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2020.11.24 14:09 DrElsewhere There Was A Noise Coming From The Back Of The Hearse

Even in the glow of neon lights I could tell he was a funeral director. His dapper suit, slicked hair and mannerly tone was in deep contrast to the lushes who frequented Mandy’s Pub every Friday night. When he slid into the booth beside me there was an air of superiority to him. I didn’t mind, of course, as I was on my fourth Ole’ Fashioned and the numbers he’d told me the day before tumbled through my head like shoes in a dryer.
10,000. TEN THOUSAND. One - zero - zero - zero - zero.
Cash is good, I thought. Cash means alimony free. It was enough to finish my year’s rent. Enough to feed me until next Christmas. Enough to replace my closet of old rags and stained jeans with something fashionable enough to attract a lady. Enough for a decent used truck that wouldn’t whine to life like the one parked out back in Mandy’s parking lot.
However, I didn’t think of any of these expenditures when the funeral director told me the payment would be in cash.
Instead, I thought of my 17 year old daughter, Ally. I could gift her the $10,000 by paying for her tuition into State. Maybe the act would change her mind about not attending college. She would go if it were cheaper, I’d told myself. Ally was prudent about finance and had saved up every penny of birthday and Christmas money she had received throughout her life. I’d seen the wad of cash tucked in a jewelry box and was proud. That’s why I envisioned a CPA license in her future. She could do something great with her life, unlike her old man. And unlike that bitch mother of hers.
A mere 20 minute drive could change my life, I thought.
And I was correct.
Back in the bar, I watched across the table of empty whiskey glasses as the man who had offered me the job fumbled for the words to say. He was nervous, out of his element. He was the director of a family-owned funeral home located in our small community and he, if the rumors I’d heard were true, was in a bind.
I was familiar with his business, Westwood Funeral Home. We used them when my grandmother passed away. They’d been in business that long. Over the years, I’d also attended the visitations of a few friends there as well. Nice place, very accommodating.
“Why’d you call me?” I asked across the table.
“I heard you were ex-military.”
“That’s true, but still not an answer.”
“Tour in Iraq, right?”
“Two,” I mumbled and took a sip. “How’d you get my number?”
“We have many Gold Star Families that use our facilities and I, in a roundabout way, was given your cell number. So, can you do it?”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I’ll be accompanying you. This situation, well, requires a particular person that can handle tension. From what my contact told me, you’re quite level-headed under pressure. Nothing is more pressurized than war, am I right?”
“I don’t talk about my time in the Middle East.”
“Fair enough. Can you do it? Can you be the driver?” The director withdrew a large envelope from his jacket pocket.
“Half now, half after services rendered, correct?”
He nodded and I rolled the ice around in my drink, the clicking overpowering the soft hum of classic rock from the bar speakers.
“I’ll do it,” I said. “But I want you to answer one question first.”
“What’s that?”
“Is it true everyone at your funeral home quit last week?”
The director’s lips pursed and his eyes studied the table. “Yes. Everyone except me and one new manager. My family wants no part in this.”
“They want no part in what?”
“That question might be better suited for a pastor or priest.”
I then tilted my head back and drained the glass. The director proffered the envelope and I took it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As instructed, I arrived at Westwood Funeral Home the following morning before the sun rose. The director was there, waiting under the loading dock, the faint awning light casting his shadow back to the row of pines in the rear of the property. He’d already situated the hearse to the proper position, trunk open, a gurney kissed to the rear bumper of the vehicle.
The gurney was burdened by a casket.
I parked then approached the scene, tossing my spent cigarette into some loose grave and patting my jeans to double check my essentials: phone, wallet, keys. And Bessie.
My approach startled the director, but when he spotted me he immediately called me over.
“Grab the handle here. No, here. Then hoist it into the trunk.”
“Don’t these things weigh a ton?”
“Let’s go, dammit.”
“I’m not pulling a muscle because you’re irritated, ten grand or not. Go get that fella that still works for you to help us. The, uh, the manager.”
He didn’t have to say anything. His expression gave it away. It was then that I noticed how similarly dressed we were. There was no longer a suit or pair of polished oxfords. He donned a t-shirt, dark stains on the front, and some slacks that were probably as old as the hearse. His hair was unkempt and sweat matted his bangs above his brow. Before me was no longer the dapper director from our bar meeting, but an overwrought man on the edge of a breakdown.
“The manager quit too?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said coldly. “His departure changes our agreement.”
“How so?” I asked, letting go of the casket handle.
“I’ll need your assistance after we arrive at the cemetery.” He pointed into the open hearse to a set of shovels.
“I didn’t sign up for that. What kind of scam is-”
“I’ll double it,” he said. “Twenty thousand dollars cash.”
I grabbed the handle again.
The rollers in the back of the hearse made the heavy casket easy to push in place. The director fastened the bier pin plates so the unit wouldn’t budge during transport then he uncinched the window drapes so they fell over the length of the glass. Wouldn’t want anyone spotting what's inside at a red traffic light. He did this with an uneasy rapidity, like he was in a race or was being timed for our efforts. He grabbed a duffel bag and hefted it into the back near the locked casket.
Oddly, my request to piss in the funeral home’s bathroom was denied so when he dodged inside to “lock up” as he said, I unzipped and went near a small poplar tree. Weird, furtive little man, I thought.
I didn’t care. I was ready for my $20,000.
After the director joined me in the cab, I turned the ignition key and the hearse purred to life. The V8 roared as we sped down Fair Avenue then took the onramp to the highway. The director’s cell phone blared loudly in it’s instructions toward our destination - a cemetery on the opposite side of the county.
“Just follow the GPS instructions,” he told me.
“I know that part of the county pretty well. A lot of back roads.”
“Just follow the instructions.”
I’d lived in the county my whole life - apart from my time in Baghdad, Fallujah and Tikrit - and I’d never known a cemetery to be in the general area the GPS was leading us. Maybe Google knew more about my hometown than I did. Still, the sun started to rise over the hills of pines and the road was clear of any traffic so I gunned it, getting the hearse up to eighty. The director didn’t seem to mind.
Maybe we are being timed for our efforts, I thought.
Of course, the hearse was no workhorse like the humvees we had in the war. Those beasts were of a different breed. A warmongering type, bred to traverse deserts as well as swamps and were often equipped with turret guns and armor. The only weapon the director brought appeared to be a rosary which was curled tightly around his wrist.
The rearview mirror suddenly flashed with light and pulled me from my reverie. The sky was blood-red and growing lighter by the second but the strobing lights from behind dwarfed all illumination from the tree line. The speedometer was pushing ninety when the director noticed and turned around.
“This isn’t good,” he said. “Keep going. Don’t slow down.”
“It’s a cop.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe not to you. Shit, I’m not getting arrested.”
“Don’t,” he said then grabbed the wheel against my tilt onto the road shoulder. The hearse swerved madly.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed and pushed him. His rosary looped around my fingers and we were momentarily caught in a holy fingertrap. “I’m pulling over.”
“Keep going. Our mission is more important.” He tried again and I ripped my arm back, releasing the rosary’s snare. Beads scattered on the floorboard and the director grew sullen, upset. The remaining cross, wood-carved and rubbed smooth, was still in my palm so I slung it behind my seat.
I gave him a hostile stare. “Don’t touch the wheel. I won’t get paid if we’re both in jail.”
He tried it again so I pulled from the back of my jeans someone I wanted him to meet. “This is Bessie,” I said and the Colt 1911 gleamed in the early sunlight. “She doesn’t like trouble, understand?”
His expression changed. Once I knew he was back in his seat for good, I returned Bessie and pulled to the road shoulder. The gravel chirped and cracked against the undercarriage until we crawled to a halt.
Luck was on my side that day. The man in uniform who walked up to the window was a friend of mine. We play cards once a month at a mutual friend’s house. Drink whiskey, talk shit about our bosses, all that. Since he was an officer of the law he would always tell the best stories about dumbass criminals. When he sauntered up to the window and noticed the operator of the swerving hearse was a buddy, he took his hand off his pistol holster.
I flashed a sly smile. “Morning, William.”
Officer William gave an incredulous laugh. “I’ll be damned. You in the funeral business now?”
“All those stories you told over cards got me thinking. Since you’re a first responder, I figured I’d join the last responders.”
William propped an elbow on the window ledge and got a good look at my passenger. The director had his head bowed and was whispering a prayer.
William looked at the casket. “Little late for that, reverend, don’tcha think?”
“He’s not a man of the cloth. He’s the director at Westwood Funeral Home. This is his hearse.”
“Okay. Well, keep it under seventy, Chuck. I doubt the guy in the back is in any rush.”
Then something stirred.
It’s a rare moment when three people simultaneously learn something. At that moment, I learned that the passenger next to me was some kind of psycho pervert and had invited me to participate in what could land me in the slammer for life. The director learned that I would never look at him the same way again and, had the officer not been there, I would’ve gladly sent him into a grave myself. Officer William learned that he was no longer speaking to a drinking buddy but - due to the pounding and calls for help coming from inside the casket - had pulled over two full-fledged maniacs about to bury a woman alive.
The elbow that had been casually resting on the window ledge was now hinged forward, aiming a Glock 19 to my head.
“Out,” William shouted. “Out of the vehicle, Chuck.”
William’s urgent command took me back to one particularly hot day in Fallujah. Our team was tasked to set up on the roof of a four-story hotel about a quarter-mile down the road. It was an advantageous spot to gather reconnaissance but the route there had plenty of obstacles. Hidden bombs, armed insurgents in spider holes, and blockades troubled our path but we got there without a casualty. When we arrived at the hotel we were met with a flock of elementary-aged children, who had been using the building as a makeshift sleep quarters during the war fallout. They tossed rocks, shouting foreign obscenities to us soldiers who had invaded their land. We’d read all the propaganda garbage their government had been putting out. How we were evil. How we were nothing but murderous invaders. Us proud servicemen were more annoyed than anything else, having three dozen kids tossing rocks gets old fast after fifteen minutes, so we gathered the little ones together to teach a lesson. We lined them up and made like we were about to participate in a firing squad. Obviously, no weapons fired - it was a scare tactic. We were soldiers, after all, not monsters.
But I’ll never forget their faces. Veils of terror. Fear so absolute that tears were unable to form. Lesson learned.
That’s the type of fear I saw on the director’s face as he dropped beside me, our knees crunching into the gravel beside the highway. From inside the hearse, the woman’s shrieks had intensified in urgency. Although the sound was muted by the casket walls and padding, the voice was clearly female and was overcome with emotion. The casket rattled as the interior beatings became more powerful. Had Officer William not had his gun trained on me, I would have punched the director for inserting me into his own wicked revenge plot.
The woman pleaded, “There’s no oxygen in here. I’m about to pass out.”
William oscillated between me, the director and the closed trunk of the hearse. The shrieks from inside continued to beg between coughs.
“Please, help. My head is going numb. No oxygen. Open.”
William pointed to us. “Don’t move,” he said, then walked to the driver side and unlocked the trunk door. The director and I turned, scooting our knees in the pebbles to get a view of what my now ex-friend was about to uncover. From this angle the director was slightly behind me but I could hear his faint sobs. He’d been caught.
Once the trunk was flapped open William called back to us. “How do you get the casket open?”
“An instrument beside the casket,” the director said. “Yes, right there. It fits into a hole on the side. Yeah, right. Now crank it. It unlocks the lid.”
William hadn't finished one rotation before I was pushed into the gravel by the director. Something was different when I tried to regain my balance, something about my waistline. It had loosened.
Three ear-shredding reports went out over the highway and the surrounding pastureland. William slumped against the hearse, grabbing for something not there before falling face first to the ground. Amazed at what happened, I grabbed for Bessie, but she was gone. The director pointed my own weapon at my chest and forced me to my feet. The spent casings sparkled beside his feet.
“This is Bessie,” he said. “She doesn’t like trouble, understand?”
The trunk was closed and seat belts were fastened then we were off toward the cemetery to bury a woman alive. The blue lights of William’s cruiser flashed in the side mirror until we crested the next hill. Rosary beads shuffled under my feet.
When my daughter, Ally, was in elementary school she came home one day with a portrait of our family. Our trio was scribbled in crayon and showed us standing beside our house, next to a sprawling green oak tree that our little Picasso had, for whatever reason, decorated with pink stars. Beside the tree was me. I was more of a circle really, with eyebrows arched at a furious angle. Next was my ex-wife who had in her hand a stylized white carrot. Of course, I knew that this “carrot” was Ally’s best effort at drawing her mother’s favorite wine glass. Then there was Ally, squished under the speech balloons that sprang forth from my ex-wife and I’s mouths and filled with X’s and exclamation points.
The image was a catalyst for a parent teacher conference that ended up in a shouting match for my wife to attend an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. She refused.
We divorced the next year.
Ally didn’t deserve the hateful atmosphere she was raised in; she was too good, too pure. I hoped that once I finished the director’s task he’d pay the additional money. It wasn’t greed - no - but quite the opposite. Ally would take a step up in the world after she enrolled in college. For Ally, I’d told myself earlier. Do this for Ally. But how was I to help Ally if I ended up like Officer William?
I kept the hearse to a solid fifty-five miles per hour. Speed slow enough to bide time but fast enough not to alert the gun-wielding maniac to my side who’d not stopped mouthing prayers to himself since our continuation of his “mission”. Miles behind us lay a friend of mine with three bullet wounds in his chest who would undoubtedly be found within minutes by a curious traveler or truck driver. Dash cam footage would be watched and our hearse was not the type of vehicle that blends in with a crowd.
Time was running out for all three people inside the hearse.
“All that money isn’t useful to me if I’m serving life.”
I was ignored.
“Look, you damn psycho, I’ll swerve into a fucking road sign before I let you bury this woman alive. I’m not a monster.”
The director whipped around and howled, “Stop, stop. Please shut up. I demand in the name of God Almighty that you remain silent.”
This didn’t scare me. I’d been around plenty of men that would gut you as easily as shake your hand. People that had ended life and people that had almost gotten their life ended, usually on multiple occasions, without showing the least bit of fear. No, the director saying this didn’t scare me.
What scared me was that after he screamed this demand I realized he wasn’t speaking to me, but behind me.
I peered into the rearview. Yep, still a casket and the woman inside hadn’t said a word since the William incident. That’s when I knew this funeral director had more problems than a vengeful spirit. He was hallucinatory. Schizophrenic.
“Put Bessie down and let me get out. I won’t call the cops, I swear.”
His eyes finally registered me as if he’d forgotten I was there. Sweat had beaded his forehead and soaked the collar of his t-shirt. He was crying.
He mumbled, “Just follow the GPS instructions.”
“I’m not helping you dig when we arrive. I refuse to kill a person.”
“That’s not a person,” he whispered.
His rage had obviously sailed to such an extreme that his wife or girlfriend or whoever was in the box no longer registered to him as human. Just an object. Something to get rid of like trash. “Enough. I won’t kill anyone.”
“Else,” he added, yet his voice was much deeper and seemed to surround the cabin of the vehicle.
“What did you say?”
He stared, incredulously, behind my seat. A grimace overcame his face. “You shut the hell up,” he shouted to the rear. “I was in high school. I didn’t know she was that drunk. You shut the hell up.”
The director faced forward and wept in his cupped hands until his phone told me to turn off the highway onto a thin county road.
By this time I was rattled. In battle there were contingency plans. Even teammates could help force an insurgent response into retreat. But now I was alone, weaponless, unable to understand why this mentally ill man had conned me into a twisted exercise. I thought about slowing the hearse to twenty miles an hour and jumping out, rolling to the best of my ability over the hot abrated asphalt to avoid significant injury then bolting toward the rise where I could lose him amongst the bramble. Or, I envisioned a quick tap of the brakes which may jump start a siege of the director where I wrested Bessie away from him and regained power.
While we rocked back and forth over the uneven road, I steeled myself for what lay ahead and did my best to strategize a plan to save not only my life but the woman trapped in her padded tomb. Nothing materialized.
“Please,” the director whispered to no one, now sobbing uncontrollably. “I just want it to end. I didn’t know how drunk. . . I had a crush on her. Please, stop.”
“I can stop, yes.” I almost smiled at his change of heart. “Let me pull over and-”
“No,” he screamed at me. “Not you. Keep going. Follow the instructions.”
“You’re sick, man. I need to pull over.”
He gave one cursory look to the back then his eyes fell on me. His clammy hand grabbed my forearm and I couldn’t help but return a glance.
“The duffel bag,” he said. “Once you get to the cemetery, look in the duffel bag. I can’t . . . I can’t-”
“We don’t have to do this,” I begged, the shake in my voice now audible. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t know what’s in that head of yours but I do know this: everyone forgives and forgets, ya know?”
“Not everyone,” he whispered, then inserted Bessie into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Late one evening, in Fallujah, we were riding back to base from a low-intensity conflict zone where we briefly gave suppressive fire then mulled around for the next eight hours bored out of our minds. The descent of the sun gave the plumes of smoke rising from bomb-impacted buildings an eerie glow, like red obelisks that had sprouted in erratic fashion throughout the sand. Burning rubble was the chosen perfume of the day and my team was ready to wash the grit from our bodies. The land was flat and devoid of people at that time. An uneasy calm. We were still on our guard but after so much time in the heat our senses had dulled.
We had just come around the corner of a retaining wall when the humvee in front of us rolled over an IED.
Most took to defensive positions while a few of us checked on the wreckage, me included. The IED had turned the humvee apart in ways that were unimaginable: tires were absent, the turret was lodged in the kitchen of a dwelling, the metal chassis was warped and mangled like taffy. But inside was the true horror. If the explosion did that to a military vehicle it doesn’t take a creative person to understand what it can do to the human body.
The inside of the hearse reminded me of what I saw.
A spear of light penetrated through the bullet’s exit hole in the roof. The director leaned limply against the red-soaked seat. His head lolled sideways when I pulled to the side of the road then, when I applied the brake, swept back to face me. The roof of the hearse was still dripping when I jumped out to compose myself. The morning heat had already risen to a stifling level. Sweat beaded from my body as I opened the back door and began twisting the mechanism to open the casket. Apart from the smell of blood, I picked up a tinge of something burning but couldn’t trace it. I was surrounded by pastureland so perhaps a farmer was burning off some tree brush.
“I’m getting you out, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Chuck, thank you,” the woman called.
“Had I known someone was in here, I would’ve called the police.”
“You’re a saint. A true saint.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m a saint,” I said and began unwinding the lid lock. “I’ve sinned plenty.”
“Nonsense. Soldiers at war can’t be at fault for their actions.”
“Maybe. Sometimes a soldier-”
I stopped turning the crank and backed away.
“Chuck? Hello?”
It took a moment for me to replay the last hour in my mind. “How did you know I served?”
“I heard you talking earlier. Please, let me out.”
The burning smell had grown more fierce. A thin ribbon of smoke drifted through the hearse’s cabin so I followed its source. The wooden cross of the rosary, the one I broke and tossed into the back, had landed on top of the casket. It was smoldering and charred, the smoke still trailing off as if it was on a hot grill. I touched the top of the casket but it was cold.
“Chuck, let me out.”
“The director and I didn’t discuss my service on the ride. How did you know?”
“Let me out,” the woman said in a more harsh tone.
“Do I know you?”
Then there was a sniffle. “Daddy?”
I sprinted to the box and placed my palms on the cold surface. “Ally? Honey, is that you?”
“Daddy, please, get me out of here. That crazy man abducted me.”
“Oh my God, hang on.” I regripped the handle but paused before I turned the crank. It was hard to explain. Every fiber in my body pulled toward the circular motion. Just turn the crank, release your daughter, then call the authorities. So easy. But something in my gut denied the use of my arms. I had to be sure. I walked away from the hearse and fished my phone from my pocket then selected the contact. It rang twice.
“Hey, Daddy. What’s up?”
“Yeah? Can you hear me?”
“Are . . . are you okay?”
“Yeah, just got back from the gym. About to eat some yogurt. Why?”
“Nothing, honey,” I said and stared at the casket that did not contain my daughter. “Just checking up on you. I gotta go but I’ll call you later.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It is now. Have a good day, honey. Bye.”
I was no longer in the mood for conversation. Whoever was in that box knew me. Knew I served. Knew what my daughter’s voice sounded like. This was someone I wanted out of my possession. I made the decision to drive to the sheriff’s office and spill my guts. Tell them everything and let them deal with the one in the box.
After I slammed the back door closed, I hopped into the driver’s seat but my attempt at a u-turn was truncated by a harsh voice from behind.
“Ally is a whore. You know that, right?”
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“So many men. Some as old as you.”
I shoved the shifter in park. “Maybe I’ll let you out of that box so I can put you right back inside it.”
“The men have a nickname for her, “Ally Always”. Ally Always because she always goes down-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
I was outside, ripping open the back door and fumbling with the lever. I was astonished to find I had picked up Bessie.
“I’ll shoot through the box if you don’t-”
“Don’t what? Don’t sympathize with your silly dreams of Always Ally going to college? She got an A in science because she slept with her high school teacher-”
“-the whole basketball team enjoyed that one party-”
“-all the lies she’s told you over and over again-”
“-she’ll be a boozer just like her mother-”
I put finger pressure on the trigger. I braced for recoil. I wanted to empty the magazine into the box. To stop the lies. They were lies, right? They had to be.
But that’s not what happened. A grumbling mechanical noise blasted from behind and over the hill came a man on a John Deere tractor. I refit Bessie into the hem of my jeans and offered a friendly wave in the hopes he would pass. He slowed the equipment down and parked behind me. Shit.
He climbed down from the cab and approached. He was in his seventies, or sixties - a life in the sun had tanned and wrinkled his skin to a breathtaking amount. A baseball cap created a shadow under his green eyes. A wad of tobacco bulged his lower lip.
“Engine trouble?” He asked.
“No, sir, just a little lost. I have kind of an odd situation.” I looked back at the open hearse and the farmer got a peek as well.
“Damn. Dis a funeral procession?”
“Kind of.”
“Who died? God, hope it’s not anyone I know. Lotta folks die when they get my age.”
My attempt at a laugh was pathetic. “I don’t need any assistance. You can get back into your tractor. There’s no problem.”
The farmer gazed helplessly at the casket. Entranced, really. In a burst of energy that took me by surprise, he sprinted to the back of the hearse and started patting the casket. He placed a cheek to a corner and stroked the box like it was precious heirloom.
“Lizzy,” the farmer screamed. “Sweet Lord, God. Lizzy, I’m coming.”
The man attempted to pry the lid off with his hands but the lock was still engaged. I ran to him before he could figure it out.
“Why the hell do you have my Lizzy in here? What is this, some kind of shakedown?” He lowered into a brawling position and showed his fists. “Open this damn thing. Open it now.”
“That’s not your Lizzy.”
“Like shit it ain’t. I can hear her.”
Only, I couldn’t hear anything. The box was silent. Voiceless. Then everything made sense. I had been asking the wrong question the whole time. It’s not who was in the casket, but what?
Before the farmer could make more of a stir, I took out Bessie. He stopped talking but the rage in his eyes gave away plenty. “Call Lizzy,” I demanded. “You’ll find out that she isn’t in the box. Call her.”
I kept my distance and closed the back door. My aim was trained on the farmer as I reentered the driver’s seat. “Call her. Call Lizzy and you’ll find out the truth.”
“I can’t.”
I started rolling down the road, toward the GPS instructions. “Why not?” I called out from the window and pulled the gun back inside.
“Lizzy’s been dead ten years.”
Just a few miles then the cemetery. I exceeded what was a cautious speed down the thin county road trying to remember what had come out of the director’s mouth before it was hollowed out. The shovels. The duffel bag. The fucking thing in the box. The phone blared out instructions and soon I made a hard right onto a dirt drive that led into the woods. Undergrowth hid potholes and lumbered my progression. I thought of the money - at least I had five grand. I thought of Ally. My sweet Ally. I thought of-
“Haifa Salbi. Mother of two. Victim of one,” the voice in the back hissed.
“Baghdad, March 29, 2003.”
My throat began to tighten.
“I heard her screams, Chuck. While you were ripping off her chador, I heard her screams.”
“Shut up.” I blinked away tears.
“You don’t speak Arabic, Chuck, but screams are a universal language.” A turbulent yell echoed around the hearse’s cabin. It was a perfect imitation. It was a yell I’d heard before. A yell I had spent years and countless whiskey bottles trying to forget. My tears fogged my view worse than the collapsing foliage that had erased most of the pitted path.
“She housed terrorists,” I mumbled over my quivering lips.
“You don’t believe that. She was a slave to the Iraqi combatants. A pawn. You can’t lie to me, Chuck. I was there. I know the only weapon you wanted to fire was in your pants.” A discordant, hollow laugh followed.
“You were there? Who are you?”
“I am the one who was always there. When you released that tension on Haifa Salbi. When you traumatized those children in Fallujah. When you hit your ex-wife for drinking too much.”
I slammed my fist on the steering wheel. “How the fuck do you know all this?”
“I was also there when you found that wad of cash in Ally’s jewelry box. Poor, stupid, Chuck. Thinking your daughter saved money from the time she could walk? Ally is a good liar. She gets that talent from you.”
Sunlight burst through the windshield. The foliage had opened into a glade. The small opening in the woods had a short, rusted fence that linked into an oval directly in the center. Inside the fence were a sprinkling of headstones, others merely wooden crosses now rotted into spikes.
“Poor, stupid, Chuck. Ally is a good liar but not as good as she is at spreading her legs. Where do you think that wad of money came from? From men. Many men. Some as old as you.”
I turned and slammed my fist on the casket. “Another word and I’ll burn you alive instead of bury you.”
I spun the vehicle around and backed up to the fence until the fender graced the rusted metal. I hopped out and whipped open the back door then began unpacking the duffel bag. Stacks of cash fell out in my hasty fumbling of it. I guess the director was good on his promise. The only other contents of the bag were a cluster of rosaries, one of which I grabbed and slid in the front pocket of my jeans. The director’s rote behavior didn’t seem so insignificant anymore.
Also inside the bag was a handwritten note.
The note said: “It passes through waterless places seeking rest, but finds none. Then it goes and brings with it seven other spirits more evil than itself, and they enter and dwell there.”
Under that it gave instructions: “At least six feet of earth must separate it from the sky. Bury in an abandoned cemetery to avoid suspicion. Leave the grave unmarked. Do not believe its lies. Do not concentrate on its truths. It is an ancient one. Adroit in the ways of luring madness.”
The thing in the box spoke. It was the voice of my bitch ex-wife. “Chucky?”
I removed one of the shovels and remained silent.
“I forgive you, babe. You didn’t mean to hit me. It was the PTSD. I know I should’ve stopped drinking years ago. You and Ally were right.”
My head felt numb. “Be quiet. You’re not her.”
“I’ve given it up, babe. Honest this time. I’m ready to be the mother I should be. The wife I should be. Just let me out and we can fix this.”
As much as I resented her, I would have given everything I owned to hear my ex-wife say that. And it knew. Whatever was in that fucking box knew.
“No. You’re not getting out.” I tucked the handwritten note in my back pocket.
“I guess that’s expected. Babe, before you go, can I tell you something?”
Was it about to say it? No way. Unfathomable. No way it could know I wanted my ex-wife to truthfully tell me-
“Why I started drinking? I’ll tell you.”
The shovel felt heavy in my hands. I steadied myself against the tail light, eager, yet, uneager to listen.
“Chucky, my sweet, brave soldier. I started drinking because I was anxious.”
“Anxious?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
“Yes. Anxious that you would eventually find out the truth. Ally isn’t yours.”
I slammed the back door shut and regripped the shovel. The rusted fence had bent on one side from a fallen tree and lay flat under a carpet of deadfall. That’s where I gained entrance. I took out the paper and reread it. Six feet. Got it. The soil was fertile and loose, which made digging easier than expected. Still, the process took hours. From the first spade to the last, the thing in the box emitted an eruption of grating laughter, and although it was muffled from the containment of the hearse, it still provoked me into a consideration.
Was it laughing because it lied about Ally? Or because it had told the truth?
A casket is a bitch to move by yourself. Carrying it was out of the question and it wasn’t like I was trying to prevent the damn thing from damage, so I wedged it out of the hearse and it landed with a harsh thud. My legs and back were sore from digging but not too sore to pull the diseased being over the fallen fence and into the cemetery where I propped it precariously against the edge of the hole I’d dug, the depths of which were seven feet, I estimated. One foot more, just to be sure.
To avoid a calamity of the lid breaking open upon impact, I tied some vines, along with my shirt and pants, to the bars across one side. I had to pull the box at a flat angle into the hole so there would be no rotation in it’s venture down. Hoisting the heavy object below was out of the question. Three quick jerks should do it . . . and maybe one quick prayer.
“Don’t Chucky, don’t,” the voice of my ex called out as I wrapped my hands around the cords of cotton threads and vine. “I can give you what you want.”
I gave a good jerk and one corner jutted over the edge.
“Daddy, please,” Ally called. “It’s me. Just open the lid and I can explain everything.”
Jerk two.
The acidic voice returned: “Chuck, you rapist sack of shit. Wife beater, wife beater. I’ve seen your future. After this you’ll turn to the bottle worse than your ex-wife, the one who lied to you about Ally. Do you want to know who her true father is? Open and I’ll-”
Jerk three.
The obscenities that spewed from the locked casket, as I spent the next few hours covering it with soil, were grotesque to say the least. Promises of pain to not only myself but everyone whom I’m close with. Prognostications of violent ends. Sexual depravities that will behad my sweet Ally unless I open the box. The faster my hands went, the quieter the voice became, until the only sounds were the chirping of a nearby cricket and the soft songs of a sparrow.
The only thing more sore than my body was my mind. In my numb state I could only think to return the vehicle and take my cash. And most certainly inhale a few cigarettes from the pack in my truck back in the funeral home’s parking lot. All legal hassles could wait.
The cabin had a rancid stench because of the director’s body in the passenger seat but I rolled the windows down to diffuse it. The return drive was much shorter than the outgoing one. More peaceful. At least, until I turned into the parking lot of Westwood Funeral Home to find a pair of black Cadillacs parked beside my truck.
Unmarked police cars? FBI?
I didn’t care. My thought process was running on an empty tank and my body was too exhausted to run. Goodbye to the money. Goodbye to freedom. Goodbye to Ally.
What I expected was a miniature army to pounce out of the pine forest, guns drawn, demands shouted. What I got was a handful of sharply dressed men who waved me down after I parked the hearse. One opened the hearse door for me and helped me out. They delivered a perfunctory inspection of the dead director but left his body where it sat. One man jumped into the driver’s seat and drove out of sight. With him went the duffle bag of money. Shit.
Another man took me aside, offered me a cigarette from my own pack, and shook my hand.
“You don’t have to worry about anything, sir.”
“The director shot a cop.”
“It’s all taken care of.”
My brain felt like jelly. “What do you mean?”
“Keep living your life. Talk with friends, enjoy your family, go to work. Think of today as, uh, a dream. A lucid dream. Nothing more than a short, bad memory.”
Another pair of suited men exited the funeral home. They pushed a gurney with a body on it. The sheet draped over was mottled with red.
“The manager?” I asked.
“Afraid so. He was an associate of ours given the responsibility of helping with the mission. He was instructed to guard the casket last night until the director arrived then take control of the situation. However, it got to him like it got to the director.”
“Who are you guys?”
“Let’s say that we are guys who are not normally late but were today. For your troubles, we gave you something. It’s in your truck. I advise you get in your truck and leave all this behind you.”
There was no room for argument in his voice, nor did I have the energy for it. I was good at compartmentalizing, something I would most certainly have to do with my most recent actions. But it was over. Finally over. I left and returned home. Stopped in my driveway, I felt under the seat and found a small canvas sack. Inside was fifty thousand dollars, cash.
50,000. FIFTY THOUSAND. Five - zero - zero - zero - zero.
I entered my home and collapsed on the couch. Twelve hours later I awoke to the sound of a buzzing noise. Ally was calling.
“Hey, Daddy.”
My sniffles gave away my crying fit. “Hey, honey. God, it’s so good to hear your voice. Your real voice.”
“My real voice?”
“Nothing. Sorry, I just woke up from a nap. I’m still groggy.”
“Anyways, I called to tell you the good news. Mom’s in rehab. She’s taking it so serious this time. I’ve been crying all day because I’m so happy.”
I sat up on the couch and felt an odd pinch on my thigh. “Honey, that’s wonderful news.”
“I was thinking, if she completes rehab, that maybe we could all be together for my birthday,” Ally said as I battled my quivering lip. “I know you both don’t see eye to eye but it would be nice to see both of you at the same time.”
Another pinch on my thigh. I crept my hand into my pocket.
“Honey, that sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in a long time. Honestly, I’d be nice to see your mother. Despite the bad, there are a lot of good memories between us. Oh, and I have a great birthday present for you,” I said, looking at the sack of money.
“You better keep it a surprise until then.”
“I will. The three of us together, on your birthday. Who’d have thought?”
She sighed. “I’ve told you a million times, daddy. I’ve been praying about this for years. Sure, there’s plenty of bad in the world but that means there’s plenty of good too. Prayer works.”
“Yeah. Maybe it does,” I said as I pulled a rosary from my front pocket. “Maybe it does.”
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2020.11.20 19:23 sharingmyxp Real mom hidden cam

I've played a lot of Watch Dogs: Legion the past few weeks (my final playtime clocked in at around 63 hours), and I'd like to share some of my final thoughts on the game while the thoughts are still fresh. Would love to hear yours as well.
If you prefer watching to reading, this video dives into the game in closer detail with gameplay footage examples.
Here are some of my thoughts (Spoiler Warning):
• The tutorial does a great job walking you through a lot of the core gameplay mechanics and gives you a nice opportunity to mess around with your controls and graphic settings. It's a really well-designed tutorial. Not to mention the phenomenal benchmark on the menu screen which I hope becomes a common practice in all triple-A games moving forward (recently bought AC Valhalla and it's in there, too, so it looks like Ubisoft is all-in with that feature, which is terrific).
I read in an interview with one of the lead developers where he said that they had specific intent to give the players a slew of non-lethal options, and I really do appreciate that. Because in a game where the idea is to essentially fight for the people, it would feel really weird to be gunning around the streets of London with an AK and a grenade launcher (though you can totally do that if that's how you want to play). I mean, I understand the lines are a little blurred when you have your spiderbot climbing up someone's leg, up their torso, then swaddling their face with all 8 of its metal legs and shocking every nerve in their body, but hey, the game says its non-lethal so at least I can sustain my disbelief for that reason. The only issue is that the non-lethal guns in the tech tree all feel WAY too weak. In fact, I was worried whenever I was about to do a main-story mission that the game was going to throw too many enemies at me to be able to handle effectively with the electric weapons, so I steered toward using characters with real guns only so I had some sort of self-defense, which I think hinders the game's design because that cuts out a large chunk of potential characters.
• The fact you cannot walk and listen to audio logs or podcasts is not only terrible for the player but a terrible disservice to the creative team who put a lot of work and effort into that material. I wanted to listen to them but could not justify sitting on the menu screen for minutes upon minutes on end -- even in real life I'm doing something while I listen to podcasts. The material I did listen to, though, was pretty well done. It's a real shame there wasn't better implementation for audio logs.
• I strongly believe how much you liked the people on your team heavily influenced how much you like the game overall. I made it a point to not recruit anybody I did not like and to even remove people who I didn't want on my team anymore, which included Mark, the guy I started with. The cast of characters I put together were people I cared about. People I would hate to see die. Playing on iron man mode, there was no more emotional moment in the game for me, including at the end of the game with Bagley, than when my recruit, Edmond, died in a super unexpected, unanticipated fashion. I played almost exclusively as Edmund the first 10 hours of the game since I got bonus ETO for every person he recruited, and I went HARD with recruiting at the start. So when he died in that super anti-cinematic, super unexpected, super sudden way… and I realized he was just gone -- the guy who I pretty much considered to be the main protagonist of my game… I don't know there's something about the fact that nobody knew the connection I had to that character more than me. Not the game, not the developers, not anyone. He was just some random NPC I grew to feel connected with and like that he was gone. That's a type of moment is unique to Watch Dogs: Legion and the way it's designed (though I have heard strategy games, like XCOM, have a lot of similarities in this regard).
• One big knock against the "play-as-anyone-you-meet" system in Watch Dogs Legion is that as your team grows, you realize that all the ops are pretty interchangeable. There are the few ops that standout like the spy, the drone expert, the beekeeper, the protest rallier… but they're too few and still too homogenous for my liking. In the midst of all of that you're going to have ops that feel pretty samey. Maybe one has shorter hack cooldowns. Maybe one has a car. Maybe one has a g36 or a really good shock rifle like the MPX. But there's still not enough differentiation at that point, especially considering how much voice acting gets reused in the game. The background bios are cool but almost assuredly procedurally generated, so there's no personal touch to those either. I just wish they had more distinct ops like the beekeeper or the anarchist. More distinct ops with standout unique abilities would've given each op on your team a more dissimilar, specific personality, even with everything else staying the way it is. Also would've added more gameplay variety, though I am pretty happy with the gameplay in its current state.
• The fact you can recruit anyone and everyone in the world is a neat thing to say in a marketing ad, but when you actually play the game and realize at what cost that scale comes with -- that being the loss of sense of touch to the characters you play as apart from your own "head cannon" you create for the character, like I had with Edmond, and not to mention the procedurally generated missions the game decides to put you through because the game wants you to do some sort of work to earn the reward of getting that member to join your team… then that's when you might start to skip the conversations, fast travel to the other side of the map where the character's recruitment mission is, and not feel any sense of impact or meaning behind the actions you're performing to help the potential recruit out. And that sucks. But the first 10 to 15 hours where each of those recruitment missions feel unique and tailored before you really realize what's going on under the hood -- those 10 to 15 hours are incredible. And to be fair, this game doesn't serve itself to be played for 60-plus hours. You can, and I did, but the best experience for this game to me without a doubt is a 15 to 35-hour experience. In that time span you get out just when you start to see the make-up fade but while the make-ups on, I think Watch Dogs: Legion is a great experience.
• Watch Dogs: Legion is one of the best looking games I have ever played. Is this in large part because of its technical capabilities compared to other games and because it's the first game I've played since I upgraded my PC? Yes. But nevertheless, playing this game with raytracing on is just eye candy. I'm not an expert on all the GPU technicalities, but if Watch Dogs: Legion is any indication of the next generation of gaming, I think this next generation of games are going to be a significant step visually. I never knew how much reflections mattered until I played this game. Thankfully, it's pretty rainy in London so the puddles were plenty, and boy did those puddles do a good job showing off just how much the new GPUs are capable of. I know better-looking puddles is a meme, and I was in the same camp… until I actually played a game with great looking puddles lol. I also remember flying a cargo drone around one of the big towers in the game, just completely in awe. If you get a new card or one of the new consoles and you want to see what your hardware is capable of -- Watch Dogs: Legion will not disappoint you. I used to think high framerate trumped all, and I still think that's the case in competitive multiplayer games, but for immersive single-player experiences, I'm not so sure anymore. Was it unpleasant to have the frames drop when turning on a busy street intersection? Yes, it was. But holy sh*t those reflections though.
• Aside from the graphics, the art and style of how Ubisoft designed near-future London is very impressive. My jaw dropped the first time I walked through Piccadilly Circus. And I was in awe when I came upon Chinatown and saw that AR dragon. The ferris wheel… Big Ben, the bridges, the river views. I loved flying above the city on top of a cargo drone, gawking at how beautiful nighttime London was. I loved walking down random London streets watching the cars zip to and from, and watching the parcel drones above my head fly towards their destinations to deliver the packages they were holding. Playing with a soccer ball at the local park while the radio played next to me -- all while I enjoyed the beautiful outdoors of the city. Of course, not everything is bright in jovial since London is in a surveillance state, so you see the protest rallies and the overly aggressive officers and the homeless people. It's an interesting clash of tones. But rarely is real-life either always happy or always depressing -- though I guess that depends on your own personal views of life. To me, both exist in the real world, and both can exist in the game -- so from that aspect I'm not shooting down the clashing tones the game has incorporated in it. Apparently, people from London have said that the game does a great job representing London and its boroughs, and that doesn't surprise me. Say what you will about Ubisoft, but they do a phenomenal job recreating real-life places with their own fictitious twists for you to immerse yourself in. I loved setting my car to auto-drive and watching the city breathe.
• Let's talk about the gameplay. So let me start off by saying that I think Ubisoft gets some unfair slack. Generally, I think the minute-to-minute action in Ubisoft games is at the very least enjoyable. The issue is that the mission design and other design elements take that enjoyable gameplay loop and copy-paste it over and over with little divergent characteristics from one gameplay sequence to another. I had an absolute blast with the main gameplay loop in Watch Dogs: Legion. It may not come off in its presentation but, depending on how you play the game, Watch Dogs: Legion's gameplay is an outstanding stealth game. It really rewards your creativity and intelligence as a player. Before infiltrating an area, you're often given an objective and it's up to you to piece together how you're going to accomplish it. This isn't anything new in Ubisoft games. In Assassin's Creed, it's the objective of assassinating a target. In Far Cry, it's killing all the enemies in an outpost. And in Watch Dogs: Legion, it's hacking some piece of software, destroying a vehicle, downloading some secure data, etc. But playing Watch Dogs: Legion made me realize why I enjoy Ubisoft games so much, despite the obvious repetition. It's because it rewards you for your ingenuity. It gives you an objective and constraints and says "figure it out." Watch Dogs: Legion in particular, however, fosters emergent gameplay better than the other two, where each element of the gameplay is relatively simple on its own, but can come together in really cool, complex ways that you yourself are head engineering as the hacker. I don't want to oversell it -- you do press Q and the enemy immediately looks at their phone for 10 seconds, but let me walk you through some of what I'm talking about.
The way you are hopping through the different cameras to survey the area… then hacking a shock drone to get within download range of the key you might need later. Then using that shock drone to zap one of the red control panels to unlock a door. Then using the AR cloak to get by a really busy part of the restricted area. Setting traps and blowing gas tanks to not only take out an enemy, but draw attention away from where you're heading. Coming up behind an enemy and choking them to sleep, drop-kicking them and even Stone Cold Stunning them. Or even just going the traditional route of putting a silencer on your pistol and taking enemies out silentily, one by one, then cloaking their body afterwards. Each time there's a mission to accomplish and you have to piece together a permutation of events using the weapons and electronics at your disposable to get the job done (and in a non-lethal way, if you're playing like that). I'll say it again because it's probably the main reason I enjoyed Watch Dogs: Legion as much as I did: I love how much Watch Dogs: Legion rewards you as the player for your creativity and your intelligence. Is the open mission design structure present in Watch Dogs: Legion anything new or anything we haven't seen before in other games? Absolutely not. In fact, it's probably a core design philosophy in Ubisoft games. But I don't think it works as good in those Ubisoft games as it works here in Watch Dogs: Legion. The way its executed in this near future setting where intelligence and information are crucial in your attack as you hop onto the cams and hack into the drones to scout ahead, planning your next move in real time. It's pretty tactical and can get very tense and exciting, especially if you're playing as a character you like and permadeath is on. One slip up and it's over. In a lot of ways and particularly in that respect, Watch Dogs: Legion reminds me most of Ubisoft's multiplayer shooter, Rainbow: Six Siege -- which is kind of weird to say.
The issue is that the gameplay doesn't hold up that ingenuity once you hit around the 20 hour mark. You start going to the same areas and seeing the same paths to completion. The challenge is lost and the novelty is worn. And that sucks. That's why when I recommend this game to other people I'm going to tell them -- hey, Watch Dogs: Legion is a really fun game but don't overstay your welcome with it. Because the game gets less and less pretty the longer you play it… but boy are those first 15 hours beautiful.
• The borough missions are a nice change of pace. It's a pretty gamey system -- accomplish three tasks in a borough and then you unlock a final mission that, once you beat, liberates that mission's respective sector of the map -- but the fact it's a gamey system is okay with me. I like the variety that the different borough missions bring. From scaling Big Ben with a spiderbot, to racing through the streets with a car in Tower Hamlets and with a high-speed modified drone in Islington & Hackney, to navigating a parcel drone through a 3D maze in Southwark. But fuck that mission where you have to defend the Millennium Wheel with that CT drone, oh my gosh.
• Melee combat was simple-but-crisp. The punching sound effect had a nice pop, and the slow-motion dodges added a cool cinematic effect. It's not Batman, but that's okay. Melee combat is the core of that game and it's a complementary gameplay system here. The fighting arena missions where the hand-to-hand combat is the central focus are a bit too long and not all that fun… but damn did they do a good job with the presentation in those missions. The gunplay isn't DOOM or Battlefield, but Watch Dogs: Legion also isn't a first-person shooter and I think gunplay is a lot harder to accomplish in a third-person shooter. So for a third-person shooter, I found the gunplay serviceable, except for the horrendous bullet damage dropoff on some guns and the bit-too-weak electric guns. I found all six of the gadgets to be very enjoyable to use. The electro-fist is frickin sick, the missile drone is badass, especially if you're playing as a drone expert and time the cooldowns in tandem with your drone dive bomb. And the electro-shock trap is a good general grenade option. You get to choose what I consider one of the two strongest gadgets from the outset in either the spiderbot or the AR cloak.
• With everything else there is to unlock in the tech store I'm sure a lot of players were content with using only the spiderbot or the AR cloak and ignoring the rest of the gadgets, which is another game design flaw. I didn't have too much of a problem with the weapons, the upgrades, and the hack unlocks in the tech store, but I also wasn't particularly excited to go out and grind for tech points. If I really enjoy the core gameplay in a game -- and I really enjoyed the core gameplay in Watch Dogs: Legion -- then usually I'll enjoy putting the time in to grind for unlockables. I spent an hour here or there riding a cargo drone around town and picking up tech points just to take a break from the action, but I truly had no desire to grind for any of those tech abilities. Sure the tech abilities helped but it's not like I needed any of them to progress through the game or had a burning desire to unlock any of them. They made the game easier, in some cases a lot easier -- which is arguably a good thing to a lot of players -- but for a system that's supposed to be the main source of the player's grind, I did not find the system captivating and I would have been all for grinding for those tech points if I found the unlocks to be more exciting. In Far Cry 2, a game designed by the same exact lead game designer as Watch Dogs: Legion, Clint Hocking, I grinded for those gems because I wanted the badass one-hit-kill sniper or the silenced MP5 or the stealth suit. Here, the grind is running around the city spamming your hack button to profile each individual and see if they have any abilities worth recruiting over. And that's not fun at all.
• Not only does the story have serious flaws, but so does the storytelling. Pressing Q and watching an AR reconstruction as Bagley and my character babble on for two minutes does not connect with me in any way. It's boring. It's void of life. The DedSec agent you track down, Angel -- you never see him apart from the AR reconstruction where he might as well be a Superhot NPC at that point. The only time you see him is when he's dead. Sure it sucks this former DedSec op is dead, but I don't know him and I don't have any connection to him, so that's going to limit how much I care. Why not have done something with Dalton -- a character you play as at the very start and have some connection with instead of killing him off and focusing on some random DedSec op named Angel? What a lost opportunity.
• I have to mention the final borough mission for Nine Elms where you go explore a dark, underground Power Plant. Personally, I loved how dark and atmospheric that mission was, and I will not forget that sick feeling I had when I walked into the hidden prison and found humans being caged in pitch black by Albion. It was easily one of the most stunning moments in all of the game and definitely a very emotional one. Fantastic stuff. But you can't interact with them. You can't talk to them. They might as well be chickens in a chicken coop. All you can do is kill the Albion security guard watching over them and then hack into his computer. Then fireworks start flying above the city and people are jumping and celebrating? Then you magically spawn outside again. What the fuck? Where are the people I just saved? Let me talk with one of them. Let them tell me "Thank you for saving my life" and let me say to them "Don't worry about it DedSec's job. Helping the people of London." But no. Instead, I teleport to the quest giver, and we both trade smiles and laughs. If that doesn't highlight the tonality issue in this game, then I don't know what will.
• From the get-go, Skye Larsen fascinated me. A being only present through a hologram, creator of my friend AI in the game, Bagley, and CEO of a neural mapping tech company with the potential to change the world -- seemingly for the better.
You hack into her house and meet her house AI, then power on the elevator that takes you to the basement which for some reason turns out to be The Hunter's Dream from Bloodborne but many, many years later? I just went with it. Proceeded into the house. And the events in the house were pretty much the only times I was fully engaged with the AR reconstruction and highly anticipating what was going to happen next in the mission. Both Skye and Sinead, her mother, were voiced incredibly well and the fact you're in their house, or what appears to be their house, standing between the same four walls those two were standing in… watching the AR reconstruction play out what had happened on her mother's deathbed as the sheets of blood still lay there wrinkled on the floor and while Skye's workbenches are still there set up adjacent to the bedstead. Realizing that spiderbots and descendants of Skye's dog… Then you enter her secret lab in the basement where you find that amazing table with the holographic map of London on it. Next to that, you see chambers holding people in them and you're left to guess what sick, twisted acts she's been up to. Then finally, you end Sinead's misery. It's a very well done segment of the game and I felt a tremendous amount of emotion playing through it. Some of Ubisoft's best storytelling to date.
Unfortunately, a lot of this quest is ruined for me because of its ending. Whether you kill Skye or not, the same thing happens. Nowt shows up at the safe house and proceeds to give you access to 404 side missions, even if you don't side with her. And either way Skye eventually dies, either by you killing her or Broca Tech shutting down her AI. So why is this decision in the game!? To make it feel like we, the player's, action's matter -- even though in reality they don't? I'm tempted to call it deceptive. Are you guys cool with this? This is something I'm really curious about your guys' take on.
I also think there's too little gray area in that decision to make it a tough choice. Which is fine -- there doesn't need to be gray area. It could be a Mass Effect thing where you're playing as a good guy or bad guy… except for the fact that no matter how you want to play, DedSec will always be referred to as the good guys in the game and so playing as the bad guy creates narrative dissonance. Does anyone really think siding with Skye is a reasonably humane choice? Sure, the technology could be used for the good of humanity, but with Skye as the CEO, it's obvious from going through her house that that's not the case and humanity is almost assuredly better off without Project Daybreak if Skye's history is any indication of the future. The decision to kill or side with Skye is just a weird inclusion by Ubisoft, to me.
• Let's discuss the epilogue with Bagley and Bradley. It was so messed up to see what Skye did to her own brother. It obviously made me hate Skye Larsen even more. It was awful what she did to her mom and her dog, but I knew who the third person was. He wasn't just another house member of Skye used to push the narrative forward. He was a friend I made over the course of the last 60-plus hours.
It did feel a bit rushed. It was a quick 3 or 4 minutes in and out of the hospital, and then things go back to normal. But it was the epilogue so I can't fault it for that too much. The photograph mission leading up to it wasn't bad, per se, but I think it should've given more of a hint for each picture. Part of me respects Ubisoft for not putting in objective markers and forcing you to really know the landscape of the world for the bonus material, but not all of the pictures were pictures of noticeable landmarks like the ferris wheel, and that made it really difficult.
So yes, the epilogue was good. And yes, it made me hate Skye Larsen even more. But let me propose something to you. Imagine if the Bagley epilogue quest, or some similar variation of it, was placed after you went through Skye Larsen's house but before you go off to kill her. Imagine how much more connected you would have felt with Bagley through the rest of that game. Imagine how much more you would have despised Skye Larsen and how much more satisfying it would have been to kill her. Your emotional amplitude would have been even higher than it already was from seeing her mom and dog turn into AI. Killing Skye is already a great moment, but if you had seen what she did to your AI friend before you went off to kill her, then killing Skye would have been incredibly emotional, incredibly affecting, and incredibly climactic. And instead of feeling much closer to Bagley right before you're about to say goodbye to the game, you feel closer to him all throughout the rest of the game and right up until the end. Which brings me to the ending. Now continuing on with that hypothetical scenario I've laid out (first Skye's house, then epilogue mission (or a variation), then kill Skye), imagine if when you pull the plug on Bagley at the end… he actually stayed dead and didn't come back to life 30 seconds later. How much better would the story have become just from those changes? Killing Bagley at the end of the game was heartbreaking. Like I said earlier, he was my favorite NPC in the game. If I would have played the epilogue prior to killing him, I'm guessing I would have borderline cried. That would have made the scene even more impactful than it already was. But the reason I really, really dislike the ending of the game is not because of anything it does in the ending -- it's because of what it does after what it does in the ending. Any emotion of sadness and loss I felt when I pressed E and finally said goodbye to Bagley completely disappeared when he popped back up on the safehouse screen moments later. It felt cheap. Extremely cheap. Let the character die. Let the game end. Put that epilogue earlier in the story. But no. This is purely reckless speculation and I hope… dear God I hope I'm being overly cynical here, but I feel like that's not possible because Ubisoft wants you to still be in the world after you finish the game to do the missions you missed so you can still have the opportunity to put money into the game's store, because your chances of putting money into the game's store if the game were to end after you pulled the plug on Bagley and returned to the title screen are close to zero. Is that why Bagley had to stay alive? I don't know. Either way, to me the ending of the game is tragic, but not in the way it was supposed to be tragic. It sucks. I feel robbed of my emotion.
• Nigel Cass falls into the issue I see way too often with antagonists in works of fiction, and something we see earlier with Mary Kelley -- he's too evil. To the point of absurdity. And he didn't have to be portrayed that way. His backstory is that his father was killed by gang members which put him on the path of revenge by taking the law into his own hands. An interesting backstory that unfortunately does not get developed at all and it could've really helped his characterization if it was delved into more. As it stands, he just comes off as another one-dimensional Saturday morning cartoon villain, which is a shame because, again, he had the potential to be a really interesting antagonist like Skye. At least his boss fight was somewhat enjoyable. Though, the game does rely on the network bypass puzzles a few times too many for my liking, along with the AR reconstructions and area defense missions. Also, I was hoping Nigel was a bit more of a juggernaut. You take him down in one clip.
• And finally, let's talk about Zero Day and Sabine Brandt. So Zero Day starts off the game with a big bang. Literally. But then pretty much goes without mention until the end of the game. They're brought up in the game every now and again, but I think I forgot about them for most of the playthrough until the very end when the big reveal happens. It's a reveal that I probably should have seen coming but didn't. You never see Sabine in person until after the reveal. She was the only one who stayed alive after the Zero Day attack. There are hints here and there in the main story. And she doesn't even show up at the team party… that's when it was clear.
Sabine's premise for why she's doing what she's doing does, at the very least, stop and make you think for a moment. Society is completely messed up right now because of harsh surveillance by Albion through the government, homelessness is widespread, and technology has become tyrannical. She wants to restart society from the ground up. Yes, she has to commit mass murder but to her the ends justify the means. And who are you to judge her for killing when you yourself have killed plenty in your playthrough? I really liked Sabine's ending. I just wish they had more Zero Day appearances throughout the game. Let me hear more of Zero Day talking about their philosophy of rebuilding London from the ground up and less of them talking with Mary Kelley about purchasing explosives just to move the story forward. Keep me interested in Zero Day instead of having me forget about them until the end. Keep me curious.
So those are my thoughts! Overall, I had a good time with the game. However, it definitely had some issues that I felt needed airing. And just to be clear, I did not try to slight the game just for the sake of criticizing it. These are my honest thoughts after reflecting on the time I spent with the game. Please do share your own thoughts!
Edit: grammar & typos
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2020.09.27 16:16 Electronic_Stomach88 Narc story

41 now and found out I was raised by a narcissistic mother at 39. Her gaslighting while at my job and about my 10 year old daughter who I have raised since 2 years old gave me a mental breakdown. It first started 5 years ago when she wanted to control the exchanges between me and ex wife. She Drug her with her car 40 feet according to police report and blamed it on me when I wasn’t even there. When I first got divorced 7 years ago, she assured me that they were going to help me get on my feet and out of debt so I could live a nice life. However, because of my non compliance she kicked me and daughter out before I could get on feet and sale house. Her punishment caused me increased expenses and led me to bankruptcy.
I was highly successful in a field where Credit was important and not only did she leave me hanging and bankrupt, I had to sell everything of value to pay another attorney for bankruptcy while going through expensive divorce which often times left me scraping change together to feed my kid.
I forgot to mention my parents are rich btw. I rose to the occasion and eventually even landed a higher paying job than her after recovering from the Bk and divorce.
The whole time she had a Private Detective taking pictures of me from across the street and had family members drive by and when I would ask she would say I was just paranoid.
She would call the police on me frequently if I didn’t answer her calls. This was the beginning of a long journey to figuring out what she was up to as I was 33 when the stalking started. She would even manipulate my own friends to say they needed a place to stay and pay them money to report back.
Fast forward a few years. I end up with my dream job making more money than her. She quickly would demean me and say I don’t deserve it. After two years on the job I had saved up enough money to buy my own house and told her I was moving closer to work which was further from them. She became enraged and said she wouldn’t be around to help with my kid when I traveled and I said that’s your choice.
One day I get home from a business trip to meet a CPS worker at my house. The worker interviewed me and ex wife and recommended moving further away from her even though they can’t tell u who did the complaint. In the report it said I was paranoid. Yes I actually was because my mom had betrayed me and put me and my family through undo stress by making false CPS report.
It took 6 months to close out. She had also threatened to kill me when I told her I was moving and she meant it. I bought my dream house in a gated community 45 minutes away from her with 24 hour security only to find out she was trespassing, having detective video my daughter and I outside and I was like well I’m not doing anything wrong so what am I gonna do.
I tried to avoid confrontation with her because it would be screaming and her making threats to take my kid from me. I even have a text where she said she would get me fired from my job after gaslighting me at work.
It was so embarrassing I just dealt with it. I then met the girl of my dreams who advised me that was not normal and she wanted me to be happy because she could see that I was shaken every time I would answer her calls. I had been setting up boundaries over the years and didn’t rely on them for anything.
I wouldn’t ask them for anything at all no matter how bad it hurt. Eventually an estranged friend who I had not had contact with for a year reached out to me and said he needed a place to stay. He started wearing my clothes, eating my food, and refused to get a job. It was like single white female the movie.
Immediately my gf said he wants your life! He always seems to be keeping tabs on my parenting and added to my stress level. The abuse from her had been bad lately because now we had been successful living away from her for almost two years and I was now engaged. This caused a big strain on my now fiancée and mine engagement and we got into an argument and we were supposed to fly to NY the next day to get married. Oh also my daughter came home with a phone charger from her and it was plugged in my bedroom. I was looking at it and it flashed at me. I took the top off to find out it was a hidden camera. I spoke with one attorney about legal action but my fiancée and everyone talked me out of suing my mom. She said it was a gag gift and admitted to it in writing.
More bizarre stalking kept happening and this really started to get to my nerves. I wished i had sued her because i ended up getting drunk at my own house and was depressed because my fiancé was not gonna go to NY and get married. Anyways i made some dark comments in front of some neighbors who didnt know me that well about dark depressing things.
Then i go inside my house alone because i had agreed for her to watch my kiddo while on business trip, and my fiancé calls and says to come outside. I walk outside and see lasers pointed at her head and a swat team in my driveway. She told me to take my shirt of so i did and they focused the guns on me.
My house backs up to a busy road and there was a loud noise. Those neighbors had called the police thinking i s**t myself and my fiancé showed up with bags packed to go to NY. I more than cooperated and agreed to let them search my house to look for , casings and evidence so they could try to put me in jail. Man I wish I would have gone to jail. At least I could have been bailed out in the morning. They found nothing because there was nothing to be found. I even let them search my truck. The supervisor told my fiancée that they cant leave me alone with the allegations but couldn't charge me with a crime.
They asked if i would be willing to go to hospital for 24 hours and i thought they were talking about the ER. My fiancée gracefully talked me into it because she had no desire to vouch for me if I did what they said and I do not blame her for it in the moment. I would’ve been scared to vouch for someone based on the narrative they wrote about me so I agreed and was handcuffed with a young officer banging the barrel of a glock up against my head like i was a threat his boss told him to back off and he even admitted that he wanted to off me because his adrenaline was pumping. He’s also the same jerk that got to drive me to the hospital and write a non criminal story about me that would forever alter my life. I got treated and abused by them at my own house. I’ve handled as many wrong doings that have transpired here as possible but next everyone keeps telling me to hire another lawyer for the police violating my civil rights. There’s also video footage. I don’t want to sue everyone but I feel like if I don’t handle things it will just continue to happen and I have managed to become pretty strong and resilient over the years of abuse. It actually drove me to excel in careeer but screwed me on relationships. To sue the city I live in or not is the big question???
I get in the car and find out he was taking me to a mental hospital. I was so mad when I got there because I knew I needed to get cleared to get out. I just knew that I was only intoxicated and that the doctor would let me out ASAP. Well I used my one chance to convince the doc to let me out while I was intoxicated and enraged for being in a mental ER. It was like jail and I knew I was not crazy. I barely drank and drank that night to numb my pain. Little did I know the seriousness of what the police said about me. So I made the decision to be involuntarily there thinking I would get a mental health court date in 24 hours. Finally when my permanent doctor was assigned to me, he was a perfect match BTW and one of the best in America. The nurse who had to inject me into a coma because I tried to escape turned out to be my best ally. He would come tell me stories every night about other people trying to escape. I just thought it was a hospital and I was there voluntarily but being intoxicated didn’t help. Him and another guy put me into a temporary coma next to 50 other people that were in recliners. I actually needed that to calm down and sleep but I didn’t understand that it was going to prolong my stay because the doctors saw that as aggression. I learned a lot about being in the hospital. The two intake nurses including the male nurse made sure that I got transferred to their floor because they saw that I just had a bad night and wanted me to get out ASAP. At first I wasn’t taking the antidepressants but quickly learned that the Physchiatrist can tell if your own them or not because you more subdued when you see them everyday and they tell u that u getting out tomorrow which never happens and adds an element of crazy. The male nurse that had to subdue me put me on his floor and bunked me up with one of the scariest patients they had that suffered from skizo and became violent because someone ate his apple.
The female nurse I had brought me the information about the mental health court. Then I met with my doctor the next morning and he was like u got to sign in voluntarily because If u go to that court they aren’t even gonna let you speak and go off the police report and it would be a minimum of two months and they would make me a ward to the state? I was like what the hell? I knew I didn’t belong there but then my doc explained to me that he kinda has to go slow on letting me out too bec of the seriousness of what the police wrote about me even though they weren’t there to witness the alleged incident. I started to just relax and take the meds so I could get out. Still on PTSD meds today to be compliant but honestly I had a bad hangover night and I was amazed at the support I got from the staff and nurses in there.
Everyday the nurses would be like you still getting married? I said The sooner I get out the more likely for me to fix this. All in all it took 7 days for the doc to be able to justify letting me out. I would have been out in 24 hours and had 0 destruction to my life had the police not made up such a detailed story about the series of events that they did not witness or find evidence to confirm. I mean FML. Even the trained doc had to diagnose me with a serious depression to get me out and cover his but because what that one rookie guy who wanted to shoot me wrote about me and was all fictional. I mean even the neighbor witnesses just put that I said I was depressed and they invited me to go to Church and they were actual witnesses.
The biggest most costly misunderstanding of my life. But you know what. Life was a living hell for almost two years, ruined Credit, lost car, applied for food stamps but got denied because my ex wife already got them for the daughter that doesn’t live with her. It’s just been a tough go in general. I mean when I first got divorced my daughter was only two and I would have to take her in ladies restrooms out of cleanliness Because nobody had that about the Dad yet and that wasn’t long ago, I was awarded child support but don’t receive a dime and don’t care because I had always figured things out on my own anyways. I feel mostly horrible for my daughter whose lifestyle has been altered with all this drama. The judge has now ordered a physchiatrist at $250 per hour chosen by my daughter’s court appointed attorney whose decisions have shifted towards favoring my mom. The only reason I gave in on agreeing to have that is because my mom could filed something if I didn’t agree that was some sort of loophole that would have dropped my kid right in her lap.
A 10 year old girl is basically like a 12 year old these days and my daughter has been happy being poor and never wants to see her nana again. I mean mom wouldn’t even allow her to call me on the phone that I pay for and the poor girl was being brainwashed. Every time we go to court it’s like the judge says 30 minutes and my moms 4-5 attorneys and experts hog up the docket with slanderous things about me even before I had a kid like stuff that happened in my twenties and then the judges doesn’t have time to really listen to what is going on. I have told my attorney I’m just gonna go on local news Because this is a high powered legal kidnapping. My attorney response is well I will withdraw from your case if u do that. I mean CPS gave me a clean bill. The main problem with my daughter’s attorney now is that I stayed with a friend for a few months because this person I call mom spewed her venom in my relationship which caused issues. I absolutely do not blame her for dumping especially when there were flying monkeys taking pictures of her house and they even followed her to work thinking it was me. She stuck by me for almost two years like a champ.
We all thought as soon as CPS closes the case that we would be able to live a nice quiet life. Well now after two years in hell everything has started clicking now that I’m back under my own roof. I left all furniture with ex and told her I was starting over without know where I would get the money to buy new stuff. I got a small settlement for the employment issue because I had no desire to take it to trial and once again I would talk to attorneys about my slam dunk case, and they weren’t interested in paying attention to the Rock Solid evidence I had. They just wanted $4,000 up front and didn’t even think I would get anything so I decided to handle it on my own and file my own complaints because I had no more money for another attorney I have learned the hard way that the hallmark of a good attorney is one you explain to them once or send to them once and they remember everything you told them in court. Like my mom even gets away with perjury where I have factual data to discount her lies. She has spent her whole life calling me a con, and nothing but a liar because sometimes with a serious narcissist with physcopathy it’s just easier to tell them what they want so u don’t get abused. But overall, I’m probably one of the most honest people and far from a con you can meet. You have to have Character in my career and always be ethical but she would call me that envious of my job and that I made more money than her with less schooling. My college days were rough because my mom would constantly be like I’m not gonna pay for your school so I would take that seriously and just start working full time.
I guess with me working so young that is the benefit Because I’m now a seasoned vet in business. Through all this adversity and with her interference, a competitor jumped all over me and I will be back to normal as far as my career. I’ve been making the salary I made 20 years ago doing a more entry level job which has served its purpose. I’ve never been one to give up on jobs. I felt like when I was living with my fiancée she kept doubling her salary and would put pressure to where I would just self destruct when I would have a good job interview. Plus most people can smell desperation. On top of that she started like competing applying for same jobs I already had interviews for which really brought out an ugly side of me and I would say that was a pivot point for the toxicity that started spewing. I felt so small and she felt so in charge because she was paying all the bills on her own for the first time in her life. Even though I had a good 20 years experience on her she started getting really competitive with me and when I would let her know that it reminded me of how my mother would act, she would minimize me and say don’t be such a victim. What she failed to understand is I was still healing and she was setting me back.
When she abruptly said she was done and kicked my daughter and I to the streets knowing that I had hardly any money and had ruined my credit so couldn’t rent anything, I was so hurt, she went silent and refused to give me closure or even tell me that what we had was real. She had done me just as my mom had and discarded me. I do take responsibility though because I think with all the toxic shit we were dealing with she was just over it. I used to hide my issues with my mom from her but she insisted that she was strong enough to help me get in a better space. Looking back the over sharing of court custody evidence had changed her into what reminded me of my mom. I knew certain things I should’ve kept to myself but she had me convinced that we were gonna work through it all together and I would actually get in trouble by her in passive aggressive ways with silence if I got caught withholding something from my personal stuff from her. It sad what me and my narcissist mother ruined. She was the best mentally and physically until our bullshit just broke her. I was so shocked that I lost that. I am a very loyal companion and outside of my ex, that I was married to for 12 years, I never would settle down because I knew what I was looking for and it took me 5 years of bad dates and terribly matched relationships to find her. I know though too that she is gonna be hard pressed to find a stronger man like me that can totally rebuild his life after blowing it up in less than two years. There were plenty of times I just wanted to give up but I didn’t for what I was told was my wife and new family. Patience I suppose is a virtue and I haven’t come up with the strength to start dating again. It might be years.
It’s just sad that I fully recovered but took longer than she or me wanted and the only thing I really lost is her who was a unicorn when she loved me. I’ll never forgive myself for letting mine and my moms venom ruin my family future.
But, I have to move forward and adjust to being alone again and I think I’m getting there. Moving forward after no contact is the only direction to go. Don’t let bs bog you down. I always knew that I was gonna get back to the person that she fell for and respected. It just took a little longer. So I have decided even if that opportunity comes back around as there is a little hoovering with her, I’m gonna politely decline because I no longer want to live in the past and I feel that if she was my person she would have stuck it out 6 extra months. Life will be good and I finally feel like I’m recovering and my moms lawsuit no longer even gets under my skin. I hope this story helps some of you. I’m of the opinion that my mom is much more extreme like a Narc with physcopathic tendencies but she will never be diagnosed. I’m sure what I’ve written will help someone some day because I had searched the internet and spoken to specialist and nobody could give me examples or really relate to this mother son relationship.
She always used to spank me ground me, I tried to run away as a kid, and she would even kick me out of our nice suburban house as a kid and let me walk to the nearest pay phone to call my dad. Then she would real me back in with like stiff I wanted. Looking back what I was really doing was standing up to her at a young age because her behavior was unacceptable so it would make me rebel worst. I ended up going to a prestigious college and finishing what my mom took away from me over and aver at nights when I was 30. She wouldn’t even go to my graduation or acknowledge that I went there and paid for it on my own Because I reckon she was envious that it was like Ivy League compared to her school. I wasted so many years thinking my relationship with her was normal.
The best thing to do with a Narc like her is no contact. My life has been very stressful but I do t think I would’ve made it trying to fix everything and being gaslighted by her everyday. I’ve learned that friends can be family because she also turned my whole family against me. I don’t understand why even my own dad who used to be married to her doesn’t have a spine enough to say “you’ve done enough to our only son” everyone in my family is owned some way by her except me. I have always been a good man of good character and have always been brave enough to take my beating or whatever to stand my ground. It does get better with no contact and I think I’m even stronger now than I was before and I’m much more emotionally healthy. So eventually I plan on finding my last wife and being the best me I’ve ever been.
Just because this happened to you and you are discovering it, I would recommend keeping dialogue with people that don’t have this issue to a minimum to avoid being labeled as a victim. You tell someone how you feel and you teach them how to do emotional blackmail on you. Only share with people your sure about. Always remember after healing process and discovery of the disorder that you must come out of that space of being a victim otherwise your forward progress will be stuck. Always keep moving forward and trying 120% even when people kick u while your down and I promise life will get better but I hones hope nobody has to do this. It is especially dangerous standing up for yourself with wealthy narcs but it’s also rewarding that u are your own person and I don’t give a shit that I’ve been written out of the will. I just wanted a normal mom my whole life not money and she never cared to listen.
I only told my roommate and asked he not tell my mom so I can figure this out on my own. My gut was telling me that something was going on and she was plotting for this moment to try and take my kid. Well my so called friend and roommate told my mom, told me he emailed my work, after 7 months and an Investigation I found out he didn’t, and even supposedly drafted and printed a copy of the email when he picked me up driving my truck that he decided to clean to his liking and wearing my best clothes.
I was in there 7 days. Also immediately upon turning on my phone I received a text from boss as if they knew I was being released that moment. My mom was my emergency contact because I was single. Boss says we been concerned and I send letter from hospital and then I get referred to HR and they asked if I received a Letter. I told them no I’m on way from hospital.
I get home to a termination letter. I was adjusting to meds and under the impression that roomie had sent the email he assured me he sent. Once home, my ex had been there watching kid and daughter came home saying CPS came to visit her at school. Then minutes later, a lady with a badge was at my door and threatened to take my kid immediately if I didn’t find someone to supervise me. My fiancée had broken up with me the day before getting out, my so called friend all the sudden had money and was spending time at moms which was off and if CPS needed to be called the police would have done that automatically but I didn’t have my kid. I didn’t trust anyone. I finally told my mom what happened and she played like no big deal there’s plenty of jobs and get better. Well come to find out she filed a false police report the day before I got out saying I was gonna get another and do something crazy which prompted the Police to call CPS. I told the lady that she could go to moms for a month for summer while she worked through her investigation. So in the moment the roomie and childhood friend who I trusted my whole life became my supervisor. I noticed how he wasn’t rattled by this as if he had expected. He quickly started staying with my mom which was weird and she essentially made him me. However, he’s not the type that responds to people like that well. Much more passive. So I automatically assumed that he’s the one that called them. By Christmas he literally escaped from her clutches and hat sent me an email recanting his written testimony and was living in a Van in Wal Mart Parking lot living off peanut butter. The empath in me kicked in and I started to go visit him in the parking lot. One day we were out and fiancée said let’s go see him and record him. We recorded all the stuff he told us that contradicted everything. He tried to continue to play me by not telling me important details he knew. He would say it just makes his muscles tense to talk about it but then ask me to buy him a burger. Well come to find out it was him and her that made sure family services came out according to new stuff discovered. I mean how much can u mess with a persons brain. I would gladly take a punch in the face any day over emotional blackmail. I guess since he felt so noble to do that to me I felt it was only the proper thing to do to report him for some crimes he made me aware of. When she got that audio where he’s says that she offered him like $200k to do this to me she sent it to him and he confronted me about it and was acting squirrelly as if he was still trying to play both sides. I explained to him that I just took out an insurance policy on him so he can’t just run back for the money. You can tell he was devastated. She was even paying his child support for him to keep him out of clink and offered to pay $10k to fix his rotten teeth and bought me suits. Anyways I blocked him and will no longer talk to him again. No contact with the flying monkey!!!
Mom was Banking on CPS placing her with her but they didn’t. When I got kid back she told me that mom said I didn’t love her, tried to enroll her in school, and offered to buy anything. And said she should have aborted me. The investigation was closed with no findings, I’m now unemployed and mom says she didn’t talk to my employer. We then agreed to CPS to do services and they believed my daughter and I about mom and gave me counseling for all the abuse she had done to me and told me to keep my kid away from her.
As the dust started to settle, I started waiting tables, then got a job but got fired because someone called up there and said I was a child abuser. I then filed unemployment who the referred me to DOL for Possible FMLA issue.
Almost a year goes buy, my fiancée and I are now living in her house because I could no longer afford mine and rented it out. I had my car reposssesed and mom even offered me $20k for kid in writing for which I said nope.
She became increasingly angry and then decided to sue me for custody all while I had just started working an entry level job. She makes up all sorts of hearsay lies, pays my old roomie to write a affidavit that was false and now going on year two of a suit. My fiancée had enough after the drama and toxicity it brought into our relationship and I found myself without anywhere to go until a friend offered to rent a room.
Judge has not given her any visitation but she has 4 attorneys racking up my 1. She is now going to trial. All her stuff is slander, untrue, and not factual. I don’t understand why it hasn’t been thrown out. I have factual evidence to discredit her lies. I even went to police report to hold her acccountable for cams she put in my house but police said no crime and would even let me show them the devices because it was my mom.
My roomie took my daughter’s dog that I paid $3k for on her 8th bday to moms and she says it hers under oath even though I have receipts. She tells people im dead and even contemplated have a funeral on Facebook for me!!!
She told me I should have just off myself. All these years she had been attempting to build a case on me to take my kid. Per now former employer she spoke with them and I have in writing. I cannot believe that everyone seems to believe her side of this diabolical story. My kid and I have been almost two years no contact. I even told the police she threatened to kill me and they were like that might very well happen.
Restraining order denied. This is truly one of the most diabolical nRc stories out theirs.have much more but too long already
submitted by Electronic_Stomach88 to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]

2020.09.21 16:52 IdolA21Sepl Real mom hidden cam

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2020.09.15 21:43 glitterandrum Real mom hidden cam

I don't know if this has been done already, but I lost a few brain cells watching so I don't want that to go to waste.
The video starts with an American talk show discussing Nuggets death and speculating on why Redacted hasn't been charged with filing a false report and how shes wasted everyone's time with this terrible PR stunt.
Then they discuss the police searching the house after Nugget's death went viral. The police showed up while they were in South Carolina, so David had them wait almost ninety minutes to travel back to the house with a friend. When he showed up, he stood in the kitchen and refused to leave and get out of the officers way. He also explains how he plays dumb about Nugget, insisting he doesn't know what they're talking about. He also mentions Jax and how he was given to a friend for killing their farm animals.
Redacted pulls up ring cam footage of the house (conveniently muted) to show more than six officers ( and one outside I think) standing in the house while others search the other rooms. David records the police on his phone as he becomes aggressive i.e. refusing to move out of their way, getting in their faces and when a cop lifts his hand to create some space, he repeatedly says 'did you just touch me?' and zooms in on their name tags.
They complain that the police then told news outlets about how filthy their house and cut to their footage to show the opposite and how the police are liars. Cut back to Davids phone footage and he's teasing the police about hidden cameras in his house that the police won't even recognize. He then approaches the only female officer in the room and asks why she isn't wearing a badge, asks for her name and then says shes required by law to tell him because she's in his house. She disagrees, he argues and says if he won't tell him she can leave because shes trespassing and he'll find out who she is anyway.
CPS is in the driveway and being 'really rude'. David refuses to sign their papers. They name the social worker and claims she said she now had custody of his kids so he needed to sign the papers. David insists to the camera he has not been told why the kids were taken and questions their methods. He says he nearly flipped his lid but kept as calm and cool as he could. He says she should have lost her job and she wont be sh*t when he's done with her, she needs to take her job more seriously but she should be in jail because she took his kids for no reason.
JFC there are ten more minutes left.
Redacted comes on to complain about the detective saying their house is dirty. Shes on a I'm a good mom rant and now shes anti-vax. Fake allegations... CPS wanted to profit and exploit them .
Cut to the reporters again.. one of which calls them psychos and wonders why these pieces of trash are not in jail.
Redacted said she stayed at her friends in the day for three days post nugget but spent nights on the land. Detective asked Jenelle if the situation is real because he's busy helping rape victims and can't waste his time (really f*cking weird detail). She tells him yes it did, but ask David about it. The same detective and the one that was in her house (guessing David didn't get all their names after all) interrogated her demanding a straight answer. She refuses and gives the same response. A story is leaked that Redacted admitted it was a hoax.
Oh the talk so mentioned above was E News. Redacted looses her sh*t for reporting on it being a hoax and complains they didn't call her to talk to her and says 'has anyone ever asked me what happened? ' after just saying the cops interrogated her. She then says she will never talk to the cops again without a lawyer. She then advises us of the same.
Cue long ass credits saying Jenelle Eason.. Jenelle Eason.. Jenelle Eason.
That was actually painful. Ya welcome.
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2020.09.07 16:04 chubbylilchicken I taught my online friend how to remove the razors from pencil sharpeners and she killed herself 5 months later.

trigger warning •suicide •self harm •sexual abuse •drugs •profanity •child abuse I dont use reddit that often but this is something I've kept to myself for the past 3 years and havent told anyone I know. It happened when I was 13 and It's been eating away at me for such a long time that I felt like I needed to say something and know that at least someone's heard it so I feel less like shit im 16 now and cant take holding it in much longer I'm sorry if my grammar and spelling is bad I'm writing this out because its suicide awareness month and cant handle the pressure of holding it in anymore so heres a backstory: this all took place when I was in 7th grade and met a girl on twitter who followed my twenty one pilots fan page. At the time I was at my emo prime and was very socially awkward in real life so I had a difficult time making friends. I had been bullied all of my life at that point and in middle school things got even worse for me. I live in a very ghetto area and alot of people saw me as an easy target because I didnt camouflage with everyone else, I had the teased dyed scene hair and wore bracelets up my forearms. Where I lived if you didnt fit the mold of what everyone should be like you were relentlessly bullied by everyone for every reason they can find. So things like Twitter Tumblr and KIK were some of the only ways I made friends with people but spending alot of time on the internet really messed with my mental health and physical wellbeing. My parents never cared to check what I was doing on the internet so I met lots of people who influenced me in a very negative way, and taught me things about self harm suicide and eating disorders to the point where I felt so tempted to try it and see if it made me feel as good and relaxed as the people online said it would. I had seen posts about people who self harmed and cut themselves so I tried to do the same thing but didnt know how to get access to razors so I did what any 13 year old would do and I looked it up on youtube. Most of the videos I saw at the time were people saying "dont cut you matter." Or "suicide and self harm isnt the answer." Things to that extent if you get the point, I had finally stumbled upon a video that showed me how to take the razor out and I eventually did it. I had a razor blade in my hand. At that moment I was terrified but I took the blade to my skin and cut myself. I started bleeding but at that moment I started something that to this day I can barely stop.
There was this girl who ran another twenty one pilots account I was a fan of because she posted funny memes of the band and overall had a great page, we became mutuals and followed each other for about a month. She sent me a message complementing me on the layout of my account and it ment so much because I rarely received any messages on twitter at the time. It started out as us liking each other's tweets and sending casual messages back and forth untill she asked me if I had Skype. We had been interacting with one another for around 2 months at this point and I was glad to have another online friend. I gave her my Skype and her and I texted through there for about a week untill I asked if we can call each other and she said yes but she didnt want to turn her camera on. Looking back at it now I was really dumb to be willing to call someone I didnt know was actually 13 too for all I know it could've been a 30 year old guy preying on minors. She called and I answered and it was the voice of a girl and at first it was awkward silence untill I heard her say "Hi how are you? " I responded with "good you..?" And somehow that led us into having a 2 hour conversation about twenty one pilots, being emo, other social media apps, video games, and school. We had so much fun talking to each other to the point where we texted every single day all the time, she started opening up to me about her issues at home and her home life and I was happy she felt comfortable talking to me but I was also terrified because I had never had someone be that open with me before. She had told me how her dad sexually abused her when she was 9 and how she lived with a foster family because her mom died of a drug overdose a few months after her dad got locked up for assaulting her. I didnt know what to tell her other than sympathize with her because I felt bad for not being able to help her. After a few weeks of skype calling and turning on face cams I ended up telling her about how I was being bullied at school and how my parents were abusing and neglecting me at home, I also went on to tell her about how I was being forced into a religion and was being sexually abused every Saturday evening by the pastors son, she showed me so much empathy and made me feel so loved and cared for which was a new feeling to me because I had never genuinely felt compassion before. I loved and cared about this girl so much because she was there for me and I was there for her.
This went on for 3 months untill I noticed things change. At this point I was cutting myself every day either on my thighs or wrists and I had told no one about it other than my online friend, she told me not to do that anymore and that she was worried for my safety because she didnt want me to by accident go to deep and kill myself. I apologized and told her I'll try to stop and she smiled and said "Okay as long as you're trying I'm happy." Even though I only saw her face through a screen the image of her smiling will forever be engraved in my mind and haunt me till I die. A few minutes more into the call and she asked "Hey how do you get razors anyways?" And me being the stupidest fucking kid told her "I just unscrew the screw on the plastic pencil sharpeners and use the blade." Looking back at it I wish I could've never said anything because maybe she would still be alive today. I live with the guilt that my one sentence I told her is the reason she killed herself and will never get to live her life to its fullest potential. From that moment on I felt the energy shift when we had our daily conversations because daily eventually turned into once a week. I texted every day all the time to check in on her and her responses turned short and it lasted like this for about 4 months untill the month leading up to her suicide.
The last month I spent talking with her she began texting me every day again, her responses became longer, our calls lasted for hours, and she even said to me one day "hopefully we can meet soon." I told her that that's a great idea and I'd love to do that. At this point it was the beginning of summertime and we had nothing to do so we spent it watching movies together over skype texting and even going as far as taking naps together on skype (basic 13 year old things) I had so much fun when talking with her and she made me feel so happy and I thought i was doing the same. I listened to her rant for hours on end about herself and reassured her all the time. I sent her messages asking how she was doing and if she was okay and her response was always "I'm good ;)" followed by calling me a smol bean. But what I didnt know was that she began self harming just like I did and was very suicidal at the time.
The very last time we spoke to each other will be something I'll never forget. She called me the day before she committed suicide crying telling me that she hated her foster family because they kept treating her like shit saying things like "they're using me for a check. They dont treat me like one of their own kids." The most heartbreaking thing she told me was "you're the only one who cares about me and it means the world." Her voice cracked when she said world and I'll never be able to forget it. We spoke for the rest of the day untill it was time for me to go to sleep so when I told her I had to go her last words to me were "thank you so much for always being there for me, you've been there for me more than anyone else has. Thank you smol bean." And I heard the skype call drop. Then it was on a Saturday night, I was in church and my phone was in my moms bag and I heard it vibrating like crazy so I tried to reach for it and my mom slapped my hand and told me to pay attention to the message. I begged her to let me look at my phone and she just looked at me and told me god would be disappointed in me so I just sat still. The pastor had just started preaching so I know that I had about 2 hours left untill I could check my phone. Church finally finished and my mom refused to give me my phone untill we got home because I was "misbehaving" and had to learn patience. We eventually got home and I yanked my phone out of my moms hand and ran to my bedroom to see what my online friend had sent me and when I unlocked my phone I felt my stomach drop to the fucking floor. I had 33 missed calls and so many messages of her begging me to respond saying that she wanted to die that no one loves her and that her life ment nothing to anyone. I went through all the messages and there was a really long one and it was the last message I ever received from her and it was basically her goodbye letter. She had admitted to being very suicidal and was cutting herself almost every day at the time she wrote her letter saying things like "I'm sorry I never told you I just didnt want you to be disappointed in me." Reading the message I just fell to the fucking floor because I felt like it was my fault she had so much going on with her and I could barely even notice anything wrong with her. I started sobbing and sobbed for days on end and still sob while thinking about it to this day. I read that entire text and it broke me. I called her so many times and no one answered the phone so I kept calling and calling and calling and calling and I got no answer so I spammed her Twitter and I still got no response. Then I saw the last thing she had ever posted on her account was a picture of her holding a razor from a pencil sharpener and smiling into the camera with text saying "stay alive stay alive for me" a twenty one pilots reference to the song truce. I felt my heart break into a million pieces at that very moment so I spent hours calling and got no response from her. I thought at least her foster family would find her and see the missed calls but I got no calls back from anyone.
For a long time after that I had told myself that she was okay and that shes just in the psychiatric hospital getting help and that she'd text me or call me back saying she was okay. I called her once a day for months untill her twitter disappeared into thin air I couldn't find her account anywhere and it broke me because I sent the majority of my texts through there so I kept calling the skype and sending messages on it untill I realized I could Google her name and see if I could find absolutely any form of information and that's when reality really rocked my world because I looked up her first and last name and after looking I found an obituary. She passed away that Saturday night and I couldnt take it, it felt and still feels like my fault all because I told her to unscrew the screw on a fucking pencil sharpener. I spent days hiding away in my room not talking to anyone cutting myself multiple times a day untill summer ended and I had to go back to school where I was bullied and eventually raped by my ex boyfriend. Things got worse for me and I eventually tried to commit suicide not only to leave the toxic relationship I was in but also because of the guilt I felt from the situation. I was there for 2 months and didnt tell anyone because I thought they'd blame me or send me to jail so I kept it hidden from everyone even my friends I had in real life and my family. I havent spoken about this publicly or at all but I felt like I needed to be heard because it just started to build up again. Now that I'm 16 I've taken time to learn about suicide and how badly it affects people but even knowing what I know and being what I've been through it's still a reoccurring issue I have but I try my hardest to stay strong not only for myself but I try to live a life that one of my closest friends couldnt get to live and that really keeps me going even though it makes me feel so guilty.
I have so much trauma from that situation that it affects all of the relationships I have with people because I constantly check up on them to make sure they're alive and okay. I constantly call my friends that I've made just to hear their voice and have reassurance they didnt kill themselves even though some of my friends have never considered suicide. My current friends ask me why I constantly call them or text them at random times and I just cant bring myself to tell then my situation and my reasonings behind why I do it. It still eats me appart inside to this day but I try my hardest to get better not only mentally but emotionally as well. Last year before the pandemic I went on a suicide prevention walk held a few cities away from me and i put her last words I had heard her say on a shirt with the twenty one pilots Logo on it in her memory and while walking I listen to truce and just broke down. I try so fucking hard and I hate feeling like this is my fault all because I told her to unscrew a screw to a pencil sharpener. I try my best to stay self harm free and it's been a month now and I feel like I'm going somewhere with myself and I feel good things to come even though I feel extremely guilty. That's really the end of what I have to get off of my chest, I dont know how to end this so I leave you with this, if you made it this far know that even if a person seems completely normal and happy please still check up on them. If somone is showing signs of abuse please check up on them because it might just save their lives. Thank you for reading and allowing to share my story for the very first time.
Edit: I'm not religious anymore I was forced into christianity.
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