b28aa hn2ti iz9d6 fz9k5 259zn rk87f f97ea 8nny8 37t39 n7znf naakz n58k2 ey2b3 3adbz a5sys r9kak ynkz4 99t8k fd77e yyf32 53rhi Anytime Is The Right Time For Gravity Grey!!! |

Anytime Is The Right Time For Gravity Grey!!!

2021.12.08 20:00 Honest_Tap1886 Anytime Is The Right Time For Gravity Grey!!!

submitted by Honest_Tap1886 to KiaTelluride [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 External_Back_5540 Whats this?

I just asked myself outloud "I know thats what I thought." Followed by "wait did you just ask me that?" Because when i thought about it I felt that I heard you ask me. "Is it wierd that you read these questions in my voice?" Well? Is it? I do find it strange. However fitting upon character. I do think these are questions you would randomly jokingly ask while baking. Felt like youd like to hear one of my many random thoughts. To- You
submitted by External_Back_5540 to UnsentLetters [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 some_stupid_idiot Since Fullmetal won the poll, let's start with the titular Alchemist himself: Edward Elric

Since Fullmetal won the poll, let's start with the titular Alchemist himself: Edward Elric submitted by some_stupid_idiot to DeathBattleMatchups [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 discount_daddy Java - Getting a JSON error despite the JSON being valid

Hi all,
I'm currently working on an end of the semester project. It is an android app that would function as both a music database and shop, and I am using the MusicBrainz API to fetch the information on releases and artists.
Unfortunately, I'm stuck on a very vital part of my project: the API itself. I keep getting this error

java.lang.IllegalStateException: Expected BEGIN_OBJECT but was STRING at line 1 column 1 path $ 
Looking around online, I discovered that this was because the JSON itself was badly written, however, looking again and using a JSON validator made me realise that this was not the case. Here is the JSON I'm trying to fetch, and here are a couple screenshots of my code.
Any help? If it helps I'm using Retrofit and Gson converter to convert the JSON. Thanks in advance!
submitted by discount_daddy to learnprogramming [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 JacovMertvlanc I like being a man AMA

submitted by JacovMertvlanc to AMA [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 undeadzombie12 Slow Poured Pils.

Slow Poured Pils. submitted by undeadzombie12 to beerporn [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Amazing-Professor-91 Reshiram 6744 0762 3673 and 9670 2705 0491

submitted by Amazing-Professor-91 to PokemonGoRaids [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 jookco Dimebag Darrel Death - Dead - Obituary News : A crazed military vet going on stage and murdering Dimebag Darrel while he performed, . Click link to read full story.

submitted by jookco to DeathObituaries [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 johnrock001 Sad Anime That Will Make You Cry - Sad Anime Recommendations

Sad Anime That Will Make You Cry - Sad Anime Recommendations - https://www.myanimeforlife.com/sad-anime-that-will-make-you-cry-recommendations/
submitted by johnrock001 to myanimeforlife [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 TwistedFluke uhhh guys?

uhhh guys? submitted by TwistedFluke to memes [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Legalish_Complex February pre order en route.

What shipping do they use? it’s Wednesday i’m crossing fingers for being up before the weekend.
submitted by Legalish_Complex to Starlink [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 xmindlessx29 36 [M4R] looking for a chat?

At work and need for some entertainment chats and maybe more. I do have adult content on my page just a heads up, so if you are up for it hit me up.
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2021.12.08 20:00 nyajinsky completed Snupin where they kidnap Harry

I really like the theme of both Snape and Lupin kidnapping Harry from the Dursley's, but all the fics with this are discontinued. maybe except the secret language of plants, I think that one is complete. I don't particularly like that one because it's written in the form of snippets.
so one of them, or both, finds out Harry is abused and they kidnap him because Dumbledore won't help. then they hide and while hiding they develop feelings for each other. I've read several (sorry, I don't keep lists so I can't name them), but they are all discontinued. so I'm sure if there is one that is complete I didn't read it.
also, I mean Harry as a child, not already Hogwarts age?
I would even accept if they don't kidnap him, but instead Dumbledore forces them to take care of him together. that would be similar enough.
submitted by nyajinsky to HPSlashFic [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 ticones Luisa kovalski

Luisa kovalski submitted by ticones to bikiniworld [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Fienx Crazy high transfer fees (over $US2,000!) for providing liquidity? What is going on?

Crazy high transfer fees (over $US2,000!) for providing liquidity? What is going on? submitted by Fienx to UniSwap [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Gerrymasson21 Patch is chilling

Patch is chilling submitted by Gerrymasson21 to aww [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 creative_deficit [WTT] Looking for hot single with medium sized kac (ID)

One last try again for fun boys.
I have an 11.5 kac sr15 upper, which I love. I want to try a 14.5 kac sr15 upper and see if there’s a significant difference.
But, I’m poor so I can’t own both.
If anyone has one and wants to swap, let me know! We’d keep our own irons, bcg, ch. I’d throw the original muzzle device back on or we could both keep our own. Thanks boys!
TV: $1776
And before y’all say it, no, this is not spurred by daddy thumb. I just like to try new things and have a limited budget. Although the video made my pp hard
submitted by creative_deficit to GunAccessoriesForSale [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 OneSidedDice Micros

Some of my really short stories from Micro Mondays on Shortstories, as well as from Shortscarystories Shortscifistories. These are all from 2019 or later.

Prompt: The Day the Moon Fell
La Petite Fille de la Mer
Sophia’s boat looked like the boats people built, but it moved at the speed of her thoughts; rocking languidly in place when she felt pensive, skipping fast over the waves and the tides and the horizons when she wished to.
Tonight was one of the latter times. Luna was late.
Mother and father didn’t answer Sophia’s cries, however loudly she shouted. Maybe if she had one of those smartphones, they would answer once in a while.
Luna loved to sneak down from the firmament from time to time; partly to ease her craters in the cool salt ocean, but mostly just to get away and have a private moment without being ogled by the teeming billions of people that had seemingly just yesterday exploded across the Earth.
Sophia knew all of Luna’s favorite spots—they grew fewer each year as posh condos and swanky hotels desecrated the beautiful, wild spaces, once the rugged homes of the wind and the birds and the soft sea grasses. She finally found her friend floating in the Aegean Sea. “Luna, you can’t stay here. You need to be up in the sky.”
“Why does it matter anymore where I am, daughter of the sea? I like it here, it’s peaceful. Nobody is looking at me or landing hunks of metal on me. And look, I’m barely a crescent right now—so I’m skinny dipping!”
Sophia’s face scrunched in a frown.
“It’s a human joke, maybe you’ll get those if you decide to grow up,” Luna sighed. “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m not going back. People have knowledge, but no wisdom. There’s no mystery left in life, they know all my secrets; they don’t wish on me anymore, they just want my rocks.”
Sophia looked sadly down into the wine-dark water. “Yeah; growing up can suck it.”
(WC 299)
I had the urge to write something whimsical before embarking on a new Serial Sunday endeavor next week, and the image linked in the prompt inspired this little piece.

Prompt: A Candle.
It haunted him every time David sat on the couch. Six months after he had given Miles away, his faithful old dog’s smell still permeated the cushions.
He leaned back harder, willing the comforting animal scent to wash away the greasy taint of fear from calling his supervisor to ask for a personal day. The groveling had hurt him as much as Jamie had the night before, but in a different, more transactional way. He expected his boss to be indifferent, self-absorbed; not...her.
David squeezed the pointy thing in his hand.
Have you seen that candle?” he had asked, rooting through his box of Christmas decorations. “The blue one with seashells in it?
I went through that box months ago and tossed it; it didn’t go with anything else.
What? I told you, that’s part of my family Christmas tradition! We all light our candles wherever we are in the world, at the same time. It was a gift from my grandmother.
Well, we’re going to start our own traditions now!” Jamie held up a gaudy new wreath.
One old candle. A simple thing, a misunderstanding. But one of how many? His favorite plaid shirt. “Aw, it had a hole in it, so I got you a new one!” The hulking shape of her TV that now ruled the bedroom.
How after dating for two years, she’d suddenly developed pet allergies when she moved in.
He watched dust motes shimmer and disappear as they passed through a sunbeam.
David opened his hand; her engagement ring. A week on Instagram; “Squee, it’s everything I wanted!” It spent its days on the dresser. “Well, I can’t wear it at work with gloves, and we never go out.
It lay inert on his palm, lusterless; mocking. “This is ‘everything?’” he mused.
(WC 299)

Prompt: Autumn, and a digital art of a misty trail through scarlet-leaved trees.
Other Paths
Glen transitioned from paved road to gravel smoothly, for a man whose memory map of the potholes was thirty years out of date. His study Ford Ranger took the bumps and jolts like an old cart horse, rolling on its seasoned springs and leaving the driver to his thoughts.
Brakes screeched thinly as Glen parked in the small lot. A sign displayed a faded Virginia Department of Forestry logo. He sat back with a yawn and a smile. This was the place.
A grasping skeleton arm of age-blackened angle iron floated 30 yards overhead in the morning mist, its joints and corners spun silver with hoar frost. Its ribbed porcelain fingers grasped Promethean cables, carrying heat and light and life to far away towns.
As a young man, Glen had helped build this army of electrical transmission towers, shirtless and sweating in the strong Virginia sun. Each one he had climbed to the top, grinding and bolting, pacing the outflung arms of steel giants and watching their serried ranks disappear far off where the forest cut dwindled into a soft, hazy green quilt.
Glen’s contract had ended all those years ago, and life had pulled him inexorably on to the next thing sure as an electron zipping along those lines. He’d never forgotten the sight of this magnificent stand of red maples, though; glimpsed from high above like exotic coral gliding serenely under a tropical freighter as her cabin boy gapes down in wonder.
Cabin boys grow up, Glen thought. Sometimes they buy their own boat. It had been dark when he kissed his sleeping family goodbye for the day and started the long, truck-stop-coffee-fueled pilgrimage to this half-remembered grotto.
Sunlight stabbed brass-bright into the scarlet canopy and shadow-dappled the trail beneath; anticipation of paths-not-taken beckoned his cabin boy soul.
(WC 300)
The Regular
Melissa sidestepped between her tables, holding the coffee pot out of people’s way. It wasn’t easy; she may not have been as skinny as she once was, but the customers couldn’t scoot in the way they used to, either; especially the older ones.
Mostly—except the ones like Mr. Torstad, who had done the opposite. And he’d finished his coffee. “Hey there, Mr. Torstad,” she said brightly. “Wouldya like a little more coffee?”
Mr. Torstad just stared at the salmon-colored wall. Melissa looked up at Mr. Torstad’s son and daughter-in-law, eyebrow raised: So far, so good?
“Just the check please,” Verna said with a smile, “Ok, pop?” She touched Mr. Torstad’s sleeve.
Mr. Torstad jerked back, knocking over his cup. “Ope,” Melissa said reflexively as she rescued the mug.
Ole stood. “Yah, I think that’s it for today. You got the cash, Verna? I’ll get pop…”
“Ain’t goin’ yet,” Mr. Torstad growled. He batted away his son’s hand, latched onto Melissa’s wrist, and pointed at the wall. “Wasn’t no door there yesterday, Melly. You tell me how they put it in so fast and where’s it go.”
Not again, Melissa sighed mentally. She suddenly wasn’t in the mood for niceties. “Now, Mr. Torstad, you know that door’s always been there. It’s your Alzheimer’s gettin’ to ya, that’s all.”
“Open it up, then,” he cried as Ole and Verna hustled him away. “I don’t need no meds to control me,” he yelled at his son.
“No, ya need it to control yourself, pop, so we don’t have to,” Ole said as they pulled him out the front door.
Melissa’s hands shook as she started busing the table, not looking at that door. If only it were just him, she thought with a shiver.

The Cavern
Not long ago, waiting for his friends’ replies had been a stretch of pleasant anticipation. Lately, though, it had been different. James settled back, his arms folded, his Sketchers drumming against the table.
It was cool and dark in this corner of his parents’ basement. His dad had hand-built the booth back when basement bars were a thing. It had sat mostly empty until his group of friends discovered Dungeons and Dragons.
They’d taken over the basement, christening it “The Cavern.” All through middle school, they’d spent countless afternoons slaying monsters and hoarding treasure, living in a world bounded only by their imaginations.
James sat quietly and stared at their miniatures, character sheets, combined books, piles of dice, his campaign notes, and empty chip packets. From four weeks ago.
It was summer, with high school looming at the end. Mike wanted to play JV basketball. “Gotta do camp if you want to play,” he’d said.
Evan and David decided to pick up paid lawn mowing “to save up for the new book.” Day after day, they found cash more alluring than finding The Wizard’s Chalice. Javi didn’t want to play without the full group and stayed home to “engineer beats” on his brother’s drums.
Nobody had answered his text today. James sighed, “Bunch of Susans.” C.S. Lewis’ character Susan had lived a whole life as a Queen, then got interested in grownup things and forgotten all about Narnia.
The Last Battle had already happened, and none of them knew it at the time.
James stifled an impulse to shove everything off the table. What if all the history they’d created here ended not in destruction, but in a new act of creation?
James opened a new Google Doc. He smiled and started typing.

From Shortscarystories
Animal Parade
Jessica lay on her stomach in the dim shelter of a magnolia tree. Her spring sandals were long gone, and her fashionable top was crusted with sweat, dirt, and dead leaves. There was blood, too, from the scratches and bites she had endured.
She kept her hands clasped over her eyes, as if by not looking she could undo the madness. She tried her best to slow her breathing, concentrating on the soft odors of dirt and growing things.
Things that hadn’t tried to hurt her. Yet.
The screaming and the snarling and the shrill cries of birds had receded, echoing now from the bland facades of the buildings fronting the park.
Images haunted her as she cowered in the shadows. Dogs suddenly lunging at owners; starlings striking with sharp beaks; an escaped zoo antelope with bloodstained horns; ducks mobbing people in the water.
The horses were the worst for Jessica. Tears welled up again at the memory of their noble bodies rearing and breaking the carriage traces, smashing and trampling the panicked crowds, their eyes rolling and their glossy flanks speckled with gore.
She opened her eyes. Nothing moved in this part of the park. If she could make it to a building, she might be safe. Someone would lend her a phone to call home and make sure the kids were all right.
And to think, Dan had wanted to adopt a dog! Well, he was a man; he couldn’t help being wrong.
Quietly, Jessica crept to the edge of the low branches and peered out. Everything was still. Gathering her courage, she pushed through to the open grass and fled toward the nearest park entrance.
She ran flat out, glancing wildly around for sinister furred or winged shapes. She jumped over the body of an older woman with a Vera Bradley bag clasped over her head and dodged around others, not daring to stop to check if they were dead or alive.
Gasping for breath, her bare feet abraded by the rough sidewalk, she ran on. A few yards from the gate, though, she heard something that stopped her cold.
It was a voice, calling out from a stand of bushes halfway down a steep slope; the sweet, clear voice of a small child repeating the phrase, “Animal parade!” Jessica spotted a baby stroller overturned in the bushes. She looked around; no movement in sight. “Animal parade!” the voice called again.
Dear Lord, I can’t leave a child, she thought, and raced down the slope. Breathless, she brushed the stroller aside and froze.
In the grass beneath the stroller lay a Say It Again Pam doll; the one that records baby’s words and says them back in a pattern, using a camera for visual cues.
“Animal parade!” it said sweetly. “Pretty kitty!”
Jessica’s heart hammered and she spun on her heel, right into a wall of orange and black fur. The zoo tiger… Her final thought never made it to her lips.

It was a warm, windless August afternoon in the Adirondacks. Just like it always was when I was young and my family would spend a couple of summer weeks at the cabin. Turning off of the highway onto the ribbon of faded asphalt that ran through the village was like going back in time, but the feeling was spoiled immediately by a new strip mall and its shiny monstrosity of a BP gas station, Whole Foods store, cake pop store, and an upscale Vietnamese restaurant. ‘Viet NOM?’ get real, I thought as I sped past.
The rutted gravel track from that road to the cabin was the same as ever, at least. I drove slowly through the dappled shadows, enjoying the smell of the woods and the sounds of small birds through my open windows. The cabin itself was a bit of a letdown.
Seen for the first time in ages, it seemed so much smaller than I remembered. Clearly, dad hadn’t taken care of it for several years.I parked my car and slumped back in disappointment.
When I was a kid, the cabin had been the coolest. Looking at it with new eyes and a lot more life experience, It wasn’t very cool at all. Honestly, it was kind of crappy.
My sister and I had finally sold all of our parents’ other properties and belongings; the cabin was all that was left. I wished now that I’d just sold it and never looked back, like Anita had wanted. I kicked my way through waist-high meadow grass and unlocked the door. It was dim and musty-smelling inside. I pushed open the decorative curtains, one of mom’s few contributions to the place, and walked through the unused family room and the short hallway to the bathroom. It had been a long drive.
Next, I walked on down the hall to the small room where Anita and I had slept on those family trips. The wood paneling, 1950’s-era bunk bed and dresser, and wooden camp chairs were still there, more worn than I had expected. On a half-remembered impulse, I tapped the floorboard at the foot of the bunks with my boot. Bump, bump, bump, bonk. That was the one.
I don't know what I expected to find in my old hiding spot. Vintage Star Wars figures, an antique musket ball, a hawk feather, all the things a young boy would treasure. I was not prepared for the shoes.
I felt dizzy and sat down hard on the bare wood floor. These were the shoes that Ella would wear. Her parents had a cabin nearby and always seemed to be there at the same time as us. I’d run away from bossy Anita whenever I could and roam the woods and streams with Ella. She was cool, and my age, and wore white Vans with colorful paint splatters all over them. The shoes in my spot weren’t just like hers, they were hers.
But Ella was just a friend I’d made up. That’s what everybody told me after I mentioned her, after being gone a little too long one day. Dad pointed out that there were no other cabins for miles around, and Anita teased me mercilessly. “Where’s your girlfriend, did she go back to Canada?” I rolled my eyes just thinking about it. That was the last summer we went as a family; I never saw Ella again, and I guessed they were right.
Until… now? I’d never told anybody what Ella wore, so this couldn’t be another stupid Anita joke. I reached down and picked the shoes up. They seemed clean, not like something that had been there a long time. I heard a quiet voice say, “Put them on.” I jumped and dropped the shoes, and looked around frantically. Nobody. I searched the cabin and ran around the outside, too. Nobody was there, or in the attic when I poked my head up and shined my phone around.
I went back to the shoes and picked them up. “Try walking in my shoes,” Ella whispered and giggled, the lines to an old song I’d listened to with her so long ago. It was her voice, I had no doubt now. I just couldn’t see her. I felt foolish and delusional, but something in her tone made me forget all that. It felt good to kick off my hiking boots, and unbelievably, the Vans fit me perfectly. I stomped around on the floorboards to see if they were real and laughed to myself.
A gust of wind struck the side of the cabin. Interrupted, I looked out the window to see that it was much later in the day than I’d realized. “Come out, come out,” Ella whispered, and I did.
The path to the stream was overgrown with vines and briars, but I passed through them faster than I’d ever run the path when I was a kid. I leaped over the stepping stones and up the far bank, and ran after the clear, high sound of Ella’s laughter, up and down ridges and through stands of birch and tamarack, until I realized my vision was going dim.
I stood stooped over at the edge of a little clearing, hands on my knees, panting and sweating. Soon, I realized that my vision hadn’t gone dim--the sun had gone completely down. Moonlight shone on the meadow, limning the tall grass and the forest trees with silver. “Ella, where are you?” I asked.
“Up here,” came her whispered answer. I stood and looked around the clearing for the first time. At its center, a graceful flight of white wooden steps ascended from the forest floor. They ended abruptly about 30 feet up, attached to nothing. “Don’t think twice, just come up, come up, come up,” Ella chanted from somewhere I couldn’t see.
My heart raced. Something was different. The moonlight was too bright, the woods around too dark. The stair runners shimmered, as if something moved just under their shiny surface. They called to me--the stairs, Ella, I didn’t know who or how. I didn’t know how my feet started moving when I didn’t want them to, or why I couldn’t pull back once I started climbing.

From Shortscifistories
Tearing Us Down
As he slowly awakened, Jacob struggled to remember what his wife said. A foggy memory arose; he was watching strip after strip of blazing fluorescent light slide past overhead as his stretcher passed through a chilly hospital corridor.
He heard the sharp click of Leah’s heels on the floor beside him as she kept pace with the gurney, her warm grip crushing the three middle fingers of his left hand. Her voice, still sweet and strong after so many years, telling him over and over it would be all right. Then she had let go because she couldn't follow him into the OR, and a doctor's shouted orders overrode her last words. He thought she had been saying, "I love you, Jacob, forever," but he couldn't be sure.
Jacob lay in a dark, cold place. It wasn’t a hospital room. Dim, gray light and a draft of dry air gave the impression that he was in a large, cavernous space. He could blink and move his lips and the tips of his fingers, a little, but that was all. Dark, silent machines and metal posts and gray curtains filled his field of vision.
The discomfort and lethargy was better than the paralysis he had feared after his stroke, but at the same time, his body felt radically different in ways he didn’t understand.
Jacob’s thoughts were interrupted by someone sitting down beside him. His first attempt at speech produced a dry croak. A straw touched his mouth and he instinctively drew on it. A small sip of water was all he could manage, but he felt it beginning to loosen his tongue. "Hello, friend." It was a man beside him, speaking quietly. "Have some more water and let me talk for a while, then it will be your turn. Nod if you can understand me." Jacob managed a feeble nod. "Same language, good. Well, you remember a full life, yes? Adventures and mishaps, friends and enemies, love and loss, all sorts of experiences."
The voice paused, and Jacob nodded to indicate that he understood. "That's good. So, presumably you know how to take care of yourself and live as an adult in society. That's the important thing for now. Those memories will remain with you and provide some comfort, I hope, as you adjust. They aren't your memories, you see." "What do you mean?" Jacob asked haltingly. This doctor was taking post-surgical testing in a wild new direction. He felt lost in this conversation. What kind of anesthetic had they given him? "You sound like your memories are from the late 20th, maybe early 21st Century, so I'll give you the quick version; almost as much detail as They tell us. ’They' are beings from somewhere else, we don't know what They call themselves or what They look like or even if They are physical beings.
“They found Earth sometime after humankind either died out or left the Solar system; they don't know and don't care which. Your body was cloned from recovered human DNA. A clone has consciousness, but no context for it. The memories you have are called shrivens—cast off when a person died long ago, and They are somehow able to recover them.”
“I died,” Jacob whispered. “My name is Jacob.”
“Yes,” the other man said. “I died too. My name was John. Is. But the husks we inhabit,” he shrugged, “could’ve been copied from anybody. The feeling of dimorphism really never goes away, they say.”
“I,” Jacob stammered. “was going to be with God. My righteousness is in Christ, I accepted His sacrifice for my sins, I repented and I… I want to meet Him.” Jacob sobbed, though his eyes were dry.
“There are endless debates among us whether shrivens are the dead person's soul or just their identity; memories left behind in time like a molted skin after the soul departs. Debates between us, that is; They don't know or don't care."
“But,” Jacob said quickly, “I’m me, I know who I am. How can I not be me? What other me is there?” "They clone adult bodies,” John continued patiently, “so that they can put us to work right away, and infuse us with these memories so that we start with basic abilities. Personally, I think the emotional toll is too high even for those who survive integration, but They don't listen to us.
“Our work, our sole purpose, is to dismantle the ruins of human civilization and return Earth to a more natural state. It seems hopeless to all of us, but I guess They have a longer perspective. Our lifespan is about six to ten years in this—incarnation?—depending on your work zone and other factors." The man paused again.
“This sounds like purgatory. The Catholics, though, they added so much to Christ’s teachings, things not in the Bible. Right? Like what was it, transubstantiation? And the intercession of saints and purgatory and the confessional—Christ didn’t teach any of those things, so why is this what I wake up to?” Jacob was agitated and sweating, but could barely move a muscle.
In the dim light, Jacob could only make out an outline of longish hair and beard hovering over a lean frame. He was deeply disturbed and didn't know what more to say. He held his hand up to his face. the hand was fundamentally not his hand, yet it was a member of the body in which he found himself. He shuddered at what it implied and his helplessness to control or even begin to understand the situation.
Jacob looked at the man’s silhouette and at the uneven rock dome several meters overhead and thought of Leah. Where is she now? He thought. Am I even Jacob, or am I just some construct 3-D printed with his long-dead thoughts? The only things Jacob knew for sure was that his heart was racing and he had a terrible headache.
"That's a lot for you to digest,” John said. “I can see your heart rate is very high. I'm going to give you a sedative and we'll resume when you wake again." Jacob felt a slight pressure on the side of his neck. "What was your profession, in your memories?" "I—was an accountant." "Hm. When you can, try to think of any other skills you might remember. Agriculture, machine operator, any medical or related skills. I'm sorry, but most white collar types are put on toxic or extreme environment details. Most unpleasant. You’ll sleep for a while; try not to dream."

“I found the tumor!” I yelled as I brought the Range Rover to a gravel-crunching halt. “Switching to video, am I on, Doctor Wren?”
Two days ago, a giant alien spacecraft had appeared in Earth orbit. It was shaped like a three-pronged axe handle and covered with bumps that some NASA official had nicknamed ‘tumors.’ Today, we discovered that the tumors were landing craft.
No communication had issued from the big ship. The landing craft didn’t return our signals, either. Aircraft, missiles, and even AA rounds sent to intercept them dissolved into particulate mist far from their targets. They weren’t talking, and we couldn’t touch them.
Our small, isolated research lab specialized in petroleum chemistry, but as scientists, it was our duty to remain at our post during the crisis. We moved our families into the facility for safety and gathered in a silent group to watch a satellite feed track the landers. One of them came down in the wetlands just a few miles away.
I volunteered to make contact, and went alone.
“Keep calm over the radio, Morton,” Wren replied. “Are those tracks in the ground?”
I followed the tracks until I spotted it. “I can’t tell if it’s a robot or a power suit,” I reported. “It’s the size of an Asian elephant; it has six limbs, and there are no visible seams in the outer skin or shell. It’s picking up plants and mud. I’m going to try to engage with it.”
The thing moved slowly through the vegetation toward a muddy pond. I shouted questions at it until I was hoarse. At last I said, “Are you even capable of speech?”
High up on the thing’s flank, a flap of its hide vibrated like a tympanum. “I’m working,” it said in a low voice. “But I can talk while I work, if you like.”
“Did you guys hear that?!” I shouted without thinking. “What are you looking for?” I asked the thing. “What are you? Why won’t you answer our signals?”
“Useful organic compounds. I’m one who seeks. Signals are irrelevant.”
“What do you mean, ‘irrelevant?’”
“Your species has failed the Great Filter. In a short time, your ecosystem will undergo toxic collapse. You’ve passed the point where you can repair it, and you aren’t ready to escape.”
“But—you could help us! Why…”
“There’s no compelling reason; your cultures, languages, philosophies and discourse? Nothing about you is unique or beautiful or excellent. We don’t interfere with developing species, but now that you’re ending, there’s no point in hiding ourselves. We need to investigate your organics for useful compounds now, before their epigenetics degrade further.”
“But we’re intelligent—we’re not hopeless, we can learn and…”
“Minimally; but to your other points, yes and then no. You could have made true progress, but you were content with bread and circuses. I suggest you enjoy them while you may.” The thing slipped beneath the water, and would answer no more questions.

Jason shifted on the exam table, crinkling the paper cover. “Dad, can’t we just tell the judge we changed our minds? I’d rather serve a year in jail than a week with this stupid thing.”
“No.” Dad didn’t look up from his screen.
“I’m twenty eight, dad; I have a right to choose my sentence.”
Dad sat back and folded his arms. “When you get serious with a career and move out on your own, you can make those choices. The Stalwart Families Act says you’re a minor ‘till then, so mom and I have the final say. Maybe this’ll help you grow up.”
Jason threw his head back and moaned. “All I wanted to do was get there on time, it’s not the freakin’ end of the world.”
“Jason, you jailbroke our car and used the commuter lanes to go to a concert. If I didn’t know the right lawyer, it would’ve been a lot worse. Now, you’d better not embarrass us in front of the doctor.”
Mom greeted Jason with a hug when they returned, and gently patted the new, shiny black implant on his temple. “Does it hurt, sweetie?” she asked.
“Just stings a little,” Jason mumbled as he shuffled past.
“Aw, here, take some ibuprofen. Is it… on already?”
Jason nodded and stared at the floor.
Mom bent down to look up into the implant’s lens. She waved and said, “Hi, welcome to our home. I hope you have a good day, and please give our boy a good review, or whatever it’s called; he’s never had a ride-along before.”
“Mom,” Jason huffed as he turned away from her. His face was flushed. “Please, don’t. I just… um…” He paused, then looked up. “They want me to watch sports and eat a big dinner with dessert. Can I?”
Mom smiled and nodded, staring at the implant. “Of course we can, Jasie. Any kind of sportsball they want, you go right ahead, even if it’s a pay-per-point.”
Dad rested his hand on Jason’s shoulder and walked with him toward their home theater. “Remember,” he said, “this new generation implant lets your riders see, hear, taste, and feel everything you do, ok?”
Jason nodded.
“The officer said at your offense level, your riders will be unemployables, not life-sentence criminals like in the news stories; ok? They probably stood in the Immersive VR riders’ queue for a week, not knowing who their host would be. And they got you. Mostly, they crave simple things they don’t get in their real lives. Entertainment; a full stomach; a feeling of security. You know?”
“I guess,” Jason said.
“Also, their allowable requests are limited to simple stuff by the terms of your sentence, so just give them what they want, and your life will be yours again in seven days. Until then, remember it’s not just a punishment; you’re also helping needy people experience what you take for granted. Maybe after, you could keep volunteering for social credits.”

Yesterday's Fire
“Holy moly, cap’n! What was that flash?” the navigator called over the intercom. “Did the Japs spot our wing early?” Other crewmen chimed in.
“Keep it cool, boys,” Captain Waldron said, sounding more authoritative than he felt. “It looked like lightning from up here, is all.
“Altitude steady at 7,000 feet. Bombardier, confirm course and heading. Is that really our target? Nobody told me Tokyo’d be lit up brighter than Los Angeles.” Waldron glanced at Lt. Lindsey in the right chair; they exchanged confused looks in the muted glow of the instrument lights, but said nothing.
“Cap’n, that’s our target all right,” Weller said, “but it sure does look a lot bigger in person than on the map. Say, shouldn’t they be blacked out? Looks like Tojo sent out the welcome wagon for us instead. We’re on track to start our run in three minutes.”
“I don’t see the raging inferno the 497th bragged they started yesterday,” Waldron remarked, “but we’ll get ‘em burning again tonight. Where’s the signal from lead?”
“No signal, cap, and no chatter,” Weller replied. “It’s like we’re the only bird out here.”
“Then we need to break radio silence.” Waldron toggled the wireless. “Bombardment Group 501, this is Third Squadron, Able Flight Leader Waldron, Gloria’s Gams; report.” No answer. Where was everybody? “Group, report. Able Flight, report. Sayonara Suckers? Forward Frannie? Anyone, do you read?” Waldron absently ran his fingertips over his thin mustache as he waited. Soon, Weller gave the signal.
“Waldron to 501st Group: Commencing our run, follow our signal if you’re able.”
As they approached the neon-bright shoreline, a new voice came over the radio.
“Gloria’s Gams, this is Major Henshaw, U.S. Air Force Special Recovery Wing. Be advised that your bomber group has experienced a temporal dislocation, and that your target’s status has changed to friendly. Repeat, friendly. You’ve been displaced to the year 2019; we are at peace with Japan. You are ordered to stand down; repeat, stand down, do you copy?”
Waldron looked at Lindsey. “U.S. Air Force?”
The first officer frowned. “Even Tojo knows it’s the USAAF. Len, it’s a bluff.”
“Agreed,” Waldron said. “Bomb bay doors open.”
The unfamiliar voice cut in again. “Gloria’s Gams, your bay doors are open. Close them immediately, or you will be fired upon. Acknowledge.”
Waldron spoke on the intercom, “They’re blowin’ smoke, men, ignore it. Steady as she goes; drop on bombardier’s mark.”
“Cap, we got two bogeys at seven o’clock high,” the tail gunner reported.”They’re burnin’ like hell and approaching fast.”
“Acknowledged, gunner - holding course.”
Twin AMRAAM missiles obliterated the B-29 seconds before payload release.
High above, Henshaw’s composure broke as his HUD tracked pieces of the old war machine falling toward Tokyo Bay.
“Kestrel Eight Seven to command,” he sighed. “Intercept complete. Sir—why do they always ignore us and proceed to the target?”
“It was a different generation, son. Report back to base for debrief. Over and out.”
submitted by OneSidedDice to 2Space [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 johnrock001 Best Hot And Sexy Anime To Watch - Top Sexy Anime List

Best Hot And Sexy Anime To Watch - Top Sexy Anime List - https://www.myanimeforlife.com/best-hot-and-sexy-anime/
submitted by johnrock001 to myanimeforlife [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 AngerFurnace Never bet Hockey promo. Have to go 3/4 to get my money back. So I took the runs on 3 games

Never bet Hockey promo. Have to go 3/4 to get my money back. So I took the runs on 3 games submitted by AngerFurnace to sportsbetting [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Awakes_javi 40 earthquakes in 24 hours off the coast of oregon the prophecies are coming true

submitted by Awakes_javi to JehovahsWitnesses [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Belugafan7261 Theory

So on night 3 yeah I guess it’s just another boss with like a lot of HP maybe like 100k or 150k on night 4 maybe but idk but maybe they might just put in all the bosses and then one giant Boss sort of like hardcore. But it might be one boss like one single boss.
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2021.12.08 20:00 Jamin7272 Zekrom Add 3430 9643 6910

3430 9643 6910
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2021.12.08 20:00 daulton52s Sorry, i thought it was funny

Sorry, i thought it was funny submitted by daulton52s to Tinder [link] [comments]

2021.12.08 20:00 Due-Stomach4138 Do you feel sad when your friend is sad?

If your closest friend was upset because their dog died, or their family member would you feel sad to? Because I always have to pretend to feel sad but inside I don’t really care and I just want them to stop moaning.
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