. “Now, I want you to go over exactly what you saw last night.”
I shivered, but nodded. “Okay. Well, I parked over there and started going towards the house, and…” but I stopped when I saw the two officers carrying a sheeted body out the front door. The arms flopped to the side as they took it towards the ambulance. The sleeves of its jacket weren’t black, but white.
“What was that you were sayin’?” Winscott asked, jotting something down in his notebook. But I kept watching as they loaded the body into the back. One of the officers stumbled, causing the sheet to slip down from the face.
Dr. Cook’s lifeless eyes stared back at me.
“Two blood pools in the house. Both bastards must’ve shot or stabbed each other or somethin’. Doc was dead in there, body in the kitchen. But we can’t find Dugan’s…” Winscott was droning, but I took off running, towards the path that lead into the woods.
“Hey! Where are you goin’?” He called, but I ignored him. I swatted branches out of my way as I looked down at the ground. No footprints in the mud. Just drag marks.
I burst into the clearing. The sun graced the treetops, lighting the whole space with early-morning rays. Something gleamed off to my left. Ten feet away, right next to Dorothy Dugan’s grave, was a freshly filled-in hole. The shovel still stuck out of the wet dirt. I walked to it, staring down at the glinting object at the head of the resting place.
It was Dugan’s gold chain.

It hasn’t even been a day since I first laid eyes upon it.
I was dropping my girlfriend off for her last in-person yoga class before everything went back on lockdown for the winter, when a portrait hanging in the display window of the shop across the street unexpectedly caught my attention.
It was an eighteen-inch by twenty-four-inch expressionist painting of a black humanoid creature with poorly defined edges and features, like it was bleeding into the shadows around it. It was tall, gaunt, and hunched, dressed in a tattered hood and mantle that vaguely resembled a set of wings. It lacked all facial features save for a pair of misty white eyes, the only part of its body that wasn’t black. It held a lumpy sack in one hand, and in the other, it plucked up a child between two of its long, Dr. Seussesque fingers.
The child was bruised and bloodied, and undeniably terrified for its life, but no motive could be inferred from the stance of its tormentor. The whole scene was reminiscent of Saturn devouring his children, only with Saturn reimagined as some sort of Lovecraftian boogieman.
My interest sufficiently peaked, I decided to go inside for a closer look.
The shop in question was Orville’s Old-Fashioned Oddity Outlet, and was mildly infamous for selling strange items of questionable authenticity. Ever since I had first started taking my girlfriend to the neighbouring Eve’s Eden of Esoterica, I often found myself wondering how old Orville managed to stay in business. His oddity shop rarely seemed busy, and from what I could tell most people agreed that his merchandise was overpriced hokum.
It could have just been that Orville was living off an inheritance or something and was operating his business at a loss for the hell of it, or that the runoff from Eve's was enough to keep him afloat. But, a quick glance at the local paranormal forum HarrowickHallows.net produced photographs of some of our town’s wealthiest residents visiting the shop, along with a handful of other mysterious figures who nobody recognized. Everything from cloaked cultists to colourful clown girls had been seen making after-hours visits to Orville’s. So maybe, just maybe, a few of Orville’s high-end items were legit, and the occasional sale to his select clientele was all he needed to stay in business.
It was a fun little thought as I stepped through the door, paying no heed to the large ‘Caveat Emptor’ emblazoned upon it.
“VHS tapes? What am I supposed to do with VHS tapes?” I heard a gruff voice ask. I turned towards it and saw an old man in a garish pastel suit with his feet up on his desk and a phone in his hand. With his other hand, he indicated he would be with me in one moment. “Nobody has a VCR anymore, so what good would – You have a VCR to go with the tape collection? And what’s its deal? Of course you can’t set the clock, there’s nothing paranormal about that! Listen, what are you trying to sell, the tapes or what's on the tapes? Because if it's what's on the tapes then maybe you could – uh-huh. Well, I'll never be able to move them as a general item if I have to convince people to buy an obsolete VCR to go with them. I might be able to broker a deal with a specific buyer, but I'll need more information. Not now though, I've got a customer. I'll call you back. I – I said – no, if you put a piece of scotch tape over the removed tab you can tape over it again. If there’s tape residue then they could have been taped over, but it could just be from an old label, how would I know? I – yeah, you figure that out. I got to go. Bye.”
He hung up the receiver on the cradle of a bronze and mahogany rotary phone before folding his fingers and giving me his full attention.
“Honestly, the things some of these jerks try to unload on me,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Anywho, can I help you find anything, young man?”
“Yeah, actually. I was wondering about that painting in the window,” I replied, pointing to the display behind me.
“Oh, you mean The Self-Portrait of Rancorous Ruck,” the old man flashed me a devious smile before donning an iridescent tragedy mask with a surgical mask fixed to the inside.
“Self-portrait?” I asked skeptically.
“Absolutely,” he said, rising from his seat and leading me towards the painting. “Cryptids and monsters are notoriously difficult to get decent photographs of, and that was a bit of a problem for Old Rancor here. He can’t exist in the real world unless he already exists in the mind of a… suitable host, let’s say. He’s sustained by thoughts about him and uses his host’s innate mental energy to manifest a physical form for himself. This presents a bit of a Catch-22, since he needs people to know about him to exist, but existing is kind of a prerequisite for people to know about you. What’s a damned thoughtform to do? If you’re a thought-based murder monster with an artistic streak like Rancorous Ruck here, you leave a self-portrait behind as a calling card. That way, even after your host is pushing up daisies, another one is bound to come along sooner or later and end up getting you stuck in their head.”
He took the portrait down from the easel and allowed me to get a better look at it, taking care not to look at it himself.
The first thing I noticed was that the lumps of the sack were much more clearly hands or feet or faces pushing against it from the inside. The bottom of the sack was wet and dripping with a dark fluid, presumably blood, and the background showed many small sets of footprints running rapidly in all directions.
Finally, in the corner, I could make the signature of the artist in the same stark white as the creature’s eyes; Rancorous Ruck, Self-Portrait Sept. 1947.
“So, you’re claiming that the creature in the portrait is the artist, and it leaves these paintings behind as a way to infect other victims?” I asked incredulously.
“That’s right, and anyone with a lick of sense or concern for their fellow human beings burns ’em, so they’re very rare,” Orville replied. “I know what you’re thinking; why in the world would anyone pay thirteen hundred dollars for a cursed painting?”
“Thirteen hundred!”
“Before taxes and various fees and surcharges, yes. The reason is that since Old Rancor is sustained by your thoughts, you’re able to exert some control over how he manifests. The more you study this portrait, the more of Rancorous you take into yourself, and – if you’re strong enough – the more of him you can bend to your will. Potentially very useful; or, you know, life-saving, if he decides to come after you. Which he probably will, since you’ve taken such an interest in his handiwork. Good luck getting him out of your head now. Seriously though, your best bet is to buy the painting and study every square inch of it until your eyes are bloodshot, put in some eye drops, and keep studying.”
I was more than a little confused by Orville’s sales pitch of ‘buy this possessed painting in the hopes of inoculating yourself against the demon first’. I didn’t really believe him, but I did find the story mildly entertaining.
As for the painting itself, I genuinely liked it. It was delightfully macabre, and I was curious about why the artist would have titled it a self-portrait. I could tell that it was an actual painting and not a print, so even though I would have liked some actual provenance on the piece, thirteen hundred wasn’t an outrageous asking price for a decent work by an unknown artist.
As much as I hate myself for it, I ended up buying the damn thing, which came to almost sixteen hundred with all of Orville’s taxes, fees, and surcharges. He wrapped it up very carefully, still taking the greatest of care not to look at it himself, and helped me Tetris it into the trunk of my car. I didn’t want my girlfriend to see it; not because I was afraid of the curse, but because I was afraid of her cursing me out. Fortunately, when she came out of Eve’s, she put her bags in the backseat instead of the trunk. I didn’t really have a plan for what I would have said if she had opened the trunk, but I got lucky. That was a fight we could save for another day.
Once I had taken her home and gotten back to my own apartment, for some reason I took Orville’s advice and carefully inspected the painting before hanging it up. It didn’t make any sense though, since there wasn’t really anything to study. Rancorous Ruck was just a shadow person, and there didn’t seem much more I could learn just by looking at him. If I squinted, I thought that maybe I could make out the outline of a belt, ragged sleeves or the tattered hem of his hood, but that was it. I stared into the empty void of his face, thinking that if there was any hidden detail that was where I’d find it, but no matter how hard I looked I couldn’t see anything other than those two white eyes.
Since my thorough examination of the piece failed to yield any hidden secrets, I felt comfortably reassured that Orville had been full of crap. I even googled ‘Rancorous Ruck’, and got zero results, which seemed a crushing blow to Orville’s claim that there had ever been multiple paintings by an artist using that pseudonym. I was convinced the painting was a one-off by an unknown artist that had somehow found its way to Orville's shop, and he made up a story to go with it as he did for all his wares.
I did vaguely recall seeing something about a Red Ruck on the Harrowick Hallows forum, but I didn’t think too much of it. I figured both were just drawing inspiration from the same local legend. I tried taking a photo of the portrait with my phone to upload to the forum, and that’s when things first started to get weird.
When I looked at the portrait through my phone, Ruck was nothing but an amorphous black cloud. There was nothing humanoid about his form at all, and the white bits that had been his eyes were now clearly just breaks in the cloud. I fiddled around with the settings and even the lighting in my room, but nothing could make Rancorous Ruck appear on the screen the way he did in the portrait.
This got even more unsettling when I tried to take a photo or record a video. Each and every time, the file wouldn’t save, no matter what I did. I tried saving it to the device, the SD card, the cloud; nothing worked.
At this point, I was starting to get a little freaked out, but there were still rational explanations to explore before accepting Orville’s cockamamie story. Like, maybe the portrait wasn’t from 1947 at all but was far more modern, and embedded with some machine-readable code for digital rights management. But that wasn’t really how something like that would work, was it? I would get a notification telling me I didn’t have the rights to share the image. It wouldn’t just inexplicably be unable to save files, and it certainly wouldn’t automatically censor it the way it was doing. Could it have been for a joke or marketing scheme then? But that still would have required getting the software onto my phone somehow. Maybe my phone was infected with malware and it was just a coincidence that the first thing I tried to take a photo of was this creepy painting.
That was pretty much all I could think of, aside from the obvious theories about losing my marbles. Frustrated, I tossed my phone aside and leaned in to examine the portrait once again, to see if I could find anything that might explain the incongruity between what I was seeing and what the camera on my phone saw.
I found myself staring into Ruck’s eyes, the eyes that my phone said were nothing more than empty spaces in a shapeless black form. But they were too deliberately placed and shaped to be anything but eyes, and they had been painted a very distinct white to contrast with the darkness around them, making their presence undeniable. I could even make out the faint outline of pupils and irises, though I hadn’t noticed them before. In fact, now that I was really looking at them, I could see that they even had corneas, each of which held the reflection of a vague, ghostly figure.
It was astonishing, actually, how much detail had gone into eyes that would only be noticed up close.
By then I was really starting to wish that my girlfriend had discovered the painting. At least then I’d have a rational excuse to take it back to Orville’s. Not that he would have taken it back. He was very clear that the only thing about his shop that wasn’t real was his return policy.
I tried to convince myself that I was being silly. The whole reason I bought the painting was because it was creepy, and if I had spent as much money on my phone as I had on it maybe it would be able to take a decent picture of it. Sighing in defeat, I resigned myself to living with the portrait for at least one night. If it was still a problem in the light of day, I’d try to pawn it off on some gallery or museum for a tax deduction.
Sleep, unsurprisingly, eluded me that night. Have you heard of the Tetris Effect? It’s when you have residual imagery of something you were really focused on, either in the dark or in your peripheral vision.
Well, as I laid in the dark that night, I could see Rancorous Ruck. At first, it was just his eyes floating in the darkness, his body as amorphous as it had been on my phone. But, gradually, he started to take shape. His head, his hood, and his mantle, then his limbs, his torso, and finally his sack all slowly emerged as distinct from the surrounding darkness, and I could see him as clearly as if I was looking at his portrait. The child, however, did not appear, leaving Ruck with a free hand. He held up his long fingers to his face to examine them, and I thought nothing of it, dismissing it as more hypnagogic imagery.
Then he lowered his hands and looked towards me, and a smile made of nothing more than a bright white line broke out across his face.
He set his sack on the ground and began noisily rummaging through it, and as I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking that it was very odd that a residual image on my retina should be able to make any noise at all.
It was still night when I awoke again, still dark, but I could immediately tell something was wrong. My bedroom door was open when I knew I had closed it, and light was leaking in through the crack when I knew I had turned all the lights off.
Panicking, I bolted out of bed and dashed into the living room, ready to confront any intruders with only my bare fists.
My machismo vanished pretty quickly when I saw what was waiting for me in that room.
In the sepia light of candles that I didn’t own, I saw the hunched figure of Rancorous Ruck working ardently at another self-portrait. His back was turned to me, and thus the painting was facing my direction. He had drawn himself emerging out of an inky black patch of mould on an old brick wall, wrapping his hand around the mouth of his victim while brandishing a knife in the other. Even though his victim’s face was mostly covered by his hand, there wasn’t the slightest doubt in my mind that it was supposed to be me.
He turned around to face me then, his face nothing more than two white dots and a smile against an impenetrable black void. He held up his brush, heavy with paint that he carelessly let drip to my floor, and moved slightly to the side so that I could get a better view of his artwork.
“I don’t think I got your eyes quite right, boy,” he mocked in a raspy voice. “Hope you can live with that.”
I didn’t respond. Hell, I barely heard him, my heart was pounding so hard. My veins were flooded with adrenaline but I couldn’t will my limbs to move. I was practically catatonic, sweating and shivering as I just stared wide-eyed at the monster painting in my living room.
Ruck just snickered in contempt, turning his attention back to his painting, adding a few finishing touches.
Only then, when his back was turned and I thought I actually had a chance, did I run. I ran to my apartment door and threw it open, only to see Old Rancor casually standing in the doorframe, blocking my path.
“Hello,” he smirked, with an exaggerated wave of his long, mangey fingers. “Yes, Dr. Seussesque is what you called them, if I’m not mistaken. A colourful description, I must admit, even if it’s not exactly what I was going for.”
I slammed the door shut, but it just went right through him, and he had somehow moved up slightly so that I had just shut him into the apartment with me.
I had two choices then, either to fight him head-on or try to reach the fire escape. For absolutely nothing remotely resembling a rational motive, I tried to throttle him and tackle him to the ground. Before I could even make contact though, he slipped behind me with an ethereal ease and leapt upon my back, putting me into a chokehold and muffling my screams with his hand. I frantically tried to buck him off, slamming up against the wall and rolling upon the floor, but he clung to me with a dauntless and uncanny tenacity.
It didn't take long for me to exhaust my oxygen supply like that, and I quickly lost consciousness.
I wasn't dead though, not yet. I awoke at my desk, tied to my chair, with my laptop booted up and placed in front of me. It was still night, and I probably wasn't out for more than a few minutes. I began frantically looking around for my attacker, and sure enough, he was standing over me with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for me to wake up.
“What the fuck are you?” I demanded, struggling against my bindings whilst on the verge of hyperventilation.
“Exactly what Orville told you, or at least close enough that it’s not worth going over again,” he replied. He bent over and picked up his soggy, dripping sack, and I could see slowly writhing faces, hands, and other body parts pushing against it from the inside, moaning in dull anguish as they thrashed within their burlap prison. “See this? In here are all the minds of my old victims, and they’re what keeps me going when the world forgets about me. You’re going in here too, but not just yet. I have a small favour to ask of you first.”
“Fuck you!” I cursed, vehemently spitting at him. He backhanded me so hard my chair toppled over. I was too out of it for a second to notice him putting me back up, but apparently, he did, because when I came back to my senses I was looking at my computer again.
"Orville was right, you know. Your thoughts sustain me, so all you had to do to beat me was not think of me as a monster," he taunted me, his smile twisting into a jagged white scrawl of chalk as he squeezed my cheeks with his prickly, slimy fingers. "A shame that's easier said than done. You have managed to make one non-trivial contribution to my being though, aside from the Seuss fingers. You couldn’t find a single search result when you googled me, and in this day and age, one needs an online presence if one hopes to get anywhere.
“So here’s the deal; I’m going to paint, and you’re going to write, and if you come up with something postable by the time I've finished my painting, you'll get the privilege of going into my sack in one piece. But if you refuse…”
He held his sack up to my face and pulled it open. Inside was an endless abyss of severed limbs, flayed skins, decapitated heads and scalped faces, all of them still animate and aware.
Worst of all, most of them looked like they had come from children.
He snapped the bag shut again, and I tried to muster up the courage to tell him to fuck off again – but I couldn’t.
And so, I’m writing this; Rancorous Ruck’s debut post to the interwebs, exposing him to a bigger audience than his paintings ever could.
I don’t know if something written by someone else will infect people the same way as his paintings do, but I really hope they don’t. But, if this post does infect people, please know that I’m truly sorry. The bastard’s in my head now, I’m not strong enough to resist him. Once I post this, I’m going in the sack, and maybe you think that’s what I deserve for giving into Rancor’s demands.
But if you pity me at all, and you ever happen to be in Sombermorey, then please, please, do me one favour; burn Orville’s shop to the ground.