As darkened clouds loomed overhead, lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the dark forest with a brilliant burst of light. The crackling energy split the heavens, casting jagged veins of illumination across the landscape. The resounding BOOM that followed reverberated through the air, shaking the very foundation of Cornelia's cozy cabin. Inside, she reclined in her plush chair, enveloped in its welcoming embrace. A soft, crackling warmth emanated from the fireplace, casting a gentle glow that bathed the room in a comforting radiance. She sighed contentedly, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, as if they were performers in a mesmerizing show.
"A good sign, isn't that right, Wendy?" Cornelia whispered, her voice a delicate murmur filled with reassurance and affection.
“Wendy wike wain,” said Wendy, with her lustrous ebony-colored fluff, nestled against Cornelia's stomach, her presence a velvety touch against her skin. The room filled with a soft, contented humming as Wendy expressed her happiness.
Cornelia smiled as her pale fingers traced gentle paths along Wendy's back, their movements a tender caress. Her gaze drifted to the window, where nature orchestrated a symphony of raindrops cascading against the glass. Each droplet carried its own rhythm, harmonizing with the crackling fire to create a symphony of soothing melodies.
As Cornelia admired Wendy, a sense of curiosity began to blossom within her. Were there other fluffies out there with the same unique hue? Elves and wealthy humans often boasted vibrant and diverse-colored fluffies in their care, while the "street-rat" fluffies that roamed alleyways possessed more muted variations. Yet, Wendy's fur was a rarity—pure black that held an air of mystique.
Whispers had spread among the villages, snaking through ears and fuelling imaginations. Tales, distorted and embellished, spoke of a sinister pact between Cornelia and the Demon Vlae. In their twisted narratives, the villagers claimed that the evil spirit-lord resided within Wendy, bestowing upon her the cloak of inky blackness.
Cornelia knew these rumours to be falsehoods, mere figments of overactive imaginations, but that did little to quell the villagers' misguided intentions. Not wanting the villagers to burn her at the stake, Cornelia made a deliberate choice to slip away into the embrace of the ancient woods. There, among the towering sentinels of bark and the rustling tapestry of fallen leaves, she sought solace and a life of peace with Wendy.
Just as Cornelia and Wendy began to settle into a tranquil nap, an insistent knocking on the cabin door shattered the serene atmosphere. The abrupt interruption stirred them from their drowsy state, pulling them back into the realm of uncertainty and peril.
Ygor knocked on the door with the force of a strong but controlled thunder. The heavy wooden door swung open by itself, revealing a flaming shadow with crimson eyes that glare into his very soul.
“You do not disturb a witch’s nap you...” scowled Cornelia but she paused upon seeing a sad yet familiar ogre standing before her.
In the ogre's hands, cradled gently like a fragile treasure, was an injured blue fluffy curled up into a ball. The fluffy's delicate hooves pressed against her belly as she whimpered in pain, her soft cries filling the air with a heart-wrenching melody. The scent of fear and desperation clung to her, mingling with the damp earthiness that permeated the cabin.
Cornelia's piercing gaze softened, her eyes lingering on the wounded blue fluffy nestled in Ygor's hands. The dancing flames of the crackling fireplace painted shifting shadows on her face, accentuating the genuine concern etched across her soft features.
“Ygor?” asked Cornelia, her voice a gentle murmur that wrapped around the room.
“Ygor need help, widdle fluffy hurt” replied Ygor, his voice filled with a mix of deep worry and desperation.
"Bring her inside," Cornelia replied, stepping aside and waited for the giant ogre to enter her home. "Don't worry, the cabin is bigger on the inside," she reassured him, her words imbued with a touch of enchantment.
Ygor carefully stepped into the cabin, his massive form casting long shadows against the sturdy wooden walls. Inside, he found himself awestruck by the magic in the cabin. The air is alive with ethereal energy, a tangible testament to Cornelia's formidable abilities.
With deliberate grace, Ygor approached Cornelia, his every movement infused with cautious tenderness. The crackling flames of the fireplace cast a soft, golden glow that danced and flickered, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadows across the room.
Cornelia placed a soft, crimson blanket on the smooth surface of the wooden table, its vibrant hue contrasting against the rustic backdrop of the cabin. Cornelia's voice resonated with warmth and reassurance as she spoke; her words carrying the echoes of countless months spent mastering witchcraft.
"It's one of the first spells I had to learn as a witch, so don't worry about trying to fit in," Cornelia assured Ygor, her tone comforting like a soft caress.
"Now, tell me what happened," Cornelia gently prompted, her voice a melodic invitation to share their burdens.
Her empathetic eyes fixed upon Ygor and the poor fluffy, eagerly awaiting their tale of woe. The fire crackled and the raindrops tapped against the window, forming a soothing symphony that seemed to draw the elements closer, eager to listen and offer solace.
“Ygor fed fwuffy raw meat, now fwuffy tummy hurts,” Ygor explained.
“wed’ meat? Fwuffies nu’ eat wed’ meat” Wendy exclaimed, her eyes widened with fear and confusion.
“Put her on the table!” Cornelia's command sliced through the air, her voice resonating with authority as she directed Ygor to carefully place the injured fluffy on the plush red blanket that adorned the sturdy wooden table.
With eager determination, Wendy scurried towards Cornelia. The little fluffy snatched a flask from a nearby shelf. The green liquid concocted from the nearby river and the roots of an ancient tree glowed inside the flask. The aromatic scent of the potion wafted through the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of burning wood. Ygor's sensitive nose caught a hint of bones in the fragrance, causing him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Ygor smell bones” said Ygor upon picking up a strange scent coming from the flask.
"It's just the potion, Ygor. You can sit near the bookshelf; I'll handle this," reassured Cornelia as she guided Ygor to a seat beside the collection of well-worn tomes. His heavy footsteps resonated against the wooden floor, creating a gentle vibration that shook the nearby furniture.
Meanwhile, Wendy, her ebony-colored fluff rustling with each hurried step, made her way to the kitchen. The soft tapping of her little legs echoed through the cabin, the sound blending with the crackling fire and the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the window. Guided by Cornelia's request, Wendy retrieved a bowl of ash and garlic, their distinct scents mingling in the air, creating a heady mixture of earthiness and protection.
Cornelia's hands moved with practiced precision, like a knife gliding through the cloves of garlic as if guided by an invisible force. With each expert stroke, the pungent aroma of freshly cut garlic permeated the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the wooden table.
Once the garlic lay in neat, small pieces, Cornelia turned her attention to the bowl. She poured the green liquid into its depths, a shimmering cascade that glimmered like emerald flames. As the liquid settled, Cornelia's voice hummed with an incantation, her words carrying the weight of ancient knowledge and power.
In an instant, a flicker of green fire sprang to life, dancing atop the surface of the liquid. Its ethereal glow cast a surreal illumination, transforming the ordinary bowl into a vessel of enchantment. Shadows flickered and played upon the cabin walls, as if the very room had become a stage for magic itself.
Ygor's gaze locked onto Blue, his eyes filled with concern as he witnessed her unconscious. Despite her silent state, his sensitive ears detected faint, almost imperceptible whimpering that tugged at his heartstrings.
In a mesmerizing display of magic, a radiant golden light took the form of Cornelia's hand, delicately reaching towards the green flame. As her hand made contact, a breathtaking transformation ensued. The liquid within the bowl seemed to defy gravity, soaring out of its confines with graceful fluidity. It floated in the air, suspended like a glistening bubble, casting an iridescent glow that bathed the cabin in a surreal radiance.
The floating liquid became a canvas for the dancing and shimmering golden light, which traced intricate patterns written in the runes of magic. With every subtle movement and shift, the elixir responded, guided by Cornelia's hand, as if it were alive. The soft, ethereal hum resonated through the cabin, its gentle vibrations filling the air and contributing to the enchanting atmosphere that enveloped the space.
Ygor's eyes widened in awe as he witnessed this captivating spectacle, his senses fully immersed in the enchantment unfolding before him. The delicate scent of the potion wafted through the air, an intoxicating blend of natural ingredients and mystical energies. It mingled with the comforting aroma of burning firewood, creating an olfactory tapestry that enveloped the room.
“Wemembeh’ jus’ one dwop o’ fwuffy fwend goes fowebah sweepies” Wendy reminded, her voice filled with caution and trepidation. The anticipation was palpable, causing her little legs to tremble with a mixture of anxiety and hope.
“I know, Wendy” Cornelia replied with concern. Slowly, with delicate precision, she reached out and began removing the intricately carved magic runes that encircled the floating bubble. Each rune dislodged weakened the magic, and the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
As the runes dissipated one by one, a single drop from the shimmering green bubble fell into Blue's mouth, like a droplet of life itself. In that fleeting moment, the magic took hold, invigorating her senses and drawing her back from the abyss of unconsciousness. Blue's eyes fluttered open, her vision initially blurry as she adjusted to the renewed world around her. Gradually, the fog lifted, revealing the figure of another fluffy sitting in front of her, a woman with a mysterious allure, half of her face veiled by a cascade of hair, and Ygor, the gentle ogre.
Blue wakes up, her vision blurry at first. When they cleared, she saw another fluffy sitting in front of her, a strange woman with half her face covered by her hair, and Ygor.
"Mommeh?" Blue's voice trembled with a mixture of longing and confusion, seeking comfort in the familiarity of a mother's embrace.
"No, sorry," Cornelia replied gently, her voice carrying a touch of sympathy. With great care, she cradled Blue in her hands, providing a sense of security and protection.
The cabin enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth and safety, shielding them from the world's uncertainties.
"Let's give you a bath before I return you to Ygor, is that okay?" Cornelia offered, her words laced with kindness and concern. Blue nodded, a silent agreement to the caring gesture that awaited her.
As Cornelia cradled Blue in her arms, Ygor's curious gaze wandered to the bookshelf, where a plush velvet tome caught his attention. With a gentle touch, he retrieved the book, feeling the smoothness of the fabric beneath his fingertips. Opening it, Ygor's eyes widened at the sight of a meticulously drawn map, its intricate details beckoning him into a world he's never seen before.
His gaze shifted to the strange numbers inscribed alongside the map, written in elegant script that danced across the aged parchment. Ygor traced the lines and deciphered the enigmatic message contained within.
"Two... tw-twenty-six degrees, twelve minutes, and forty-four seconds, N—No- no- north," Ygor read aloud, his voice filled with curiosity.
Cornelia emerged from the bath, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor, carrying Blue wrapped in a clean towel. Drops of water glistened upon her skin like scattered diamonds, reflecting the warm glow of the cabin's hearth. She approached Ygor, her presence radiating a sense of wisdom and familiarity.
"It seems you've improved since the last time I met you," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a tone of admiration.
The scent of lavender lingered in the air, intermingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea.
“Ygor been reading lots lately, collected many books” Ygor proudly proclaimed. The room resonated with the gentle rustling of pages, as each one whispered a tale of knowledge and discovery.
Gently placing Blue on the floor, Cornelia watched with fondness as the little fluffy’s hooves create a delicate patter against the wooden surface as she scurried towards Ygor. She then nuzzled against his massive leg, seeking solace and comfort. A warm smile graced Cornelia's lips.
"That's truly admirable," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a gentle cadence. The crackling fire painted flickering shadows upon the walls, enveloping the space in a comforting embrace. The scent of smoldering logs mingled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating an enchanting symphony for the senses.
“Until the ‘metal people’ burnt them along with Ygor house” Ygor replied, his voice echoed with a touch of sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air, mingling with the flickering shadows cast by the crackling flames.
"The metal people," Cornelia mused, her thoughts drifting to the relentless knights of The King. The weight of their armored presence pressed upon her mind, like a looming storm cloud on the horizon. The memory of their arrival, their steel-clad boots treading upon the sacred grounds of the Old World, sent shivers down her spine. Their presence had brought upheaval, disrupting the delicate balance of harmony and magic that once thrived.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cornelia said, her voice laced with sincerity. "You can stay here as long as you need," she assured, her words offering solace and a sense of belonging amidst the uncertainty of the outside world.
“Thank you, Ygor will find new home soon,” Ygor replied. “By the way, Ygor find black fluffy interesting, never seen one before,” he remarked, pointing towards Wendy.
Cornelia followed his gaze, her eyes tracing the ebony contours of Wendy's fur. The contrast of darkness against light evoked a sense of curiosity and wonder.
“I saw her in an alley a couple of months ago while I was gathering ingredients,” Cornelia recalled as she adjusted her favorite chair, drawing it closer to Ygor's seat. Blue and Wendy sat side by side, their eyes filled with anticipation as they listen to the story Cornelia is about to tell.
--NOTE-- A drawing of Wendy

🌺MONDAY Fun pics: Please keep in mind: - Keep it light. No dark themes or sexy pics… This is for fun and to get to know each other a bit, to post those favorite pics that don’t usually fit our description such as pets, babies, houses, your latest hobby project, unusual dishes, fantasy, made to look unnatural, etc… - Original pics, please. You may still post a couple of “regular” pics as well.

• Only on Mondays, a max of two fun posts. (You can put multiple pics on a post.) We’ll have to remove and ask you to repost on Monday if you forget and post fun pics on other days.
  
• As far as time zones, just post when it’s Monday for you. - Keep it respectful, kind and comfortable. - Use the new flair for fun posts, other flairs for regular posts.
  

🌺 ALL DAYS OF THE WEEK: Please follow our regular guidelines. Please submit original content and use the flair. Thanks.
For all days: original photos (please use the “original” flair): landscapes, waterscapes (ocean, river, lake, waterfalls etc), flowers, trees, wildlife… **Avoid signs of Civilization and its chaos and noise, this is a retreat from all of that. So - avoid all those buildings, houses, vehicles, pets, etc. (You can use them on a fun post.)
NO unkind or snarky comments, we do not critique nor criticize. We do not use downvotes. We’re posting our own work not calendar pics off the net. If you use someone else’s photo with permission, give credit in the title and use the flair for that.

• Any questions, please ask. I’m available by chat. We’ll be refining the structure if need be. - Hope you enjoy it! ~ Your MODS

Receipt for I-485 was sent 04/21/2023. We still have not received a notice for biometrics. There is also nothing in case history saying "fingerprint fee received", should it say this before we can receive an appointment? If that's normal, should we still reach out to USCIS about the appointment still not being scheduled/has anyone else had this long of a wait for an appointment? TIA
Edit: San Antonio TX field office

Tree is a Norway maple :( unfortunately these guys are very popular in my town. Can I remove the rocks and gently level out the dirt? Should I put some mulch or no? Thanks!

I know it’s not exactly Austin related but figured some would know: what would there be to do today with kids in New Braunfels or San Marcos with it raining?

2.26.0.36 -> 2.26.0.40 Part 2

Aircraft weapon changes :

• 20 mm Mk. 11 Mod. 5 : Overheating Increased

Aircraft equipment changes :

• DAMOCLES : Mass : 190 -> 265 kg

Aircraft rocket and missile changes :

• AGM-22, 9M14 (all), 9M17 (all), AS.11, Rb 52 : Guidance : Control Cone FoV : 15 -> 30°
• TOW (all), Rb 55 (all) : Guidance :
  • Added Launch Sector = 10°
  • Control Cone FoV : 10 -> 25°
• 9M114, 9M123, 9M133 (all), HJ9 (AFT09), HOT (all) : Guidance : Control Cone FoV : 15 -> 25°
• 9M120 (all) : Guidance :
  • Removed Max Launch Angle
  • Added Launch Sector = 9°
  • Control Cone FoV : 15 -> 25°
• PL8, Python-3 : Guidance :
  • IR Seeker : FoV : 2.5 -> 3.6°
  • Max G-load : 30 -> 40 G

Naval weapon changes :

• Nettuno Mk. 1 :
  • Drag Coef : 0.1 -> 0.9
  • Booster Force : 30000 -> 20000 N
  • Start Speed : 100 -> 0 m/s
  • Max Speed : 280 -> 646 m/s
  • Explosive Mass : 15.8 -> 6 kg
• Volna-M : Proximity Fuse : Trigger Radius : 50 -> 40 m

Torpedo changes :

• 450 mm Whitehead A 110/450 :
  • Drop Speed Range : [0, 83.5] -> [-10, 78] km/h
  • Drop Height Range : [0, 120] -> [-10, 105] m
  • Drop Angle Range : +/- 15 -> +/- 90°
  • Removed Fuse Sensitivity
  • Now behave the same in AB

Tech-tree changes :

• Number of French Bluewater to unlock rank 2 : 2 -> 3

BR changes :

• F-4E Kurnass 2000 : 11.3 / 11.7 / 11.7 -> 11.3
• J8F : 12.0 -> 11.7
• Kfir C2 : 10.3 / 10.7 / 10.3 -> 10.7 / 11.0 / 10.7

Statcard changes :

• F-4J (UK) :
  • No longer considered a Naval fighter
  • Carrier spawn removed
• Lancaster M.R. Mk. 7 : Crew : 6 -> 4
• BTR-80A :
  • Hull armor : 10 / 10 / 10 -> 12 / 8 / 6 mm
  • Turret armor : 0 / 0 / 0 -> 23 / 23 / 13 mm
• Ise : Max speed : 45.36 -> 46.8 km/h
• Lorraine : Main turret armor : 300 / 256 / 360 -> 300 / 216 / 360 mm
• Paris :
  • Main turret armor : 256 / 256 / 400 -> 250 / 250 / 360 mm
  • Citadel armor : 0 / 270 / 40 -> 0 / 250 / 40 mm

New vehicles :

• Leopard (FR) :
  • Rank 1
  • BR : 3.7
  • Located after the Bourrasque
  • Stock Repair Cost : 200 / 260 SL
  • Spaded Repair Cost : 256 / 333 SL

Economy changes :

• AJ 37 :
  • Stock Repair Cost : 3970 / 12870 / 17880 -> 4010 / 12990 / 18050 SL
  • Spaded Repair Cost : 5395 / 17490 / 24298 -> 5393 / 17471 / 24277 SL
  • Modification changes :
    • New boosters :
      • No longer gives improvement to aileron deflection rate, rate increased to this modification's old level instead
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.02 -> 0.011
    • Compressor : Repair cost coefficient : 0.037 -> 0.036
    • Wings repair : Repair cost coefficient : 0.053 -> 0.052
    • Engine : Repair cost coefficient : 0.079 -> 0.078
    • Cover : Repair cost coefficient : 0.045 -> 0.044
    • G-suit : Repair cost coefficient : 0.052 -> 0.051
• AJS 37 :
  • Stock Repair Cost : 3850 / 10320 / 17130 -> 4010 / 10750 / 17850 SL
  • Spaded Repair Cost : 5397 / 14468 / 24016 -> 5393 / 14458 / 24008 SL
  • Modification changes :
    • Compressor : Repair cost coefficient : 0.038 -> 0.036
    • New boosters :
      • No longer gives improvement to aileron deflection rate, rate increased to this modification's old level instead
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.053 -> 0.011
    • Airframe : Repair cost coefficient : 0.048 -> 0.046
    • Wings repair : Repair cost coefficient : 0.055 -> 0.052
    • G-suit : Repair cost coefficient : 0.053 -> 0.051
    • New 30 mm cannons/MGs : Repair cost coefficient : 0.021 -> 0.02
    • Engine : Repair cost coefficient : 0.081 -> 0.078
    • Cover : Repair cost coefficient : 0.046 -> 0.044
• F-4E Kurnass 2000 : Modification changes :
  • Added Python 3 as Tier 3 modification
  • Removed AIM-7E-2 modification
  • Removed AIM-7F modification
  • Compressor : GE cost : 420 -> 400
  • Fuselage repair : GE cost : 420 -> 400
  • AIM-9G : GE cost : 420 -> 400
  • 20 mm belts : GE cost : 420 -> 400
  • M117 : GE cost : 420 -> 400
  • Flares/Chaff : GE cost : 420 -> 400
  • New boosters : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • Airframe : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • AIM-9L : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • New 20 mm cannons/MGs : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • Mk83 : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • GBU-12 : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • LAU-3/A : GE cost : 400 -> 380
  • Wings repair : GE cost : 510 -> 490
  • G-suit : GE cost : 510 -> 490
  • Gun pod SUU-23/A. : GE cost : 510 -> 490
  • Mk84 : GE cost : 510 -> 490
  • LAU-10/A : GE cost : 510 -> 490
  • Engine :
    • RP cost : 34000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 790 -> 960
  • Cover :
    • RP cost : 34000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 790 -> 960
  • GBU-10 :
    • RP cost : 34000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 790 -> 960
  • AGM-65D :
    • RP cost : 34000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 790 -> 960
• F-16A-10 (ISR) : Modification changes :
  • Added Python 3 as Tier 4 modification
  • Compressor : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • Fuselage repair : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • Flares/Chaff : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • 20 mm belts : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • BLU-27/B : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • AIM-9P : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • New boosters : GE cost : 440 -> 470
  • Airframe : GE cost : 440 -> 470
  • G-suit : GE cost : 440 -> 470
  • Mk82 : GE cost : 440 -> 470
  • LAU-3/A : GE cost : 440 -> 470
  • Wings repair : GE cost : 480 -> 510
  • Cover : GE cost : 480 -> 510
  • New 20 mm cannons/MGs : GE cost : 480 -> 510
  • Mk84 : GE cost : 480 -> 510
  • AIM-9L : GE cost : 480 -> 510
  • Engine :
    • RP cost : 57000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 1100 -> 840
  • EFS :
    • RP cost : 57000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 1100 -> 840
  • AGM-65B :
    • RP cost : 57000 -> 43000
    • GE cost : 1100 -> 840
• F-14B : Modification changes :
  • Added GBU-10/24 as Tier 4 modification
  • Removed GBU-10 modification
• G.91 Y : Modification changes :
  • Added Nord AS.20 as Tier 2 modification
  • Added Nord AS.30 as Tier 4 modification
  • Fuselage repair : GE cost : 280 -> 310
  • Compressor : GE cost : 280 -> 310
  • 30 mm belts : GE cost : 280 -> 310
  • 559G1 : GE cost : 280 -> 310
  • M82 : GE cost : 280 -> 310
  • Airframe :
    • RP cost : 11000 -> 9100
    • GE cost : 380 -> 350
  • New boosters :
    • RP cost : 11000 -> 9100
    • GE cost : 380 -> 350
  • M82-2 :
    • RP cost : 11000 -> 9100
    • GE cost : 380 -> 350
  • LAU-3/A :
    • RP cost : 11000 -> 9100
    • GE cost : 380 -> 350
  • Wings repair : GE cost : 340 -> 380
  • G-suit : GE cost : 340 -> 380
  • New 30 mm cannons/MGs : GE cost : 340 -> 380
  • M83 : GE cost : 340 -> 380
  • LAU-10/A : GE cost : 340 -> 380
  • Cover :
    • RP cost : 22000 -> 16000
    • GE cost : 750 -> 610
  • Engine :
    • RP cost : 22000 -> 16000
    • GE cost : 750 -> 610
  • M83-2 :
    • RP cost : 22000 -> 16000
    • GE cost : 750 -> 610
• J8B :
  • Number of modifications needed to unlock Tier 4 : 1 -> 2
  • Modification changes :
    • Added Type 500 as Tier 4 modification
    • Fuselage repair : GE cost : 380 -> 400
    • Compressor : GE cost : 380 -> 400
    • 23 mm belts : GE cost : 380 -> 400
    • Flares/Chaff : GE cost : 380 -> 400
    • Airframe : GE cost : 430 -> 450
    • New boosters : GE cost : 430 -> 450
    • HF-6 : GE cost : 430 -> 450
    • PL-5B : GE cost : 430 -> 450
    • Wings repair :
      • RP cost : 37000 -> 25000
      • GE cost : 930 -> 660
    • New 23 mm cannons/MGs :
      • RP cost : 37000 -> 25000
      • GE cost : 930 -> 660
    • Cover : GE cost : 400 -> 430
    • Engine : GE cost : 400 -> 430
    • G-suit : GE cost : 400 -> 430
    • EFS : GE cost : 400 -> 430
    • Type 250 :
      • Tier : 4 -> 3
      • RP cost : 16000 -> 25000
      • GE cost : 400 -> 660
    • Aspide : GE cost : 400 -> 430
• J8F : Modification changes :
  • Added Type 500 as Tier 4 modification
  • Compressor : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • Fuselage repair : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • Flares/Chaff : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • 23 mm belts : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • PL-5B : GE cost : 330 -> 350
  • New boosters : GE cost : 470 -> 500
  • Airframe : GE cost : 470 -> 500
  • G-suit : GE cost : 470 -> 500
  • HF-6 : GE cost : 470 -> 500
  • Wings repair :
    • RP cost : 44000 -> 33000
    • GE cost : 690 -> 550
  • New 23 mm cannons/MGs :
    • RP cost : 44000 -> 33000
    • GE cost : 690 -> 550
  • PL-8 :
    • RP cost : 44000 -> 33000
    • GE cost : 690 -> 550
  • Engine : GE cost : 670 -> 710
  • Cover : GE cost : 670 -> 710
  • EFS : GE cost : 670 -> 710
  • Type 250 :
    • Tier : 4 -> 3
    • RP cost : 43000 -> 33000
    • GE cost : 670 -> 550
• JA 37C :
  • Stock Repair Cost : 3530 / 9720 / 15860 -> 3560 / 9820 / 16030 SL
  • Spaded Repair Cost : 5397 / 14861 / 24249 -> 5386 / 14857 / 24253 SL
  • Modification changes :
    • Flares/Chaff : Repair cost coefficient : 0.125 -> 0.124
    • Airframe : Repair cost coefficient : 0.052 -> 0.051
    • New boosters :
      • No longer gives improvement to aileron deflection rate, rate increased to this modification's old level instead
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.023 -> 0.012
    • Wings repair : Repair cost coefficient : 0.06 -> 0.059
    • Engine : Repair cost coefficient : 0.089 -> 0.088
    • G-suit : Repair cost coefficient : 0.058 -> 0.057
• JA 37D :
  • Stock Repair Cost : 3610 / 9100 / 16840 -> 3780 / 9530 / 17640 SL
  • Spaded Repair Cost : 6025 / 15187 / 28105 -> 6021 / 15181 / 28100 SL
  • Modification changes :
    • Compressor : Repair cost coefficient : 0.043 -> 0.041
    • Flares/Chaff : Repair cost coefficient : 0.13 -> 0.124
    • New boosters :
      • No longer gives improvement to aileron deflection rate, rate increased to this modification's old level instead
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.06 -> 0.012
    • Airframe : Repair cost coefficient : 0.054 -> 0.051
    • Flares/Chaff : Repair cost coefficient : 0.084 -> 0.08
    • Wings repair : Repair cost coefficient : 0.062 -> 0.059
    • G-suit : Repair cost coefficient : 0.06 -> 0.057
    • New 30 mm cannons/MGs : Repair cost coefficient : 0.024 -> 0.023
    • Engine : Repair cost coefficient : 0.092 -> 0.088
    • Cover : Repair cost coefficient : 0.052 -> 0.05
• Kfir C2 : Modification changes :
  • Added Python 3 as Tier 4 modification
  • Compressor :
    • RP cost : 12000 -> 10000
    • GE cost : 380 -> 330
  • Fuselage repair :
    • Added Category : Flight performance
    • RP cost : 12000 -> 10000
    • GE cost : 380 -> 330
  • 30 mm belts :
    • RP cost : 12000 -> 10000
    • GE cost : 380 -> 330
  • Mk82 :
    • RP cost : 12000 -> 10000
    • GE cost : 380 -> 330
  • LAU-3/A :
    • RP cost : 12000 -> 10000
    • GE cost : 380 -> 330
  • New boosters : GE cost : 410 -> 430
  • Airframe :
    • Added Category : Flight performance
    • GE cost : 410 -> 430
  • Flares/Chaff :
    • Added Category : Survivability
    • Tier : 2 -> 1
    • RP cost : 13000 -> 10000
    • GE cost : 410 -> 330
  • New 30 mm cannons/MGs : GE cost : 410 -> 430
  • M117 : GE cost : 410 -> 430
  • Wings repair :
    • RP cost : 15000 -> 12000
    • GE cost : 470 -> 390
  • G-suit :
    • Added Previous modification (visually, not required) : Flares/Chaff
    • RP cost : 15000 -> 12000
    • GE cost : 470 -> 390
  • Gun pod SUU-23/A. :
    • RP cost : 15000 -> 12000
    • GE cost : 470 -> 390
  • Mk83 :
    • RP cost : 15000 -> 12000
    • GE cost : 470 -> 390
  • LAU-10/A :
    • RP cost : 15000 -> 12000
    • GE cost : 470 -> 390
  • Engine :
    • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
    • GE cost : 590 -> 790
  • Cover :
    • Added Category : Flight performance
    • Tier : 4 -> 3
    • RP cost : 19000 -> 12000
    • GE cost : 590 -> 390
  • 20 mm belts :
    • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
    • GE cost : 590 -> 790
  • Mk84 :
    • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
    • GE cost : 590 -> 790
  • AIM-9G :
    • Removed Required modification : Flares/Chaff
    • Tier : 4 -> 2
    • RP cost : 19000 -> 13000
    • GE cost : 590 -> 430
• Kfir C7 :
  • Number of modifications needed to unlock Tier 4 : 3 -> 4
  • Modification changes :
    • Added Python 3 as Tier 4 modification
    • Compressor :
      • RP cost : 10000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 340 -> 310
    • Fuselage repair :
      • Added Category : Flight performance
      • RP cost : 10000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 340 -> 310
    • Flares/Chaff :
      • Added Category : Survivability
      • RP cost : 10000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 340 -> 310
    • 30 mm belts :
      • RP cost : 10000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 340 -> 310
    • Mk82 :
      • RP cost : 10000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 340 -> 310
    • LAU-3/A :
      • RP cost : 10000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 340 -> 310
    • New boosters : GE cost : 450 -> 470
    • Airframe :
      • Added Category : Flight performance
      • GE cost : 450 -> 470
    • New 30 mm cannons/MGs : GE cost : 450 -> 470
    • M117 : GE cost : 450 -> 470
    • Shafrir 2 :
      • Removed Previous modification (visually, not required) : Flares/Chaff
      • Tier : 2 -> 1
      • RP cost : 13000 -> 8600
      • GE cost : 450 -> 310
    • Wings repair :
      • RP cost : 12000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 400
    • G-suit :
      • Added Previous modification (visually, not required) : Flares/Chaff
      • RP cost : 12000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 400
    • Gun pod SUU-23/A. :
      • RP cost : 12000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 400
    • Mk83 :
      • RP cost : 12000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 400
    • LAU-10/A :
      • RP cost : 12000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 400
    • AIM-9D :
      • Tier : 3 -> 2
      • RP cost : 12000 -> 13000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 470
    • Engine :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 650 -> 860
    • Cover :
      • Added Category : Flight performance
      • Tier : 4 -> 3
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 650 -> 400
    • 20 mm belts :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 650 -> 860
    • Mk84 :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 650 -> 860
    • AIM-9G :
      • Tier : 4 -> 3
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 11000
      • GE cost : 650 -> 400
• Mirage III CJ :
  • Number of modifications needed to unlock Tier 4 : 1 -> 2
  • Modification changes :
    • Compressor :
      • RP cost : 29000 -> 19000
      • GE cost : 620 -> 410
    • Fuselage repair :
      • RP cost : 29000 -> 19000
      • GE cost : 620 -> 410
    • New boosters :
      • RP cost : 13000 -> 16000
      • GE cost : 280 -> 340
    • Airframe :
      • RP cost : 13000 -> 16000
      • GE cost : 280 -> 340
    • 30 mm belts :
      • Tier : 2 -> 1
      • RP cost : 13000 -> 19000
      • GE cost : 280 -> 410
    • Type 25C :
      • RP cost : 13000 -> 16000
      • GE cost : 280 -> 340
    • AIM-9D :
      • RP cost : 13000 -> 16000
      • GE cost : 280 -> 340
    • Wings repair :
      • RP cost : 37000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 800 -> 520
    • G-suit :
      • RP cost : 37000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 800 -> 520
    • Engine :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 520
    • Cover :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 520
    • New 30 mm cannons/MGs :
      • Tier : 4 -> 3
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 520
    • Type 21B :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 520
    • Matra R530E :
      • RP cost : 19000 -> 24000
      • GE cost : 410 -> 520
• P-51D-5 :
  • Stock Repair Cost : 1580 / 4000 / 6400 -> 1640 / 4000 / 6640 SL
  • Spaded Repair Cost : 2150 / 5279 / 8448 -> 2146 / 5080 / 8432 SL
  • Modification changes :
    • Fuselage repair :
      • Added AB repair cost coefficient : 0.007
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.007 -> 0.006
    • Airframe :
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.045 -> 0.043
      • AB repair cost coefficient : 0.046 -> 0.045
    • Compressor :
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.036 -> 0.034
      • AB repair cost coefficient : 0.037 -> 0.035
    • Wings repair :
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.051 -> 0.05
      • AB repair cost coefficient : 0.053 -> 0.051
    • Engine :
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.05 -> 0.048
      • AB repair cost coefficient : 0.052 -> 0.05
    • New 12.7 mm cannons/MGs : Repair cost coefficient : 0.015 -> 0.014
    • Cover :
      • No longer gives improvement to structural strength and mass, both increased to this modification's old level instead
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.044 -> 0.005
      • Removed AB repair cost coefficient : 0.045
    • Engine injection : AB repair cost coefficient : 0.049 -> 0.047
    • G-suit :
      • Repair cost coefficient : 0.05 -> 0.048
      • AB repair cost coefficient : 0.052 -> 0.05
• P-51D-10 (Wetmore) : Modification changes : Cover : No longer gives improvement to structural strength and mass, both increased to this modification's old level instead

Image and text changes :

• New loadout icon : missile_type_f_air_to_air_group : https://i.imgur.com/bCk5mIC.png
• New Tech Image : Panthere : https://i.imgur.com/TBTQ11t.png
• New Avatar : Nikolai Gastello : https://i.imgur.com/FEAaw1x.png
• New Loading Screen : J8F
• New Menu Text :
  • "India"
  • "GTM PD"
  • "SRC PD GTM"
  • "ACQ PD GTM"
  • "ACM PD GTM"
  • "BST PD GTM"
  • "VSL PD GTM"
  • "TRK PD GTM"
  • "TWS GTM"
  • "TWS GTM"
  • "ACQ PD GTM"
  • "ACM PD GTM"
  • "BST PD GTM"
  • "VSL PD GTM"
  • "TRK PD GTM"
• Vehicle Text Change :
  • "Chacal-class, Chacal, 1938" -> "Jaguar-class, Chacal, 1938"
  • "Chacal-class, Panthere, 1940" -> "Jaguar-class, Panthere, 1940"

Mission changes :

• [Enduring Confrontation (old)] Denmark, Dover, Malta, Peleliu, Port Moresby, Saipan : Added BR based carriers
• [Historical Campaign] Counterattack : Enterprise (CV-6) is now more easily sunk
• Advance to the Rhine, Vietnam : Map borders changed

Current Dev version : 2.26.0.40
Current Dev-Stable version : 2.25.1.135
Current Live version : 2.25.1.135

We rent and were removing some limbs to give the garden more light so I finally got a chance to get good pictures of these. I have no idea what they are and Google lens didn't turn up anything useful. The tree is also plagued with rust, which in turn gives all my veg and ornamentals rust as well. Any ideas would be very helpful!

Are any of y'all season pass holders who frequent the San Antonio, TX locations? My friend and boyfriend are looking for more local movie buddies.

(Extensive rework of a very old post here. Do not ask about the post title)
Summary: Absolute little gremlins that steal children and occasionally you. At least they give feathers and can be recruited like mercs
Reavers
Reavers are neutral flying mobs that spawn in the Crimson Forest primarily, with 3 spawning per Nethergaol. They have long, slender bodies with a vaguely striped main body and a three-segmented tail ending in a stinger. They have 4 limbs and a large pair of jaws.
Reavers will usually fly around Crimson Forests, sometimes attaching to the side of Log blocks and chewing on them. After about 10 seconds, a ball of paste will form in their jaws and they will fly into their home Nethergaol to deposit it. Successfully depositing a ball of paste causes their tails to grow one stage, providing 1 more feather when sheared.
Reavers can grow feathers on their tails which can be sheared to produce 1-3 feathers depending on the stage of growth, which can be inferred from how many segments of their tail are feathered.
However, these creatures are far from benign; if a Reaver is within a 16 block radius from a baby mob, it may fly towards that mob and grab onto it with their limbs, flying up into the air with it and attempting to bring it back to their Nethergaol, which despawns it instantly. It may also more occasionally do this for grown mobs(but biting to death instead of carrying to a Nethergaol), including the player; if captured, the player can look up and attack the Reaver, causing it to let go of the player.
If aggravated, Reavers can sting with their stinger; unlike Bees, their stingers can be used multiple times without falling off, and inflict fire damage for 5 seconds instead of poison. They can also bite their enemies for 4 damage(2 hearts). Like Bees, Reavers will pursue their targets for 25 seconds before becoming neutral again.
Reavers fear Warped Fungi and anything related to them, and actively avoid these in a radius of 3 blocks. If a Reaver finds itself in a Warped Forest, it will frantically attempt to navigate to the nearest non-Warped Forest biome. If a Reaver is in a Warped Forest for 15 seconds, it turns into a Corrupted Reaver.
Reavers are fire, magma and lava resistant. They drop 1-3 orbs of Experience when killed. They can be bred with any kind of meat item(including rotten flesh), causing them to enter love mode and produce a baby Reaver; these items can also be used to speed up the growth of baby Reavers. Reavers produce 1-7 orbs of Experience when breeding.
Nethergaols
Summary: The living hives of the Reavers, they can be fed to recruit their Reavers for your own use
Nethergaols are four-legged cuboid mobs that have formed a symbiotic relationship with Reavers; the Reavers use its body as habitation, and in return attack anything that threatens their host. Nethergaols can spawn rarely in Crimson forests and never despawn; they spawn with a maximum capacity of 3 Reavers, although if enough meat is brought back by their Reavers, they can grow additional segments of their bodies upwards for a maximum of 10 housed Reavers. Nethergaols are passive and will run away if attacked, letting their Reavers handle the enemy instead.
Once fully grown, Nethergaols will spawn a small pod on their heads which can be removed by right-clicking and placed down. This pod will grow into another Nethergaol in 10 minutes. The pod respawns for every 32 food items/mobs the Nethergaol’s Reavers bring back.
Nethergaols, like Reavers, fear Warped fungi/related blocks, but will not transform. Feeding Nethergaols steak(and only steak) will allow you to recruit its Reavers for around 5 minutes, causing them to follow you and attack anything that attacks you/you attack. However, only 2 Nethergaols worth of Reavers will willingly join; any more and the Reavers will begin infighting.
Corrupted Reavers
Summary: Boo
Corrupted Reavers are hostile flying mobs that spawn in groups of 1 in the Warped Forest, or when a Reaver stays in a Warped Forest for 15 seconds. Corrupted Reavers look similar to Reavers, but have patches of black covering their body intermittently; one of their eyes has been consumed by the black and turned into an enderman-like purple eye, while their wings have been removed in favour of large protrusions of pale white crystals similar to Shulker projectiles; seemingly their main mode of flight.
Corrupted Reavers do not inhabit Gaols or chew on trees; they instead just attack the player by swooping down at them and biting. A Corrupted Reaver's bite can occasionally grant 5 seconds of Levitation, while its sting grants 10 seconds of Levitation.
Reavers fear Corrupted Reavers and attempt to fly away from them; Corrupted Reavers do not attack Reavers. Unlike Reavers, Corrupted Reavers are not fire, magma or lava resistant; they drop 1-3 orbs of Experience when killed, as well as have a 1/5 chance of dropping 1 phantom membrane(affected by Looting).

PART EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Friday
Tucker Portsmith’s head pounded so hard he felt like a blood vessel was about to explode behind his eyes. All week he had been dividing his time between trying to find out why he and Helen were no longer permitted to see Alex and doing what was necessary to distance the company from Dyadron to listening to Helen rail about the failings of Pensacola, the US Navy and him as a father and a husband.
He knew he couldn’t contact anyone in the Pentagon for answers. Not after NCIS Director Scott Dyson contacted him via a video call to tell him to his face to stop asking questions that wouldn’t be answered at this time. No matter how hard he tried to word it differently, to get even a hint of what was going on, the director shut him down. Hard. And then, he ended the call with a warning not to interfere. In any way. That they would contact him when they were ready.
Helen, of course, insisted he call the director back and demand the answers she wanted. She hadn’t taken ‘No’ well, but as much as she huffed and puffed, she would not budge him when his actions reflected on his business life. There were times to draw a line for the family and fight for what was right. When the entire US Military was telling you to stand down or risk going to jail and losing everything … that was not one of them.
Last night had been the first real night’s sleep he’d had all week, for they’d severed the last tie with Dyadron and were now completely clear of that nightmare. He might’ve had a drink or ten in private celebration of their achievements and promised Phillipa a steak and lobster dinner once a week for the rest of her life for her part in it. Right after he shook her senseless for not taking better care of herself. She’d been riding his backside about not overdoing it for so long it never occurred to him to do it for her. A mistake he wouldn’t repeat going forward, to be sure.
And now, he had visitors at—he squinted at the glowing timepiece on his side table—WTF o’clock in the morning! The pounding the door to the penthouse apartment took would’ve been heard throughout the building, made worse by the fact it was 5 am. He’d ignored the pounding at first, thinking Helen would answer the door, but when it continued relentlessly, he assumed she had already left to do one of her many daily workouts and dragged himself out of bed.
He tossed on a robe but forwent the slippers in his haste to reach the door. He tied the robe while in motion. “Coming!” he called because, of course, if Helen was gone, Donald would be with her, and he’d be alone. So far, that had suited him, as he’d been able to get a lot of work done without the interruptions.
He looked at the screen and was stunned to see four people crammed into the video image. Two in naval attire (he never did go into the whole who did what rank thing outside of Alex’s rank of Petty Officer) and two ill-fitting suits that made them either detectives or FBI.
The closest in a business suit had his fist raised to pound some more.
“Wait!” Tucker barked, unlocking the door from the inside and opening it just enough to stand in the way. “Can I help you?”
The plain-clothes person that had been beating on his door held up her badge for Tucker to see, along with a piece of paper folded into three, which she pushed into Tucker’s hand on his way past. “Federal agents. We need to conduct a search of your apartment, sir, and you need to step aside. We have a warrant.”
“A warrant for what?” Tucker demanded, opening the letter to skim the contents. In the central portion of the letter was Alexander’s name.
They’re searching for Alex?!
“Are you insane?” he demanded as the rest of them followed the woman’s lead and muscled their way in. “Alex is in a coma! In the hospital! Why …?!” And then his sleep-deprived, mildly alcohol-infused, aching brain kicked in, and he whirled on the people who were sweeping into the living room. “Where is my son?!” he demanded, storming after the four. He caught up with the closest one, who happened to be navy and went to grab her when her partner stepped between them.
“Don’t be touching her, sir. Just stand over there. This won’t take long.”
“Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on! How did you even get a warrant at this ungodly hour?! Based on what? That we’re his parents, and we’re here because he’s in a coma?!”
He watched them head up the hall and try to strongarm the first door, which was locked. “NO!” he shouted, trying without success to push against the man holding him back. “You can’t go in there!”
“That warrant says we can check everything, Mister Portsmith…”
“That room contains access to military secrets that I assure you are NOT on any goddamn warrant, and this says you’re looking for Alexander. That’s fine. I’ll unlock the door, go in first and remove my computer, and you can search to your heart’s content for a comatose patient who isn’t here.”
When the four looked amongst themselves, Tucker straightened and said in his most authoritative voice, “The contents of that room go way above your pay grade, ladies and gentlemen. If you force your way into that room based on the information on this warrant, I assure you, the Pentagon will land on you so hard your families will forget what you look like by the time they see you again.” He stood his ground, knowing he looked as intimidating as a homeless puppy in his robe, but nevertheless, there was a reason he never left that room unlocked.
Finally, the male FBI agent stepped back and gestured at the door. “Unlock it, sir. You may follow me in and collect your computer. I assumed it’s powered down?”
“Of course. My keys are in my bedroom. The master suite, third door on the left in a drawer that can’t possibly contain my son, so you have no reason to open it.” Since the agent was the first to listen to reason, Tucker addressed him. “Let me know when I’m clear to go in there and get them.”
The agent gestured for the sailors to move ahead of them, and when he came back a few minutes later, silently shaking his head, the agent said. “If you’ll come with me, Mister Portsmith.”
Tucker hated being directed like this, but until he could lay his hand on his phone and unleash the avalanche of lawyers that he had at his disposal, he wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t acceptable in this situation. It wasn’t often feds and the military joined forces on things.
He opened the drawer and collected his keys while his other hand holding the warrant palmed his phone off its charging plate. As they went back to the office, he snapped a photo of the insidious document and sent it to his lawyers’ cell phones. Yes, multiple, because it wasn’t just one senior partner that took care of their legal needs but three.
“What did you just do?” the female agent demanded, pulling Tucker’s hands apart.
“I just sent this warrant to my lawyers in New York. You’d better hope you know exactly what you’re doing because…”
His phone immediately exploded with incoming calls, which had him smiling caustically at the woman. Without seeing who had reached him first, he used his thumb to connect the call and put it on speaker.
“Who is executing the warrant?” Julian Santos demanded, his deep baritone voice filling the hallway. The federal agent gave Tucker a disgusted look and gestured at the closed front door.
I don’t think so, junior. “Four, Julian. Two feds and two from the navy. They haven’t specifically identified themselves yet, and they want me to unlock my office door…”
“Don’t you dare! The warrant only demands a search of your present accommodations. It does not include any rooms that fall under the banner of Portsmith Electronics. Those require a very different set of warrants that need to be issued directly from either Washington or the Pentagon, and I doubt you have those at the ready, correct agent?”
“We have the authority to search…” the male agent insisted but was cut off by the three-thousand-dollar an hour attorney.
“Do not unlock that door, Tucker. Even as we speak, I have people in Florida moving to have that search warrant quashed. It’ll be gone in just a few minutes.”
“Until then, this is a valid warrant.” The man turned and quickly gestured for the three with him to fan out, searching the penthouse apartment as fast and thoroughly as they could before the counter-injunction was handled.
Well, well, well. It seemed they were well aware of who they were squaring off with after all.
“Julian, I know Alex isn’t here. He’s been in a coma for over a week, and now they’ve lost him. If I go into my office and remove my computer, is there any harm in letting them search the office for Alex if only to make them go away?”
“Tucker, they’re not going away. The warrant gives them the authority to take you and Helen downtown for questioning.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. As I said, we’ll have a full team ready to move before you leave the apartment, which isn’t going to happen until more security is on hand for your laptop. Is Donald there?”
“He’s with Helen on her run.” The fact he had been locked inside the apartment for days and only ventured out when he was with Helen and, therefore, Donald was not something he was about to get into.
“Fine. I’ll get your office to organise a security detail for you and your computer. Stay put, don’t answer anything until we get there, and for Christ’s sake, leave me on speaker.” Tucker heard several tell-tale crackles in the line to indicate others had been patched into the call but had refrained from speaking.
It was a strange thing, but in Tucker’s head, he was picturing a virtual reality computer game where the enemy had him cornered until, one by one, his own team spawned around him to level the playing field … and then overwhelm it.
He didn’t hear Julian’s voice anymore and assumed he’d been muted so that the senior partner could bark out orders at whoever else was on the line with him.
“I guess you’re not an honourable man after all,” the male FBI agent said with a tight expression.
“Tell me why you think I’d break into a military hospital and kidnap my crippled son, and I’ll be the first to unlock that door.”
“Tucker!” Julian immediately came back onto the line.
“Relax, Julian. I have no idea what’s going on here, but they have no intention of telling me why they want Alex so badly.” Stiffening, he looked down at his phone. “Actually, make that a priority. There’s only so much the military can hide from us, especially if Alex was using family funds in any way to finance his situation. Have someone call Elias Stoll. He can track down Alex’s accounts and find out what he was up to that way.”
“NO!” the agents and the naval personnel all shouted at once.
“Tucker?” Julian queried, for the man wasn’t used to taking those types of directives any more than he was.
“If I do it, I’ll have to put you on hold,” he explained. The rest of that sentence went unspoken. If Julian wanted to remain an ear in the room, someone else had to do the legwork for him.
“Do not hang up,” Julian reiterated, and once more, Tucker was muted from the attorneys’ conversation.
And so began the dance of the law.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

1
We underestimate the trials the dead have gone through.
This obvious mistake leads to avoidable missteps in life. It is still all too common.
When my Grandfather passed away, I inherited a house in the mountains. The view was breathtaking. It had a sweeping vista of infinite pine trees. The place was nowhere near as large as the properties surrounding it.
It was a summer home for him and my Grandma. The interior of it contained many of his items. This included tobacco pipes, cabinets of obscure teas, and cupboards of whiskey bottles.
One Saturday evening I went through the attic and found a dozen stacks of boxes. The majority of them remained unlabeled. Several contained pulp paperbacks and stacks of old photos. Towards the end of his life, he gave up his old pastimes of hunting and fishing. He stayed at home and watched old game shows instead.
I tried to clean the roof space in one day. I found myself unable to complete it before tiring and going to bed.
The next morning I resumed the activity. It was no longer about trying to declutter the area and fill it with my own possessions. It was now a way to learn more about the man.
All I knew about his reputation was how he had served in World War II. My family told me how he was as short on words as he was on patience.
I found an old newspaper article, dated 1983. There were other period pieces around it. The topics varied. This included the US invasion of Grenada and the debut of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. A device known as the mobile phone received a mention.
Yet what caught my attention was the first piece. I brushed aside cobwebs to find it buried underneath a pile of cardboard with burnt edges.
The picture was of my Grandfather, Roy Davies. He held a check for fifty thousand dollars. This was an amount I later found out equaled to one hundred and fifty two thousand in today’s money. The mystery of how he could afford the place he gave me was no longer one worth pondering.
The wall behind him had an illustration of a ramshackle house on a hill. The title of the write-up was NORTHERN CALIFORNIA MAN WINS IN THE PILOT FOR NEW SHOW ‘THE TRIANGLE GAME.’
I read the five hundred word account. It detailed how he flew to Los Angeles to be a participant in an allegedly syndicated program. There were two other people he competed against. The editorial feature did not go into detail about what the goal of the game was. How to win or get disqualified was unknown to me. Still Still, my Grandfather walked out a much richer man before he flew back home.
It did mention the couple he played against, a man called James Grover and a woman named Daisy Francis.
I flipped the article. I found were words written in orange ink with a marker on the back, CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
I searched online for the triangle game. I found variations on the pastime ‘I Spy’ first. Players would spot triangular items in their immediate vicinity. I discovered a few board games, along with IQ-related quizzes.
No information was available about a television broadcast.
2
It took almost a month of research to find where James Grover lived.
I managed to find his house by paying for a background checking website. He had gotten a criminal charge for running a red light in front of a cop. Otherwise his record was clean. That single infraction allowed me to find him since it put him in that specific database.
I stood outside his red brick house in a suburb. It was a Wednesday afternoon in a neighborhood located in an upscale part of Illinois.
Frost caked the lawns near the heated sidewalk I stood on. I imagined the place to be serene in the summertime, even if it was a vacant-seeming region now.
A stretch of abodes stood before me without their lights on. Nervousness coursed through me. The idea of having traveled all this way for the information to be wrong made me anxious.
I walked along the concrete pathway towards his front door. I stepped on a creaky porch. I set aside my awareness of the likely pending disappointment and knocked.
A shuffling of feet was on the other side of the entrance. as well as A remote control clicked as the volume of a television blaring a news report got turned down.
He answered. The man fit the correct age range I calculated he would fall into. He wore a flannel jacket and slacks, He had on a blue pair of slippers. His gray mustache bristled as he saw me.
“James Grover?” I asked.
“If you’re trying to sell me something I’m not interested.”
“I’m very sorry to bother you sir, and I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here to ask if you would be willing to let me ask you a few questions about something you might know about. See, I make documentaries for a living, and I have concluded that you might be able to help me.”
I could not take a good photograph when asked, but it was a stringent falsehood I conveyed well in the moment.
In reality, I was a podcaster. The term documentarian, though not as modern, seemed more legitimate. Especially to an older gentleman.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What are you making a movie on? Also, where’s your film crew?”
“I gleaned that you were the type to prefer remaining anonymous. The conversation‘s recorded. This will be with your consent, of course. The subject I want to discuss with you involves the triangle game.”
Grover took a few steps away from the threshold and broke eye contact with me as his lips pursed. His eyes wandered over to the corner of his living room, and he brought his gaze back to mine.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Because I can’t find anything about it anywhere,” I said. “I’ve even been to the National Archives of Game Show history in search of it. It’s as though it never existed. I know it did because I found this article.”
As I brandished the piece of writing to him, his eyes bulged as he focused and scanned the text.
“Ahh,” he said as he took in a deep inhalation, “I remember that man. Tell you what, come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
I took a seat in one of his recliners as I asked him a few generic questions about his life.
James spent a considerable time of his youth in North Lawndale, one of the rougher places in Chicago. He escaped his impoverished upbringing by pursuing a career as an inventory clerk. He worked his way up to management in a warehousing company.
“I beat the odds in a big way,” he said as he folded his hands and sat across from me.
“So, what can you tell me about your experience on set that day? Do you know about anything that happened post-production?”
“They made us sign contracts where we would promise not to talk about what we went through with anyone. Still, I’m at the point where I’m not very worried, or I don’t think I should be. I was much younger then, about your age. I lived at the boxing gym and had dreams of going pro. Of course that didn’t happen, but when I wasn’t training I was drinking and doing stupid things that young men do. Bar brawls I didn’t deserve to get away with but somehow did. My mother watched a lot of game shows. Without my knowledge, she submitted my name for consideration to become a contestant. She thought it would make me a better person if I had some kind of hope for helping the family. One besides crushing peoples noses for a living.”
“How did she hear about it?”
“I have no idea. I wish I asked her.”
“How did you find out you were going to go on?”
“Back then, everything was a phone call, so that’s what we got. They flew me out there, I took a taxi to get to the set. It was not a traditional studio. The place was closer to a factory with a fake space ship built inside of it. In the center of the room was a neon triangle with the same spaciousness of a house.”
“How was the game played?”
“Before it started, they told us to write down three things we were good at. I put boxing, organizational skills, and running. Daisy listed hers as poker, math, and long distance swimming. Roy - that was his name, the person in the picture you showed me - put outdoor survival, shooting, and cooking. We would stand at each point of the triangle. We’d get asked a question by the host, and we had three minutes to answer it. If we got it right, they gave us a reward being able to attack one of the other two people using the skill sets we put down. The goal is to make the other two quit by getting enough questions correct. Of course, we went into the game blind to the rule set. Otherwise I may have chosen the most aggressive ability imaginable. Roy won because he chose aptitude with a firearm, which trumps any martial art, whether I like it or not.”
James lifted his pant leg and showed me a scar above his knee.
“At least he was kind enough to not make it a fatal blow,” he said.
I showed him the words written on the back of the newspaper clipping. He shrugged and told me he was unaware, dismissive of it as someone’s scrapped note.
I asked him if he remembered the name of the host or could give me a physical description.
“I don’t remember anything about what we called him, if he even told us what he went by. His hair was black and a pompadour style. He wore a purple suit with a bright orange tie.”
“Two last questions,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Daisy, if she’s still alive? Also, do you recall the address of the place where they filmed the game?”
“I wrote to Daisy twice a year before she vanished. We did have one conversation over the phone, and she told me that bad luck was going to follow the losers of that pilot. There was no media coverage about her passing that I ever saw. As far as the location, sure. I wrote it down in a journal I kept with me even when I traveled. I used to keep track of my workouts and diet regiment back then. Let me grab it.”
3
The location where the Triangle Game took place four decades earlier stood in a squalid part of the city.
I passed the ruins of the old LA zoo on my way to the spot. I contemplated how the sight I was about to take in could not get any stranger. I was wrong.
The building was five stories, but the front only had a trio of stained glass windows. Bullet holes surrounded the casements. The place had a nave roof and flying buttresses on both sides. Multi-colored graffiti littered the outside.
It sat in a neighborhood filled with homeless people who slept on benches.
I went there mid-afternoon. I approached the front and found two locked doors. I scaled around back. I stepped over heaps of trash in the process, and saw an opening in the form of a hole large enough to crawl into.
A surge of adrenaline hit me me as I belly crawled through. I was taking a bet on how there were no cameras, guards or residents who would make a scene out of my trespassing.
It is amazing the rules one will bend for the sake of new content on social media, I opined as I made way into the space.
I turned on the flashlight of my phone and saw nothing but an enormous dusty chamber made of concrete.
I moved into the next room. A hoarders lifetime supply of broken antiques sat. Spray painted devil-horned faces grinned from the ceiling.
What caught my attention the most was a camera’s tripod. It stood alone in the far left corner.
I approached it to get a better look. I kicked aside a bunch of cans. As they clattered away, I looked down and saw a pointed tip of something drawn on the ground.
I removed most of the trash by shoving the majority of it aside and saw what was underneath.
The large triangle, which took up most of the flooring in the chamber, was still there after all these years.
In the center of it was a thin line of blood. I crouched down and peered at it.
The fluid was still wet, and a horrid stench met me. I gagged and recoiled, and in my backing away, my shoulder bumped against a dusty and discarded shelf.
Gunfire rang out.
I did not know if it was outside or near me, but I did not wish to find out. I exited the way I came in with a relentless sprint and drove as far away as I could.
4
A year later, I was finally wrapping up my recording of the podcast. I titled it ‘Three Ways to Die.’
While the name of the series was quite sensational, I felt the story merited a bit of clickbait. I had no followers and was unsure of how it would perform.
I reasoned that giving the story any publicity I could would help me find the lost piece of media. Even if it was on the cutting room floor of that very space I had to leave.
I went to call Grover, to try and collect an email address so I could send him the pre-uploaded production.
A woman answered.
“You’re looking for my father. He lost his life six months ago. Someone killed him. I would appreciate it if you got rid of this number.”
She ended the call less than a second after the last word. She wrote me off as an insurance agent looking to take advantage of a grieving family member.
I paced around my room. Although I did not know him well, I had come to like him, and his gruesome end was not one he deserved. I researched crime news to find out what had happened to him, to no avail.
The newspaper piece I had collected that fateful day sat at the edge of my desk.
I lifted it towards me and flipped it over again. I stared at the words — CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
The sentence was nonsensical. I had applied my own meanings to the gibberish phrase. Like it was a cryptic and silly way of saying ‘outgoing mail.’
I do not know whether it was desperation, a creative inclination or an admixture of both. I decided to run it through an anagram generator I had searched for on the web.
It came up with many phrases, some of them surreal, but the one that popped out to me was EXPECT VIOLENCE.
My stomach turned as I realized how my own personal investigation yielded nothing. I opened the window and was soon exposed to some fresh Sierra air, which was therapeutic but not curative.
I decided to take a long walk. I had been sedentary over the last week due to intensive editing. I figured a jaunt would help me smooth a few psychological knots things out.
I slid my closet door open to try and find a pair of sweat pants.
The sound of thunder reverberated outside. I stared out to find the sky had become overcast.
The closet door creaked even louder than I could remember it having been before.
Orange ties hung on the rack, and a triangle painted a pastel green was visible behind it.

1
We underestimate the trials the dead have gone through.
This obvious mistake leads to avoidable missteps in life. It is still all too common.
When my Grandfather passed away, I inherited a house in the mountains. The view was breathtaking. It had a sweeping vista of infinite pine trees. The place was nowhere near as large as the properties surrounding it.
It was a summer home for him and my Grandma. The interior of it contained many of his items. This included tobacco pipes, cabinets of obscure teas, and cupboards of whiskey bottles.
One Saturday evening I went through the attic and found a dozen stacks of boxes. The majority of them remained unlabeled. Several contained pulp paperbacks and stacks of old photos. Towards the end of his life, he gave up his old pastimes of hunting and fishing. He stayed at home and watched old game shows instead.
I tried to clean the roof space in one day. I found myself unable to complete it before tiring and going to bed.
The next morning I resumed the activity. It was no longer about trying to declutter the area and fill it with my own possessions. It was now a way to learn more about the man.
All I knew about his reputation was how he had served in World War II. My family told me how he was as short on words as he was on patience.
I found an old newspaper article, dated 1983. There were other period pieces around it. The topics varied. This included the US invasion of Grenada and the debut of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. A device known as the mobile phone received a mention.
Yet what caught my attention was the first piece. I brushed aside cobwebs to find it buried underneath a pile of cardboard with burnt edges.
The picture was of my Grandfather, Roy Davies. He held a check for fifty thousand dollars. This was an amount I later found out equaled to one hundred and fifty two thousand in today’s money. The mystery of how he could afford the place he gave me was no longer one worth pondering.
The wall behind him had an illustration of a ramshackle house on a hill. The title of the write-up was NORTHERN CALIFORNIA MAN WINS IN THE PILOT FOR NEW SHOW ‘THE TRIANGLE GAME.’
I read the five hundred word account. It detailed how he flew to Los Angeles to be a participant in an allegedly syndicated program. There were two other people he competed against. The editorial feature did not go into detail about what the goal of the game was. How to win or get disqualified was unknown to me. Still Still, my Grandfather walked out a much richer man before he flew back home.
It did mention the couple he played against, a man called James Grover and a woman named Daisy Francis.
I flipped the article. I found were words written in orange ink with a marker on the back, CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
I searched online for the triangle game. I found variations on the pastime ‘I Spy’ first. Players would spot triangular items in their immediate vicinity. I discovered a few board games, along with IQ-related quizzes.
No information was available about a television broadcast.
2
It took almost a month of research to find where James Grover lived.
I managed to find his house by paying for a background checking website. He had gotten a criminal charge for running a red light in front of a cop. Otherwise his record was clean. That single infraction allowed me to find him since it put him in that specific database.
I stood outside his red brick house in a suburb. It was a Wednesday afternoon in a neighborhood located in an upscale part of Illinois.
Frost caked the lawns near the heated sidewalk I stood on. I imagined the place to be serene in the summertime, even if it was a vacant-seeming region now.
A stretch of abodes stood before me without their lights on. Nervousness coursed through me. The idea of having traveled all this way for the information to be wrong made me anxious.
I walked along the concrete pathway towards his front door. I stepped on a creaky porch. I set aside my awareness of the likely pending disappointment and knocked.
A shuffling of feet was on the other side of the entrance. as well as A remote control clicked as the volume of a television blaring a news report got turned down.
He answered. The man fit the correct age range I calculated he would fall into. He wore a flannel jacket and slacks, He had on a blue pair of slippers. His gray mustache bristled as he saw me.
“James Grover?” I asked.
“If you’re trying to sell me something I’m not interested.”
“I’m very sorry to bother you sir, and I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here to ask if you would be willing to let me ask you a few questions about something you might know about. See, I make documentaries for a living, and I have concluded that you might be able to help me.”
I could not take a good photograph when asked, but it was a stringent falsehood I conveyed well in the moment.
In reality, I was a podcaster. The term documentarian, though not as modern, seemed more legitimate. Especially to an older gentleman.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What are you making a movie on? Also, where’s your film crew?”
“I gleaned that you were the type to prefer remaining anonymous. The conversation‘s recorded. This will be with your consent, of course. The subject I want to discuss with you involves the triangle game.”
Grover took a few steps away from the threshold and broke eye contact with me as his lips pursed. His eyes wandered over to the corner of his living room, and he brought his gaze back to mine.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Because I can’t find anything about it anywhere,” I said. “I’ve even been to the National Archives of Game Show history in search of it. It’s as though it never existed. I know it did because I found this article.”
As I brandished the piece of writing to him, his eyes bulged as he focused and scanned the text.
“Ahh,” he said as he took in a deep inhalation, “I remember that man. Tell you what, come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
I took a seat in one of his recliners as I asked him a few generic questions about his life.
James spent a considerable time of his youth in North Lawndale, one of the rougher places in Chicago. He escaped his impoverished upbringing by pursuing a career as an inventory clerk. He worked his way up to management in a warehousing company.
“I beat the odds in a big way,” he said as he folded his hands and sat across from me.
“So, what can you tell me about your experience on set that day? Do you know about anything that happened post-production?”
“They made us sign contracts where we would promise not to talk about what we went through with anyone. Still, I’m at the point where I’m not very worried, or I don’t think I should be. I was much younger then, about your age. I lived at the boxing gym and had dreams of going pro. Of course that didn’t happen, but when I wasn’t training I was drinking and doing stupid things that young men do. Bar brawls I didn’t deserve to get away with but somehow did. My mother watched a lot of game shows. Without my knowledge, she submitted my name for consideration to become a contestant. She thought it would make me a better person if I had some kind of hope for helping the family. One besides crushing peoples noses for a living.”
“How did she hear about it?”
“I have no idea. I wish I asked her.”
“How did you find out you were going to go on?”
“Back then, everything was a phone call, so that’s what we got. They flew me out there, I took a taxi to get to the set. It was not a traditional studio. The place was closer to a factory with a fake space ship built inside of it. In the center of the room was a neon triangle with the same spaciousness of a house.”
“How was the game played?”
“Before it started, they told us to write down three things we were good at. I put boxing, organizational skills, and running. Daisy listed hers as poker, math, and long distance swimming. Roy - that was his name, the person in the picture you showed me - put outdoor survival, shooting, and cooking. We would stand at each point of the triangle. We’d get asked a question by the host, and we had three minutes to answer it. If we got it right, they gave us a reward being able to attack one of the other two people using the skill sets we put down. The goal is to make the other two quit by getting enough questions correct. Of course, we went into the game blind to the rule set. Otherwise I may have chosen the most aggressive ability imaginable. Roy won because he chose aptitude with a firearm, which trumps any martial art, whether I like it or not.”
James lifted his pant leg and showed me a scar above his knee.
“At least he was kind enough to not make it a fatal blow,” he said.
I showed him the words written on the back of the newspaper clipping. He shrugged and told me he was unaware, dismissive of it as someone’s scrapped note.
I asked him if he remembered the name of the host or could give me a physical description.
“I don’t remember anything about what we called him, if he even told us what he went by. His hair was black and a pompadour style. He wore a purple suit with a bright orange tie.”
“Two last questions,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Daisy, if she’s still alive? Also, do you recall the address of the place where they filmed the game?”
“I wrote to Daisy twice a year before she vanished. We did have one conversation over the phone, and she told me that bad luck was going to follow the losers of that pilot. There was no media coverage about her passing that I ever saw. As far as the location, sure. I wrote it down in a journal I kept with me even when I traveled. I used to keep track of my workouts and diet regiment back then. Let me grab it.”
3
The location where the Triangle Game took place four decades earlier stood in a squalid part of the city.
I passed the ruins of the old LA zoo on my way to the spot. I contemplated how the sight I was about to take in could not get any stranger. I was wrong.
The building was five stories, but the front only had a trio of stained glass windows. Bullet holes surrounded the casements. The place had a nave roof and flying buttresses on both sides. Multi-colored graffiti littered the outside.
It sat in a neighborhood filled with homeless people who slept on benches.
I went there mid-afternoon. I approached the front and found two locked doors. I scaled around back. I stepped over heaps of trash in the process, and saw an opening in the form of a hole large enough to crawl into.
A surge of adrenaline hit me me as I belly crawled through. I was taking a bet on how there were no cameras, guards or residents who would make a scene out of my trespassing.
It is amazing the rules one will bend for the sake of new content on social media, I opined as I made way into the space.
I turned on the flashlight of my phone and saw nothing but an enormous dusty chamber made of concrete.
I moved into the next room. A hoarders lifetime supply of broken antiques sat. Spray painted devil-horned faces grinned from the ceiling.
What caught my attention the most was a camera’s tripod. It stood alone in the far left corner.
I approached it to get a better look. I kicked aside a bunch of cans. As they clattered away, I looked down and saw a pointed tip of something drawn on the ground.
I removed most of the trash by shoving the majority of it aside and saw what was underneath.
The large triangle, which took up most of the flooring in the chamber, was still there after all these years.
In the center of it was a thin line of blood. I crouched down and peered at it.
The fluid was still wet, and a horrid stench met me. I gagged and recoiled, and in my backing away, my shoulder bumped against a dusty and discarded shelf.
Gunfire rang out.
I did not know if it was outside or near me, but I did not wish to find out. I exited the way I came in with a relentless sprint and drove as far away as I could.
4
A year later, I was finally wrapping up my recording of the podcast. I titled it ‘Three Ways to Die.’
While the name of the series was quite sensational, I felt the story merited a bit of clickbait. I had no followers and was unsure of how it would perform.
I reasoned that giving the story any publicity I could would help me find the lost piece of media. Even if it was on the cutting room floor of that very space I had to leave.
I went to call Grover, to try and collect an email address so I could send him the pre-uploaded production.
A woman answered.
“You’re looking for my father. He lost his life six months ago. Someone killed him. I would appreciate it if you got rid of this number.”
She ended the call less than a second after the last word. She wrote me off as an insurance agent looking to take advantage of a grieving family member.
I paced around my room. Although I did not know him well, I had come to like him, and his gruesome end was not one he deserved. I researched crime news to find out what had happened to him, to no avail.
The newspaper piece I had collected that fateful day sat at the edge of my desk.
I lifted it towards me and flipped it over again. I stared at the words — CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
The sentence was nonsensical. I had applied my own meanings to the gibberish phrase. Like it was a cryptic and silly way of saying ‘outgoing mail.’
I do not know whether it was desperation, a creative inclination or an admixture of both. I decided to run it through an anagram generator I had searched for on the web.
It came up with many phrases, some of them surreal, but the one that popped out to me was EXPECT VIOLENCE.
My stomach turned as I realized how my own personal investigation yielded nothing. I opened the window and was soon exposed to some fresh Sierra air, which was therapeutic but not curative.
I decided to take a long walk. I had been sedentary over the last week due to intensive editing. I figured a jaunt would help me smooth a few psychological knots things out.
I slid my closet door open to try and find a pair of sweat pants.
The sound of thunder reverberated outside. I stared out to find the sky had become overcast.
The closet door creaked even louder than I could remember it having been before.
Orange ties hung on the rack, and a triangle painted a pastel green was visible behind it.

Good morning,
I have an issue with my PC. It's an old AMD FX-8350. It's worked fine all of this years for Gaming, Video Editing, even 3D modeling and rendering. However I had not gamed for a while and one day I decided to play a game on it and it crashed when launching the game. Before this I had switched the case and also bought a new 27 inch 4K monitor. However I did not notice any difference until I decided to play games again.
I have tried everything I could to determine the root cause of the issue. I am going to provide you with my current set up and everything I've tried and a description of how to replicate my issue.
RIG:

• PSU: EVGA Supernova 650 P2 (80+ Platinum)
• MOBO: Gigabyte 970-DS3P
• CPU: AMD FX-8350
• RAM: 2 x G. Skill 8GB DIMM 1333 MHz PC310666 DDR3 (F310666CL9S-8GBXL)
• CPU Cooler: Cooler Master Hyper 212 EVO
• GPU: Gigabyte NVIDIA GTX 1060 6GB
• SSDs:

1. Kingston SA400S37480G,
2. SAMSUNG 870 EVO 1TB,
3. SanDisk SD8SBAT128G1122

• Capture Card: ElGato HD60+
• Monitors: Display port: One 4K monitor, two 1080p monitors and one 1080 Pen Display tablet

I calculated my Wattage and it should be around 400 Watts.
Replicating the issue. (And things I have tried already)I can use my computer normally for any non-demanding task like, media consumption, web browsing etc. also for 1080p video editing (Davinci Resolve), I could even go for 4K with proxies and stuff. I have no issue using the programs or rendering.
However I wanted to pick up gaming again (I even used to do live streaming with this computer). Main games I usually play on this computer are Fortnite and PUBG.At first when I launched PUBG. I would attempt to load then the computer screen would shut off and the computer fans would start spinning, (fan leds and GPU leds still on) and making loud jet turbine sounds. (no restart, just shuts off). I have to manually hold the power button until it shuts off completely. Same thing happened when opening Fortnite.
Last night I was using Blender, trying some 3D modeling and then the computer crashed just like described above so I figured I needed some help.

• I noticed that I was trying to play the game in the 4K monitor so. I switched the main screen to one of the 1080p monitors and Fortnite worked, but not PUBG.

I unplugged the 4K monitor just in case. Still have issues. As soon as PUBG loads (after the intro graphics) it would shut off.
Since I had switched cases a while ago and the PSU is at the bottom now as supposed to inside as before I thought maybe the PSU was not getting enough air so :

• I raised the case to allow it to intake as much air as possible. But it still crashes.
• I also tried with the PSU outside the case. Also crashed.

I have a second PSU: A brand new EVGA 550GA (80+ Gold)

• Tried it but the same thing happens. (also tried it outside the case)
• Tried different EVGA cables.
• Removed the CPU and applied new thermal paste (twice) even though I'm not having temp issues with the CPU.
• I have also applied new thermal paste to the GPU.
• I underclocked the GPU -100Mhz
• I underclocked the GPU -400Mhz

CPU idle temps: 21c to 35c CPU gaming max temps: 50.9c GPU iddle temp: 40c GPU Fortnite max temp: 49c
Now to the final findings. I monitored the temp of the GPU while launching PUBG and it stars raising fast, very fast. As soon as it goes past 59c the the crash happens. (computer turns off, jet turbine fans spinning until I hold the power button). The Graphics card gets really hot.
So the GPU fans don't turn on if the temp is below 59c (silent mode). In fact I lowered PUBG graphic settings to LOW. And I was able to launch the game and play it with no issues. The GPU temps stayed at 57c (the GPU fans never kicked in) and I was able to play a match. GPU fans stayed off during the whole match.
So as long as the GPU temp doesn't go past 59c and the so that the GPU fans don't have to kick in, it's all good. What does this mean? can I do anything to fix this or the is the GPU damaged?
Is there anything else I could try?
Sorry for the long post, I wanted to provide as much detail as possible. I don't know what to do any more.
​
​

I want to have land for my own garden/farm with chickens and fruit trees and vegetables so I’m thinking I need to be somewhere more southern because of the warmer weather. I want to grow citrus and berries and all kinds of stuff. But I also want to live in a more left-winged area and be near farmers markets and gyms and shopping areas. I am thinking about Durham suburbs of NC, Austin TX, florida (maybe), but I don’t want somewhere super expensive.
Any recommendations for where I should live? I do not plan on having kids, love the ocean and love the mountains and hiking!