Happy anniversary, <NAME>! In the dawn of man, before recorded history, lived a race of beings known only as the Netherwracks. These lithe, hairless, blue skinned beings stood over seven feet tall and commanded dominion over the earth, but in their black hearts beat a terrifying ambition. They were not content with this world or lording over the early proto-humans that were our ancestors. They thirsted for more. Their greed and hubris led them to strike a pact with powers from outside comprehension, binding and twisting their souls into ruined, eternal husks. They passed away from this earth, but not before leaving psychic echoes behind. Markers of their malignant presence. To this day we know these locations as blighted places where men fear to tread.
Their screaming, tortured souls have once more descended from the dark night sky to our world. While you may be able to patch servers, you cannot patch the gaping wounds in reality their arrival presages. Their eyes leak a ruddy liquid as they survey all we have built, and in their hearts they know envy, for they abandoned a once great legacy to serve as simple heralds for the ruinous powers they swore fealty to so long ago.
Already they build a great onyx temple in a cavern deep beneath the earth, and sing a song that will summon their dark gods to bring ruin to our world. Perhaps they hope to rule over the blasted remnants, and whatever warped mutations are left in the wake of the oblivion they would unleash. We must join them, <NAME>. It is the only way. Only in supplication to these same otherworldly terrors might we find salvation. It may be possible to turn their attention from our home, but in so doing we will be truly lost. What price are you willing to pay to turn back the coming storm?
<NAME>, I am aware that your anniversary actually occurred back in late December. You may wonder why you were never wished a happy anniversary over email. Fortunately, the explanation is simple! You are being erased from the universe by terrible creatures that feed on human existence. Yes, these shadow monsters from the netherworld are feeding on you even now, as you read this. We call them Abyssals! You are gradually being erased from our world, and no one will remember you were ever here by the time they have finished their terrible, dark work. Surely you have already noticed when you go into a room and forget why you entered. That is them feeding, slowly erasing even your own memories of yourself. Déjà vu is merely your mind trying to reassert itself against their incessant siphoning of your very being, to recapture experiences the Abyssals are attempting to steal. Yes, the process is unstoppable and slow, much like a canyon being eroded by a river. Eventually you will be little more than a ghost, existing physically, but always at the fringes of everyone’s perception, capable of only routine tasks ingrained in muscle memory. Soon even that will fade away, and you will disappear into the background noise of the universe. The Abyssals will move on to a new host, grown fat on the mass of your memories and signs of your ever being. So happy anniversary, again! Try to enjoy it with the horrible new knowledge you have attained.
This also goes for <NAME> and <NAME>. Happy anniversaries, and sorry about the whole erosion of your very being. You are not quite as far along in the process as <NAME> is, as your anniversaries were more recent. The abyss is staring into you all, and it hungers.
The Negative Zone is a terrifying dimension of otherworldly creatures from the darkest depths of human nightmares. Beasts that are little more than ravening maws ringed in rows of lamprey fangs that exist only to seek out and consume human flesh. In a mad quest to unlock a world of limitless energy, we may have accidentally torn a hole to this dimension, and said creatures may be presently spilling forward into our world at a rate that some are describing as “apocalyptic”. I attempted to reach the lead scientist for comment, but upon knocking on his door I was answered with a single gunshot.
It appears the more our worlds interact, the larger the rend grows. In time, massive leviathans will spill out, wetly, on to our earth. Their blind eyes will stare upward at our sun as their scent glands hunt out all living creatures to shovel into the bottomless furnace of their mouths. Propelled on thousands on legs that are little more than sharpened bone spikes, we can expect to be impaled dozens of times before the torturous chewing commences.
In an effort to avoid all of that, we need someone to close the fissure. Now, unfortunately doing so will require the detonation of a device we are calling the Omega Orb. Also, more unfortunately it needs to be detonated in the Negative Zone. That is where you come in. You will accompany the Omega Orb to the Negative Zone and fire the device. That should close the fissure, trapping you there with all the alien horrors that hunger to crack your bones and suck on the sweet, sweet marrow within. Assuming, of course, the Omega Orb does not kill you outright or mutate you horribly, turning you into some kind of hideous Negative Zone Overlord capable only of feeling pain and bent on avenging yourself upon those who trapped you in a terrible realm of ceaseless torment and suffering.
We will be along shortly for your reassignment.
P.S. Apologies for the delay, I was out of the office opening a portal to the Negative Zone.
The first ever Gilbert Half Marathon was held Saturday, November 22nd, 2014. I decided a few months back that I would run it, despite it being two weeks after Ragnar Trail and the weekend after a trip to Disneyland with my children. I did this because I am an idiot and I apparently cannot read a calendar.
My training program for Ragnar mostly consisted of running when I felt like it and trusting that I am great and would not run into too many issues out on the trail. This was a terrible idea on many different levels, most notably that running on flat roads does not do much to prepare you for running up the side of a mountain, let alone several mountains. Those things are made of dirt and sharp rocks and cacti that yearn for the taste of sweet human blood. They offer very uneven footing and reward arrogance with bloodshed and pain.
By looking at this photo, one could mistakenly believe I enjoy running. I sort of do at this point, which is as sick as it sounds.
I survived that experience, then jaunted off to jolly old Disneyland, which is a story for a different occasion. I will simply say that under no circumstances should you take a three year old there and expect to have anything other than a hellacious time. Basically, Ragnar and Disney were opportunities for me to be punished for my own hubris.
Welcome to hell, assholes!
On to the Gilbert Half Marathon! I planned for this race by not running much since Ragnar. I got back from Disney on Sunday evening and realized I had a week until the race. It was taper time!
Hahahahahaha! I’m just kidding. I did a Tempo run on Tuesday, a speed workout at track on Wednesday, and then 5 fast miles on Thursday at the Road Runner Sports Adventure Run. I took Friday to recover. Hubris FTW! Somewhere along the way I managed to pick up a head cold.
Race day was actually very pleasant. 42ish degrees at the start, but I dressed with some arm warmers and gloves and felt pretty ok. The gun time was set for 7:30AM , which felt luxurious. I left the house at 6:30 thinking I would arrive in plenty of time, as I needed to travel a mere 5 miles. Only the course was run in a circle, and every street I tried to take to the parking area was already closed off. I ended up doing a complete loop around until I found the one ingress point, arriving at the parking area 20 minutes before the race started. The starting line was about 3/4 of a mile away, which meant by the time I got there the line for the bathroom was insane. Those two cups of coffee in the morning were starting to look like a mistake.
I met up with my running group, which was great. I had a couple minutes to talk before it was time to line up. The race director let us know they would start us in waves, with each pace group starting 30 seconds after the previous. Everyone understood the rules and was eager to follow them. No, I’m just kidding. The second they started the first group everyone surged forward and all hope of a graduated start flew out the window. The mayor of Gilbert was there to give us a brief talk before all civility and propriety flew out the window, which was nice.
It was still cold at this point, so I look about as unhappy as I was
We started out running through downtown Gilbert, so I got to see a lot of familiar sights. There were a surprising number of people out there to cheer us on. From there we continued down to the power line trail, which took us through Freestone park, continued along the power lines, and dumped us out on Greenfield road. That winded us over to the canals, through Crossroads park (the start of the 10k), and meeting up with Williams Field Road. We ran along there back to Gilbert Road, then north on Gilbert until we reached the Civic Center. It was a fun, fast course. It was also flat, unlike Ragnar which my legs were thankful for.
You can’t beat me, car! Oh wait, yes you can. Easily. My bad.
I had done nothing in the way of training for the race. Within the first couple of miles I had decided to ignore my GPS watch and just run based on how I felt. That turned out to be a wise decision. I did better than my goal time, which was decidedly unambitious. I suspect had I obsessed over the GPS I would have been much closer to that time and had a more unpleasant experience. I did need to use the restroom pretty much the entire time, but there were no real opportunities to do so.
Mm, mm! That is some fine looking back sweat!
All told, I ran a good race and had fun. I would definitely do it again next year. Just, you know, I would try to train for it better. Or at all, really. I would also try to avoid stacking my calendar so deep. With Thanksgiving coming up I have not had much of a break lately.
Scorpion. You tried to run. Surely you know this was folly. You were dead the moment I saw you. You persist in this lunacy. So many have died needlessly. You could come bearing an armistice in your pincers or impaled on the barb of your tail and it would matter not. These are not your lands. They shall never be your lands. I am the stone around which your tide breaks. I am immovable. Continue to smash yourself against my resolve if you will, but expect not other outcome than death by whatever numbers you are foolish enough to bring. Before you set a single chitinous leg on my property, dig yourself a grave. You will soon be occupying it.
Happy anniversaries, <NAME> and <NAME>! Congratulations on your exemplary service to <COMPANY>. Many years ago I found myself among the black stalls of an occult bazaar in Cairo. As I walked amidst curiosities and relics of unknown and blood stained origins, I was confronted by an eyeless man. He stared up at me with those sockets, vacant like the void between the stars, and spoke in a voice inhuman and vile. Chills ran down my spine at the sound of it, and the edges of my vision went dim. My very sanity began to fray as the blasphemous tongue of his long dead masters spilled from his cracked lips. Having finished the incantation, he told me of signs and portents so dire that I shudder now to recall. He spoke of interminable horror and the brackish, lightless depths of the sea. Of one and seven. Seven deadly sins and seven ancient horrors, resplendent in cruelty and malice. He named them Hastur, Ithaqua, Mordiggian, Nug and Yeb (the twin horrors), T’golonac, and One great ancient beast to rule over them all. Dread Cthulhu. Cthulhu who lies in the sunken city of R’yleh. Cthulhu who slumbers, dead and dreaming beneath the sea. Cthulhu who hungers. Cthulhu the great and terrible. He will rise from the ocean at the confluence of one and seven, his gaping maw opening to consume all that lies before him. Cthulhu who shall be our ruin. Who even now stirs in his watery sepulcher off the island of St. Croix. He shall bring ruin to us all. At the joining of one and seven we were undone. You have unraveled the loom of fate. Look on your works as they are cast down. The darkness descends, vast and terrifying.
Happy anniversary, <NAME>. 2 years is quite an accomplishment. Almost as accomplished as the 13.8 billion years the Neverborn have lain dormant in our universe, their insatiable hunger growing, stirring them ever closer to wakefulness. At times they have reached out in their sleep, and where their alien presence has touched our reality, tragedy has unfolded. Roanoke. Easter Island. The mass extinction of the dinosaurs. These were the results of the stygian depths of their consciousness alighting upon our world.
They hunger, <NAME>. They hunger for life. And only through constant sacrifice can we keep them dreaming of blood and thunder and conquest and a brackish wave that sweeps the universe and scours worlds to cold orbs of bare stone. They are the rising tide and no price is too steep to defend ourselves against them. Your two years makes you an ideal candidate for this purpose. It is your duty. Know that you purchase everyone another day of living in unbridled, abject terror of the horrors that dwell outside of our comprehension, at the edges of sanity. Another day to attempt to fathom the interminable, lightless void that is the ravenous maw of these beasts. Another day of despair.
Had two anniversaries today, sent a couple hours apart.
Happy 10th Anniversary, <NAME>. 10 years spent in this rotten city. The rain comes down in greasy streaks, pooling oil in the streets where blood flows like cheap champagne. The just and the unjust alike drown in the fetid, steaming gutters. There is no place for innocence in a town like this. Everything is gilded and neon but when you scratch the surface it’s all rotten underneath. I keep hoping the rains won’t stop. That they’ll wipe this place clean and let us start all over again, but a little dirty water won’t wash away these stains. Won’t clean the blood off my hands. Everything is all corruption and lies and decay. Hard times. Seedy people. Sometimes a man has to stand up. Sometimes he has to say “No more.” Sometimes that means dying for a cause. Sometimes it means killing for one. I guess that’s why they call this place Sin City. No one walks these streets untouched.
Happy 10th Anniversary, <NAME>. 10 years of booze and bullets and anti-psychotics. They keep telling me to slow down or I’m gonna wind up off the rails. Become the killer they always warned me I was. There ain’t no place in the world for fellas like us. Not no more. These hands were made to hurt things. They don’t do soft and gentle. But there are people out there that need protecting. People who can’t stand up to the politicians and the media and the professional cynics drowning us all in waves of their misery. Maybe that’s what I gotta do. Maybe I’m the instrument of vengeance in a world that don’t care about them no more. It’s about sending a message. I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I gotta be there for them, to do all they things they can’t do for themselves. This is where the line gets drawn. This is the hard goodbye.
Tonight’s kill count: 2. I thought the rains might drive more of you from your holes. These were the smallest of your ilk to date. Is this all? Children? You would send children against a butcher? Did you expect sympathy? That I might stay my hand? I am insulted. I thought my intentions were clear. My hatred writ large. I will drink the blood of your women. Your children. Your grandchildren. Their grandchildren. My thirst for vengeance cannot be slaked. I will never be sated, and consequently you shall never know peace. I will bring you ruin. You shall have a kingdom of hot ashes. Would you like a crown, your majesty? I have fashioned one from your DEAD.
Congratulations on your recent anniversary, <NAME>. You have been an important part of our success as an organization. Because your name is close enough to Alex Murphy for our purposes, we are excited to announce that we are turning you into a cybernetic law enforcement officer that we are tentatively calling CyberPoliceBotGuy, because the Robocop people are being total fascists about us using that name. Something about diluting the brand and trademarks and Robocop not even being real so we will probably just end up killing whoever we try turning into Robocop and we should really reconsider and just… whatever. I wasn’t really listening. Since Robocop is mostly machine we are dispatching “Flensing Specialists” to your location to strip away your soft and unnecessary flesh so that we can fit you into your new titanium shell. Mostly the useless bits like arms and legs and somewhere around 40% of your torso. You will know them by their hideous shrieking and because we have replaced all of their fingers with knives and saws of various sizes. They are half blind and all insane, and they scream in a language lost to humanity, but I am told it intones to long forgotten horrors that dwell deep beneath the earth that stir ever more wakefully each time their blasphemous names are spoken. One day they shall crack the shell of this planet asunder and spill forth in a tide of terror and death which will wash this world clean of the last humans. The sun will burn red and great pyres will dot the land. All of our works will be torn down. All this and more will come to pass in time. It has been written. It is known. Time is like a donut, it circles around an interminable empty void. But that isn’t important right now. You are going to be Roboc… I mean CyberPoliceBotGuy. Congratulations.
Also, “Bon Voyage” to <NAME>, which I assume is French for “Why are you abandoning me?” This is why I have trust issues. I hope you are successful in your new ventures, and at no point do you need to worry about us dispatching CyberPoliceBotGuy to track you down and bring you in. The idea had not even occurred to me, honestly. The two concepts are completely unrelated. Like, on a spectrum CyberPoliceBotGuy is on one end and you leaving is on the other.
