Yip Man 4 Free Online 2019 For Free gostream in Hindi yesmovies

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1. 
2. movie Info Yip Man 4 is a movie starring Donnie Yen, Scott Adkins, and Kwok-Kwan Chan. The Kung Fu master travels to the U.S. where his student has upset the local martial arts community by opening a Wing Chun school
3. Writer Lai-Yin Leung
4. Wilson Yip
5. country Hong Kong
6. genre Drama

 

E5 8f b6 e9 97%a84 free online side effects. This movie is trash do not rent or buy it. 0:32 General be like, THIS MF-ER HIT ME. Great movie, but these subs actually look better.

So is this really the last one ? Donnie Yen: something like that

This guy is to weak and slow to play Bruce lee. 叶门4 free online watch. ŏ门4 free online slot. Am I the only one that finds his rapidly fast punches super satisfying. This is click bait. Just report this is not ip man. WHHAAAAAAAAAAT. 54 he look 40. Inspired by: /u/hippokuda “You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjolnir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that’s been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. ” Been Through the Desert “I hate politics, ” Jeffrey Stevenson Paul sighed quietly to himself. He tried to stay apolitical, he really did, but aside from whatever his personal feelings on the matter might be, it was all but impossible to avoid some idiot, either extolling the benefits both for and against the current President. Personally he just wished they would all shut-up and go away. Let things settled down and get back to normal. I mean, that’s what always happened, isn’t it? Some “idiot” is elected and the “other” side spends so much time and energy decrying just about everything they do and, invariably, a few months down the line the rhetoric shifts and it was all revealed to be a big farce. Yet another act in the grand game of “The Government. ” That being said, and personal frustration and annoyance aside, he had to admit - almost against his will even - it did feel a bit diff-- “Hey kid! ” The sharp voice and sharper rebuke cracked him out of his reverie. “Watch where you’re going dangit! ” “Oh... Shit! Dude I’m so--” A heavy sigh. “You know what…” resigned annoyance. Newspaper tucked under one arm - and seriously, who read those anymore - folded overcoat draped over it as well, ubiquitous cell phone held loosely in one hand and eyes fastened downward, focused on the slowly growing coffee stain currently spreading over what - Jeff could only assume - seemed to be an expensive suit. “Just forget it, ” the man finally said with another, resigned sigh. “I was planning on getting everything dry cleaned soon anyway. “Just… be more careful of your surroundings next time, would you? Never know who you could run into, ” there was a pause and a meaningful head tilt towards the other side of the street. “Or what they may be carrying, ” he finished, his head nod indicating a struggling and all but overburdened young mother burbling happily to the bundle of joy cradled in her arms. The man gave a grudgingly amused “harrumph. ” “Better me than her at least. ” A faint grin. “Anyway, just keep your eyes on where you’re going, ” the man continued. “And you’ll do just fine. ” Jeff, for the most part, mostly just blinked on in confusion, staring after the man as he vanished into the swiftly growing crowd littering the sidewalk; hand lifting to cover the spot where he’d pressed an oddly paternal hand before-- The mental scream shattered his sense of self, obliterating his senses and drowning him in furious horror. For a moment, nothing else existed. He crumpled. Rocking. Hands raised over his ears and temples to block out a sound that wasn’t; and couldn’t be. His face contorted into a silent, rictus mask of echoes. And then slowly, so slowly, the scream faded. The shards of glass littering the ground, remnants of his broken mind, lifted slowly of their own accord; knitting themselves back together. And then, all he heard was sobbing. The quietly broken, curled up into a ball, back pressed against a wall, arms wrapped around knees drawn up to your chest kind of sobbing. Quiet. Nowhere near as overpoweringly powerful as that first awe-inspiringly overpowered scream… but probably all the more enrapturing for it. Jeff opened his eyes. He was surrounded by a tiny circle of space. The crowd, a moving flow of people meandering down the sidewalk, was picking up; but he was being afforded a small pocket of room. People were very carefully not looking at him as they hurried past. Intent upon their carefully crafted lives. Not willing - or perhaps not wanting - to interfere in the affairs of another. He found his back pressed against the wall from where he’d scooted when the scream-- The scream… The crying. Jeffrey let his eyes blur as he turned his attention back inward… and found the crying voice waiting there. Opening his eyes again… struck by the absurdity of the situation and the counter-point themes of this impossible voice weeping with such heartbreak and forlorn juxtaposed over the commonplace - if currently cautious - faces of those around him. His hands half-clenched and his mind registered the almost gravel like feel of the concrete on which he sat. H-- “Tut, tut, tut, ” tut-tutted a new and not slightly disapproving voice. The intrusion broke into his train of thought just before his mind could coalesce into what had been its next step. Confusion seeped in. Panic-- “Now, now, ” the voice interrupted again. Its owner - now revealed to be an actual person and not just another crack in the walls of his mind - crouched down beside him. “None of that, now, ” she continued. He felt drunk. His mind whimpered. She seemed, as his eyes swiveled gamely around to face her, to waver in his sight. At first he saw a seemingly ancient woman with a full head of iron coloured hair. Stopped by the weight of wisdom and time itself it was her eyes that demanded his attention. Startlingly arresting, the clear bright eyes of youth stared back at him for an eternity that was an instant in time. Or… maybe they weren’t so young? No. Not those eyes. Those eyes were ancient. Steeped in unfathomable experience. Those eyes hadn’t just “seen it all” they’d seen it all so many times before that the very idea was trite. Those eyes… were surrounded by youth. More than a woman but less than a girl (or was it the other way around? ) the raw and almost unshaped beauty of youth - inset and anchored with those beyond ancient eyes - washed over him; taking his breath away. And then it passed. The woman who was offering her hand to help him up appeared - at first glance - to be almost unremarkable in every way. Short brown hair styled comfortably but almost forgettably. Understated make-up. Big, beautiful brown eyes one could fall into forever. Soft, smoothly feminine hands that still held an undercurrent of depthless strength. A faintly crooked smile that wormed its way into your heart and napped in front of the fireplace like a life-long and treasured companion. She even smelled that way, marveled Jeffrey as, with her help, he leveraged himself to his feet. Somehow both earthy and feminine, a mixture of “outside” and “freedom” combined with… the cinnamon wholesomeness of freshly baked apple pies and dusted with the fragrant promise of some exotic flower he didn’t know existed much less the name of. His mind hadn’t even realized half of those things could even be scents. “Not the worst reaction…” his nameless benefactor murmured to herself. Her voice carried the self-satisfied preening of a spoiled cat and he could all but feel the subsonic purring that accompanied it. He shivered. The smile turned up a millimeter - and megawatt - more. “But, ” she continued a moment later, her entire tone and bearing shifting over to something far more business-like. “That is, most assuredly, not at all the most important detail of the moment. ” She paused, momentarily giving him a quick, professional grade look over before seeming to smile wryly at herself and then - and this surprised him - turning the smile into a quick, rueful laugh. Already confused, his Jeffrey’s brows nevertheless furrowed in further confusion. In response she gave a quick shake of the head, her eyes still glittering with amusement. “Some… people…” she intoned with exceeding carefulness. “Get to break - or make the rules, ” she offered by way of explanation. On the last bit her voice turned, were it possible, even more wry. “Regardless of what w-... others may think. ” Jeffrey blinked. Her statement only served to amuse herself all the more. For his part, “confusion” was a stated he’d long since flown out of. Surprisingly his bewilderment sobered her up. Quickly. (Stone-gray hair and eyes as clear as forever offered sympathy. (“You poor child, ” was whispered as condolence (Ancient eyes looked on in unyielding and silent judgement. ) Her eyes swept out over the crowd. Jeffrey was taken aback in the sudden realization that he - or now they - continued to occupy an oddly quiet pocket of space alone on the sidewalk. The fact that the sun was brightly shining with early afternoon sunlight made absolutely no sense to his brain addled senses. “So, ” she said a moment later, her eyes still focused on the crowd. “I imagine you… hear her voice then? ” Her question was deliberately pitched into the most innocuous and casual tone possible. As if she weren’t a stranger who just showed up and asked him if he were crazy. “Her--” The woman's lips turned up fractionally, half-smiling as she cut him off - yet again - before he could truly form a thought. “There are certain… moments, ” she began. “Where the most important thing for you to do is be entirely and absolutely honest. ” Another pause, head cocked to the side as if testing the word. “If it helps, ” she offered half-conspiratorily. “Think of it as a challenge. The more crazy something is? The more truthful its reveal? ” Her smile grew a half malicious fraction. “The more… delicious the look of disbelief when doubters and deniers are proven false. ” Jeffrey paused. Now was the time for the question to be repeated. For the urging of reveal. But it didn’t come. Instead, still flush with evident pleasure at whatever memory had triggered her last thought, she returned to silently looking over the crowd, eyes half unfocused. Leaving him alone with his thoughts. With his mind.. With her. “I hear her, ” he said quietly, almost against his will. Half to himself as fully “out loud. ” “I hear her, ” he repeated. “She’s crying. ” The woman sighed softly. “She would be, ” she continued in a soft tone of voice. “She hasn’t been awake for a long, long time…” Another slight pause. “And if she* is*…” a quick shake of the head killed that train of thought. “That does mean however, ” she continued, her tone of voice becoming brisk and businesslike once again. “We have to move. ” Jeff blinked as he found himself locked in place by her sudden and intense eye-contact. “The first thing you have to understand, Jeffrey Stevenson Paul, is that we already know who you are. “In fact, ” she continued calmly. “Up until right now you could say we know everything about you. ” Panicfearterror. Heartbeat racing dilated pupils breathing heavy panting panting got to get away got to get away got to get away. Fear. You always hear about it. Them. The stories. Alphabet agencies descending down upon some hapless stooge. Swooping them up and leaving no trace of their existence after. Internet rumors. Scary stories to tell children to get them to behave online. Or maybe to instill some sense of fear or respect for the internet itself; or the information one released onto it. But those were just stories. Those were just rumors. It wasn’t supposed to actually happen! And how could-- “But why would the government be interested in me? ” he said at the same time. “I mean, I’m just a normal guy and--” “Government? ” Her voice carried the laughter her parted lips released a moment later. Rich, full-bodied and with head thrown back. She was amused. “Oh, my dear boy. ” A still amused shake of the head. “Government. As if you could quantify our existence in that terminology. How absolutely quaint! ” Jeffrey blinked. For what was surely the umpteenth time. “Still, ” she allowed, still entirely amused. Head cocked to the side as she rolled the idea around on her tongue; as if tasting all sides of it. “It wouldn’t be entirely incorrect to think of us as some… form of government. ” She paused again. “To a degree. “And of a form so… advanced over your… current understanding of the term. ” He heard her carefully attempt to not be insulting. “As if to almost be worthless in description. “Still, ” there was that word again. “That, like everything else, is not important right now. “What is important, ” she continued. “Is to know that I am not, in fact, from your government. “And what I am here for, ” she finished, eyes spearing him down with piercing intensity. “Is to take you to her. ” Her. In the quiet recesses of his mind the crying had died off. Now it was just sniffs. And sniffles. The quiet, almost abused sounds of someone recovering from being absolutely distraught but trying desperately not to be noticed else-- “Where is she? ” His eyes snapped to hers… and were met with a faint but approving smile. “Jeffrey Stevenson Paul, ” she intoned with odd but incredibly serious formality. “Do you, of your own volition and free will, agree to come with me? ” He opened his mouth to reply but snapped it shut a moment later as her finger lifted towards him. “Think hard upon your answer, Jeffrey Stevenson Paul, ” she interrupted. “Neither the question nor your answer are things to take lightly. Her voice continued in his head and he shook it slightly in negation. Of what he wasn’t sure, as it was most certainly not his answer to the question. One might think to pause and reflect at this point. To think of things like friends or family - of which he was not bereft - or a job, bills - an apartment. Rent. Car (and payment). He had all of those things. The “classic story” - and his mind, her voice, the woman in front of him… all of it screamed that this was not “normal” as would commonly be accepted. And that maybe he would wake up tomorrow feeling entirely hung over and forget all of this seventeen minutes after hitting the gym. But if he didn’t … The classic story featured a rather lone protagonist - not that he was one of course. No family, few - if any - friends. A person easily missed by society, who could vanish away, whisked off into some magical fantasy adventure without anyone being the wiser. For the most part, at least. But Jeffrey did not fit that mold. It wasn’t his life. He had gym class in an hour. With a gym partner who always managed to squeeze out an extra rep or two more than he could himself - the bastard. He was fairly popular at work. Currently on the short list - if middle of the pack - for promotion. Had a decent “adult but nagged” relationship with his parents. His mother specifically. Three days ago spending more than his fair share of minutes answering “yes mom, ” and “I know mom” to the seemingly bi-annual conversation on “When are you gonna give me some grand babies? ” and “You know I’m not getting any younger. ” Always a personal favorite. No love life to speak of though. Not at the moment at least. Seven months into the recovery of a failed four year relationship and he was finally feeling just about ready to “risk it all” again... now he was here. There were questions of course. “What happens if I say no? ” being chief among them. (“What happens if I say yes? ” being another top contender. ) But to even think about asking one of those questions felt… disingenuous. As if it opened up the ability, later on down the road, for him to look back at this moment and time and go “See! But she said …! ” An excuse. And, almost intrinsically, he realized that that was neither the correct answer nor the correct response. Not now. Not at this moment. A dozen thoughts swam through his mind. A hundred. A million. Life. His life. Possibilities and potentialities. A lifetime spread out in front of him. A golden road. Replete with successes and failures. Some small victories, some large failures, some amazing triumphs. Not all guaranteed of course. The onus of free will carried with it the weight of responsibility. Options and opportunities could only be presented or revealed. Certain things could on be manipulated so much behind the scenes… But still. He saw them… It… The Path… The Golden Road. He heard no other voices in his head. No outside influences to distract or effect his choice or decision. Nothing but him, his mind, and a question laid out before him. And the only answer that could possibly be given. “Where is she? ” Her brows furrowed slightly. “.. …” And for the first time in what seemed like forever, it was his turn to smile. “I, Jeffrey Stevenson Paul, ” he intoned in a matchingly serious voice. “Do hereby, of mine own free will and volition, agree to accompany you. ” Her smile beamed back at him. The moment passed. The sound of the city surrounded him once more. And he heard her voice again. “Now then, ” the woman across from him began, starting to move and inclining her head for him to follow. The fact that he had no idea what her name was - or who she was, save some strange woman who appeared at just the right moment asking just the right questions - that he still had no idea who she…”worked for, ” was just an accepted reality of the moment anymore. “The first thing you have to understand, ” she was saying. “Is that… while not entirely unprecedented, your… “arrival” here is still… incredibly unusual. Even for us. ” Jeff fell silently into step behind her. She moved with quiet purpose; ghosting through the crowd with barely a ripple. Always just moving out of the space someone else was about to step into. She - and he too as he kept step with her - was the afterimage seen only out of the corner of the eye. It was kind of trippy. “The second thing you have to understand, ” she continued. “Is that you’re going to have questions. A lot of questions. “And there are only a very few I can - or am allowed to answer, ” her eyes flicked towards him briefly, her lips quirked in a half smile. “And probably a half dozen questions that what little I actually can tell you will cause. “But, ” and here she paused, turning towards him with a chasteningly lifted finger. Distractedly, his attention moving from her accusatory digit up to her eyes, he noticed she’d stopped them in a natural break in the flow of traffic. A tree growing in the middle of the sidewalk. A shopkeeper's sign, with carefully crafted haphazardness, jutting out into the path. Traffic flowed around them. “The most important thing to remember is that you are not alone. Not anymore, ” her lips quirked in that half-smile again. “And in more ways than one… “Still, ” she said, brightening considerably. “That’s not for here. Or for now. It’s just something to be said. Something for you to keep in mind and remember. ” She started moving again. A young toddler, replete with the giggling shriek that could draw rueful smiles from all but the most cold hearted and stone faced of observers, chased after a young golden retriever too old to be a puppy but too young to be a dog. Happy giggling shriek met happy yipping bark and furiously wagging tail. Smiles lit faces. Fingers released string. Balloons lifted. Parents expressed frustration loudly. A horn tapped. Pigeons, momentarily started, spooked and lifted off. In the distractedly brief cacophony the two slipped unnoticed back into the crowd. An after-image seen only out of the corner of the eye. “Don’t worry, ” she murmured quietly, breaking through his bemusement. “We’re almost there. ” A faint lift of the chin and they altered course, now crossing the street. His mind decided against trying to track the myriad events that half obscured - or distracted from - their passage. For his sanity’s sake. “As I said, ” she resumed as they finished their crossing, angling them towards a seemingly run down pawn shop. Easily missed, the small door and inauspicious sign above it were well tucked away and back, huddled down between a bank's massively secure and cavernous glass opening - with on duty and armed security staff in full view - and a just shy of too trendy restaurant already bustling with activity; golden light spilling out onto the walkway, faint strains of classical music underscored with the tinkle and chime of silverware and dishes. The sign, so well worn as to be faded almost entirely away, hung above a simple wooden door and beside a smallish curtained window on which “Pawn Shop” could barely be made out. Not for lack of cleanliness mind you, as far as Jeff could determine. As each step took him closer there was not a speck of dust or dirt in sight. But the sign and lettering were so sun and time bleached that they no longer had a color, much less an echo of whatever color they were before. In fact, only by squinting his eyes as they moved ever closer to the door - which itself he would never have noticed were they not headed directly towards it - could he even begin to make out the name. A-- “You will have questions, ” her words recaptured his attention before his brain could-- “And some you will find easy answers to… and some you must learn, over time, for yourself. “But I will tell you this, ” she said, stopping in front of the door. For a moment, and perhaps for the first time since he’d met her, she appeared to be trying to phrase what next she was to say very carefully. “There is… the “act, ”” she intoned carefully. “And… the “Office”, ” and in that he heard the capital letter. “The “act” can - and does - continue without the “Office” being filled. Which makes its appointment.. ” she paused. “teworthy. “Does that make sense? ” Jeffrey grinned slightly. “Not in the slightest, ” he rejoined cheerfully. “But I have the feeling that it will. ” She kept silent for a moment, giving him a searching look, then relaxed and relented, matching him smile for grin. “Yes, ” she agreed quietly. “For you… I think it very well might. ” Mamoru Tokugawa looked up as the door to his shop opened, his lips already parting in familiar and well rehearsed lines. He stopped just shy of issuing them however as he saw just who had crossed through the threshold of his shop. “Mistress--” he began, but cut himself off a split second later as Jeffrey entered in behind her, catching the faint, almost imperceptible shake of her head as he did. …” he finished lamely. “Mistress Madame is it now? ” began Jeff sardonically - but only half-heartedly. He was distracted. He’d seen the man’s bows raise as he’d stepped in after her. And saw even now how they attempted to climb skyward at how he addressed her (some quietly calculating part of his mind took special note of that - and maybe the lizard brain part of his mind started shrieking in fear but he’d long since tuned that part out). But the biggest draw on his attention was her voice. The crying had… not entirely stopped but… changed. Almost-- “Jeffrey, ” she said, turning around to face him directly and, once again, snapping his train of thought. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Tokugawa Mamoru. ” Her lips turned upward into an almost impish smile. “Tokugawa-kun has been a long time and steadfast… “friend” of… … a long time, ” she repeated. That sense of impish teasing living on in her eyes even as her sentence trailed weakly off. “Isn’t that right, Tokugawa-kun” she asked, still teasing. “As always, ” came the man's quiet response. “It is now, has always been and always shall be the highest of honors, my lady. ” Gentle and quiet reproof. The mans bearing - Tokugawa, his mind corrected - was that of a long time family staff-member. Something like a butler or, perhaps more accurately, a majordomo. But while his demeanor conveyed honest content with… long time familial familiarity - Jeffrey’s mind shied away from any term or phrase that conveyed a sense of “subservience” - his movement. He was a solid man, that Jeffrey could tell. Surrounded by… weapons, Jeffrey noticed as his mind caught up to the moment, mostly swords though a few odds and ends here and there. Jeff was suddenly struck by the feeling that he was less in a “pawn shop” and more in a… display room? For the first time he took a really good look at his surroundings. There were swords, not “everywhere” but definitely strategically placed. Display racks of multi-blade sets carefully angled and lovingly bedecked with pools of tastefully quiet light. And so few of them! For a “pawn shop” which he was increasingly certain this was not, there were surprisingly few weapons on display. Though what few there were seemed to almost pulse with their quality. Some sense of the weapons and the artfully understated room itself giving lie to a sense of mastercraft that broke through to be obvious to even his unschooled mind. A fountain burbled quietly away in the corner. And Jeffrey was suddenly absolutely certain that not only were the blades around him not just for display but that the man in front of him was not only intimately familiar with the weapons themselves but also in how to use them. And could very probably teach masterclass lessons in how to employ each and every one in lethal and devastating usage. The man was absolutely and unequivocally dangerous... yet… He felt… peaceful. It was almost as if - as Jeffrey found his attention being oddly drawn towards him -.. if waves of gently calming… life force? He blinked, taken entirely aback. By now he’d become accustomed to the woman’s odd - and well timed - ability to interrupt his train of thought so, having it complete … But as strange as it was he could not shake the thought or feeling emanating from the man. Almost like pulsing waves of calm and stillness moving from him. Ripples in a pond. Almost of their own volition then, his eyes flicked towards-- “You’re no fun at all! ” she complained to Tokugawa; feigning a pout without the natural foot stomp that would come with it. Jeffrey blinked, shaking his head. His mind, once again, caught up to the moment. “As always, ” the man said with a faint but genuine smile. “My most sincere apologies, my lady. We but live to serve. ” “You live to be a pain in my tuchas! ” she rejoined with an accusatory point and laughing eyes. “Still, ” she said sobering. “I’m afraid this is not a social call. ” “No, my lady, ” he replied easily with that self-same soft smile. “I don’t imagine it is. ” Smile was returned - briefly - for smile and then she squared her shoulders, looking as oddly formal as when she’d asked if Jeff himself would accompany her. “Tokugawa Mamoru, ” she said formally. “I request access to the Collection. ” Tokugawa’s smile grew slightly and he inclined his head towards her in acquiescence. “Of course, my lady, ” he replied in perfectly flawless and flawlessly unaccented English. “Will you be entering alone? ” he inquired, as if Jeffrey were not standing right there. “I will not, ” she replied simply. And he nodded. Tokugawa turned and led them across the floor, past the curtains in the back revealing a modern and surprisingly large apartment unit. Past a large empty room full of mirrored walls and a padded floor. Past signs of occupancy by more than Mr. Tokugawa himself. Past evidence of a full and rich life - if one slightly cloistered away from society itself. There were open spaces, lowered floors and lifted ceilings and incredibly clever ways to mimic sunlight and the open sky. They started passing people, graveled paths and trees replete with quiet streams. In mind altering confusion Jeffrey was struck by the disorienting sensation of having moved outside while moving more deeply into… His eyes flicked upwards. He saw the sky. His head turned ‘round to look behind them. He saw a beautiful manicured path flanked by cherry blossoms. He looked to the side and found himself being subtly ignored. mine own free will and volition…” bubbled quietly up into his mind. He swallowed. But, as before, he found that by focusing on his internal dialogue, his attention was once more captured by her. Because something very important had changed. She was closer. Almost overwhelmingly so. She’d stopped crying entirely at this point. Instead he felt or sensed a different sort of… state. Waiting, almost. Not apprehension nor anticipation but some bittersweet combination of the two. And she was so very, very close. The lightest touch upon his wrist drew him ever so gently from his mind. “Not much farther, ” his strange and - as of yet - nameless guide- cum -companion murmured. Taking a deep breath of what had by then become brisk air, he nodded and tried to gather his wits about himself once more. And, true to her word, they arrived. Buried in the center of what could only be described as a small village, was a building. Its size was noticeable but not overwhelmingly impressive but what did draw his attention was the door. It looked… heavy. Flanked on either side by stoic looking gentlemen armed with swords - and while some part of him scoffed at the… anachronistic accoutrements no part of him thought they couldn’t use them. Well. Another feather light touch gently steered both his attention and his person off the main path. What followed next was as well executed as it was confusing, and even having a “front row seat” did little to unknot the complicated movements into sense. Two men approached Mamoru, both bearing large, secure looking cases. Both armed to the teeth with very modern and very dangerous looking weaponry. They stood on either side of him, matching the positions of the guards at the door. The man on his left stepped towards him. A button depressed. A panel revealed. Twelve digit code entered. Upon success - alerted by a quiet tone - a slot slid open on the side. Tokugawa pulled a key from around his neck. Inserted. Quarter circle rotation, clockwise. A second panel opened beside the first, revealing a thumb print scanner. The man presenting the case pressed down his thumb. There was a click - then a hum. Tokugawa released his key back to neutral, pressed in harder to engage the deeper locking system, rotated to 3 o’clock, depressed it still further to engage the tertiary locking system, counter rotated back to the 9 o’clock position, pulled the key back towards himself, inverting the lock entirely, then let it reset back to 12 once more. The lid opened, revealing an authentication count-down screen. As it did, the lock itself reset releasing the key into Tokugawa’s waiting palm. This was the first case. Tokugawa turned towards the second. The pattern repeated. The case bearers stepped forward. The door guards each pulled flat, electronic keys from around their necks, turning to insert them into almost flush and definitely hidden depressions. Twists of the keys revealed palm scanners. The case bearers stepped forward, palms extended. Authentication. Consoles released, unfolding from their truly flush positions beside the door, becoming floating desk tables in front of the door guards. There were two main portions. The first was a screen and keyboard, the door guards lifted their respective screens into position. The second was a larger indentation. Another key slot lurked between the two. The case bearers set their cases down within the larger indentations, shoving them into position firmly and securely. The fits were snug. There was another loud and solid sounding click. Then a deeper hum. Systems spooling up. The case bearers crossed then from one side to the other. Left moving to the right. Right moving to the left. They left the cases inserted where they were. Instead removing their own keys and inserting them into slots between machines. And turning. Screens flared on. The door guards moved. Long-form passwords were entered into their terminals. Authentication code entered from the cases themselves. A timed response to an on screen prompt. Success revealed further authentication screens. Two lines flowed through timed permutations per screen. Tokugawa stepped forward. The door guards turned their screens towards him, locking them into place. The actions revealed the final keyhole towards the center of the door itself. Tokugawa crossed the final step, inserting his key into position, and turning it. And, very suddenly, things became very, very tense… and very, very still. The act of turning the key had revealed yet another palm scanner but it had done something far more ominous as well. It had armed the defense systems. High powered weaponry whined its way to life, revealing itself from hidden emplacements strategically placed around the door - and surrounding area - itself. Targeting lasers and laser sights crawled up and down the heads and bodies of all five men. From multiple, multiple sources. Four men endeavored to remain very, very still. Tokugawa however, gave no sign that he was even aware that the weapons existed. His free hand lifted smoothly as he pressed it against the palm scanner. Upon successful recognition a screen flared to life expectantly in front of his face. “Vault access request, ” he said both loudly and carefully. “Tokugawa Mamoru. “Authentication code” he looked at the screen to his right. “Juniper, ” and then left. “Three-Nine-Seven-Two-Five. “Confirmation code, ” he continued, this time starting on the left screen. “Red Box, ” and moving right. “Eight-Nine-Three-Four-Two-Two-Two. ” For too many heartbeats absolutely nothing happened. And then “Access Request Granted, ” soothed from equally hidden speakers. Weapons spooled down and tucked themselves away. Laser sights winked off. The massive door slid smoothly open, revealing itself to be incredibly thick. And that at least two more doors of matching size were sliding away within the opening as well. The cases were closed and tucked under arms. Terminals lifted back into their alcoves against and within the walls. In moments the scene had returned to the almost picturesque - and impossible - idyllic village in the middle of… his mind faltered. “Tokugawa-kun, ” like him, she’d been absolutely silent during the entirety of the… display. But now she stepped forward, bowing deeply and with great respect. “Thank you, so very much, ” she said with quiet sincerity.
https://shrturi.com/8YNgE7

Best chinese movie i have ever watched❤. Ask not for whom the ball rolls; it rolls for thee, and it rolls ever closer to the end of the season with each passing minute. For some, it is a roll that is coasting toward an easy playoff berth. For others, it is out of control, tumbling downhill ever farther from their desired destination. But soft! What light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and free agency is the sun! That thou, her players, art far more fair than those currently on your team. To the rankings: 12. RETURNS OF THE JEDI An invincible force, destroying all in its path. We are the death star, and we are not telling you where our exhaust port is. And, yes, we know that the teams we’ve swept so far have been… behind the pace. But that’s just because we crushed their morale when we beat them! Panic Level: Vader, decapitating the final panda and finishing the complete extermination of the ewok-adjacent species. As he returns to his ship, he notices that some of the panda fur is stuck to his sleeve. He moves to brush it off, but the hairs suddenly start to move, wriggling across his arm. The hairs inch their way into familiar shapes. Letters? Yes, letters. Slowly, Vader begins to understand what the fur is trying to say: ”e z schedule” 11. OVER THE PANTS HANDOFFS There’s satisfying, and then there’s a double sweep of the other longest continuously-running team in NLTP this season. On Sphere. If we can beat the B-team that’s won three championships in a row, we can beat anybody ifit’snottheplayoffs We’ll worry about playoffs later. Celebratory non-alcoholic beverages for everyone! Panic Level: NameLEss rubs his temples. He’s surrounded by discarded hamburger wrappers and half-full paper ketchup cups. A spilled McFlurry™ meanders across the table and slowly drips onto his shoes. “Look, Linda, first of all, you should be proud of your kid, they did great tonight, ” he says into the phone. “Second, I promised that if they beat LBT I’d take them to McDonald’s™. I never expected them to actually do it. I know it’s late, but how was I supposed to know this place had a ball pit? We’ll be back as soon as we can get everyone out of there. ” NameLEss hangs up, sighs, and walks back over to the ball pit. He begins, once again, to sort through the balls, trying to figure out which are his players. 10. FLAIRBNB It would be really great if we could stop ending up in overtime games against teams we should be beating outright. There’s no reason for us not to be undefeated and at the top of the standings. RAMMSTEIN has 36 caps in 3 weeks! That’s more than the three teams at the bottom of the standings! How are we only hanging on to second by a median margin of loss tiebreak? Panic Level: After the Harlem Globetrotters all come down with mono, Flairbnb offer to step in so that the show can go on. They’re beating the Washington Generals with ease, and RAMMSTEIN is chucking up 3s from everywhere on the court, but every time one of them goes up for a big dunk, they keep getting rejected by the rim. The crowd is getting restless. They would like dunks. 9. WCYDINOS We’re one of two teams to have both A and B in the top 3. We’re definitely one of the more impressive teams in the early going and you’ve gotta think we at least make the Foci Four in both divisions. And yet – explain to me how we dropped not one but two games to a B team that hadn’t recorded a point? How did a team wearing all pig flairs score 11 on us in one half? Panic Level: Three weeks after buying a shiny new sport sedan, A$AP hears a low rattle coming from the hood. It goes away after a little while, and now he can’t tell if he can still hear it or if he’s just imagining it. 8. SO LONG AND THANKS FOR ALL THE CAPS Imagine how good we would’ve looked this week if we didn’t spot the other team a 7-cap lead in the first two minutes! It would’ve looked great, we would’ve been in fourth place, and maybe you would’ve started noticing us creeping up the standings, edging our way into the conversation. A different one of us in the top 6 for each of captures, tags, hold and returns. mmmbogy would be leading the league in caps if RAMMSTEIN wasn’t -- we assume -- cheating in some blatantly ridiculous way. You may not know anything about us, because nobody knows anything about Centra teams, but we’re here. Lurking in the shadows. Panic Level: Gramps starting to get antsy as he waits for Crowman to give him a ride to LAX. His flight leaves in 90 minutes. “Don’t worry, man, ” Crowman says. “The government’s back up and running so all those delays because the TSA agents weren’t coming in to work are over. ” “Ok, but Los Angeles traffic—“ Gramps says. “L. A. traffic is overrated. Besides, I know some side streets that will get us there way faster. ” Thirty minutes pass. “We really need to go now, ” Gramps says. “I’m gonna miss my flight. ” “You’ll be fine, ” Crowman says. “You always get to your gate like thirty minutes early. No sense wasting that time. ” They end up leaving at 4:40 for Gramps’ 4:45 flight. Crowman drives a few miles, then turns into a gas station. “Forgot to mention I was on empty. I know this will put us behind a little, but I’m sure we can catch up. ” 7. DOGGY’S TILE We played several games of TagPro this week. Panic Level: HeinousAnus, out for a walk with his team. kwib and Rick G yip around his ankles. nanner runs off to a fire hydrant. But Heinous is in control, not letting any of them escape their leashes. It’s a beautiful morning. He whistles a little ditty. “Howdy, neighbor! ” says sass as Heinous passes while he waters his yard. sass goes back to his yard, then stops and looks back. One of those dogs looks bigger than the others. Much bigger. Heinous is already well down the block, but sass yells after him anyway. “Is that a dragonbeast? Are you seriously bringing a dragon into our neighborhood? What sort of rules did you manipulate to get that? I’m gonna talk to the homeowner’s association! 6-4. POGGERS, PI-CURIOUS, PEQUEÑOS PANDAS We’re all kind of hovering around the playoff line, and we’d all like to be hovering above it. And if you’re gonna make a move, now’s the time. So we all made a move. Lots of moves, actually. All with each other. All involving the same player. But we all think we’re better now, somehow. Panic Level: Each of the NLTP captains stands in a circle. sass finishes tying the blindfold on Ping Tut, who’s standing in the middle. He starts spinning ping tut around, faster and faster until he’s almost falling over. Then he steps back into position in the circle. “Ok, Tut, whoever you walk to is your new captain. ” Ping Tut takes some slow, shaky steps and starts walking in a kind of arc to his left. He’s meandering towards BallAnka, who shakes his head, shrugs and silently mouths “not me” to sass, then shoves Ping Tut in the opposite direction. Taurus leaps out of the way and Ping Tut falls directly into WRIG. “Ok, Ping Tut, welcome to the team! ” WRIG says before mouthing “you owe me Galvatron for this” to Taurus. 3. PROBOTS We’re piddling around right below the playoff line, but it’s not too late to mount a charge. And if Galvatron can’t make it to every game, then it’s time to move on and see if we can get something else in return. We have enough talent here to squeeze back into the playoff conversation, but we could use some depth from these waiver points we've stocked up. Panic Level: TurdFerguson wakes up to a knock on his door. He quickly puts on some pants and opens it. Outside are two men in suits and a photographer. “Congratulations, sir. Somehow, you’re next in the line of succession for governor of Virginia. But before we make it official, you have to make us aware if there’s anything particularly damaging in your past that could embarrass our great commonwealth. ” “Well, ” TurdFerguson says, scratching his chin, “my name is Turd Ferguson. ” “That’s fine, sir, we’ll just call you Governor Ferguson. ” “And I did wear blackface that one time. ” “Well, is it in a yearbook somewhere? ” “No, I don’t think anyone photographed it. ” “Then don’t worry, we’re ok with that, just don’t bring it up. Anything else? ” “Well, I do spend a lot of my time playing an online game called TagPro competitively. ” “Oh, TagPro! ” the other man in the other suit says. “I love that game! What team do you play for? ” “Probots. ” “I’m sorry sir, our offer is off the table. Have a good day. ” The men walk back down the driveway to their car. The photographer snaps one more picture of TurdFerguson’s stunned face. “But wait! I lead the league in tags! ” TurdFerguson yells after them. 2. BALLSAGNA We didn’t just get a B-team win this week. We got 2. Against one of the better teams in the league, no less. We knew we were doing ok, we just needed some breaks to go our way and here we are, riding high, let’s see how far up the standings that took us and ah f*ck Panic Level: “Commander 12, we appreciate your bravery. You are cleared for liftoff. ” Some Ball 12 takes a deep breath and says a silent prayer for the best. He knows the dangers that await him. He’s well aware of what happened to the two previous rockets. But he also knew what he signed up for, and he believes his training will make this mission a success. “Godspeed Commander. Beginning countdown. T-minus 10. 8—“ Some Ball 12 mind races through all the momentous life events that brought him here and all the people who supported him along way. His favorite song plays in his head one last time. “—3. 1. ” Some Ball 12 jams the red button. THWOOMPF. The model rocket lifts several feet off the launch pad, the parachute deploys, and it gently drifts to Some Ball 12’s feet. “Roger, we have liftoff. Repeat. We have liftoff. The deck did not catch on fire this time. This mission is a success. ” 1. THE LAND BEFORE TIMERS All season long, we’ve been unconcerned with the lethargic pace of our A-team because we knew our B-team would carry us to victory. And now you’re telling us our B-team can not only lose a game, but get swept? That doesn’t sound right. Usually we’re the ones that are supposed to be having fun. Losing three games in a week isn’t fun. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to win a Buperball from the 2 or even the 3 seed? Panic Level: linux, looking for his captain. Trituin’s been acting strange lately, and nobody’s seen Fender since the start of the season. Now they’re both gone, but linux noticed some dirty footsteps leading out from Trituin’s place into the dark forest where the rest of the team is forbidden from going. linux goes anyway. He follows the footsteps deeper inside the woods until it’s almost too dark to see, when a sudden glimmer catches his eye. It looks like a pool of blood, but it’s shining in a way he’d describe as almost supernatural. There’s a trail of the stuff leading away from the pool, over a small ridge about fifty yards in the distance. linux quickly follows and checks the height of the ridge. It’s only about ten feet, so linux carefully drops down. Below, he’s stunned to find Trituin with the blood streaked across his face and dripping off his lips. Beside him lies a slain unicorn with the words “LBT B-team” written across its side. “Trituin, what have you done? ” Linux cries. “No. Not Trituin. ” Trituin/Fender mutters. “It is me. It is Fender. It is the only way I can achieve my only desire. To play in NLTP forever. ”.

Tuesday Afternoon in Balrahan. They’re hanging on his every word again, the fucker. He’s some boyo. Owes me a couple of hundred of course, but look, I won’t go askin’. Not in front of the rest of them. He’s good for it. I also know by the look of him he had one or two last night and it wasn’t here. But I’ll say nothin’. You need lads like him around the place. Full of life, full of stories, keeps the place ticking over. His high stool seems higher than theirs. Huge hands waving, gesturing, engaging them all. They love him. Plenty don’t. The thing about Devlin Mahon is, he doesn’t give a shite what any man in this town has to say about him, and shure isn’t he right too? I must’ve heard this one twenty times at this stage. Argentina. 1984. Work trip. Mahon’s just married. Lands himself a spot on some game show. Talks himself into it of course. Talks himself into a ride with the co-hostess too. She’s a big deal seemingly. Married to some soccer player or other. Anyway they’re caught on camera. Pictures all over some rag the next day. In Argen-fuckin-tina of all places. Tells them how he had to pull strings to make sure the word didn’t cross the sea. Bla, bla, bla. And then… ‘I waited to tell that one for fourteen years, until she saw sense and ran off. ’ Takes a long, indulgent gulp. Glass down hard. ‘Fuck all she can do about it now. ’ Roars of approval. Back slaps, attempted handshakes. The new ones love it. Those who’ve already heard it shake their heads and nod approvingly. The craft of the story. How true it is, I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Anyway, why let the truth in the way of a good story? ‘An’ how’s that young one from The Jazz getting’ on Mahon? Lookin’ well when I seen ‘er th’other day, she was. Grand bit of stuff. ’ The Snert lets it hang there. Leans back. No response. Dead right. Mahon’s too cute, the hoor. Should’ve been a politician. Came close by all accounts. Certainly has the tools. Handsome looking man, big presence about him. And Lord knows he’s crooked as an S-hook. Mahon sips his pint. His apostles won’t acknowledge The Snert. ‘I says I seen ‘er down The Jazz the other day. ’ ‘Didn’t know you were a man for the skinny lattes Snert? ’ Giggles. One-nil Mahon on the counter-attack. ‘Heard she was goin’ at young Podgie Lavin? He’s a fair talent on the drums. ’ Nothin’. Mahon doesn’t say a word. Looks forward at the screen. Sniffles. A quick scratch at the side of his mouth. Back to the paper. Pushes it forward to get a better study of it. Back to the screen. ‘Martin, in your own good time, my very good friend, may I have a score each way on the nag Nina’s on in the 2:05? Billy Reilly counts his coppers. It’s now or never. The day’s drinkin’ depends on it. ‘Eh, one thirty each way for me there too please, Murt. ’ ‘Five win for me there Murt’ Four more loyal followers come in with their bets. Snert doesn’t budge. ‘Anyone doin’ a line with your little one anyway, Mahon? ’ Little. Bad form Snert, ya sneery little bollox. ‘…and while you’re fulfilling your duties please Martin, I’ll have a celebratory round in advance for my fellow revellers. Guinness all round if I’m not mistaken? ’ They thank him. ‘Oh. Young Brian here…. ’ That’s The Snert he’s talking about. ‘Young Brian will get his own. Making it in plenty he is, it being signing on day and so on. ‘ He raises his glass. ‘To you and yours Brian. The queue didn’t look too bad this morning? Pity about the rain I suppose. ’ That powerful grin. Ear to ear. Two-nil Mahon. The others sneer. The irony of their laughter lost on them. ‘Fiver on the favourite. ’ No please or thanks. Lacks class, you see. There’s been plenty said about Mahon over the years. Some true, some false. The way of this kind of place I suppose. It’s often when he’s goin’ well. Ah, he’s a boyo in fairness. I’m not telling you anything he wouldn’t tell you himself. When the wife ran away that time, it was no real surprise. Ah, they went for it far too young. Convenience, lust, money. He’ll say so himself. She was some bit of stuff. She wasn’t simple either. She storms in here one morning of August of 1998 if I’m not mistaken. As tall as himself. Sunglasses and heels. Lipstick. In fucking Balrahan, on a Wednesday morning. ‘Where is that alcoholic, waste of space, cheating bastard husband of mine? ’ I keep my head down of course. Never as focused on cleaning a glass. ‘Sorry who? ‘Devlin fucking Mahon. You know well who. ’ ‘Jaysus he hasn’t been in here this long time. ’ I knew well where he was. Saw him hopping into a car outside the pub the night before. Nice little blonde one driving of course. She caught him out a couple of days later and on her way she went. He hasn’t seen sight nor sign of her since and I doubt he’s lost a lot of sleep over it. It’s the young one I’d be feeling sorry for. Young Gemma. A grand girl. Never got the looks of the mother God love ‘er. Sort of heavy set. But very bright seemingly. Always seemed a bit odd. Bit different than the other young ones around this place. I suppose not having the mother around will do that to ya. Aye, the bould Mahon’s always had a weakness for the fairer sex. Likes a sup, but never goes too far. Ah, he knows the boys will be here of a Tuesday. Extended lunch he’ll call it. Bit of craic. Darts occasionally. Few horses. A pint or two. Shure what harm? Personally I wouldn’t trust a man who doesn’t take a sup. And anyway, isn’t the young one reared and well able to look after herself. More power to him. ‘G’wan Nina ya daisy. ’ ‘Get up t’fuck’ ‘Get up on him. ’ The last few furlongs. Mahon’s as cool as ya like. Snert’s fella is long gone. Pulled up way back. He’s sitting there with a sour puss on him. Looks like he’s been suckin’ lemons all day the little bollox. G’wan Nina. G’wan t’fuck…g’wan…. Yeeeeeeowwww’ The sweet taste of victory. Adulation. The little joys. Take that one Snert, ya little bollox. Mahon turns now. He throws a two euro coin onto Snert’s lap. ‘Here’s two quid for a latte, Brian. ’ Sneers and cheers. And more orders. There won’t be a whole lot done in Mahon and Cunningham solicitors this Tuesday afternoon. Martin Kirwan’s is the place to be. Jackpot. ‘Getting married Katelyn, is the most foolish thing a person can do. I mean think about it. How can you promise your entire future to another person? How can you promise that? How can you know who you’ll be or how you’ll feel in ten, twenty, thirty years? Life is transient. Why can we not just accept that we are close to a person in the present and that’s just how it is? Why make ties, bonds, contracts, you cannot be sure to keep? And who are the victims Katelynn? The likes of you and I. Why? Because it’s expected that it’s the norm that our parents, who are married, should stay together. So we feel weird when they don’t. Rejected. If my idiot father and bitch mother didn’t get married, maybe they’d have simply accepted that they both wanted to fuck other people and had at the very least an amicable relationship, you know? Then maybe I wouldn’t have been the disconnected, fuck-up teenager I was. ’ I stop there. I know I’m ranting again. Katelynn’s heard this all before. All she did was tell me some poor girl she works with is getting married. ‘Do ya never feel lonely, Gem? ’ ‘The only thing people get right about me Katelynn, is that I’m independent. I’m happy on my own. I live my life. I enjoy my life. Why do I need to live someone else’s too? ’ ‘But you haven’t had a ride in what, two years? ’ Subtle as a sledgehammer is my Katelynn. But she’s almost accurate. I haven’t been intimate with a man in one year and eleven months. Not a huge deal, but there it is. We differ in this respect. Katelynn needs it. Well, not it as such, but she needs to be held, to be hugged, to be close to someone. Her life seems to be a series of unfortunate semi-relationships. Yet she seems to pity me? I allow her that. I used to hate my mother for leaving me. As I’ve matured, this hatred has weakened to a mere dislike. I understand why she left and feel she was another victim of the society’s ridiculous obsession with the institution of marriage. I dislike however, how she left a nine year old little girl on her own, with a man who though loving, caring and wonderful in his own weird way, has always had his ‘weaknesses’. Drink, horses, women and I suspect, on occasion, heavier stuff too. He’s a man of vices. A man of extremes. He loves me. I know it. But I’ve always taken care of myself. And often him too. I understand him now. I understand her. I understand the unhappiness they must have felt and I accept it. But it showed me the futility of marriage. The sheer pointlessness of it. It made me question relationships. I don’t fall easily. For men, for friends. I don’t have many men and I don’t have many friends. I choose carefully. Katelynn, for all her flaws, is a friend. Our friendship arose out of similar circumstance. She was in the class below me in primary school. She used to cry on the bus. A tiny little thing. In those days, a year between kids seemed like a lifetime. I saw myself as the wiser little girl. I was in third class. She told me what happened with her parents one day. I pitied her. Not long after, I was in the same boat. We became friends. I enjoy these moments with her. They’ve become less frequent. We’re getting older, working more often. We move in different circles sometimes, I guess. She’s got her own scene. Nowadays I see her Instagrammed face (turned at a convenient angle, glasses, paleskin contrasting with lipstick, moody pout) more days than I see her real face. I prefer her real face. That one obvious dimple, the upward curvature of her eyebrows, the unusual faces she pulls, her occasional flinch. The things that have always been there. She’s pretty, that’s for sure. Not obviously stunning, but ‘cute’ as they say. Petite. Quirky. She likes those words. Braces are her thing these days. Stripy, polka dot, oddly coloured. Holding up denim hotpants to reveal that tattoo on her thigh. We argued about that. Her choice. Not my cup of tea. A flaming sun, I suppose you’d call it. Sizeable. She hates the orange t-shirt she has to wear in this place. It is kind of baggy. Makes her look even smaller. Looks odd with the rolled up tartan leggings she’s wearing today too. Very 90’s. Haven’t seen those on her before. ‘Kate. Need you in here. Let’s go. ’ It’s Marcus. Co-worker. She kind of grunts, slumping her shoulders in the process. Eyes to heaven, bottom lip out as she grinds her teeth. ‘Fucking. Asshole. ’ She whispers it slowly. Every time. ‘Yeah, I’m coming. ’ Marcus is a good looking boy. Knows it too. He’s all muscles and beards and combovers and skinny jeans and buttoned up t-shirts and whatever else is cool at any given time. He’s got the IQ of a turkey, but he gets on well here. I think it’s that smile. It’s even caught me off guard once or twice. Katelynn hates him. Says all he does it talk about gym and women. He passes himself with me. Whatever. Katelynn wanders off back to work or daydream. I’m not sure which she does most. I’ll see her Friday. I agreed to go and see some local band with her. She knows one of them or something. I’m not a huge music lover, but we’ll get to hang out at least. I leave. My phone beeps. ‘Gem I need you to look after calls in office for afternoon if poss. Will sort you out with €€€ @ the weekend. Love. Dad x’ I know he’s in Kirwan’s. He knows I know too. We’ll both pretend to the contrary. Easier that way. I’ll probably never see that money either. He knows I know that too. He also knows I don’t work Tuesdays at The Print. I’ve covered five of his last six Tuesday afternoons. It’s usually less regular to be fair. Deep down I know he’s a good man. I know I love him and I know he loves me. And he knows I know. My phone beeps again. An attempt at humour to lessen the weight of his request ‘Snert Murphy is looking for a good woman to take his hand in marriage. Gr8 prospects. He’s been asking for you. LOL’ I shudder at Snert Murphy and at ‘LOL’. Sometimes I ask myself why I didn’t just leave when I had the chance. Then I see Katelynn with no family and I see my idiot father with no family and I remember why I made my choice. We can’t all be lucky as I am to be happy on my own. Wednesday Afternoon in Balrahan ‘Well kid, what’s the story? ’ ‘Not much lad. Fairly wrecked. Was out late enough doin’ a bit with Marcus last night. ‘Nice one, ja get a few quid off him? ’ ‘Ah no like, he just said he’ll get me beer and that if we need it. He’s gonna give me his decks too when he gets a new set. ’ ‘Grand. Here leave me ends on that will ya? ’ ‘Ah lad ya had yer own?, ‘Got one off the mother this morning, but shure had a free class earlier. ’ ‘You’re some liar boy I heard ya were scabbing one off O’Carroll at break too. ’ ‘Nothin’ gets by you. Jaysus Marcus is getting fairly big isn’ he? ‘Aw stop, he’s a tank. He’s flat out down the gym there after work every day. ’ ‘Some beast. Serious beard on him too. The cousin was sayin’ all the women are mad for the beards now? Any more women on the go? ’ ‘Ah like he gets anyone he wants really. He’s mad for that Tinder yoke. I tried goin’ on it with a fake age. ’ ‘Man ya don’t even look fourteen? ’ ‘I know yeah I got kicked off it. Anyway there’s this arty sorta one workin’ with him. Big tattoo on ‘er leg. Bit of a nerdy kinda one like. Says she’s mad for him. Think he rode her already. Always eyein’ him up. Think he had ‘er in the house last night too when I called to get the stuff. ’ ‘Ha legend. ’ ‘I know yeah. He says he’ll get us into one of his gigs there down the Mason some night. Said it’d be no hassle. He’ll get free drinks and all for it. ’ ‘Few yips as as well boy hahaha’ ‘Anthin’ ya want kid! ’ ‘Might set us up with one or two older ones? ’ ‘Never know kid. Wouldn’ put it past him. Shite there’s the second bell. May do me locker. ’ ‘What do we have? ’ ‘Double Irish. ’ ‘Nightmare’ ‘Stop. Can’t wait to get outta this kip. The older boys around here have the life. ’ ‘Two more years kid! Ya gonna leave me the end on that or what? ’   Wednesday Afternoon in Balrahan I am officially an idiot on so many levels. Can my life actually get any worse at the minute? Where do I even start? Work? Keys? Last night? Men? Money? Maybe the fact I’m a whole two weeks late. That’s happened before. Trying not to worry. Maybe that I’m still stuck in this shithole town when I should be travelling the world by now? That’s one I thing I know for sure. I need to get out of here. This place suffocates me. Suffocates my creativity. Somebody told me last week I was cynical? Me? I’m a dreamer. I’m open-minded. Sometimes I even wish I wish I was just like Gemma. Steady. Solid. Content with how she is. Not a total slut. Why do I do these things to myself? Why can’t I just be where I want to be? You see all over Facebook that everyone is living their lives, travelling, seeing the world, doing cool shit. Why aren’t I? Five years ago I’d have said I’d be in like India or somewhere now, just taking it all in, getting inspiration for my art, so why aren’t I? So Monday night, while tucked into bed watching Orange is the New Black, my phone beeps. Something in me knew who and what. ‘A quick word. Meet you at front of car park in twenty? Nothing dodge. Quick chat needed. ’ I tell myself not to reply. Nothing dodge. I hate when he tries to sound cool. Within twenty minutes I’m in his Passat, driving to his place. The car has a feint smell of booze. I can’t tell if it’s him or not. He seems sober anyway. ‘I’ve a new wine. Bill sent it over. ’ Bill. Fucking sleazy Bill. ‘Not drinking. ’ ‘Not like you Katelynn? ’ ‘Saving’ ‘Oh right. Anything special? ’ ‘New tattoo. Getting out of here soon too. ’ He sniggers a little. I hate that. Then apologises. ‘Sorry. You’re right. I’ve been all over the world myself. Best thing a body can do. Spread your wings. ’ ‘I know I’m dreaming but I’d love to just like go places, chill out and paint. Find somewhere secluded and laid back and just work to get by in like, a bar or something, y’know? ’ Just like, exist. Y’know? I want to be on my own. Away. Nobody but me. ’ His phone rings. He ignores me. I know he thinks it’s bullshit. ‘Sorry I really have to take this. ’ Then that laughter. That pompous laughter. Get me out of here now. He hangs up eventually. ‘Bill? ’ ‘Yah’ ‘Ugh’ ‘Ha. He’s not that bad Katelynn. ’ ‘A complete creep. Everybody knows it too’ Silence. He always owns the silences. ‘What is it anyway? ’ ‘What’s what? ’ ‘Why did you get me out of bed? ’ ‘Nothing terribly worrying. ’ ‘Well what then? ’ ‘Somebody has been passing the odd remark here and there. ’ ‘What? Who? ’ ‘Nobody who’s opinion I particularly care for.. ’ ‘You worried? ’ ‘No I was just wondering…’ ‘…If I said anything? ’ ‘Well yes’ ‘Are you actually nuts? ’ That fucking grin. ‘Will she find out or not? ’ ‘No. They don’t mix in the same circles. ’ ‘I hope not’ ‘I hear you have a big night Friday? ’ ‘Yeah’ ‘Where you staying afterwards? ’ ‘Don’t’ ‘You’d think a young lady like you would have a sense of humour. ’ That fucking grin. That stare. He exudes confidence. ‘As I said anyway. New wine. ’ ‘So? ’ ‘’s good stuff. Chilean. Bill brought it back. ’ ‘Aren’t you working tomorrow? ’ ‘Tuesdays aren’t hectic. ’ And so it went from there. Yesterday morning I woke. Headache. Late. Shit. ‘That asshole Marcus is gonna love this’ I think. He’s already gone. I let myself out. My keys. In his car surely. I try to call. No answer. Can’t call his workplace obviously. I can’t wear what I’m wearing. Some of his wife’s clothes are in the wardrobe. Boy do I feel bad. Kinda quirky looking though. Get to work. More bullshit. I’m slow, groggy, laboured. I drink a lot of coffee. Have to kick that habit. Smoke two rollies at break. Have to kick that too. Christ, I hate that beard. He’d never have considered it before it was cool. That ridiculous smile. Say cheese. More coffee. Gemma calls in. Weird chat. She’s coming Friday anyway. I sometimes wish I could be such a great friend/ I wonder how she doesn’t get lonely. No men. It’s been ages for her. She leaves as Marcus starts to give me grief. Who does he think he is? Later on, I still have no keys. I take a chance on the call. He’s not there. She answers. Oh shit. Guilt. I hang up. I have no choice but to ask Marcus. He’s the only one around and it’s pissing outside. I really need to start driving. ‘Yeah, I’ll spin you wherever. No hassle. I’ll be hitting the gym anyway. ’ ‘Spin. Hitting. Oh fuck off. ’ Except I don’t say it obviously. Should I tell him in the car? Will it give him a greater sense of importance? No need. It’s happened before. I need to tell him I don’t have anywhere to go, but he’s gonna think I want something. ‘Thanks. This is kind of awkward but I don’t actually have anywhere to go right now? Lost my keys. ’ ‘It’s no hassle you can stay in mine for a bit. I’ll hit the gym and you can chill out there’ ‘I should have them later. ’ ‘It’s no hassle’ He plays his own stuff on the way home. It sounds truly awful. Thump thump. Where’s the soul? He flexes where possible, revs the car where possible. I try to look as bored as possible. I look at my nails, realise I’m being cliché, so start scrolling through my phone instead. ‘Weird pants, man’ ‘You mean girl? ’ ‘Force of habit. They suit your style though…that whole…’ ‘What? ’ ‘You know…like artsy thing? ’ ‘I don’t follow trends. I am the way I am’ He sniggers. Second time in two nights. Can’t wait to get out of here. He goes to the gym and I wallow and think and build things up in my head. What if I am? Course I’m not. I regret. I wonder. I dream. I look around his place. Idiotic posters on his wall. Room is cleaner than last time I was in it. I need those keys, preferably before Marcus gets back. I try calling the mobile but still no answer. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out where he is. I think about Gemma. I feel a little sorry for her now. Asshole walks back in. ‘Hi’ ‘Hi sorry. I thought I’d be gone’ ‘Ha chill. Mind if I skin up? ’ He starts to anyway. ‘Your place. Do whatever’ ‘You smoke? ’ ‘Have done. On occasion’ ‘Assumed it’d be your kinda thing’ ‘What’s that supposed to mean? ’ ‘Y’know? ’ He looks me up and down. ‘How I dress? ’ ‘You’re artsy or whatever…your music. All those badges and shit on your bag? ’ ‘Eh, they’re not shit. I actually collect them? ’ ‘Grand. Ya wanna smoke or not? ’ He skins up with ease. It looks pleasurable to him. The process, the routine. For a second I envy him. He starts to make me laugh a bit. His smile looks more sincere now. The doorbell rings. I look at the time. Half ten. The last hour or two has flown. I panic. He laughs at me. ‘It’s grand, It’s just my nephew. ’ ‘Is he coming in? ’ ‘Nah, just have to give him something’ He grabs a plastic bag from the drawer beneath his wooden coffee table. I don’t ask. I look out and see a boy speeding out of the estate on what looks like a BMX. He looks a little old for it maybe, but it reminds me of the one I had. My Dad got it for me. I was a tomboy. I get sad and cry a little. His arms are big. Cosy and warm. There’s a current between us now. That fucking smile… I don’t mention what’s really on my mind. Any of it. He too is gone the next morning when I get up. I get a text. ‘Have your keys. Could do with a cuddle this morning. Big night’ I get sick. Maybe I’ll take a test later. I’m sure it’ll be OK. Two men. Two nights. Coworker and best friend’s Dad. Again. Good girl Katelynn. Thursday evening I’m never bothered here. That’s why I like it. I ask Martin Kirwan, my loyal publican, for a pint. A pure gent. I owe him a couple of hundred, but he’ll get it eventually. He’s not stuck. He’s shaking his head and muttering something into a glass as he washes. ‘Are you OK, Martin? ’ ‘Ah those fuckin’ bangers have the dogs gone mad. Same story every year. Guards are useless’ ‘Is it Halloween tonight, it is? ’ ‘No it’s tomorrow. Sooner the better it’s over for another year. ’ ‘Those days are long gone. Gemma used to love Halloween when she was a little one. Stopped going out once Sheena left. I’m too old now Daddy she’d say. Broke my heart to be honest’ ‘Some woman had to break your heart at some stage Devlin Mahon’ ‘Only the two so far’ ‘She’s a good girl Devlin. Seems to get on about her business. No bullshite. ’ ‘Keeps me going Devlin. Keeps the office going the odd day too. On top of her own stuff. I keep telling her she should go back and do Law. She has a head for it, but she won’t listen. ’ ‘And has she e’er a man Dev? ’ ‘Not that I know of. She probably wouldn’t tell her old man anyway, but I really don’t think she does. Too…independent I suppose you’d call it. I think she’s seen enough of bad relationships. ’ ‘Thought as much’ ‘Do you know what she did two years ago? ’ ‘Go on’ ‘She finished up in college. Design or whatever it was. She paid her own way all throughout. I offered on countless occasions, but no. This was her thing. Head strong. ’ ‘Bit of a chip on her shoulder Dev? ’ ‘Maybe…anyway, super talented at this…design or what have you. She gets an offer to go to New York for a year. Internship. Put up in accommodation. Top of the class, she was, y’know? I told her. Go. You have to go. A chance to climb’ ‘She didn’t stir’ ‘No’ ‘Says she was happy here. Plenty of opportunities in the future. She’d get a job handy, which she did in fairness. Stick me on another pint’ ’I’d say it woulda killed ya though Dev? ’ ‘Ah no…I mean I still have it the way I want it. Plenty of cash in the bank, work is fine. I’m still as handsome as ever and that political career might yet take off’ ‘You won’t bullshit me with that grin Mahon. Many’s a day she keeps that place going for ya. Will I ever see that couple of hundred since there’s plenty in the bank? ’ ‘Tomorrow evening. You have my word’ ‘Do you mind if I ask you something Devlin? ’ I know what’s coming. I’ve seen it in him ever since Snert Murphy opened his idiotic gob on Tuesday. Not the first time either. Of all the sneaky fuckers to see me with her. All I wanted was a pint. Is there nowhere in this town I can go now and just relax? Get away from the stresses, the begrudgery. You do well in this life and what do they do? Hang on every possibility that can take you down. He won’t get that two hundred tomorrow either. There was no need to make a big deal about it. It would have come his way. ‘What Martin? ’ ‘Ah…I’d say you know…something that was said? ’ ‘Lots of things are said around this town Martin. I’d have thought you above that? ’ ‘Ah look, it’s nothing to do with me’ ‘Alright. Look. It was a strange situation’ ‘Was? ’ ‘Is. The odd time’ ‘A good lookin’ young one…’ ‘Don’t talk to me’ ‘Do ya not… ‘…feel bad? ’ He has me thinking about it now. Dwelling. The worst thing you can do to a man after a few pints. He, a publican, should know this too. A silence hangs in the air. I usually take control of the silence. The pressure’s on me here. I feel sweaty and uncomfortable. It’ll be a while before I step foot in here again. ‘When have I ever been able to say no Martin? I was dropping her home there one night. Two years ago now it must be. She was out at some gig with Gemma. She had a few in her. I had one or two earlier myself if truth be told. There was darts on that night. Anyway, she started to get upset and told me about the parents y’know? Says I’d understand and all of this. She told me she had a need to be held sometimes. I thought she was looking at me in an unusual way when she said it. I pulled over anyway. Brought her into me. She had her hand on my chest and she was breathing heavily and sighing. She knew well what she was doing too. Not simple. I told her she didn’t have to go back to the apartment. She said she didn’t want to. I turned back. Didn’t leave her at Gemma’s place. We went straight to mine. She got me Martin. It took me back. The shape of her body. Her figure. To die for. This fucking tattoo on her leg. Reminded me of the one on the Argentinian flag funnily enough. I told her that story and she got a good laugh. Told her not to tell Gemma. She said she wouldn’t be telling her anything, that she was well able to keep a secret. I left her back in the morning. She was quiet alright, but she seemed contented in herself. Not phased by me at all. I didn’t know what to think myself. Danger. Lust. Fear, I suppose? I came straight in here and met your good self if memory serves me right. I was a bit shaken if anything. Not like me. I called into The Jazz a few days later at tea time. She smiled and spoke to me for a minute or two taking the order. I get an e-mail later that same evening. The phone beeps. It says: ‘Sorry to bother you. I got your e-mail address online. Lost my keys and don’t feel like seeing Gemma yet. Can I call over to yours for a bit? Just maybe have a quick chat about the other night. ’ She calls over. The same again. Better this time. There’s passion involved. Familiarity. It carried on a long time, here and there. Not regularly. At different points we both called it quits, y’know? Because of Gemma I suppose. I’ve always been conscious of her age too. I told her to carry on doing what she was doing. Other fellas and that kind of thing. We both knew it couldn’t go anywhere. It was a nothing thing. Something just to take us away from the reality of life y’know? ’ ‘Are you big into her Dev? ’ Oul’ Dinny Cronin walks in. Conversation over. He probably wouldn’t be able to hear us anyway. I sip away at my pint. Do a bit of thinking. More bangers outside. I start to think about the dogs. Poor dogs. Must be scary. Confusing. It’s satisfying when I realise I’ve been thinking about something else for a few minutes. I know how I’m seen here. In this town. I’m liked. Generally. But there’ll always be the begrudgers. You’d hear them the odd time. Snert Murphy had mentioned something before Tuesday, but the jumped up little weasel was giddy on dole day and felt it appropriate to bring it up infront of the whole of Kirwans. I drank heavily that day. Did a lot of thinking. I’d been with Katelynn the night before of course. Gemma covered for me down town. Not the first time. I’ll have to give her a few pound soon. I had to drop Katelynn her keys yesterday. We had a quick chat. Decided to call it quits. She didn’t seem herself. I think she’s seeing another young man who works in the coffee place now. All brawn, no brains. More power to him anyway. I hope he’ll appreciate it. ‘Give me one more and a chaser Martin’ ‘No problem Devlin’ Time to move on.   Saturday Morning, Balrahan ‘Well what’s the story? Did you hear what happened last night down in Fagan’s? ’ ‘No were ya out? ’ ‘Yeah it was a mad night. Marcus Daly’s in serious bother now anyway’ ‘What was he at? Was he caught with stuff? Was he not doin’ DJ? ’ ‘He was yeah, but that’s not it. He’s gonna be a Daddy! ’ ‘Fuck. Off. For who? ’ ‘Ha I’ll give ya three guesses’ ‘Ah just tell me’ ‘You’ll never get it’ ‘Just tell me will ya? I’m dyin’ to know’ ‘You know that real artsy one that works on the coffee shop with him? Used to be a real nerd in school. A year or two behind us? ’ ‘Yer one with the big stupid tattoo on her leg? ’ ‘Yeah her. I couldn’t believe it’ ‘No. Way? Delighted for her. She always thought she was a great one anyway. Real stuck up like. Didn’t think she’d be like that though? ’ ‘That’s not even the funniest thing’ ‘What? ’ ‘So anyway, this gig was on. Some band anyway. I wasn’t lookin’ at them. Turns out she found out she’s pregnant the other day. Like Thursday or something. Told yer one Gemma Mahon…’ ‘Fuckin’ snobby bitch that one’ ‘…Yeah and anyway neither of the girls were drinkin’ or whatever. Just watching and the gig and probably talkin’ it over or that. Next thing he comes in goin’ mad’ ‘Marcus? ’ ‘Yeah like. So anyway, he walks in and he’s completely out of it. Was supposed to be djing down in Rattigan’s but never turned up’ ‘Did she tell him? ’ ‘She’d told him already like? Him and Gemma. I said that? ’ ‘No ya didn’t? ’ ‘Anyway right, he’s out of it and he walks up to them and he’s freakin’ out. Goin’ mad at yer one’ ‘Yer one Gemma? ’ ‘No yer one Katelynn or whatever. The artsy one’ ‘He’s there crying, jaw swinging, telling her he has to talk to her and he’s saying she has to get rid of it and all. ‘No way? ‘Yeah so anyway, they walk off and she’s real upset and yer one Gemma is tryin’ to talk to her. Next thing he starts followin’ her and starts shouting. You fuckin tell ‘er or I will’ ‘No way. Psycho shit’ ‘Yeah that’s exactly what I was sayin’ Anyway, he keeps shouting and roaring and everyone’s looking now like. She’s bawling and yer one is holding her and telling him to calm down. Then eventually the bouncers come over but shure they know him so they don’t really do anything just tell him to relax. ’ ‘Oh my God what was he on about anyway? ’ ‘I’ll let ya guess’ ‘Ah just tell me I’m mad to know’ ‘Who’s Gemma’s ould lad? ’ ‘Devlin Mahon? ’ ‘Yep’ ‘No. Fucking. Way. Hilarious. ’ ‘Yeah. Turns out she’s been ridin’ him behind her best friend’s back for over a year. Talk about a bitch’ ‘Oh my God’ ‘Yeah, so anyway he’s there freaking out still’ ‘Marcus? ’ ‘Yeah obviously. Anyway he’s probably there thinking this is his way of getting out of being a Daddy or whatever’ ‘Shure can ya imagine him with a kid? ’ ‘Hilarious’ ‘So go on anyway, what happened? ’ ‘So yer one Katelynn is all like, overwhelmed or whatever? ’ ‘I getcha yeah. Did she admit it? ’ ‘Yeah. She full on tells her absolutely everything. She couldn’t help it, needed someone there, she was gonna tell her, tried to stop bla bla bla’ ‘No way? ’ ‘Yeah and like how she wanted to tell her all this time but that her friendship meant so much and he didn’t wanna ruin that. Even starts goin’ on about like how she wished Gemma wasn’t her daughter loadsa times so she could tell er. She’s bawling all this time and he’s just there… ‘Marcus? ’ ‘Yeah, like. Obviously. He’s just there with his hands on his head freaking out’ ‘I always thought he was real fake anyway. Big stupid smile on him’ ‘I know. Serves him right for being a dickhead. So anyway yer one Mahon. Gemma or whatever. She’s just there shaking non-stop. I suppose in shock or whatever? ’ ‘Yeah, yeah I getcha…Did she not say anything to her? ’ ‘It was mad. I actually thought it was brilliant. Like I don’t like her but fair play to her ya know? I actually did feel a bit sorry for her like? ’ ‘Yeah I suppose’ ‘You could see her lip quivering and all that and everyone’s kind of copping what’s going on and waiting for her to like slap her or something? ’ ‘Dead right. Did she? ’ ‘No way shure she wouldn’t be like that. She just steps back and like composes herself? ’ ‘Yeah I getcha, yeah. ‘…And she goes – The two of you were the only people I’ve ever cared about. You were the only person I’ve ever trusted. I hope you and your baby are happy in the future. You’ll never see me again’ ‘No way? Real dramatic like? ’ ‘I don’t think she meant it to be but it was like that whole thing where someone expects somebody to be angry but then they’re more disappointed and then it’s actually worse? ’ ‘Yeah I getcha. Mad. Did she just fuck off home then? ’ ‘Gemma? ’ ‘Yeah’ ‘Yeah just walked out’ ‘Jesus. Ridin’ two lads she was so? What a slut. Delighted for her’ ‘I know yeah. Didn’t think she’d get with Marcus Daly. Thought he had a different type’ ‘Ah he likes any type. ’ ‘True. He’s hot though in fairness’ New Year’s Day, Balrahan. Another year down and still going strong. The usual crowd have arrived in. No New Year’s Resolutions here, thank God. Billy Reilly has his few pals down the end, the younger lads are out throwing a few darts and listening to the jukebox. Their first full year’s drinkin’ behind them. The Christmas clothes are getting a good wearing too. Oul’ Dinny Cronin is down one end of the bar. Hasn’t said a whole lot since he came in around noon. Hasn’t heard a whole lot either God bless him. There’s Joey Flaherty and JP Dwyer and Ben and Simon, the twins. Not a woman between the four of them. The racing has the blood going and the boys are getting lively. It’d have to be Snert Murphy, the little bollox, to bring down the mood. ‘Any sign of your man, Murt? ’ The boys throw him a look, but he’s a persistent little hoor when he wants to be. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Billy steps in. ‘What’s it to you Snert anyway? Ya ever mind your own business do ya? ’ ‘Ah poor old Billy. Ya missing Mr. Mahon to tell you a few fairytales and buy ya yer drink for ya? ’ Billy’s harmless enough. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Knows who to pursue, does Snert. A little weasel. Never had the grounds to bar him. Just sits there, drinking, sneering, observing. The odd bet. Simon steps in. ‘You’re only ragin’ cos his young ones gone off, ya dirty fucker ya’ That gets a response alright. A few cheers. You’d think he’d have got the message at this stage. Plenty of other establishments to drink in this town. Snert had a thing for Mahon’s daughter, by all accounts. Whether he did or didn’t to be honest I’m not sure. But we’re not likely to let the truth get in the way around here. I’ll let the boys have their fun here. ‘I’d say ya went after her and she ran away, that the case Snert? ’ More laughter. ‘Woulda thought she’d be a bit big for ya Snert? ’ I step in here. No need lads. Craic is craic, but she was a grand young one. Atleast she’s out of this place and away from the father and that other one. Australia or so I hear. I doubt she’ll set foot in this town again. Why would she? Doesn’t keep in contact with anyone around but I’m sure there won’t be a bother on her over there. Still. A big shock. ‘Have you need talking to him at all though Murt, seriously? ’ Not the first time they’ve asked, but atleast Ben is more sincere than the Snert. ‘He won’t be around again lads. ’ ‘Did he go back over to yer one in Argentina? ’ That gets a few chuckles, then Snert feels brave again. ‘He’s some hero to yee boys. He was brave enough leaving that young one and she pregnant wasn’t he? ’ Snert Murphy couldn’t care less about Katelynn Dennehy or her unborn child. It’s the pretence that gets to me. My blood boils a bit. My voice raises, out of character. ‘Not that it’s any of your business Snert, you little bollox, but that baby wasn’t his and that was proven. What he did wasn’t right, but who are you to preach your morals around here. Devlin Mahon was a good man for this town. He worked hard here for years. And many men enjoyed his company and benefitted from it. I spoke to him last week. He called me… I calm a bit. Speak more slowly. ‘…He called and was asking for yee. Said he’d be back for a while sometime, but not too soon and he’d enjoy a pint with yee when he does. ’ ‘Did ya ever get that couple of hundred off him? You’d never give any of us that sort of leeway with money’ ‘If you want to drink somewhere else you can. He passed his regards to all of yee anyway and that’s that. I’ll say no more’ Mahon told me a lot more than I care to tell these. Never have I heard the man more disconsolate. A wife and daughter both lost to his lustful ways, is how he put it. Career put on hold. Hasn’t heard from Gemma since she left. Not a sign. Heard from a relative she’s in Australia and doing well. I’m glad for her to tell you the truth. He asked me more than I could tell him. Naturally enough the man asked what I’d heard about young Katelynn. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that little fucker Daly packed his bags. No place for a young chap like that then either I suppose. Gone playing music in Spain according to the younger fellas. According to the Snert she’s still in The Jazz. He has it on good authority she’ll get her job back after she leaves and wants to come back. She’ll be alright too. Had notions about herself I suppose, but shure won’t she find her way too, like the rest of us. ___________________________________.

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叶门4 free online poker. ŏ门4 free online surveys. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8   Hey guys. Before we get any further I want to let you know this is Emeric typing, not Alice. I'd like to tell you she's okay but I don't know that. The last few days have been frightening and surreal. Right now, I'm sitting in a Motel 6 in Cook County, Illinois. All the doors are shut and locked, even the door to the bathroom and the folding closet doors. The curtains are drawn. I've got a few things with me: my cell phone, Alice's old laptop, and a USB drive she gave me. I spent all of last night drawing sigils on Post-It notes which are now stuck on all the windows and doors. But I don't know if that's enough to keep me safe. It didn't do a lot of good last time. Up until the beginning of this week, I was scared of this thing in kind of an abstract way. I went back and read all of Alice's posts, and it's like she says: it's easy to push this stuff to the back of your mind when you're the only one experiencing them. Even when Sylvie, my daughter, went missing, I tried my hardest to believe it was just a coincidence--that it had nothing to do with her sleepwalking, her night terrors, her obsession with the game. It sounds sick to say, but I almost wanted it to be a kidnapping - some opportunistic creep who snatched our daughter out of our locked living room. Human beings are capable of extreme and terrifying cruelty - but they're still human. I had confidence that the police could deal with a human. That I could deal with one, if it came to that. But it didn't add up. And the more I turned the events over in my head the more convinced I became that whatever took Sylvie wasn'tural. My wife, Jess, became colder and more distant the further I fell down the rabbit hole. Why can't you just grieve like a normal person? she snapped at me one night. Our daughter is gone and you're spending all your time combing the source code for a late 90s video game and ordering chicken feet online. This isn't normal. I think you need help. She was right. It wasn't normal, but then neither was what happened to Sylvie. All the doors in the house had been locked. I'd been home at the time, only a couple of rooms away. I didn't hear a thing. And the cops found nothing: no prints, no sign of a struggle, not even an indication that the sliding doors that lead out to the patio had been tampered with. You must have left them unlocked, they told me, over and over. Try to remember: are you certain the house was secure? I'm a systems analyst, not a software designer. I don't know what I was expecting to find in the Petz source code but it seemed like a good place to start. First off, getting to the code wasn't easy. Typically, if you've got a bit of technical know-how (and the right, questionably-legal tools), peeping the code for games minted around that time isn't too hard. Run a few cracks, reverse-engineer into assembly code and bam, you're halfway there. But Petz 3 gave me a lot of trouble. I even purchased a legal copy of Petz 2 and tried the same process on that game to see where I was going wrong. Sure enough, with a little bit of fiddling, I could view the Petz 2 source. Petz 3 remained elusive. I won't bore you with the technicalities, but essentially every time I ran the necessary programs to extract and decompile the code, my screen would flicker, go dark for a few seconds, and then the computer would crash. I shut myself in Jess' home office, staying up late into the night to try and break this thing apart. I drank a lot of coffee. There were dark circles under my eyes. A couple times, I woke up with keyboard imprints in my face because I'd fallen asleep mid-task. Every time, the system would crash. Once I swear I even heard what sounded like short, husky laughter jerking through the mechanical whir of the CD drive as the computer struggled to perform the task, then gave up. Eventually, I started looking for elegant (and definitely illegal) tools. Let's say it's the difference between picking a lock with a bobby pin and breaking a door down with a sledgehammer. I spent hours combing the deep web, lurking black hat message boards, trying to determine what was a legit piece of software and what was going to cause my entire system to melt. But I found it, in the end. The Golden Key. When I ran the program, the game sounded like it was physically fighting the process. I have never heard my machine make such a weird and unsettling array of noises. At one stage I had to stop typing commands because the keyboard became unnaturally hot. But after an hour or so of perseverance, the machine gave a final grinding whirr of protest and spat out a file with a couple of scraps of decompiled code. Not the whole thing (which the program had promised to deliver), but enough to go on. Ever since I was a kid, I've loved computers. I was taking them apart and putting them back together by the time I was 10, teaching myself basic programming at 12. All this to say: I'm not new to this. I can recognize almost all standard code, and some not-so-standard. But whatever decompiled to that file was like nothing I've seen before. The Petz 3 source code was written, mostly, in C#. At least, that's what it looked like. But every line or so, the C# was interrupted by a string of unfamiliar characters. They weren't just out of were impossible. I've never seen anything like them on any regular keyboard, in any regular font. At best, they looked a little like some of the special characters you find in Wingdings. Maybe a custom dingbat font, I figured. But why would anyone insert dingbat font glyphs into the source code of a video game? It's not going to do anything. The computer shouldn't be able to receive a command from that kind of symbol. As I sat there trying to force my exhausted brain around the improbability of those symbols, Jessica came into the room. She was pissed - and understandably so. I hadn't showered in three days. I probably looked - and smelled - like a old sock. It took her all of 38 seconds to assess the situation. She looked from me to my sweat-stained t-shirt to the gylphs on the computer screen. "Emeric, " she said. "I'm leaving. " After Jess left I was in shock. I didn't do anything for a couple of weeks. I was mechanical: I went to work, I paid the bills (often late, but not so late that the lights went out), I ate canned soup and tried to remind myself to breathe. Jess wouldn't answer my calls. After a week of trying to reach her, her phone finally went dead. The last time I called, a robotic voice picked up and let me know that the number you dialled is not in service. Late one night, after a can of soup and a half bottle of whiskey, I hit the deep web again. The progression here is hazy: I was so drunk I could barely see the screen. But I had to know what those symbols were and why they'd appeared in the game. I made a post and waited for someone to bite. Among the usual responses of "kill urself" and "lol newfag, " I received a couple of replies that seemed legitimate. "Not any language I've ever seen and I've been cracking systems for 20 years" one user said. "I recognize a couple of the glyphs, " another posted "but I can't figure out why they'd be in source code. They don't translate to a command. It doesn't make sense". And then, I received a private message. The user was anonymous: a string of numbers and letters automatically generated and scrambled to obscure identity. The message was a hyperlink. The subject said "run. " I was wasted at this point. That's the only rationale I can give for clicking a link from a stranger I found on a deep web forum (protip: don't do this). It linked to a low-res PDF of a community newspaper from Northbrook, Illinois, dated September 21st 1999. The headline read MOTHER DISTRAUGHT AS CHILD'S BODY RETRIEVED FROM WOODS: Northbrook, IL: A single mother of four spoke to media for the first time today after the body of her missing child, 6-year-old Kirralee Martin, was discovered inside the trunk of a hollow tree in Chipilly Woods. The child, who was reported missing a month and a half ago, had been bound, bled, and dismembered in a manner which some investigators have termed "ritualistic. " "I was praying for her, " Ms. Martin said as she stood outside the Cook County coroner's office. "It sounds crazy but I knew she was going to come home. I felt that so strongly. And now I have to deal with this - somehow, I got to deal with the fact she's never coming back. " Ms. Martin, who lives in the Sunset Village Community, said Kirralee was playing in the front yard with some neighborhood kids on the afternoon she was taken. Ms. Martin was observing the children, who were enjoying a neighbor's new trampoline only a few feet away, through the open door of her mobile home. She turned away for a few minutes to switch over some laundry, and when she looked back the kids had moved away from the trampoline and were playing further off, toward the wooded area that borders the trailer park. She says she called out to them not to go too far, and Kirralee waved. They seemed, Ms. Martin has said, to be squatting near the treeline, deeply absorbed in a game. Martin began to prepare dinner, and a half hour later exited the mobile home to call Kirralee inside. But there was no sign of her or the other children. Martin called by the homes of the other two (whose names have been withheld to protect their privacy). The parents of both children said their kids had returned home a half hour previously, and that they had seemed "drowsy and disoriented. " Neither child had seen Kirralee since they had left the outskirts of the wooded area, and a thorough search of the trailerpark failed to turn up any sign of her. When asked where he'd last seen Kirralee, one of the children said "she went into the woods with the dog lady. " The case, which is now being treated as an aggravated homicide, is being investigated by state police. When asked about the possibly Satanic nature of the crime, Chief Inspector Clive Cokeland stated the crime was "certainly disturbing" but that there was "not yet enough evidence to point towards occult activity. " He did acknowledge that marks were found on the child's body and that items found at the crime scene, among them a fragment of computer motherboard, would need to be investigated further. He would not give details regarding what other evidence was found at the scene, stating only that "a lot of people dump their garbage in Chipilly Woods, so it's hard to say what's evidence and what was just coincidentally found in the same location. " The coroner, who prepared Kirralee's body for identification, would not speak to the possible occult motivations of her killer. She said only that to her, "the marks are more consistent with an animal attack. " Residents with information regarding Kirralee Martin's disappearance and murder are asked to contact the Northbrook Police Department, or Crimestoppers. I didn't think much of the article at the time. Just some anon on the Internet trying to get a rise out of me. I was, after all, pretty noticeably spooked - a prime candidate for trolling. I continued my quest for a positive ID on those glyphs, but my search was fruitless - at least on programming forums and boards. Even though I didn't really believe there was a connection, there was something about the Northbrook article that got me thinking. The article mentioned Satanism, and the occult. What if the glyphs weren't just meaningless jargon, but something more arcane? I started combing sites, databases, and forums on alternative spiritualities: witchcraft, Thelema, whatever I could find. Eventually, I worked up the nerve to post. I was desperate at this point. It had been three weeks since Sylvie disappeared. In an alcohol-fueled frenzy, I typed out (almost) the whole story. A user by the name of PaganLite03 responded soon after: "They're a mix of things, OP. Some I don't recognize, but a couple sound real similar to the sigils in the Lesser Key of Solomon the King, an anonymous grimoire parts of which were translated by Aleister Crowley. Basically it's a demon-summing handbook. The symbols you describe might not be exactly the same but you should try comparing them to the demonic seals in the LKoStK. Don't know what they'd be doing in a computer game. Maybe it's someone's idea of a joke? " I took a look at the link PaganLite03 gave me. S/he was right: some of the sigils in the Lesser Key looked eerily similar to the source code for Petz 3. As I struggled to make sense of this, I received another reply: Posted by: GrimmerySchmimmery OP, you're not safe. This might sound crazy but what you're describing is some really dangerous magic. I would get rid of that disc as soon as you can. A lot of these kinds of curses work by 'passing it on'. Don't just throw it out: make sure it goes to a, uh, 'good home. ' This might sound sick but it's the only way you can ensure your safety. I know a lot of people probably think this post is misplaced creepypasta, but I've seen enough crazy shit in my time to believe you. Pass the game on, devise a ritual to protect yourself. If you do it right, you might even get your kid back. My original post was deleted by a moderator soon after for the exact reason GrimmerySchmimmery eluded to. The mods gave me a talking to and said my account would be banned if I tried posting any more "scary stories" to their forum. "We're a serious discussion board for the practice of witchcraft, " they told me. "If you want to post horror stories, you might want to try Reddit. " They didn't ban my account, though. Which is how I managed to reach out to Grimmery for more information. Which is how I ended up browsing Craigslist at work, looking for a dog kennel is reasonably good shape. Which is how I wound up hunched over my kitchen table, scrawling arcane symbols on loose planks of wood. Don't get me wrong, I felt like an idiot. As I put the finishing touch on the protective symbol GrimmerySchmimmery had given me, I took a moment to contemplate what Jess had said. Maybe she was right. Maybe I'd been driven mad with grief and was inventing fictional boogie men to fight, instead of just accepting that Sylvie was gone. I remember the last text she'd ever sent me: you can't bring her back, Emeric. In this, we are powerless. The last thing GrimmerySchmimmery suggested, for my 'binding and protection spell, ' made me very uncomfortable. "As sick as this sounds, " they told me "whatever this thing is, it seems to deal in sacrifices. It might be what we call 'a blood spirit, ' meaning it trades You get the picture. A lot of practitioners balk at this process, but animal sacrifice has a rich and storied history in many pagan traditions. And it works. Or, it can. I would strongly suggest you place something inside that dog house to trap the spirit. There are certain animals that work best: black cats, for example. Once you put the decomposing corpse inside the kennel, nail it shut. In theory, the spirit will appear inside the dog house to retrieve the sacrifice, and then find itself trapped by the seals you've nailed to the outside. I can't guarantee this will bring back your daughter, but it might. It's a start. " I'm not proud of what I did. It's about the worst thing I've ever done. On the way home from the pet shop, the animal wouldn't stop crying - like it knew. It was small. I thought that would be easier. But by the time I got it out to the kennel it was curled up in the crook of my arm, sleeping. I must have sat there in the front yard for an hour with this damned kitten asleep in my lap, tears running down my cheeks, wrestling with myself. In the end, I returned it to the pet store. Went by the butchers and bought a quart of pig's blood and some freshly slaughtered chickens, unplucked. GrimmerySchmimmery hadn't specified that I had to kill the animal. Meat was meat was meat, right? I tossed the bodies in the dog house, splashed the inside with fresh blood, and nailed it shut. I understand, now, that this is why the banishing didn't work. Every noise I hear, my heart rate picks up. The sigils flutter as the air from the ceiling fan circulates. It's been 24 hours since Alice left, and I haven't heard from her: no phone calls, not a single text. Her laptop sits on the bedside table, black, closed, the tiniest scratches on the cover reflecting the light. I can't look at it for too long. My head starts to hurt. But I guess you're wondering why the hell we're in Cook County, and how we got here. After I showed Alice the folder with my wife's research and email correspondences, she let me know there was something she had to tell me. She poured out her own 'internet detective' story; how she'd found some archived posts on a long-abandoned Petz forum from a user calling themselves "MyndEscape. " She tried to pull up the forum, but for some reason we couldn't access it from my computer. We kept getting a weird error, pulling up a totally blank page. Alice mentioned that a couple of Redditors ('sleepies, ' as she calls you) had suggested she try the waybackmachine to find more info, so we did a search of MyndEscape's username using that engine. There weren't many results, but there were a few. A guestbook post and another forum post. Each time, the username was identical and the avatar was the same: a pixelated skull with glowing eyes. Definitely the same user. The guestbook post was unsettling. It had been made in the guestbook (a kind of old school Facebook wall for folks who ran their own websites, back in the good old Geocities, Angelfire, and Tripod days) of one of those Petz 'breeding' sites - the kind of place you can download hexed breeds and converse with other breeders. MyndEscape's post was brief: Lol have u ever tried breeding files with files tho? U can totally do it if u override some basic settings. Theres a hack 4 it. A subsequent poster accused him of being a pervert, and that was it. The next post, however, was the most unnerving. It appeared on an occult forum called the Kindred Konnection, a mess of neon purple and black HTML and CSS, complete with rotating flaming pentagram. This post was dated much later - about 12 months after the original forum post Alice had found. Posted by: MyndEscape u guys r gonna think im crazy but something is really wrong + i need help. i dont know where else to go. please if u know anything message me. i did something bad. theres something coming for me + i dont know how to stop it. i keep seeing things in the corner of my eyes + in mirrors basically any time im at home. i cant sleep unless i take sleeping pills. im sleeping with a baseball bat by the bed and furniture pushed up against all the doors. she keeps coming back. i dont know how she gets in. i can feel her breath on my face when i sleep. i can hear her laughing. i can hear her right now at the bottom of the stairs. fuck i am so scared. i need a banishing spell or something idk what u call it but there has to be some way to get rid of this. please god if u kno anything send me a message. help me. It was after reading that final message that I told Alice about the banishing spell. About the sigils on the dog house and what had been inside. We sat for a long time in silence, each of us going over the events of the past few months - hell, the past twenty years - in our heads, trying to make sense of it. It's like a puzzle: it felt like we had a good chunk of the pieces but it was a struggle to make them fit. "What about that girl who gave you the disc? " Alice asked. "Kara? " I raised my eyebrows. "What about her? She quit coming to work, and after a week or so of no-call, no-show, I fired her. She didn't respond to that email, either. It's like she just vanished. " Alice persisted, "But don't you think she might know something? About the game? I mean, where did she get it. Did she know what it was - what it was capable of? " I frowned, "I guess... " "We need to find her" Alice insisted. "And we need to talk to her. In person. " It's a good thing GameStop keeps records. Nerds run a tight ship, turns out. I still had a cell number and an address on file for Kara, though of course the number was no longer in service. I did manage to track down one of her old roommates, a strung-out, hipsterish girl living in a squat in the Bywater. "What about her? " the girl was chainsmoking on her porch wearing cut-off shorts and a bikini top. A scabby pitbull circled her feet and flumped down onto the floor. "Well, how do you know her? " Alice pressed. It was a Friday evening, hot as hell, and I could tell her temper was wearing thin. "Anything you can tell us, really. That'd be so helpful. " The girl shrugged. "Don't know her. Friend of a friend of a friend or whatever. My ex met her while he was hopping trains. She needed a place to stay, said she could pay cash up front for two months. Vanished pretty much right after those two months were up. All her stuff cleared out, no note, nothin'. But we weren't really friends so it's like, whatever" she took a drag of her cigarette. "Wasn't that sad she was gone. People come and go all the time, y'know? " I could feel Alice bristling beside me. " Right, " she said "but you have to have some idea where she went. Something she said, a friend or a relative she mentioned. " "My ex said something about her having family back in Illinois. Some jerks she was trying to distance herself from, " she laughed, sharply ".. 't we all? But beyond that, I don't know. Bitch kinda smelled like wet dog all the time so like I said, wasn't a huge loss. " Heading back to the car, we got a call from the tech guy who'd been fixing Alice's computer. "You need to come get your shit, " he said, shortly. "Now. " Like many tech guys, Dave Stout worked out of the semi-detached garage of his parent's house. The house was older, 70s maybe, in a nondescript part of town that could have been anywhere in America. Alice didn't seem particularly excited to get her laptop back. If anything, she seemed anxious, obsessively checking her phone and tapping her nails against the center armrest. I understood, kind of. The laptop was Alice's dog house. She'd convinced herself that, if there was a way to get her cats back, it was through the game itself. There was a doorbell installed by the rolling garage door, bearing a hand-drawn sign that stated STOUT TECH & COMPUTER REPAIR. We rang and waited. There was movement inside the garage. We could hear it through the metal door, the shuffling of feet, objects being moved about. But the door didn't open. I was just about to suggest we ring again, or maybe knock, when we heard a door opening behind us. Dave Stout emerged from the front of the house, walking down the paved pathway to the garage with a set, firm expression. In one hand he held a plastic grocery bag, extended a far away from his body as possible. " Here, " he thrust it at Alice, shoving it at her so hard that she scrambling to get a grip on it. "Now fuck off. " "Hey now, buddy, " my negotiation tactics have never been gold standard, but I wasn't about to stand by and let some jerk swear at a lady. I held up my hands in a vague attempt to pacify him. "There's no need for that. " Alice peered into the plastic bag, head tilted. She did not seem phased by the cussing. "Is it fixed? " she asked. Stout snorted. "It turns on, if that's what you mean. Now for real, get the hell away from me. " "What's your problem, man? " I frowned at Stout, pushing my glasses up my nose in a way that, I'm sure, made me look like every dorky sidekick from every John Hughes film. "Do we need to pay you or something? There's no reason to be so hostile. " Stout ignored me completely, instead turning his attention back to Alice. "I don't what the fuck kind of a hilarious joke you think you're playing, but if I hear from you again, I'm calling the cops. I made a copy of that snuff folder to show them, just in case. You are one twisted fucking sicko, you know that? And you can tell your friends to stop hanging round my house, too. " For the first time, Alice looked visibly rattled. ".. friends? " she asked. "Whatever jerk you got skulking round in the bushes, shining lights through my windows" Stout seemed to be becoming more uncomfortable the longer he spoke. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "Scratching at my door old night, sitting outside my window counting. If this is how y'all get your kicks, I suggest you seek fucking professional help. " And then he was gone, leaving us standing in the driveway, Alice holding the grocery bag limply in one hand. Kara's full name is Kara Elaine Nordman. She is 19 years old, born in Chicago, Illinois. Kara is around 5 foot 4, slim, with large green eyes and dark hair. She has gauged ears, a nose ring, and a tattoo of a barcode on her right wrist. When I last saw her, 24 hours ago, she was wearing acid wash skinny jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt. I am telling you this in case anything happens. At this point, I'm a damned pro at scouring the deep web for illicit information. A couple of quick searches was all it took to locate Kara (though she'd been just about invisible on regular, more legal search engines). Her last listed address was in Maywood, Illinois - a couple months after she left New Orleans. It wasn't until we were halfway to Illinois that I made the connection. Alice was dozing beside me, her computer, still in its plastic bag, resting on her lap. It was getting dark, and we'd crossed over the Tennessee border into Missouri. I'd been turning the facts over in my head, every particle, every piece, trying to get them to make sense - to find the flaw in the code. Something was nagging at me, but I couldn't put me finger on it. And then it hit me. The anonymous message from all those months ago. The poor-quality PDF from the Northbrook newspaper. Illinois. So many of these dead ends were leading right to the heart of Cook County. was weird, but I could have sworn I'd heard the name before. I pulled off into a gas station to fill up, scrolled through my phone as I waited in line. Northbrook. Why did the name sound so familiar. I scoured the Wikipedia article, hoping something would jog my memory. Northbrook is a village on Chicago's affluent North Shore, located at the northern edge of Cook County, Illinois, United States. Population, 33, 170.. Nothing useful. Nothing that I could use. I paid for my gas and headed back to the car. Alice's face was mushed up against the window, her nose bent at an odd angle. She did not look comfortable, but she was snoring soundly. Before I got back in the driver's seat, I tried one last thing: "Northbrook, Illinois" AND "software". The Wikipedia article for Mindscape Software appeared immediately, glaring out at me from the glow of the cell phone screen: Mindscape began in 1983 as a software publisher in Northbrook, Illinois.. I drove through the night in silence, my mind racing, heart hammering faster every time we passed a heavily wooded area, every time the streelights blinked out and gave way to stretches of wide, empty road. Maywood, Illinois is a bustling, if small, township located about 20 minutes from Chicago. It's got an old-timey feel: picturesque and quaint as you drive down the main drag, terraced red brick store fronts with brightly colored awnings. The further out you get, the grimier and more dismal it becomes. Buildings are flat and expressionless. Fast found joints abound. Alice had been awake for the past few hours, chatting to me about anything and everything that didn't have to do with Petz. She seemed tired - I didn't blame her. Deep down, I think we both knew that whatever we found in Illinois, we weren't going to be able to unsee it. So we kept the conversation light, chatting about movies we'd seen or funny stories from our childhoods. We checked our bags into the Motel 6. Alice took a shower while I scrounged us up some food, a couple of burgers and some lackluster milkshakes, and over lunch we discussed what to do next. "We've just got to go for it, " Alice said. "We have her address. I say we just turn up. Don't give her the chance to run. " "Why would she run...? " it was difficult for me to picture Kara as an evil, demon-summoning mastermind. The last time I'd had anything to do with her, she'd struggled to dust shelves and interact with customers. Alice rolled her eyes. "She disappeared last time, Emeric - conveniently, right after giving you that game. I have a hard time believing that's just coincidence. Don't you? " We found the address easily enough. A nondescript house in an okay area, with a dead fern in a ceramic pot on the dirty porch. "You're sure about this? " I asked Alice. I, for one, was not. It was fine for Alice, a complete stranger, to drive 13 hours cross-country to stalk a teenage girl. It was decidedly not okay for me, her ex-employer, to do the same. In response, Alice exited the vehicle, and beckoned me to follow her. We mounted the stairs to the front door and, after sucking in a deep breath, Alice knocked. We didn't have to wait long. There was a bark, a scampering of feet, and then the slow pad of footfalls. The door opened. Kara Nordman stood before us, wearing a loose fitting band tee and cut-off shorts. A large husky strained at the leash beside her, jumping and yipping excitably. "Hey! " Alice said brightly, as if she were about to pitch Kara a set of rather nice steak knives. "Kara...? " Kara was about to respond when she saw me hovering in the background. Rapidly, her face turned stony. are you doing here? " "It's a long story, " I muttered, uncomfortably, as Alice launched into an babbling apology, somehow successfully avoiding the words Petz, demons, hag faced hound, and missing children. I kept my eyes on Kara, only half listening to Alice's spiel. She looked thinner than she had last time, dark circles under her eyes. anyway, we just wanted to ask you a couple questions about when you worked at Game Stop" Alice finished, almost out of breath from how fast she'd been talking. "Is that okay? " Kara stared at us a long time. By her side, the dog whined. ".., " she said, at length. "I gotta take Winchester for a walk, anyway. You wanna join? " During our walk around suburban Maywood, Alice did a fine job of editorializing our story. She left out Sylvie, the kidnapping, and her missing cats. She left out the mess in her closet, the scratching, and the legend of the hag faced hound. In fact, the story she gave Kara was a pretty generic creepypasta: I'd had the game, I'd given it to her, and some spooky stuff had happened while she'd been playing it. She kept her tone light, almost joking. Was the disc haunted? Did it had a creepy history? Where had Kara gotten it? Kara remained silent through this, speaking only occasionally to the dog. She seemed to be listening, but it was hard to tell. Her face betrayed nothing. "... I don't understand why you care so much, I guess" she said, finally. "You drove halfway across the United States to find out where I got a shitty PC game? Shit, haven't you guys heard of email? " "Well, that was the other thing... " Alice improvised, "because Emeric said you'd gone missing. Not turned up for work, and your old roommate didn't know where you were either. Your phone was dead. We thought something might have happened. " Kara snorted. "Something like what? " For the first time, Alice's tone grew serious. "I don't know, Kara, " she said. "But I think you do. I think you know what kind of game this is. I think you know what it can do. " We'd reached a small scrap of parkland, complete with broken swingset and a knot of scrubby, barren trees. Kara stopped, surveying the thicket of woodland. ".., " she said, quietly. "I just want to put that stuff behind me. If you're smart, you'll do the same. Pass the disc on and get on with your life. " "But it's not that simple, " it was the first time I'd spoken since we'd begun our walk. "Right, Kara? That's why you ran. " "For an intelligent guy, Emeric, " she responded ".. 're not that smart. I didn't run. I returned. " "What do you mean? " Kara pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes. "Listen, that game did some bad shit to my family. I didn't want it anywhere near me. Not in my house, not in my city, not in my state. So I threw a dart at a map, and tadaa". "But where did you get it? " Alice pressed. "You're the first real person we can trace it back to. We want to find out where it came from. Who created it. " Kara laughed. "Ah, jeeze, you don't know who I am, do you? " Alice and I looked at one another, confused. A trill, melodic tone interrupted the quiet. Kara withdrew her cell phone from her pocket, frowned at it, and slipped it away again. "Listen, " she told us. "I'll talk, but it can't be now. You can meet me tonight. Swap numbers, I'll text you the address. " "The address? " Alice repeated. "Yeah, " Kara finished punching her number into Alice's cell phone, gave a wry smile. "The place where it all began. " I should never have let her go alone. I didn't mean to, I swear it. I had every intention of accompanying her last night. But it didn't work out that way. At around six thirty, just as the sun was setting, Alice received a text from Kara. Half sob story half paranoid rant, she begged Alice not to show the message to me. I just don't trust him, " she said "there's more to this story than you understand, but there's a reason I gave Emeric Broussard that disc. You think I just jumped a train to Louisiana for kicks? But I can't talk about this via text and I won't talk about it in front of him. If you want to know what happened, you're going to have to meet me alone tonight. While it's comforting that Alice showed me the message, it was clear immediately I'd read it that her mind was already made up. "I just don't think we have a choice, " she said. "Kara clearly knows something, and she won't talk to you. I'll take my phone and an extra charger. My knife, too. She's a 19 year old girl. I'm pretty sure I'll be fine. " And that was the last time I saw them. I drove to the parking lot of a White Castle burger joint where Kara stood, leaning against the neon sign, Winchester on his leash beside her. I moved to get out of the car, to walk over with her, but Alice put her hand out to stop me. "I'm fine, " she insisted. "I'll call you when we're done, okay? " "For the record, " I said, repeating the mantra I'd been uttering for the past two hours, "I really, really don't like this. " "I know, " she gave me a half smile. "But we've come this far. If I'm not back in two days, send a search party? " "Funny, " I muttered, as she pushed open the car door and climbed out. "Oh, and another thing--" Alice poked her head back into the car with a wry smile. "I'm gonna text you my Reddit username and password. Tell the sleepies what's up, okay? They might even have some leads for us. They're good like that. " "I don't think a bunch of Internet users on a creepy subreddit are going to be much help when you're tied up in some crazy girl's basement". "Shut up, " she swatted at me, rolling her eyes. "Oh, and don't read my private messages. Got it? " The last I saw was Alice, walking confidently across the parking lot. She stopped under the sign and spoke with Kara for a few moments, their heads close together. And then the two of them turned, disappeared around the corner of the building and into the darkness. I am not looking forward to nightfall. Already, I'm jumping every time I heard someone walk past the window of our motel room. I've debated, for the past few hours, whether or not to call the cops. I've texted her three times. No answer. When I call, it rings out. If I'm responsible for getting someone else hurt, I don't know what I'm going to do. This is all my fault. UPDATE Part 10 X find me.

Movies and tv series online free streaming The Kung Fu master travels to the U. S. where his student has upset the local martial arts community by opening a Wing Chun school. Director: Wilson Yip Writers: Tai-lee Chan (screenplay), Hiroshi Fukazawa | Stars: Scott Adkins, Donnie Yen, Kwok-Kwan Chan 1h 45min | Action, Biography, Drama | 20 December 2019 (Hong Kong) IMDb: 7. 6 /10 People Who Liked ” Ip Man 4: The Finale (2019) “ movie Also Liked (Visited 1, 830 times, 44 visits today) Post Views: 1, 542.

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叶门4 free online store. Obat penasaran setelah nonton film ip man hari ini. lumayan dapet info ttg ip man yg sesungguhnya. I wanna see Mike Tyson fights the Twister guy from Ip Man 2. ŏ门4 free online poker. 叶门4 free online programs. 叶门4 free online booking. HD Battle Royale   2000 IMDb 7. 7 114 min Forty-two students, three days, one deserted Island: welcome to Battle Royale. A group of ninth-grade students from a Japanese high school have been forced by legislation to compete in a Battle Royale. The students are each given a bag with a randomly selected weapon and a few rations of food and water and sent off to kill each other in a no-holds-barred (with a few minor rules) game to the death, which means that the students have three days to kill each other until one survives--or they all die. The movie focuses on a few of the students and how they cope. Some decide to play the game like the psychotic Kiriyama or the sexual Mitsuko, while others like the heroes of the movie--Shuya, Noriko, and Kawada--are trying to find a way to get off the Island without violence. However, as the numbers dwell down lower and lower on an hourly basis, is there any way for Shuya and his classmates to survive? Watch now!

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