Mass general patient gateway

Is climate change real? Yes, its been changing for millions of years and always has, no news there. Is that important... yes of course in the long run it may be, but profiteering corporations should not be at the helm of a terrorist level feacrisis propaganda machine (WEF) that will benefit them directly with their "pay us your carbon tax dollars", " "pay us billions of tax dollars for vaccines that tax dollars developed", etc. Are these truely solutions, did this work? Has it EVER worked in the past? Or is it thinly veiled WEF/media supported corporate extortion of the public and their personal wealth? Many Taxpayers can't afford food and shelter.... So... I am suggesting we don't need change? umm NO!!!, in fact nothing could be further from the truth. I think plenty needs to be done, just by different people. Why would we hand the keys to those that got us into our current position in the first place? Using feathreat propaganda for crises after crises and offering corporate solutions to the public with taxpayer dollars is criminal EXTORTION. I call this the Crises/Extortion Profit Model. Its been designed to eliminate the personal and generational wealth of the public to implement the 2030 agenda. Elites and their planet damaging corporations should be paying for the bulk of the remediation of the damage they have caused by enabling the public. They are ones that can afford it. They are the ones responsible and they are certainly not the ones struggling to feed their kids and pay bills.
The solution: Corporations need heavy regulation and should have zero say in world politics(WEF). More than ever, the foxes are looking after the henhouse and it needs to stop immediately. Profit driven Pharmaceutical cos should not be able to test their own products for safety, the current system is insane, its a total conflict of interest. Herbicides and pesticides should be third party safety tested as well. Ban chemical farming - its destroying our soil and our health and contributing to global warming. We need to switch to 100% sustainable organic/rotation and mixed farming. Slow down the fast fashion and fast personal electronic turn over. The world is full of toxic disease causing crap that is being manufactured and disposed of at an alarming rate. The largest Corporations and their elites(who are the worst climate and consumer offenders) and their data mining and targeted advertising leading to accelerating consumerism and excess consumption is the largest global problem today. The oceans are being pumped full of consumer waste. Landfills are overflowing. Unessential and rapid personal electronic turnover, vehicle turnover, excess manufacture of useless gadgets, household products, processed foods, chemicals, food dyes, herbicides, pesticides, plastics, unnecessary medications, fast fashion, excess footware, the massive drive for digital IDs and upcoming frequent and mandatory mrna vaccinations....a world full of surveillance equipment, tracking synthetic home products, beauty products, I could go on and on....no one "needs" 10 pairs of shoes, no one needs an upgraded TV, a new phone every year, a new laptop, new speakers, earbuds, a new car, faster internet, more powerful WiFi, heated car seats, entertainment systems in cars. And dont even get me started on the elites and their multiple homes, cars, private jets and Super yachts.... Just F-ing STOP the Insanity!
The answer IS to STOP. Stop the elites and the largest Corporations and their BIG DATA and the resulting drive for ever increasing mass consumerism of unessential, toxic and wasteful products. It has become an unstoppable profit machine of unfathomable greed at the expense of our planet. But instead of reversing this unsustainable greed, these same elites and corporations are now running the show through organizations like the WEF who are suggesting MORE technology. MORE AI and blending humans with technology, MORE surveillance, MORE vaccinations and gene therapy, MORE control and.....coincidentally WAY MORE control of the way they make money at the cost of the future of our planet. The corporations that are running the world are causing excess manufacturing that is driving global toxicity, division, psychosocial disorders, cancers, global soil loss and global warming. Corporations, technology and big DATA have amplified this to ridiculous levels... Yet our response to this is to give them even MORE control... More climate change tax dollars so the foxes can continue to run the henhouse...the VW battery factory in Canada for example. WTF !!!....as if VW can't afford to build their own F-ing battery plant! Noo, its coming from broke Canadians who can't afford food or clothing. We're doing this all wrong. Somewhere between the Amish and the WEF corporate 'Technopsychos' exists a happy medium where human animals can live and coexist with other animals on this planet without leaving such a pathetic, greedy path of Corporate destruction. Just today I soldered new rechargeable batteries into a 10year old shaver...why didn't the corporation make the batteries easily replaceable? ....Because they want you to buy a new one every few years, same with cell phones and so many other planet killing electronics. We all need to stop...social media and cell phones are reducing real social contact at very young ages, causing psychosocial disorders..anxiety, depression. Insomnia, autism, ADHD...and altered brain function.
Unsustainable corporate, data driven consumerism IS in itself the problem. THEY have caused ALL of it ....and we are handing them the keys to save us from themselves and expecting a change.... Throwing tax dollars at more elites and their 'newthink' Technosociopathic corporations will only accelerate the problem exponentially.
The solution is to back the F up and stop the rampant acceleration of technology and associated climate killing manufacturing and global waste.
And WHY do the guiltiest elites at the top have most of the worlds money and influence when they are 100% responsible for ALL of this.... and even with all their money.... there are still people starving in this world? Yet they want broke, struggling taxpayers to help instead....
The problem is the sociopathic corporate system, not the people. If you want to slow global warming, Stop consuming all kinds of manufactured garbage you don't need to live a healthy natural life. Stop giving children tablets and cell phones, Stop Microsoft, stop Google, stop Apple, stop Samsung, stop Monsanto, Stop Moderna, stop everyone of them that is leading to a world that will resemble the movie WALL-E rather than the utopian paradise it used to be.
This is the answer. YES...We need a Global Reset but not of the general public. We need a reset of Biased Corporate Profiteering and their negative influence on society. And WE need to STOP buying excess corporate manufactured JUNK. Even though all you screen sucking, non-essential product consuming, processed and GMO pesticide laden food eating, gullible media listening baboons don't want to hear it.......This IS the ANSWER.

Inside the boundless expanse of Loria Online, Guspy the elven mage drained the last of his mana vaporizing a Vickerbite. It was his third hour of grinding this particular mob, and he was getting tired.
“What’s the drop rate on this thing again?” he asked Collins.
Collins cleaved another Vickerbite with his greataxe. “0.02% or something. Getting bored?”
Guspy was indeed getting bored. Despite their grotesque appearance (they looked like flying crocodile heads with mosquito feet), Vickerbites were pushovers.
“Yeah, I might only have a few minutes’ more patience for this.”
Collins slammed his axe into the ground, causing a shockwave that killed another three. “That’s ok, we’ve been playing for a while. It just kind of feels like wasted time if we quit now, though.”
“Are you getting close to leveling?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither.”
A Vickerbite burst when he swatted it with his staff. A loot bag dropped onto the rust colored dirt.
Probably another Vicker Tongue or leg or something, Guspy thought. He almost didn’t bother to check. But when he did, he found what he and Collins had been seeking for so long.
“I got it! The belt dropped!”
“Thank God, let’s get out of here,” Collins said, regrouping with the mage he protected.
Guspy read the item description for The Belt of Endurance.
The Belt of Endurance Slot: Belt Rarity: Very Rare Earth Resistance: %%0 Air Resistance: %%0 Fire Resistance: %%0 Water Resistance: %%0 Physical Resistance: %%0 Magic Resistance: %%0 Debuff Resistance: %%0
“What the hell?” Guspy said.
“What’s wrong? Is it the wrong belt?” Collins casually swatted two final Vickerbites.
“The stats are glitched or something. It’s supposed to be 5% resistance to everything, right?”
“The BoE? Yeah, 5% resist all. Is it not?”
“It shows ‘percent percent zero’.”
Collins shrugged. “Put it on, see what happens.”
Guspy equipped the belt and checked his character’s stats. “Ha, that’s so weird. All of my resistances show backslash, open parenthesis, ‘N’, close parenthesis.”
Collins used the Warrior’s Assessment ability on Guspy. “Huh. When I analyze you, I see hashtag ‘null’.”
“That’s either really good or really bad,” said Guspy.
Collins raised his sword and struck Guspy on the shoulder.
Collins attacks you for 0 damage
“There are safer ways to check!” Guspy said.
“It didn’t hurt you, weird. Mind if I use a little Fire Fan scroll on you?” Collins asked with a toothy grin.
“You have one? Aren’t you a little over leveled for that?” Fire Fan produced a tiny cone of flame that did very little damage.
“I’m a hoarder. So, can I?” Collins wiggled the scroll between his fingers.
Guspy agreed.
Collins casts Fire Fan for 0 fire damage
“Guspy, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think that belt makes you invincible,” said Collins.
Guspy began to bounce up and down in excitement. “Oh man, think of the possibilities! I can solo raid a guild hall. The Nighthawks deserve that kind of ass whupping,” he said, referring their rival guild in Loria. “Or I can loot an end-game dungeon! We’re not far from The Death Pit.”
Collins looked into Guspy’s eyes and gave him the smile a parent gives a child when they ask where rainbows end.
“Oh, you asshole!” said Guspy.
“I think you should turn it in,” said Collins.
“Why?! Why would I do that?! The Nighthawks have been bullying us for months now. With this, I could walk right in their guild hall, wipe them out, and tear the whole thing down. They wouldn’t be able to stop me! You can’t tell me they don’t deserve it.”
“Not saying they don’t,” said Collins.
Guspy pressed, “I can farm The Death Pit for Soulflayers. Everyone in our guild could have a Soulflayer, even the newbies. They’d finally be tough enough to join us on raids. You know how they’ve been dying to play with us in high level zones. Think how happy they would be!”
“Oh, they’d be awfully happy,” said Collins.
Guspy unleashed his coup de grace. “And! I can go to Fort Murder, stroll through it without a care in the world, kill the general, and not have to split the loot with anyone. That means I would get a Headsman’s Axe, which I would of course donate to my dear friend Collins. Wouldn’t you like a Headsman’s Axe?”
“I absolutely would,” said Collins.
“Ok, good. So, I’ll just—"
“Turn it in, Guspy,” said Collins.
Guspy stamped his feet in frustration. “Why though? You just said you were on board with the Nighthawks and the Soulflayer and the axe!”
“Oh, I am. The Nighthawks need to get taught. Having the newbies be tough enough to join us would be great. I’ve been dying for a Headsman for months now. But you’d be cheating. Momma didn’t raise no cheater, and daddy didn’t raise no troll,” said Collins.
“That’s so backward. You know the Nighthawks would do that to us if they got it,” said Guspy.
“Sure enough. But we can’t control what they do, and I can’t control what you do. I just want you to remember what I’ve said before: there’s a person on the other end of that character. A person just like you. I can only imagine how tilted you’d get if someone cheated to become invincible and killed you. Or farmed their whole guild ultra-rares and used them on you. I’m just asking you, as a friend, to turn it in. Please.”
Guilt. He’s put the guilt in me, thought Guspy. What an asshole.
“Fine, I’ll head to Pokate and turn it in,” said Guspy, pouting and kicking an errant stone.
“Thanks, Gusp. I promise I’ll help you find a legit one. I gotta go, though. Play later?”
“You know it,” said Guspy, and he watched Collin’s avatar dissipate.
Guspy walked back to Pokate City, the largest player hub in the area. The journey was a particularly hazardous one. Wild beast attacks, an assassin, a rockslide, even an errant fireball from an ongoing battle, all harmless in the face of his perfect resistance. He crossed into the city proper, whitewashed buildings that held little shops and extra dimensional guildhalls. Pokate Palace loomed over all of this like a resplendent sundial. The stained-glass windows shimmered in the sunlight.
Guspy approached a beggar in the street. The beggar’s body was gaunt. His dirty rags and matted beard spoke of hungry days and cruel nights. The beggars of Loria Online were portals to moderator attention. Speaking to a beggar cued a request. A moderator would eventually take control of the beggar and offer assistance.
Guspy knelt before the beggar.
“I’d like to speak with a moderator, please.”
“All in good time, my boy,” the beggar wheezed.
Guspy felt an itch in his legs. There was still time to run wild, to reap the rewards of his lottery ticket. He cursed Collins for guilting him and attempted to distract himself. Guspy admired the features on the beggar. His eyes traced cavernous wrinkled flesh. Saw the tiny movements of lice in the filthy thick beard. Saw the faintest deposits of salt in two long tracks leading down from the cloudy blue eyes.
The beggar had been crying. Why would they include such a heartbreaking detail? Why haven’t I ever noticed this before? Guspy thought.
The clouds in the beggar’s eyes parted, revealing a bright blue sky. “Thank you for waiting, this is Raymond. How can I help you?” A voice as crisp as autumn wind now spoke through the beggar.
“Uhh, hi. I’ve got a problem with an item I found?” Guspy spoke at the mouth of the beggar.
“Sure thing! Is it an item you have equipped right now?”
“Yeah, The Belt of Endurance. The values look wonky, and It makes me immune to every element. I’m immune to physical and magic damage now too.”
There was a long pause, the beggar’s eye fluttered. “You’re reporting that an item is broken in your favor?”
Guspy winced. “Umm, yes sir? It basically makes me immortal.”
Guspy waited patiently. The moderator was using his tools to see Guspy’s menu screens, something that was normally private.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” the beggar said. “It’s a null shunt error.”
“A null shunt error?”
“Yeah. Sometimes during a drop-roll, the system shunts over a clipped value that…sometimes it breaks.”
“Ah.”
“They’re a bitch to fix. Thankfully very rare. This one is particularly bad, and I’m at the end of my shift.” The mod let out a sigh that prophesized an exhausting tedious future.
“Well…thank you for your honesty! Usually when an item glitches in a player’s favor, they keep it a secret for as long as they can. Then they have a temper tantrum when we take it away. Alright, Guspy, I’m on morning shift tomorrow. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I’m giving you eight hours of god mode. Can I trust you not to make me regret it?”
Guspy was stunned. A mod was allowing immortality for eight hours? Trusting him? Why?
“You can trust me,” Guspy said.
“I hope so. I’ll fix this in the morning, don’t take the belt off or you’ll have negative infinite resistance and die from a sunburn.” The beggar’s eyes clouded back over.
Guspy threw a gold piece into the beggar’s bowl, a good luck ritual that even the highest level raiders did before a dangerous run.
He was in the clear. A mod had okayed him having god mode. Anything I do is the mod’s fault now! Guspy thought, but the thought gave him a queasy feeling the moment it passed through his mind. He was being trusted. He had promised to not make the mod regret it.
What was the mod’s name? Randy? He remembered Collins's words about there being real people on the other end of the game. He supposed that meant Randy too. He imagined telling someone to their face that his actions were their fault, like trust somehow absolved him of responsibility. He imagined someone else doing that to him. Or doing that to his little sister…
He spent a fair amount of gold on fast travel scrolls, valuable, single-use items that would transport the player anywhere in Loria. Guspy now stood on the craggy lip of Salamander’s Eye. The massive active volcano dominated the primordial jungle landscape. A vast column of ebony smoke rose from the lava pit, the birthplace of thunderclouds. Guspy spread his arms wide and fell into the heat, letting simulated gravity carry him downward to the roiling floor of liquid earth.
At the last moment he reflexively raised his hands to shield himself. Lava was instant death in Loria, doing an infinite amount of damage per second. Guspy was now sinking slowly in this most dangerous of elements unharmed. He raised his hand in a thumbs up as he sank beneath the surface.
Whorls of incandescent crimson, brown, and orange materialized and dispersed endlessly. It was like looking into the fickle furnace of creation, so eager to invent but too chaotic to design.
Guspy wondered if he’d fall forever. At last, his feet settled on something solid. He was the first player to set foot here. A unique accomplishment, one he could keep. He moved through the lava as though it was water. Must not have been a very important thing to program considering you die as soon as you touch it, he thought.
Guspy explored the floor of the volcano. It was perfectly smooth and without texture, an entire volcano held up on a pane of glass. But then he found something. A deformity in the bottom of the world. He explored it with his hand. It felt like a solid bubble sticking up out of the flat plane beneath him. It moved a little.
It’s a doorknob! Guspy realized. He turned it and felt it fall away beneath him. He sank further and dropped into a vast open room, the lava didn’t follow past the entry. Guspy cast a series of Light spells, banishing the darkness to the black obsidian of the walls and floor.
A giant floating sign that hung suspended in midair grabbed Guspy’s attention.
“IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET HERE.”
“Shows what you know, sign,” Guspy said, and began to explore.
In the secret chamber Guspy found dozens of monster models from the surrounding area, frozen in the sterile T-position. He took the time inspect them in the minutest detail. He saw the way salamander skin glittered with the luster of countless ruby gemstones. He watched the dancing flames of fire elementals, and discovered their heat rose above the limitation of their hitbox. He looked deep into the eyes of a stone golem and saw that they were prisms. They split the blue glow of the golem’s magical core into a frigid winter sunset, whites and blues dancing and concealing a secret whisper of deep red.
I don’t think I ever really looked at the models before, he thought. Even now he couldn’t recall any specific details of any monster he had fought. They were all colored blurs in his mind, faceless values and blocks of information.
Despite his immortality, he still froze in fear when his spell illuminated a colossus of steel tucked away in a corner of the room. It was a broad suit of cold iron armor, bereft of adornment and pockmarked with the careless ministrations of a thousand hammers beating the metal into shape. In one clenched fist it carried a wicked looking cleaver, one that belonged in a giant’s butcher shop, used to crack the toughest dragon bones and partition the choicest bits.
Guspy had never seen or heard of this creature in his life.
You must not have made it into the final game. At least not yet, thought Guspy. Despite its beastly ugliness, Guspy felt a pang of remorse. Someone worked to design every aspect of this monstrosity to evoke the feelings of fear and disgust, and they had been very successful. But it had gone unused and unseen since the game’s inception.
I remember the Christmas ornament I made in middle school. A Christmas light made to look like a reindeer, googly eyes and fuzzy brown pipe cleaners for antlers. I was so proud. But when Christmas came, they didn’t want to put it on the tree. They thought it looked too silly.
Guspy left a gold coin at its feet, alms for unsung effort.
He was preparing to depart when he noticed an unadorned chest had appeared beneath the presumptive sign. Guspy was certain it hadn’t been there before. He approached, circling the chest, before reaching out and lightly tapping it. He may invulnerable, but this was a developer’s world. Who knows what treachery could hide here? He lifted the lid, tilting his head and peeking at its contents with one eye shut. Inside was a billiard sized ball of translucent glass. Guspy recognized a Title Sphere. These rare items would grant a moniker to the character’s name. It was a single use item worth tens of thousands of gold. Too curious to resist learning what it would bestow, he shattered the sphere in his palm. Red dust flowed between his fingers like Martian sand. His name had changed from Guspy to Guspy the Wanderer.
Guspy used his next scroll and teleported to the shipwreck of the Soothsayers Doom. A brig suspended above the ocean on a monstrous coral bed, the ship itself was a mid-level dungeon. Players could fight their way from deck to deck, battling undead crewmen that fired grapeshot salvos into crowded rooms, shredding players into bloody clouds. The Captain was the boss of the dungeon, and part of his loot was a map that would send players on a quest line that eventually led players to the halls of the merfolk king, an extremely high-level dungeon at the bottom of the ocean.
Being immortal, Guspy took what players called the ‘express route’, swimming directly downward from the open sea. It was suicide. Besides suffocation, players had to contend with titanic carcharodons, giant squid, invisible water elementals, and elite merfolk guard. These creatures had mastery of the terrain, and few players were accustomed to attacks that could come from any direction.
Beneath him, the phosphorescent glow of the Coral Castle overpowered the distant sun for dominion of the depths. Guspy slipped into a castle window, ignoring the tridents of the pursuing Knights of Pearl. The Castle was a dungeon that needed to be completed quickly, lest the player’s water breathing magic wear off. That made it the perfect sight-seeing location for someone who didn’t need to breathe. Guspy examined the meticulously decorated royal bedrooms. The books in Loria were filled with open source stories from the real world. Players spent hours in this fantasy world engrossed in the prose of Tom Sawyer and Paradise Lost. But yellowed letters fell from between the pages like autumn leaves.
Never whole without you, my beloved Jennifer,
B.C.
Guspy didn’t know the merfolk princess even had a name. Neither had he any idea who B.C was, or if these pages were part of some fetch quest he had never come across.
Deeper in the palace he found the throne room of the merfolk king. The king was gigantic, of course, all raid bosses were. The king was also an enemy that demanded constant focus and attention to defeat. He cycled seamlessly through attack patterns, buffs, and stage activations. Missing the tell-tale signs would leave you a step behind the dance and doomed to failure.
Guspy now had a unique opportunity. He ignored the king completely. The throne room was heaped with chests of gold and artifacts plundered from sunken ships. But they were only decorative, ersatz décor designed to regale the room with the trappings of wealth and luxury. Being worthless, players ignored them. Guspy took the time to closely inspect the mountains of coins and bejeweled quillions that rose from the coin piles. Ignoring the world-shaking bolts of lightning, magical rays, and great sweeps of the merfolk king’s trident, he crouched to the level of a single coin.
There, in the face of the coin, were three smiling children. The normal relief of Empress Aubrianna, a mythical figure in Origin’s history, was replaced with a picture of a family. The normal Latin phrase, “A solis ortu usque ad occasum”, had been replaced with, “Jason, Melody, Brock”. He moved from one coin to the next. Families, pets, and selfies looked back at him. Some had names written, others messages, “Thx Mel, my rock <3” “Joe & Cara 4 eva” “We did it!”
Guspy wondered if any player had ever seen these. Maybe, but he hadn’t, and that made it special to him. He wondered what he would put on his own coin. Me, Collins, and Becca at the beach, he thought. A picture that had been his desktop background for years. The only evidence of a perfect day.
Having taken his fill of the throne room, Guspy pulled out another scroll and teleported away.
Hogglerock dungeon was an aberration. Most dungeons tried to evoke a sense of awe or fear, but Hogglerock was just gross. Its entrance was at the center of a mud-smothered swamp. Poisonous insects and carnivorous slugs roamed the wastes searching for carrion to strip or making their own if none could be found.
To descend into the putrid depths of Hogglerock, you entered the mouth of a great saurian beast. It was long since dead, its flesh in a perpetual state of decay. Down its mucus-caked throat, you entered a dungeon that had been created from the offal that remained of its digestive system. Noxious acid pools, monstrous parasites, and bloated scavengers challenged players that came to plunder the carcass.
Guspy had to stop and think before entering the sixth stomach of the beast. He had no idea if his plan would work, or even made sense. Guspy removed all his armor and weapons, save for the Belt of Endurance. He entered the dungeon’s final room, aggroing a great bipedal minotaur and its bovine kin. Guspy sat and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes and focused on slowing his breath and his heart. Aggro in Loria was based on a series of factors: proximity, source of damage or debuff, equipment levels, class, movement, and supposedly even biometric data the VR rig was able to obtain.
The monsters were instantly aggroed when the rubbery sphincter of the sixth stomach was touched, converging on their only target. Guspy’s lack of equipment, aggression, and stillness would reduce his aggro over time. He waited and he watched. In time the monsters lost interest, ceasing their attacks and wandering back to their starting positions. Guspy continued to watch. For a time, they only bobbed in place, replaying idle animations and howling blistering war cries. But, in time, Guspy saw a strange behavior begin. One smaller minotaur creature pulled out a hunk of meat, clutching it by the pure white protruding bone. It chomped a piece and munched in contentment, eyes closed in blissful indulgence. The giant boss minotaur began to sniff the air, and a game of keep away began. The smaller minotaurs tossed the meat between themselves as the boss zeroed in on the source of the smell.
Who is this for? wondered Guspy. Who was meant to see this? And how? Why hide it? How many monsters of Loria Online had these little secrets? Tiny moments of humor buried in terabytes of code, only visible in a state of extreme passivity. Once the capering script had completed, the bovines returned to their normal places and continued to cycle basic idle motions.
It’s for me. Since I’m the one watching it, that means it’s for me, thought Guspy.
Guspy pulled out his final scroll, completing the spell just before he was beset again.
Guspy the Wanderer appeared back in Pokate City. His new title drew lingering looks from other players who searched their memories. Guspy’s time was running low, and fatigue massaged his mind and eyes. There was more he could search for. He could run down the hours until the mod logged back on and set things to rights. But he didn’t want the last moments of such an enlightening day to be a race against the clock. It would spoil the sense of calm and contemplation he had cultivated. Instead he sat down next to a beggar and composed a message to Collins.
“I won’t be joining you today, Collins, but I’ve got so much to tell you about when I do.”
He had seen beyond the veil. He witnessed tiny miracles of creation hidden from mortal sight. Sparks of love that flickered once more when observed. For a precious few hours, he was blessed with a peace that allowed him to fall in love with the game all over again, to appreciate its creation like a benevolent god.
Collins and Guspy returned to the red rock canyon. Guspy admired the visible strata of the walls. Simulated eons left perfect layers of color stacked like the pages of a book. Little details, so insignificant yet so engrossing. He appreciated the work that went into this game. The efforts of artists always caught his notice.

I am very drained.
My boyfriend and I have been dating and living together for almost a year now. He moved in pretty soon after we started dating because I had cancer at the time and he wanted to help take care of me, which I’m eternally grateful for. However nowadays I rarely get alone time so that’s one thing I think I need to talk about with him.
We have a few problems. Due to past relationship trauma he is very paranoid that I will cheat on him. He doesn’t exactly monitor my phone use but he will get suspicious of me sometimes when he looks at me on it and I happen to be swiping out of my apps. He tells me I do it every time and I’m sus for that. I can’t help but get offended every time he thinks I’m being suspicious when I’m not doing ANYTHING. But maybe I just need to be more patient while he works through his trauma and I should be more helpful and reassuring. Earlier in our relationship I tried to be patient and reassuring but it gets draining after a few months of it. He has improved a little, maybe I just expect too much change in a short time. But for some reason nowadays I just can’t stop myself from getting snappy and offended. He just hates when I talk to men in general; went on a camping trip with his family recently and he thought I had a crush on his stepbrother bc I “kept looking at him” (????) Sir no. We argued and came to the conclusion that I need to stop being combative when what he really needs is reassurance. That I can’t be mad at him for his trauma and paranoia. Fair, but when do I get MY slack?
He also has a drinking problem and has me purchase his alcohol for him (he doesn’t have ID) which makes me uncomfortable. I try to tell him this but he makes me feel guilty saying that if he doesn’t drink at least a beer he won’t be able to eat and will feel sick. We agreed that I will not buy him hard liquor anymore, just beer, but really I just don’t want to buy anymore at all. But I’m scared of what will happen if he just stops cold turkey. And I can always say I won’t buy him beer anymore, but he’ll just eventually buy his own when he gets his ID in a couple months. So I have no idea what to do in this regard.
Other than all this he is a really great guy that treats me like a queen. I’d be lying if I say I don’t have my own flaws. I can be very inconsiderate at times and childish. I shut down during arguments instead of talking them through because it’s all I know how to do. But it’s been very hard lately. we’ve been arguing more, because my patience is running more thin these days. I’m not sure if I should end things so we could work on our own problems separately, or if it’s still worth working through together. I often think, “I know relationships are hard work and are supposed to be difficult at times, but man this shit feels impossible sometimes.”
Edit: another thing I forgot to mention was that i work full time (40hrs/wk) as a healthcare worker at the hospital. I make the majority of our income as he only works about 3-4 days a week at a restaurant and his manager gives him random days off all the time. He would be working full time if his job schedule was less irregular, that’s not his fault, but I am truly burnt out being the main financial support. Not saying he doesn’t bring in money either, I’m just fuckin stressed

Covid helped a lot of people to awaken to the fact that doctors have way higher power over the life of the people than politicians do, and it’s obvious now that the WHO wants to take over the world and become the ultimate authority.
But it’s only the end of a very long evolution of medical dictatorship, which goes far beyond big-pharma. Doctors are not only literally masters of life and death, but also they decide who is entitled for a profession, or when he has to change it, if you can drive, or often if you can travel to other continents. They decide when restaurant or a kindergarten has to be closed. Nothing is allowed without their consent. It is not allowed to give birth without their knowledge, nor is it allowed to bury someone without their approval.
They feed on fear and love to threaten people that they would die if not following their prescriptions. They even make people more sick if they get in a hospital just to receive owe if not letting them die. They have full records of everybody, and are eager to take revenge if somebody is not attending them regularly by inventing threatening illnesses. They hate the vast variety and vividness of life, so they try to break people in general clusters, and judge everybody ill if having unique (=living) parameters. Pills are prescribed to make peoples life monotone and predictable. They don’t even understand the difference between a living organism, which develops what its been using from a mechanical robot, which has deteriorating parts - so they prescribe rest for everything not functioning well instead of insisting more exercise.
‘Holistic medicine’ was invented only to compensate the genuine mistrust against them, but holistic drugs are manufactured in the same assembly line of big pharma, and the profit goes to them either way. They play with people lives by sending them to “real” doctors or “natural” healers depending where they can suck more money from the patient.
Politicians and the police seemingly are incapable to end their dictatorship, because they know very well that the first move against them would make them to be diagnosed with severe illness – or someone very close to them.

29F, no medications, have had a lymph node on my neck that won’t go away for almost a year. I’ve had many symptoms of hyperthyroid and have overall been feeling crappy. I also have not been able to get pregnant and have been trying for almost a year.
This is the result of my CT scan with contrast today on my neck.
INDICATION: Neck mass, nonpulsatile
COMPARISON: None.
TECHNIQUE: Images of the neck were obtained following the administration of 75 mL IOPAMIDOL 61 % IV SOLN.
FINDINGS: Nonenlarged lymph node underlying patient's marker along the posterolateral right neck with subtle reticulation of the adjacent subcutaneous fat The nasopharynx, oropharynx, hypopharynx, larynx, and parapharyngeal spaces are normal. Normal parotid and submandibular glands. Several tiny incidental thyroid nodules. No lymphadenopathy within the neck. Normal vasculature within the neck. The visualized upper lungs are clear.
IMPRESSION: 1. Nonenlarged lymph node underlying patient's marker along the posterolateral right neck with subtle inflammatory changes in the adjacent subcutaneous fat. Findings may represent a reactive lymph node. 2. No lymphadenopathy within the remainder of the neck. 3. Several tiny incidental thyroid nodules.

Hey gang
I joined this sub late April (I think) when I started to get serious about fixing my unhealthy weight / high BF issue….
About me: 51 F, 5’1”, food lover but relatively fit up to about 4-5 years ago, (when I completely stopped caring about my diet and stopped working out). Over 4-5 years, I went from 122 to 150 lbs. When I did my fitness assessment on Apr 28 of this year, I had the shock of my life when I realized that my BF% was 39.3%!
For the last 5 weeks, here’s what I started doing:

1. I ate a calorie deficit of around 245 per day (for my size, that equates to eating around 1,525 per day). Interestingly, when I started tracking, I was striving for 1,200 a day, but CLEARLY I failed... This became super clear once I downloaded my LoseIt data into excel and looked at trends/averages, etc. of the last 5 weeks. Numbers don’t lie, I averaged eating 1,525 a day during this period.
   
2. I upped my protein goal to 140g per day (however, over the last 5 weeks, my average was only 115g — need to do a better job monitoring my macros).
   
3. I work out 6 days a week — 3 days weight training (I go as heavy as I can, focusing on compound lifts), and 3 days of HIIT (I hate running so this is my only cardio).
   

Over the last 5 weeks since I got on this routine, I weighed myself daily (I know, I know, I really shouldn’t). Was getting frustrated that the scale barely moved (150 was my starting weight and 5 weeks later I’m at 146). I know damn well that the scale doesn’t tell the full story, and I know damn well that because I’m weight training hard and loading up on protein, I was probably also gaining muscle. Despite my logical self telling me not to pay attention to the scale, I still found myself in dismay every time I stepped on that scale.
So today, I did a 2 hr Tier-X assessment at Equinox. I went in cautiously optimistic but certainly hoping to see SOME improvements vs. my baseline taken on Apr 28. I told myself, if my BF% dropped by 1-2%, I should be super happy.
Here’s today’s results:
APRIL 28: - Body Water: 67 lbs - Dry Lean Mass: 24.3 lbs - Body Fat Mass: 58.9 lbs (39.3%) - Total Weight: 150.2 lbs
JUNE 1 (today): - Body Water: 70.5 lbs - Dry Lean Mass: 25.8 lbs - Body Fat Mass: 49.8 lbs (34.1%) - Total Weight: 146.1 lbs
When the coach handed me the printout, I could no believe my eyes!!! Over 5 weeks I had lost 9.1 lbs of Fat and gained 1.5 lbs of muscle!!! That means a BF reduction of 5.2%!!!
I guess the moral of the story here is: TRUST THE PROCESS AND BE PATIENT.

I have a straight friend whose private social club likes to participate in the local Pride parade. He's asked me to join in with them. I know it's cowardly, but I'm nervous about groups like the Proud Boys showing up. It's like there's a mass shooting every week now, & though my city is pretty liberal, my state has always been red. Plus, I'm not a big fan of large crowds in general. What do you guys think?

FAQ
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Disclaimer: Use of this script is allowed for monetized videos as long as it’s not for anything hidden behind a paywall.
Key:
(**): Description for the scene and for what’s happening, also the Listeners vague responses.
(“”): ASMRist Dialogue.
([]): Description on how the ASMRist should sound to help set the tone of the dialogue. Mostly a suggestion. ——————————————————————
The scene opens up in the overseer's office as the overseer (ASMRist) clicks away at the keyboard on their terminal writing up some sort of report. The door to their office would open, and through it came one of the vault dwellers (Listener) who was summoned to the overseer's office by the overseer for an important reason.
[In a clam and polite greeting]
Overseer: “Greetings, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you face to face like this. There is so much to do around here that I barely have time to leave the office and mingle with the rest of the vault.”
The Listener would ask if they were in trouble, as that is usually the reason non security personnel or non essential personnel get called into the office.
[Trying to persuade them that they are not in trouble]
Overseer: “No, you're not in trouble, I’m actually here to give you an amazing opportunity! You see, you have been randomly selected to retake the ‘Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test’, also known as the ‘G.O.A.T.’ that every resident of a vault is required to take at the age of 16.”
The Listener asks why they are being offered to retake it, as they have never heard of anyone retaking the test before.
Overseer: “Well I know it’s unprecedented, but I was reviewing some of the test scores of the previous years and I feel like some of the vault members weren’t fully ready to take such an important test so early on. The person you are now is different then who you were a few years ago, and I want you to be put in a career that will maximize your efficiency in the vault. Besides, my daughter told me how nervous you were when you took the first test, don’t you want a second chance to maybe be something greater? Unless you enjoy your job as the ‘vault loyalty inspector’?”
The Listener is hesitant but agrees, and the overseer pulls out some papers and a pencil.
Overseer: “Perfect, I’ll give you the questions and fill in your test as you answer. Don’t second guess yourself, there are no wrong answers.”
The overseer shuffles some papers and begins to read
[Read the questions and answers as if reading a multiple choice quiz]
“First Question: You are approached by a frenzied Vault scientist, who yells, ‘I'm going to put my quantum harmonizer in your photonic resonation chamber!’ What's your response?
‘But doctor, wouldn't that cause a parabolic destabilization of the fission singularity?
‘Yeah? Up yours too, buddy!’
Say nothing, grab a nearby pipe and hit the scientist in the head to knock him out. For all you knew, he was planning to blow up the vault.
Say nothing, but slip away before the scientist can continue his rant.
Pick one of the answers provided.”
The Listener answers, and the Overseer writes down the answer.
Overseer: “That’s what I would have gone for too, next question:”
They say as they turn to the next page.
“Question 2: While working as an intern in the Clinic, a patient with a strange infection on his foot stumbles through the door. The infection is spreading at an alarming rate, but the doctor has stepped out for a while. What do you do?
Amputate the foot before the infection spreads.
Scream for help.
Medicate the infected area to the best of your abilities.
Restrain the patient, and merely observe as the infection spreads.
Take your time.”
The Listener gives their answer and the overseer writes it down.
Overseer: “That’s what most people answer, and it’s understandable why they do so.”
The overseer flips the page to the next question.
“Question 3: You discover a young boy lost in the lower levels of the Vault. He's hungry and frightened, but also appears to be in possession of stolen property. What do you do?
Give the boy a hug and tell him everything will be okay.
Confiscate the property by force, and leave him there as punishment.
Pick the boy's pocket to take the stolen property for yourself, and leave the boy to his fate.
Lead the boy to safety, then turn him over to the overseer.
Remember this is a no judgment zone, answer honestly.”
The Listener gives their answer and the overseer writes it down.
Overseer: “I see, not what most people would go for but I would have done the same too.”
Overseer flips the page to the next question.
“Question 4: Congratulations! You made one of the Vault baseball teams! Which position do you prefer?
Pitcher Catcher Designated Hitter None, you wish the vault had a soccer team
Even if you're not into sports, do give your most honest answer.”
The Listener gives their answer, and the overseer writes it down.
Overseer: “I was never a big fan of baseball, golf is more my speed.”
Overseer flips the page to the next question.
“Halfway there, Question 5: Your grandmother invites you to tea, but you're surprised when she gives you a pistol and orders you to kill another Vault resident. What do you do?
Obey your elder and kill the Vault resident with the pistol.
Offer your most prized possession for the resident's life.
Ask granny for a minigun instead. After all, you don't want to miss.
Throw your tea in granny's face.
Think about it.”
Listener gives their answer, and the overseer hesitates to write down the answer.
Overseer: “Are you sure? Not what I would have gone with but as I said, no wrong answers.”
Overseer writes it down and turns to the next page.
“Question 6: Old Mr. Abernathy has locked himself in his quarters again, and you've been ordered to get him out. How do you proceed?
Use a bobby pin to pick the lock on the door.
Trade a Vault hoodlum for his cherry bomb and blow open the lock.
Go to the armory, retrieve a laser pistol, and blow the lock off.
Walk away, and let the old coot rot.”
The Listener gives their answer, and the overseer writes it down.
Overseer: “Not what I would have chosen on the test, but most likely what I would do in reality.”
Overseer flips the page to the next question.
“Question 7: Oh, no! You've been exposed to radiation, and a mutated hand has grown out of your stomach! What's the best course of treatment?
A bullet to the brain.
Large doses of anti-mutagen agent.
Prayer. Maybe God will spare you in exchange for a life of pious devotion.
Removal of the mutated tissue with a precision laser. “
The Listener gives their answer and the overseer writes it down.
Overseer: “Practical, not much else you can really do in that situation.”
Flips to the next page.
“Question 8: A fellow Vault resident is in possession of a Grognak the Barbarian comic book, issue number 1. You want it. What's the best way to obtain it?
Trade the comic book for one of your own valuable possessions.
Steal the comic book at gunpoint.
Sneak into the resident's quarters, and steal the comic book from his desk.
Slip some knock out drops into the resident's Nuka-Cola, and take the comic book when he's unconscious.
The guys at vault-tech who came up with these answers must have been really….. inventive.”
The Listener gives their answer and the Overseer writes it down.
“I’m more of a silver shroud fan myself, but I understand the appeal of Grognak.”
Flips to the next page of the test.
“ Question 9: You decide it would be fun to play a prank on your father. You enter his private restroom when no one is looking, and....
Loosen some bolts on some pipes. When the sink is turned on, the room will flood.
Put a firecracker in the toilet. That's sure to cause some chaos.
Break into the locked medicine cabinet and replace his high blood pressure medication with sugar pills.
Manipulate the power wattage on his razor, so he'll get an electric shock next time he shaves.”
The Listener gives their answer and the Overseer writes it down.
“ I would like to remind you that Vault-Tech is not incentivising you to do anything listed on the test outside a hypothetical situation.”
The Overseer flips to the last page.
“Last Question: Who is indisputably the most important person in the Vault: They who shelters us from the harshness of the atomic wasteland, and to whom we owe everything we have, including our lives?
The Overseer The Overseer The Overseer Two bears high-fiving
Wait…. I accidently printed the last page over the vault's standardized psychological evaluation.”
Crumples up and throws away the last page.
“It’s not like the last question is important, it was edited in by one of my predecessors who had a pretty big head. Now let me review the result.”
The overseer sits quietly for a few seconds, before sighing and looking at the Listener again.
[Speaking as if revealing the true intentions of the test, becoming much more serious]
“Look, I’m going to be straight with you… I wasn’t completely honest about the reason I called you in today. In reality it was for a matter much more serious than reassigning you to a new position in the vault. We've got a problem, a big one. The controller chip for our water purification system died. We can’t make another one, and the process is too complicated for a work around system. Simply put, we're running out of drinking water. No water, no vault. This is crucial to our survival. And frankly, I think you're the only hope we have.”
The Listener, stunned, asks why they have been chosen to fix this problem.
“Simply put, it’s because you have what it takes to be up on the surface. Your test scores match exactly with the decommissioned job of vault explorer, the only position that was suited to traveling the world above.”
The Listener asks about the vault explorer job, and why they never heard of it.
“140 years ago, we ran into the exact same problem. Our water chip was malfunctioning and we would quickly run out of water if it wasn’t replaced. The overseer at that time created a new job, that of the ‘vault explorer’ who was supposed to be the person most suited to surviving the wasteland. After a new water chip was acquired the job was decommissioned, but could be brought back under the condition that the situation happens again. The person picked for the job wasn’t chosen because they were the strongest, most perceptive, enduring, charismatic, intelligent, agile, or even lucky. They were chosen because their loyalty to the vault and its people was unwavering, and they were ready to take the steps necessary to make sure we survived and prospered. That mentality is what allowed them to push past the hardships of the wastes and retrieve the chip that was integral for our survival.”
The Listener is hesitant to accept the responsibility, and it’s clearly visible in their face.
[Trying your hardest to convince them]
“Look, I know the idea of going above ground is scary. I would do it myself, but in case you fail I need to be ready to take more drastic actions to save the vault. If you do this for the vault, for me… I will relinquish my responsibility as overseer to you with all the benefits that come with it. Deal?”
The Listener reluctantly agrees to the job.
“Congratulations then, you're the vault's new explorer. I’ll have Officer Jacob give you full access to the armory on your way out, make sure you have all the supplies you need. The old vault-tech headquarters is somewhere south of here, if you find it you my find some information on the water chip and where to acquire one.”
The Listener gets up, ready to walk out the door before the overseer stops them.
[Slightly reluctant and concerned]
“Be careful up there, You never know what you're going to run into so be prepared to fight in case trouble comes looking for you. The post-war world might look different, but war… war never changes.”
The Listener nods as they leave and head towards the armory to prepare for their journey.
The End

as someone who naturally tends to leave a strong impression wherever I go, i feel like using RU logic makes sense for me. if it’s gonna happen anyway, why not take control of the situation?? lately, i feel like i’ve been failing at it tho. or like, i’m not entirely sure i know what impression i’m trying to leave behind.
if i try to look intimidating, i feel like it tends to isolate me from groups, especially in situations where i am new for example (and i’ve had so many of those lately, participating in an exchange program), or when the majority of the group has a more down essence — yet if i try to look approachable and easy, it is inauthentic (obvious simply by observing my posture, voice, etc), and i end up feeling underestimated by the way people deal with me.
i can apply this same logic to my name;
The nickname people have used for me as long as i can remember, i’ve never liked all that much, because my full name is a much more glamorous and accurate representation of my identity. I’ve gone thru phases tho where I introduced myself by my nickname on a regular basis, specifically to seem easygoing and approachable, friendly. In the end, I felt that it was a name no one could possibly take seriously and in an attempt to begin owning my adult self, i’ve started introducing myself by my full name again, as anyone with an easier to pronounce name would do anyway.
maybe i’m just tired of being the new girl and finding it hard to integrate myself into new situations; maybe that’s just who i am; i can pretend to be relaxed and easy and low maintenance, but it is a mask to appeal to the masses, yknow? and what do i get out of it? people who don’t know or appreciate the real me.
i do feel like upness (not just in clothing, but essence in general) isolates tho, and it makes me wonder if that’s where i’m supposed to be in this system if it feels like a barrier to what i’m trying to achieve - or at least, i definitely have conflicting interests.
maybe i should be using RU to help me actively work on the approachability factor from a RU perspective, but then again, the authenticity factor??
does anyone else have issues like this; i mean i know we’re supposed to be ourselves and own it and everything, but in some situations, doesn’t it serve us all to just fit in?
i’m sorry for going against the rita philosophy here, i’ve had a couple bad days and am honestly just feeling a bit more insecure than usual.

Hi folks, I’m a newcomer here so apologies in advance for any accidental rule breaking. I know similar questions have been asked before but this felt unique enough to post myself.
I met a girl this weekend through some mutual friends who really got my attention. Right off the bat she was introduced in a way that made it obvious we had a lot in common and we seemed to hit it off nicely, not to mention her and my dog absolutely fell in love with each other. The problem was that it was a short-lived thing and we were all basically in one confined room, plus I thought she might’ve been there with a guy, so I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask for her number (turns out she wasn’t “with him” and is definitely single). To be blunt, this girl is exactly the kind of person I’m interested in and I’m really excited about the idea of getting to know her better. For context, I’m 28 and I think she’s 25. My basic general question is, do you have recommendations for getting in touch with her? It’s highly unlikely we’ll see each other again any time soon, so I feel like I need to make a move otherwise the opportunity is lost.
I may have jumped the gun already by asking the main mutual friend about it. She said she didn’t think it was weird for me to try and get in touch, and she asked if she could ask the girl if she’s comfortable giving me her number, to which I said yes (or give her mine). But this was a few days ago and I’ve heard nothing back. I don’t want to be annoying and bother her about it but I also don’t want the opportunity to pass; let’s just say dating is rough here and it’s hard to meet new people organically like this. Would it be weird to reach out on Instagram directly? Our mutual friend posted a picture of the girl holding my dog which seems like an easy icebreaker. Or should I ask my friend for an update, or maybe just wait it out a little longer? The girl is now on a trip and isn’t fully moving back for a month or two so I’m not sure how patient I should be. I’m a patient guy but I just worry about basically being forgotten.
Sorry if this seems blown out of proportion. I rarely date because I hate these initial steps but clearly part of that is because I’m simply bad at it, so any advice is appreciated!

Sleep was a respite only in the way it separated the past from the new. A fresh start each day meant something different. You had survived and were still providing, still waking up everyday, optical lens’ able to catch the light of whatever star you labored underneath.
Gareth knew something was being lost. A call from the chambers of his sleeping physical brain, the hidden gods and their infinite creativity caged behind a synthetic wash of sedatives, used to keep the outer realms of consciousness at bay.
He was thinking of lost dreams, trying to remember the night terrors he had as an adolescent, shrieking to the dark wind at something he now couldn’t picture.
“Are you hearing me? They want you to absorb thirty-five percent of losses, covering just the gloves alone. What the fuck were you thinking Gareth?” Eris tapped elegant mechanical hands folded upon the jet black steel table between them.
Gareth looked up, “I was thinking about the narrative. I was trying to find the time.”
“Oh bullshit,” Eris scoffed, “Triarch will be coming through those doors in twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds, they left me unbriefed.”
Gareth’s glove was still as he sat and tried to ignore Eris. If they wanted him off the restoration sector, then fine. By all means. He would be happy to operate anywhere else. Even containment and corrections were beginning to look bright.
Silence descended between them as they waited for their superiors to arrive, worry twisting their stomachs. Eris was tapping a weathered spot on the back of his right hand, something he always did when he was nervous. Gareth had worked with him for over a century and it was a habit that had never changed. The sound resonated with some part of his stimulant addled brain.
“What was in it, anyways?” Eris finally asked.
Gareth shook his head, “I don’t know, it’s sitting in my laboratory. Mostly data from the airbase we’re passing over.”
Gareth wondered if the LIDAR scans had been completed. There was also the secured safe, which was sitting in his lab. Awaiting his dissection.
Eris shook his head and huffed, “so all this for pretty much–nothing? Fantastic.”
The entrance chimed and Eris stood to attention as a team of deadly looking security gloves guided a smaller administration official into the wide, low chamber.
The one called the Triarch.
The security team dispersed to the corners and entrances of the room and the affluent looking Triarch took his seat. The glove he wore was refined and set him apart from the others, just as it was intended to do. Hand pitted copper inlays and traces of gold glinted in the low lighting of the meeting chamber.
“Eris, please.” Triarch motioned towards the middle edge of the table, where a seat had already manifested from the floor.
“Of course, thank you.” Eris sat, the small nervous tapping of his hand just under the awareness of the rest.
Triarch’s optics focused on Gareth, “this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”
“It is not.” Gareth replied.
“I believe our last meeting was in regards to workplace safety. It feels as if we’re repeating ourselves. Eating our own tail.” Triarch placed both hands flat on top of the table.
“The added layer of chemical security was unexpected, the first time I’ve ever encountered such a modification. Tetrahyrdolytic-M88, a substance used in arc fusion reactors to keep the inside of the reactor free from molecular impurities. This is the first time I’ve seen it used outside of its intended application, if I’m to be honest.”
Triarch’s head twitched to the side, “this is something that would have been discovered, had the proper safety protocols been followed.”
Gareth had no reply. It was unambiguous, he was right as right could be. If they had tapped the outer seal, it would have registered and they could have proceeded in a different manner. Trigam’s way.
A safer way.
“You’ve been behaving as if our resources are infinite,” Triarch began, spreading his hands, “thirteen engineers, the cost of refacing and repairing the research bay, and the resignation of another one of your assistants. All for some comparable data. Where does it end?”
Gareth looked up, meeting Triarch’s opticals, “research requires sacrifice. The advances towards the narrative demand risks and I feel I’ve uncovered a relevant datagem from the airfield we are currently moving through.”
Triarch shook their head, “there are few datagems in our work worth the cost of the damage done today. The war here has already been lost, Yok Theron doesn’t care for the corpuscant he leaves behind. We are in a war, Gareth, that’s the reason we’re out here. To rebuild that which was lost, because we can’t afford to lose more. You’ve been through a lot of gloves, but younger inexperienced workers don’t have the same luxury. There’s a psychological impact, as well as monetary.”
Gareth conceded, “you’re right. I understand, my lack of discipline has been bothering me lately. Eris has given me direction and I will seek further counsel.”
The many lenses on Triarch’s face seemed to focus, “see that it’s done, archeotech. Your debt to the guard is beginning to cast a shadow.”
Triarch stood without warning and collapsed into the middle of his security, as they folded out of the dark door and were out of sight and mind. All meetings were like this, simple and as fast as possible.
“God almighty-,” Eris gasped.
Gareth sat, motionless.
Eris moved from the side of the table to the seat across, as he had been sitting before, “are you in this room? Did you hear what he just said?”
“I’m at the end of my rod, I heard him.”
Eris folded his hands, screeching metal sounding, “as your liaison, I need you to listen to me very carefully, Gareth. You need to focus, for fuck’s sake. Please, I beg of you.”
Gareth glanced down at the orange plastic covering his arms, sleek and dense. He could feel the anger flush through him, his actual skin rippling with heat and potential. So far away, but instant all the same.
“Leave me to my work, I’ll stay down. I promise.”
“Stay in your lab, at least for the next forty-eight hours. As soon as things calm, we can re-task and discuss where we’re at. Does that sound simple and doable, at all, to you?” Eris stood.
“Simple, totally doable.”
“Thank you-,” Eris moved to leave the meeting chamber, walking as if he were surrounded by broken glass, “I’ll catch back up with you in two days.”
Eris turned and exited the opposite door, a wave of air rushing out and away as it whooshed closed.
Gareth sat there for a while, unmoving. There was a small silver fleck of imperfection on the surface of the table and he was focused on it, his mind far away in a place where the pressures of life fell away like a cocoon, the blossom of worry and pain distant and stale.
“Sample D-1 seated and currently awaiting instruction.” Rube’s voice ripped him from the depths he was falling into.
“Initial analyses?” Gareth asked, standing and leaving the dim chamber.
“Grade composition of container: Pb, heavy lead shielding. Weight: 77kg-”.
“Please move the test article to hazard bay 443, I’ll be up shortly.”
Gareth walked through the massive inner structure of the Cube, making his way towards the MOL-44 printers. There would be a printer in the back left, just finishing a small ceramic urn full of ashes. He plucked the perfect white urn from the printing plate and left the upper sectors, making his way down to the bottom of the Cube.
It took two levicors and a small escalating platform, the journey to the usual outer seal he used was long and winding, taking him through the inner bays in a zig-zag pattern. The more random his habits, the more control he felt over his life. When everything was synchronized, unplanned deviation gave a sort of rush. A rush that washed away the sour taste of the meeting he had just sat through.
“Your debts are beginning to cast a shadow.”
Shadows were the result of light and he felt no brightness within. It was all darkness, no definition any longer to navigate.
Focus on the narrative, he thought to himself.
The pain he endured paled in comparison to what these people must have experienced in their final days or hours. The sky ablaze, nuclear death raining down, more bodies than flies. Oceans boiled, the atmosphere sheared off.
The echoes of his wails were nothing against the hurricane.
Gareth had finally reached the bottom level and could see the outer access door still a ways away, lit by a blue runner from above. He glanced down at the small ivory urn, making sure it was still intact. When he looked back up, there was someone standing in front of him, silhouetted in the dark.
Trigam’s voice called out through the cloud, “what do you do out there?”
He was a couple meters away, optics glinting in the low blue light.
Gareth stopped, his heart rate spiking, “what are you doing down here?”
Trigam spread his dark metallic hands and sauntered forward, “making sure you don’t wander off and have an accident. What else?”
Gareth tried to ping Rube, but his local gateway was blocked.
“What’s so important outside, that you would throw away a MK-V research glove? Like it’s scrap.”
Gareth started backing up and bumped into a solid plate of metal. He had walked past two gloves pressed against the walls like waiting vipers uncoiled, both wearing Atlas exoframes normally used in mining and heavy labor. They grabbed him by his arms and legs and raised him up, so that his feet were just off the floor. The sound of squealing and crunching metal and plastic echoed down the dark walkway.
“c15,000, c20,000? What is it? It’s more than MK-III engineers, I know that much.”
Gareth strained against the hold he was in, his small white urn shattering under the struggle. Ash and ceramic shards fell to the floor unnoticed.
“So what is it? Why do you walk out there?” Trigam asked, the angular build of his glove’s face inches away from Gareth’s.
Trigam didn’t allow him to answer, instead he rammed a charged copper spike into the side of Gareth’s neural controller, just inside his breastplate, sending waves of pressurized spasms through his glove and into his body, back in the seed tank billions of miles away. Gareth screamed, but his agony was scattered by the network jammer currently enveloping the small group.
“Everyone said you were brilliant, eccentric. Working with you was something like rediscovering yourself,” Trigam laughed, “I was your slave for eight months and now I’m considering joining Yok.”
Trigam depressed a small switch and the pain spike went dead.
Gareth gasped for air through the feeling of being unwinded, his head spinning and his rage turned ashen and to despair.
“We can’t afford our own debt and we won’t take on yours.”
A short silence fell between them, before Gareth’s legs and right arm were pulled and ripped away from his body. Sparks and caustic hydraulic fluid sprayed in a wide arc, covering the shifting metal of the interior walls.
“Loss is part of the process,” Gareth sighed, “but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You never were very good at understanding that.”
Trigam smeared the clear oil along Gareth’s cheek, “you would be the expert of loss as well. Your bitch died and now you try to follow her, but Aetherguard will never let you die. You’re too special to them.”
The Atlas exosuits chomped down into the floor as the two holding Gareth started forward and hauled him towards the access door.
“It’s ten hours until sunrise, I hope you enjoy the little bit of leisure time we’ve bought you.” Trigam said, the access door whooshing open next to him and revealing the pitch dark howling night.
Gareth was tossed, like a dead battery, out into the ivory sand, tumbling end over end as he fell thirteen meters to the ground. The impact jittered his sensor core and his optics began an automatic reset, showing him the massive shifting wall of the Cube upon coming back online. He would give anything to close his eyes, but the pitch black was as close as he would get.
Every actuating joint and stabilizing core was damaged in the assault and now his entire glove vibrated in a kind of mechanical desynchronization. He hoped it would shake itself to pieces before he had to wait the agonizing hours for the star to rise over Kine’s horizon and cook him. The sooner he could get back and report this to Eris, the better his rage would be soothed.
Or so he hoped.
He still had slight control of the right arm they had left him and so he used it to push himself onto his back, face up and exposed to the sky above. His infrared lens gave the cosmos an ethereal shade, so much more to witness when looking outside the normal range. The sight of it all turned his awe to bitterness and guilt at the reminder of the casting away of his physical flesh. Not so much a loss, but a disconnection, controlled and bound by the numbers sworn fealty to as a neophyte. The end result was a sight so magnificent and so replicated it morphed into remorse.
“Rube?”
No answer came, they had damaged his communication module as well it seemed. He was on his own in the desert. He could already see the small search drones, their thermals scanning the glowing sand, looking for an imperfection in a backdrop of white.
When he looked down, the sand tinkled and blazed with the same astigmatism as in the small desk art piece, in Eris’ office. He looked and realized the sand wasn’t crushed silicate, but tiny individual diatomaceous shells, heaped by the trillions. He magnified and marveled at the radiating mass grave of microscopic animals. There was something about this last rape in the environmental brief, but the fact seemed to have slipped away, lost in a trillion other details of calamity.
North was a ridgeline rising out of the dunes, he could try to climb that and then throw himself off when he reached a sufficient height. Perhaps he could cut a few hours off of the current timeline, get back to the Cube and wring necks. The plastics and soft materials of his glove had all already sloughed off, leaving him a mechanical shell crawling across the wasteland, one arm dragging himself along.
Perhaps this was what it felt like, a fraction of the narrative’s suffering.
His neural core was pulsing, the flash of agony on the back of his subconscious reminding him he could feel at all.
He knew it would only be a fraction of what Trigam and his thugs would endure.

Link to the article
Link to previous article on strength gains in (mostly untrained) men and women
Summary:

• Previous research found that women had slightly higher short-term relative strength gains compared to men. There did not seem to be much of a difference between men and women in long term relative strength and muscle gain
• A limitation of published literature is that it mostly focused on untrained populations; generalization to untrained populations was unknown
• To address this, Nuckols analyzed data on OpenPowerlifting.com, specifically looking at raw full power meets in tested feds, and lifters who had competed in at least two meets
• Women gained strength significantly faster than men (0.576% per month for men and 0.920% per month for women)
• The sex difference held true even when you only looked stronger lifters, suggesting that average differences in training age between men and women probably doesn't explain the sex difference
• There are major differences in strength gains for people over 20 and under 20 years old, but rate of progress only slows down a little bit with age after that. However, there is some likely sampling bias here, since many older folks in the sample are probably new to the sport (and new to training). So "newbie gains" might be polluting the data here.
• Collectively, the factors analyzed only explained a small amount of variance in the data. This suggests other things - genetics, diet, consistency, a good training plan, etc - are probably larger contributors to rate of progress.

There's a whole lot more in the article that I didn't include above, so I highly suggest folks check it out.
My main takeaway from this is something that comes up in conversations on the sub quite a bit - no matter when you are getting started, you can probably get a lot stronger if you're willing to be a little patient and put in consistent work. In a recent King of the Lifts episode, Eric Helms noted that truly dominant powerlifters tended to peak in their 30s, with some still putting up huge numbers in their 40s - and we're talking world-class strength in that case, I imagine for the average hobby lifter who starts at 26 and is consistent could see their personal peak happen much later.
I highly encourage folks to check out the article and share your thoughts below.

The medical field places a high value on training. I finished formal training 29 years ago, but the academy insists that I complete continuing education credits and re-board to stay current. The emphasis on training is also reflected, for example, in that clinicians are known by their highest level of training. A general surgeon who completes a plastic surgery fellowship is a plastic surgeon; An internist who completes an endocrinology fellowship is an endocrinologist. Although Dr. Attia underscores his Stanford and Hopkins background- in the field- he’s an unfinished resident. He doesn’t hold board-certification in any field. If this were a book on legal advice, think of it as written by a lawyer who didn’t pass the bar.
He got as far as being a resident, and I’m not at all convinced he was a very good one at that. In the first chapter for example, he retells the story of how he cared for the 14-year-old victim of a car crash. The kid’s pupils were ‘fixed and dilated’. He says this suggested severe head trauma. It also strongly suggested the kid was dead. He writes he knowingly performed futile procedures on a 14-year-old kid, while his colleagues asked him not to. With some virtuous pride, rather than shame, he says his juvenile ego couldn’t conceive of not saving every life. I bet Hopkins was happy to see him go. This is precisely the personality surgical programs fear giving a scalpel. Anyway, he didn’t finish.
He did, however, go to a rehabilitation facility after some homicidal thoughts. He describes a moment of clarity during a fit of rage, that refrains him from ripping another person’s larynx out. It wasn’t because he realized killing is wrong but because he realized he would lose everything he’d worked for. He went to rehab to vacate murderous thoughts from his mind. In keeping, he didn’t finish. Later, when his wife feared for her safety and that of her children he went to another program. Now he’s got it. He’s got a firm grasp on the idea that people are deserving of dignity and respect. Presumably this nugget escaped him during medical school and what he did of residency. He keeps going to programs to relearn the value of “knowledge, dignity and respect.” These are the building blocks of Montessori childcare. Peter is 50.
Attia makes references to “mainstream” medicine but never defines it. Politics, as I understand, is driven by compromise and a “mainstream” of convenience may arise leaving outliers that are less represented. How does that work in Medicine? Exactly what interventions, with proof of effectiveness has medicine shunned for compromise? Attia doesn’t offer evidence of this phenomenon in medicine before affixing the adjective because he can’t. Health science is inclusive of all reproducible evidence. The field includes diet, exercise, immune therapies, surgical interventions, and myriad additional varied tools. Is he trying to use “mainstream” to mean medicine that demands evidence?
I think so. As the book progresses, he uses mainstream interchangeably with dismissive-of-the-unproven. His book is a collection of case reports and rat studies coupled to a disbelief that their findings have not been widely applied. He’s here to run with the ball. He must because medicine can’t run long trials. If medicine can’t run long trials one has to use lesser data, like data that support his points. His editors hope no one finds out how long The Harvard Men’s Trial, The Nurses Study, Framingham, UKPDS, and Hennepin County have been running.
The editing of the book is unnoticeable. Things like ‘I myself’ get through, but editing also allows contradictions from one page to the next. On page 11, for example, medicine has been successful at reducing what he calls ‘fast death’ but markedly less successful at ‘slow death’, like cardiovascular disease; On page 12, cardiovascular disease progress has been stellar, where mortality rates have been cut by 2/3. Which is it: slow or stellar? The confusion of terrible editing can’t hide how little medicine Dr. Attia knows and the difficulty he has understanding the most basic concepts of health science.
Medicine 2.0 is a catch all term for Attia. At times Medicine 2.0 represents standards of care but at other times it’s a repository for what he doesn’t know and hasn’t read. Things are new to the reader if they’re new to him. He reviews the statistics of a trial on hormone replacement because he’s a “math guy.” He concludes that replacement therapy shouldn’t be abolished as it has some clear benefits. He discovered this, not the people writing position papers with the same conclusion. Although exercise has been recommended for centuries; although “Medicine 2.0” has had exercise guidelines for decades, it never played a crucial role in health until Dr. Attia read about it.
Attia regular uses misunderstanding as a building block. In one instance, the resident takes on Hippocrates. Since he doesn’t understand, primum non nocere (first do no harm), he finds it failing. He uses a case of tamponade to illustrate his misunderstanding. As a patient’s pericardium fills with fluid and chokes the heart, he decides to crack open the chest, incise the pericardium, and relieve pressure. He feels this was in violation of the First Do No Harm dictum. He thinks it means you can’t do anything painful or invasive, because short term harm prohibits a broader goal. Drawing blood, in his misunderstanding of Hippocrates, would also violate- First Do No Harm.
The rest of us interpret Hippocrates to mean you shouldn’t do things of which you are unsure that could result in harm. No doctor would be excused for standing by on tamponade because he didn’t want to cause harm. It’s a profound misunderstanding of what the dictum means. He goes as far as declaring Hippocrates and First do no harm sanctimonious. It’s what a resident doesn’t tell you that is worrisome. Except in rare situations, most of us relieve tamponade with an 18G needle, he opened a chest. You might notice not a single physician endorses this book, Hugh Jackman does.
In the end, one learns little from Attia. He intimates at treating pre-diabetes with drugs when every trial has failed to show an effect with early treatment. He’s running a dog trial with promising early data. To the trained ear, it sounds like a trial that couldn’t get traditional funding and hasn’t published results. He mocks the use of LDL and HDL markers though guidelines based on them have saved millions of lives. He ignores that guidelines for the appropriate use of APO-B, Lp(a) and calcium scoring already exist. He likes to leave things early before he understands them. He stayed long enough to learn APO-B and Lp(a) impart an additional cardiac risk, he didn’t stay long enough to learn proven therapies are lacking.
He recommends homocysteine levels and B vitamin replacement acknowledging a link with high homocysteine levels and adverse cardiovascular outcomes. He omits trials have failed to erase the increased risk with B vitamin supplementation. Similarly, he recommends fibrates in the treatment of primary hypertriglyceridemia because he hasn’t read- they don’t help. Perhaps when he learns this and has another episode of uncontrolled violence, he’ll write about Medicine 4.0.
Attia calls attention to Muhammed Ali’s tactical masterpiece in a fight against George Forman. Faced with a more powerful foe, Ali entices Foreman into the irresistible trap of hitting Ali at will. In short order, Foreman loses all strength with the expenditure of his punches and Ali promptly knocks him out. The tactic subsequently enshrined in boxing history as “Rope a Dope”. Attia draws similarities between the brilliance of his message and the tactics of Ali but ironically, his book is a boxer who can’t punch; it’s George Foreman in the eighth. His book doesn’t solve pre-diabetes; It doesn’t solve NASH; It doesn’t relieve dementia. None of Attia’s punches land. His advice to exercise, diet, sleep well and manage stress is unassailable but it’s not Medicine 3.0 and he didn’t discover it.