recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
Bottle

My damnation came in the form of a bottle.

No, not like that.

When I was a child, my best friend lived next to a little junkyard - a great place for a kid to hang out.

The place was full of mystery and exciting discoveries, and if you found anything nice, nobody minded if you took it. Well, no one but your parents. The only exception was my friend’s mom; most of their bowls and plates came from that junkyard. But I digress.

One day, a bunch of us were hanging out there, dismantling a car. Some of us were interested in the parts, but I just thought breaking stuff was great. When we’d gotten the engine strewn everywhere, we set to work on the interior. Under one of the seats was a little glass bottle, full of some green, bubbly liquid.

Curiosity trumped hygiene in those days. I uncorked it and sniffed it. The smell was pleasant, minty, and a little floral. One kid, Jackie, dared me to drink it. It was a double-dog dare. I had to.

The taste was also pleasant, and it warmed me on the way down. My body was filled with a strange, pleasant tingling. Nothing else happened, not until that night.

The first effect was that I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t needed sleep since. It’s alright, though. I get a lot done.

The second effect came a month later. I started to cough things up. I was playing alone in the woods and hacked up blood. Not just liquid, but chunks as well. Then I was puking. The entirety of my coiled long intestine came snaking up as I sat there quivering, tears on my cheeks, struggling to breathe. I was literally puking my guts out.

My mouth seemed to unhinge like a snake’s to accommodate my lungs. My heart was on my sleeve. The bloodstain would never have come out if I hadn’t abandoned the clothes I was wearing. The police searched frantically for a missing person, but never found a thing.

I wasn’t empty when I finished, though. New organs built up inside me. I could feel them, I could see them when I closed my eyes, nameless lumps and spirals springing out of nothing.

Finally, the third effect. Two months later, I began to *crave* exuberant amounts of water. I can’t possibly describe the feeling of thirsty skin, but it was a desperate thirst. I left my parents’ house one night and walked until I came to a swamp. I moved in. The murky, bug-filled waters feel like home now, as they did all those years ago. I sit under the water, watching the fish and salamanders get eaten by herons; looking at the surface and waiting for my prey.

I’m sure you know what the fourth effect was. I’m typing this on the cell phone of my latest victim. She was delicious. She smelled just like fresh melons.

*Credited to mngamojemo*
Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;—

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingéd seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud by night

Chilling my Annabel Lee;

So that her high-born kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me:—

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling

And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:—

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride

In the sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the side of the sea.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears

Night and morning with my tears,

And I sunned it with smiles

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright,

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine -

And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole;

In the morning, glad, I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

*Credited to William Blake*
Ad Finem

On the white throat of the' useless passion

That scorched my soul with its burning breath

I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion,

And gathered them close in a grip of death;

For why should I fan, or feed with fuel,

A love that showed me but blank despair?

So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel—

I meant to strangle it then and there!

I thought it was dead. But with no warning,

It rose from its grave last night, and came

And stood by my bed till the early morning,

And over and over it spoke your name.

Its throat was red where my hands had held it;

It burned my brow with its scorching breath;

And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it,

"A love like this can know no death."

For just one kiss that your lips have given

In the lost and beautiful past to me

I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven

And all the bliss of Eternity.

For never a joy are the angels keeping,

To lay at my feet in Paradise,

Like that of into your strong arms creeping,

And looking into your love-lit eyes.

I know, in the way that sins are reckoned,

This thought is a sin of the deepest dye;

But I know, too, if an angel beckoned,

Standing close by the Throne on High,

And you, adown by the gates infernal,

Should open your loving arms and smile,

I would turn my back on things supernal,

To lie on your breast a little while.

To know for an hour you were mine completely—

Mine in body and soul, my own—

I would bear unending tortures sweetly,

With not a murmur and not a moan.

A lighter sin or a lesser error

Might change through hope or fear divine;

But there is no fear, and hell has no terror,

To change or alter a love like mine.

*Credited to Ella Wheeler Wilcox*
And What Is Love? It Is a Doll Dressed Up

And what is love? It is a doll dressed up

For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;

A thing of soft misnomers, so divine

That silly youth doth think to make itself

Divine by loving, and so goes on

Yawning and doting a whole summer long,

Till Miss's comb is made a perfect tiara,

And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;

Till Cleopatra lives at Number Seven,

And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.

Fools! if some passions high have warmed the world,

If queens and soldiers have played deep for hearts,

It is no reason why such agonies

Should be more common than the growth of weeds.

Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl

The queen of Egypt melted, and I'll say

That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.

*Credited to John Keats*
In the Water

There’s something in the water.

There’s something in the water they say.

Someone put it there to make people act this way.

People are dying, people are crying, people are lying.

Left and right the bodies go, dropping dead where they stand.

I am alone and in my house

With many water jugs of full stock.

I’ll never feel the ill effects of which I hear them talk.

People loot and plunder

A crazy sort of force.

This poisoned population seems no blunder,

The town’s well is the source.

I write this now in anticipation

Of the crazy new poisoned nation

This populace poisoned

These psycho people

Their morals asunder

This poison’s clearly now no blunder

There’s something in the water.

There’s something in the water they say.

I am the one who put it there to make them act this way.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Heads Up

*Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck.*

—Children’s saying
Sally was a schoolyard scamp, and superstitious despite her young age. Her mother had inadvertently passed on her notions; most notably the notion that picking up a penny tails-up was bad luck.

That particular notion came about one day when her mother got into a spot of bad luck and blamed a penny.

“You leave that alone, John Michael!” she shouted at a poor kid going to pick up a coin on the ground one stormy recess.

She was a unique character in that she—like her mother—believed that only her ideals were the truth. The only real difference is that her mother had religious ideals and her ‘superstitions’ were little more than excuses that Sally happened to take as truth.

“I told you not to pick it up! Don’t you know what you’re doing?” she yelled as she slapped the penny out of John Michael’s hand.

When it landed, the coin was face-up. Sally saw this and leapt at the chance to prove her point about coins and luck.

She seized the coin and held it up high. “See?” she shouted at the children around her. “It’s like I say. Tails, bad! Heads, good! This was face-up. This is lucky!”

She was promptly struck by a bolt of irony.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Pilot (character)

## Pilot

The Pilot

*"Sometimes you have to fall to be able to fly!"*

Pilot is the main character of the titular webcomic, Pilot. He is a low-class robot built by Danish.

## Appearance

Pilot is a tall robot, standing at 6"5. His skin is a light gray. The sclera of Pilot's eyes are yellow, with red irises and no pupils. He's always clad in an old brown pilot's uniform, the hat of which is built into his body and can't be removed.

## Personality

Pilot is scatterbrained and ditzy, and generally acts dumb. Several of his behaviors have been likened to that of a domesticated dog, such as how he has to sleep outside due to tracking mud in the house. Despite his behavior, Pilot is highly empathetic, and can easily tell what someone's feeling at a glance.

## Trivia

* Pilot suffers from hydrophobia, the fear of water.
* According to Bones in a stream, Pilot was inspired by Turbo (from Wreck it Ralph) and the game Luftrausers.

## Gallery

Family photoDetails of Pilot's planePilot wishes you a nice dayPromotional imageHuman PilotAnother family photoPilot loves animalsPilot himself is like a dogA cryptic picture of Pilot, note he's submerged in water
## References

1. ↑ https://ifunny.co/fun/uNDZYsgp2?gallery=tag&query=rebornica#comments
Azolan

AT VILLAGE lived, in days of yore,

A youth bred in Mahomet's lore;

His well-turned limbs were formed with grace,

With blooming beauty glowed his face;

His name was Azolan, with care

The Koran he had written fair;

Was on its study ever bent,

To get it all by heart he meant.

From the most early youth his breast

By zeal for Gabriel was possessed;

This minister of the most high

Descended to him from the sky.

"The zeal that in thy bosom glows,"

Said he, "thy guardian Gabriel knows:

To Gabriel gratitude is dear,

To make your fortune I'm come here;

You'll in short time as first divine

Of Medina and Mecca shine;

This, next to his place who is chief

Of all who hold the true belief,

Is the most high and wealthy station

In holy Mahomet's donation.

When you your duties once begin,

Honors on all sides will pour in;

But you a solemn oath must make

The whole sex female to forsake;

To lead a life most chaste, and ne'er

But through a grate to view the fair."

Too hastily the beauteous boy,

That he church treasures might enjoy,

Fell easily into the snare,

Nor of his folly was aware.

Our new-made imam was elate,

Seeing himself become so great;

His joy the salary enhanced,

Which was immediately advanced

by a clerk of important air,

Who with him still went share and share.

No joy can dignity supply,

Nor wealth, should love his aid deny.

Amina fair by chance he spies,

With youthful bloom and charming eyes;

He loves Amina, she in turn

For him feels love's flame equal burn.

Each morning as the day returned,

The youth, who with love's flames still burned,

Being by his cursed oath enchained,

Of his sad slavery complained,

Avowing freely in his heart,

That he had played a foolish part.

"Then, Medina, farewell," he cried,

"Mecca, vain pomp and foolish pride;

Amina, mistress of my breast,

We'll both live in my village blessed."

From heaven the archangel made descent,

"Do but behold my mistress' eyes;

I find of me you've made a jest,

I'm by your contract quite distressed;

With all you gave I'll freely part,

I ask alone Amina's heart.

The prudent and the sacred lore

Of Mahomet I must adore;

Love's joys he grants to the elect,

Nay, he allows them to expect

Aminas and eternal love,

In his bright Paradise above.

To heaven again, dear Gabriel, go,

My zeal for you shall still o'erflow;

To the empyrean then repair;

Without my love I'd not go there."

*Credited to Voltaire*
A Journey to the Center of the Earth

The full novel "A Journey to the Center of the Earth" (Also known as "A Journey to the Interior of the Earth") by Jules Verne

Text from Wikisource.

## Contents

* Chapter I: The professor and his family
* Chapter II: A mystery to be solved at any price
* Chapter III: The runic writing exercises the professor
* Chapter IV: The enemy to be starved into submission
* Chapter V: Famine, then victory, followed by dismay
* Chapter VI: Exciting discussions about an unparalleled enterprise
* Chapter VII: A woman's courage
* Chapter VIII: Serious preparations for vertical descent
* Chapter IX: Iceland! but what next?
* Chapter X: Interesting conversations with Icelandic savants
* Chapter XI: A guide found to the centre of the earth
* Chapter XII: A barren land
* Chapter XIII: Hospitality under the arctic circle
* Chapter XIV: But arctics can be inhospitable, too
* Chapter XV: Snaefell at last
* Chapter XVI: Boldly down the crater
* Chapter XVII: Vertical descent
* Chapter XVIII: The wonders of terrestrial depths
* Chapter XIX: Geological studies in situ
* Chapter XX: The first signs of distress
* Chapter XXI: Compassion fuses the professor's heart
* Chapter XXII: Total failure of water
* Chapter XXIII: Water discovered
* Chapter XXIV: Well said, old mole! canst thou work i' the ground so fast?
* Chapter XXV: De profundis
* Chapter XXVI: The worst peril of all
* Chapter XXVII: Lost in the bowels of the earth
* Chapter XXVIII: The rescue in the whispering gallery
* Chapter XXIX: Thalatta! thalatta!
* Chapter XXX: A new mare internum
* Chapter XXXI: Preparations for a voyage of discovery
* Chapter XXXII: Wonders of the deep
* Chapter XXXIII: A battle of monsters
* Chapter XXXIV: The great geyser
* Chapter XXXV: An electric storm
* Chapter XXXVI: Calm philosophic discussions
* Chapter XXXVII: The Liedenbrock Museum of Geology
* Chapter XXXVIII: The professor in his chair again
* Chapter XXXIX: Forest scenery illuminated by eletricity
* Chapter XL: Preparations for blasting a passage to the centre of the earth
* Chapter XLI: The great explosion and the rush down below
* Chapter XLII: Headlong speed upward through the horrors of darkness
* Chapter XLIII: Shot out of a volcano at last!
* Chapter XLIV: Sunny lands in the blue mediterranean
* Chapter XLV: All's well that ends well
Dear Mother

Dear mother,

I'm sorry for all of those times I fought with you.

When I didn't realise the words you spoke were true.

I'm sorry for when I didn't follow all of your rules.

I'm sorry for getting suspended from all those schools.

I'm sorry for getting into all of those fights.

When I ran away and caused you sleepless nights

When I hit that boy right upside the head

When you found me in the bathroom almost dead

I'm sorry that I have so many troubles

I'm sorry that you have just as many doubled

I'm sorry that I cause you so much pain

Sorry that I'm driving you insane

I'm sorry that I still make the same mistakes

Over and over I'm skipping school anyway

I'm falling asleep in the middle of class

My educated is on the important list as one of the lasts

I can't focus on school, work, life

And I'm so tempted to pick back up the knife

I'm sorry that I hurt you everyday

I'm trying hard to change my horrid ways

I'm sorry that I don't appreciate everything you do

Just know Dear mother, that I love you

*---***Credited to DeathRoe**

*Content is available under {{#NewWindowLink:http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0%7CCC-BY-SA}}*
A Lamb's Encounter

“He runs, I wish to taste his flesh!” The Dark Wolf shouted as the calm Lamb threw her arm before him.

“No dear wolf, this one is different for he embraces death, yet fears it at the same time.” The Wolf scowled as he looked up to her. “Trust me Lamb, he is going to run!”

“No dear Wolf, he is different, I know.” Lamb finishes the conversation by drawing her bow and leaving the shadows. “Dear man, you know death is coming, don’t you?” She asked as he looked at her and smiled.

“Why yes, I do know that such a certainty is inevitable and will be becoming of me soon, I have known this for years,” he said as he took off his dusty black hat and placed it upon an old mahogany hat rack.

“What brings you to my inn this evening?” he asked as his gray hair fell gently upon his wrinkled face.

“I come as a harbinger, I am here to bring you to your end, do not fear for it will be peaceful, I promise you.” She said as she smiled up at him.

The man looked down at her and laughed before smiling once more. “Of all my years of walking Runeterra I never figured I would hear words such as those,” he said as he stood up. Wolf perked up as he watched from the shadows, however he did not interfere. “No one ever expects their end to be announced to them, dear man.” Lamb said as she drew her bow. He laughed as he inspected her bow, the realization dawning upon him as she was really about to meet his end.

“The end is never pretty is it?” he asked as he sighed, walking closer to her.

“I am as beautiful as it gets.” She said as she drew the string of the bow back.

“The end is scary isn’t it?” He asked as tears began to fill his eyes.

“What makes the end so scary is how you perceive it dear man,” she said.

“For the end is not scary, one does not even realize it has been brought about,” she said as she smiled once more as he smiled back and nodded.

“Aye, thank you,” he said as her arrow pierced his forehead.

Lamb smiled as she walked away, happy with her work. As she walked back into the shadows, Wolf greeted her with a question. “Lamb, why did the man not run, despite knowing everything.” He asked as he came closer to her.

“Dear wolf, once one has come to terms with death they haven’t a reason to run from it.”

“Not even if they are scared?” He asked as he looked up to her.

“Not even if they are scared.” Lamb answered as she began humming and walking away.

*---***Credited to Alicsu**

*Content is available under {{#NewWindowLink:http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0%7CCC-BY-SA}}*
A Love Song

Ah, love, my love is like a cry in the night,

A long, loud cry to the empty sky,

The cry of a man alone in the desert,

With hands uplifted, with parching lips,

Oh, rescue me, rescue me,

Thy form to mine arms,

The dew of thy lips to my mouth,

Dost thou hear me?—my call thro' the night?

Darling, I hear thee and answer,

Thy fountain am I,

All of the love of my soul will I bring to thee,

All of the pains of my being shall wring to thee,

Deep and forever the song of my loving shall sing to thee,

Ever and ever thro' day and thro' night shall I cling to thee.

Hearest thou the answer?

Darling, I come, I come.

*Credited to Paul Laurence Dunbar*
Holder of Madness

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Madness". The worker will bow formally, with his hand tucked under his chest, and motion for you to follow into a waiting room. He will leave, and the lights will go out. When they return, thirteen seconds later, you will be in a dirty hallway with cuneiform scratching on the walls.

As you walk, the scratches will gradually change, to resemble an alien writing; attempting to decipher the writing will send you into writhing agony for the rest of your mortal days. As you reach a black orb, shimmering with liquidity, you must speak, "We are all mad, for you are the bringer." If the Orb comes to resemble a doorway, enter. If the Orb begins to rotate, you will be dragged into the nether.

In the following chamber, made of twisting black coral, stands a figure, ever-changing. In him, her, it, you will see all men, all women, children, animals, creatures, beasts, horrors that exist. It will not recognize your presence, unless you extend your left hand and say, "I swear an oath to Koth; may the Tower ever stand." At that time, he will cease his changing, long enough to place his hand on yours, and your soul will be torn out of your body and placed within a numbered humanoid skull resting on a pile to his left.

Touching that skull will bring you to the foyer of an ancient temple, lying in the sands of Mesopotamia.

The skull is Object 61 of 538. It must converge once more.
It's Golden

I loved my wife, her smile, her hair, everything about her. Well, almost everything.
Every day she would sing the same song, over and over. She said something about it helping her with stress, or something about her father and when she was a kid.

I didn’t listen to her sob story, because after so many days of listening to it, I just did not care. Excuses were all she had.

I just wanted her to be quiet. I knew she had a troubled childhood. She kept trying to cry on my shoulder. I just wanted some silence around the house. I didn’t know that trying to kiss her would send her into this… this song.

One day, I snapped. I just wanted her to shut up. To stop her singing. I put my hand around her mouth to get some silence around here. She squirmed, so I pressed tighter and tighter. Suddenly, she went limp. I had killed her.

I wasn’t worried, though. She had no parents and I hadn’t any friends. We lived on her parents’ old farm, and it was so remote no one would come looking for her.

Even though she’s gone, I still remember the sound of her voice, and that song. That’s not the worst thing about life nowadays.

The silence is driving me mad.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Individuality

O yes, I love you, and with all my heart;

Just as a weaker woman loves her own,

Better than I love my beloved art,

Which, till you came, reigned royally, alone,

My king, my master. Since I saw your face

I have dethroned it, and you hold that place.

I am as weak as other women are:

Your frown can make the whole world like a tomb;

Your smile shines brighter than the sun, by far.

Sometimes I think there is not space or room

In all the earth for such a love as mine,

And it soars up to breathe in realms divine.

I know that your desertion or neglect

Could break my heart, as women's hearts do break.

If my wan days had nothing to expect

From your love's splendor, all joy would forsake

The chambers of my soul. Yes, this is true.

And yet, and yet—one thing I keep from you.

There is a subtle part of me, which went

Into my long pursued and worshipped art;

Though your great love fills me with such content

No other love finds room now, in my heart.

Yet that rare essence was my art's alone.

Thank God, you cannot grasp it; 'tis mine own.

Thank God, I say, for while I love you so,

With that vast love, as passionate as tender,

I feel an exultation as I know

I have not made you a complete surrender.

Here is my body; bruise it, if you will,

And break my heart; I have that something still.

You cannot grasp it. Seize the breath of morn

Or bind the perfume of the rose, as well.

God put it in my soul when I was born;

It is not mine to give away, or sell,

Or offer up on any altar shrine.

It was my art's; and when not art's, 'tis mine,

For love's sake I can put the art away,

Or anything which stands 'twixt me and you.

But that strange essence God bestowed, I say,

To permeate the work He gave to do:

And it cannot be drained, dissolved, or sent

Through any channel save the one He meant.

*Credited to Ella Wheeler Wilcox*
Grocery List

You get a phone call from your mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts.

After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you.

"You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage."

Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way through the kitchen and into the living room.

Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your mother.

Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator.

"It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.

You think to yourself, *They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? No way. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?*

Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"

"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk? Oh, and I need some bread and cereal too."

"No problem mom. I'll be right over..."

*Original Author Unknown*
A Dream

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed—

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day

To him whose eyes are cast

On things around him with a ray

Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream—that holy dream,

While all the world were chiding,

Hath cheered me as a lovely beam

A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,

So trembled from afar—

What could there be more purely bright

In Truth's day-star?

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
Holder of Rage

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Rage". The person will appear shy as they show you to a door, and then walk away. When you enter the door, you will be looking down a staircase that descends into darkness. As you descend the stairs, you will begin to hear screams. The screams will come from a throat of indeterminate origin.

If the screaming stops at any time, shout to the darkness "Resume your business! I do not wish to intrude!" If the screaming does not come back, there is nothing you can do, for you will be dead before you know what happens. If the screaming continues, you may move on.

Eventually, you will see light coming through the cracks in a door. Go through this door and you will be in what appears to be a medieval dungeon. Hollowed out skulls filled with candles serve as lanterns, and skeletons line the walls. There will be a wooden table in front of a fire inside a fireplace. On this table is the severed head of a 4 year old girl, staring ahead with glassy eyes.

Step up to the table and look the head in the eyes. In a clear, commanding voice ask "Who will stop them from coming together?" The head will look you in the eyes and tell you the tale of a man. She will tell you his entire story, from his violent birth to what he is doing that very moment. His deeds will be recounted in horrifying detail. He is a murderer of which the likes have never been seen, and he is just as mad.

If at the end of the story, the head tells you "He is listening to our conversation," you will be dragged out of the room and never be heard from again. You will experience all of the most horrifying things ever conceived, and you will be kept alive until you have experienced them all.

If she tells you He is elsewhere, He is now looking for you. He will not stop until you are dead or the objects come together. She will tell you to pick her up. Pick the head up by the hair and look at the table where she was. Sitting there will be a needle, covered in dried blood, semen, pus, and countless unidentifiable substances.

That needle is Object is 21 of 538. The hunt has begun and the clock is ticking.
Cardinal Sins

I can’t go outside anymore. There are demonic beasts everywhere outside my house. I can see them from my window, watching me. I told my wife to be careful out there, and now she’s dead. She died of the illness these monsters carry.

They used to swarm us when we went to our car. She said they were making their home close to where we were walking. I saw the truth. They were attacking us, trying to kill us.
I can see the evil in their faces. Big black masks covering their eyes and their body is a bright, bloody red. Their mouth is an elongated cone; the color of which looks like dried blood. This is, no doubt, from their other victims.

I sit here watching them, and they watch me. They are no doubt waiting for me to run out of food so that I will be forced to go outside. That’s when they will kill me.

I will sooner die of starvation rather than die by their clawed hands. It’s funny, though. I never understood as a child, but now I know why they call them the ‘cardinal’ sins.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Holder of Greed

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Greed". If a look of ravenous hunger comes over them, run from the institution, for if you do not, you will be eaten alive in the most painful way possible. However, if a look of tired want comes over them, they will take you to a cell in a corridor that wasn't there before. The walls will be made of fine gold and silver, but do not touch it, lest They devour your soul.

As you walk, if at any time you hear the sound of coins jingling, stop and yell quickly, "All that glistens is not gold!" If it continues, you are damned for all eternity, and there is no point in running. However, if it stops, continue.

Eventually, you will come to a gilded door. The worker will open it, and close their eyes as you enter. As you enter, the door will close behind you. Inside is an exquisite palace, crafted of ivory and gold and wonders that no mortal man has ever built or conceived. Do not dwell too long, as if you do, the world will open under you, and you will be eternally trapped in a world of filth and squalor.

If you continue, the palace around you will slowly and increasingly drip blood, until a torrent of blood rains down on you. Continue, and never look back, and do not stop. Eventually, the blood will stop, and you will be in a room filled with gold bricks and treasure. Sitting in a throne of platinum will be a corpse, which will respond to only one question: "What do they lust for?"

It will stand up, and begin telling of every want, every desire, every theft. If you manage to keep your sanity, the corpse will motion towards the treasure when it finishes with its story. However, do not take any of the gold or treasure. Instead, look for a small, copper coin, inscribed with an unknown language. The second you touch it, you will be back in the institution, as if nothing had happened, with the coin in your hand.

That coin is Object 66 of 538. It is worth nothing and everything.
Hidden Love (Davies)

The bird of Fortune sings when free,

But captured, soon grows dumb; and we,

To hear his fast declining powers,

Must soon forget that he is ours.

So, when I win that maid, no doubt

Love soon will seem to be half out;

Like blighted leaves drooped to the ground,

Whose roots are still untouched and sound,

So will our love's root still be strong

When others think the leaves go wrong.

Though we may quarrel, 'twill not prove

That she and I are less in love;

The parrot, though he mocked the dove,

Died when she died, and proved his love.

When merry springtime comes, we hear

How all things into love must stir;

How birds would rather sing than eat,

How joyful sheep would rather bleat:

And daffodils nod heads of gold,

And dance in April's sparkling cold.

So in our early love did we

Dance much and skip, and laugh with glee:

But let none think our love is flown

If, when we're married, little's shown:

E'en though our lips be dumb of song,

Our hearts can still be singing strong.

*Credited to William Henry Davies*
Holder of the Mirror

In any city, in any country in the world, go to any mental institution or hospital, and ask the attendant for the "Holder of the Mirror". The attendant will look at you strangely, as if you had spoken in a different language. Ask again, until they finally understand, and they will lead you deep into the institution without a word.

They will lead you to a plain iron door, unlocking it and motioning for you to enter the dark hallway beyond. They will stay behind, never uttering a word, never making eye contact with you. Once the door closes behind you the hallway will be lit by an ethereal light, to reveal the walls of the hallway made of mirrors. The reflections stretch out to infinity on either side of you, but none of them show your reflection; they show the reflection of those who came before you. Each reflection shows another who sought the Holder, each shows how they died. Try not to look at their faces as the beasts devour them; try not to look at all, just walk in a straight line. If you look, if you watch, the beasts in the reflections will see you, too, and they will come for you.

If ever the light begins to dim, if you begin to lose your way in the darkness, close your eyes tight and say firmly, without fear, "The ones you seek have gone before". If the lights return, you are lucky, and the creatures that stalk you have let you alone. If it goes dark, do not run. There is no point in fleeing, nor in praying for a swift death. They will catch you, and your end will stretch out to eternity.

At the end of the impossibly long corridor, you will find another door, with hot white light shining around its edges. Knock on the door, and you will be allowed entry. Standing in the center of the octagonal room will be a figure, merely a silhouette in the half-light of the chamber.

He will pay you no heed, until you ask him the question, "What do they reflect?â€ Any other question, and he will fill your every pore with a thousand needles, flaying your hide and letting it fly in salt winds as he tortures your mind into insanity, ensuring you live eternally with him in the chamber, merely a shade of what you once were, every moment of existence a mad agony.

If you ask him the right question, however, he will answer you, in details that will chill you to your bones and turn your heart to stone. He will tell you what the Holders mean, why they exist, and what is to come.

After he tells you this, he will step into your vision, revealing who he is. You will see yourself, except instead of eyes your copy will have shining silver mirrors in its sockets. As you watch, unable to move in horror, your copy will dig one of the mirrors out, blood spilling thick and fast.

You will hand yourself the bloodied shard, and then you will find yourself back, outside the institution.

This bloodied mirror is Object 46 of 538.
Do not attempt to clean the Blood from its surface, or your end shall be a Nightmare beyond even the Horrors of Hell.

It will reflect what has been, and what is to come.
Ghost Animation

The Ghost Animation, coded as Haunting.swf, was intended to be placed in several areas throughout the tower, including in the center of a path on the second floor.

However, players cannot interact with it, leaving many to believe that it was intended as a “background feature”. The ghost animation as well must be viewed in individual frames. It is comprised of 59 frames total. However, after extraction, around half of these frames have been revealed to be the standard ghost model used in Pocket Monsters.

Around a quarter of the remaining frames are comprised of static, to produce a “fading” effect. However, interspersed with these bursts of static are several frames of screaming faces, along with images of a skeletal man in a cloak (hypothesized to be the Grim Reaper) and of several killed corpses. The meaning behind these are unknown- While under oath before the Video Games Commission Board, Lead Programmer Hisashi Sogabe testified as to having “No knowledge as to where these images surfaced.”

Out of all the phenomena associated with LTS, this animation is the most speculated on: In his thesis “Video Games and The Manipulation of the Human Mind”, Dr. Jackson Turner argued that the images were intentionally placed in. Due to their brief time appearing on the screen, and the graphic nature of the frames, Turner theorizes that these were meant to subliminally influence players into becoming more frightened by the disturbing surroundings.

*Original Author Unknown*
Homeless Man

David and John were typical high school miscreants. Destructive youths and members of the high school football team, the pair was a dangerous powder keg of testosterone.
When they were not busy tormenting the chess club or giving wedgies to the slower band members, David and John enjoyed their second favorite—second to football, of course—extra curricular activity: bullying the city’s homeless. They were infamous for it.

In the past, the duo’s efforts were little more than petty. They would tip over the shopping carts or set fire to cardboard boxes, often times with their occupants still inside them.

This particular day, however, the pair decided to take their mischief to the next level. Going into their father’s garage, they found a large gasoline can. After they carefully poured a small amount of gasoline into a bottle, they made their way into town. When they found a homeless man rambling to a wall covered with symbols, written in what looked like blood, they knew they had found the perfect mark.

They ran up to him and splashed the man with the liquid and lit him on fire. They ran off as he burned alive, cursing at them as they fled.

That night, when in bed, the two chatted about their deed. They had a good laugh until they heard a noise coming from outside their bedroom.

John, figuring it was his father, opened the door to make a snide comment to him. When he opened the door, however, he was greeted not by his father, but by the homeless man they had torched earlier in the day.

Before the two could process what was going on, the man splashed them with the remaining gas from the can.

The next thing they knew, they were waking up in the hospital, burnt beyond all recognition. As a result of the fire, both David and John’s vocal cords were damaged severely. Being unable to talk, and having no relatives to claim them, they were soon set out onto the streets, homeless.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Holder of Joy

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Joy". The worker will shudder violently and ask that you reconsider. Insist gently, and he will reluctantly relent. He will open a hatch on the ceiling above you, and offer to boost you up through it. Accept his offer.

Upon emerging from the hatch, you will find yourself in an old factory, similar to the old 18th-century sweatshops of large American east coast cities. It is dirty and dimly lit, and the noise of the machines will be so loud you will find yourself incapable of thought. Before you will be a long catwalk over the large factory floor filled with massive machines; walk along that catwalk. Working the many hot, hellish, and clattering machines are small children, though they are so weary and ragged you might mistake them for elderly people. In what little light there is you can make out their filthy, pleading faces, full of desperation and a wish to be free from their endless torment. Just keep walking; no mortal can help them, and should you attempt to do so you will join them in their eternal and pointless labor.

It will take a long time, but eventually you will reach a door to the foreman's office. Enter to find a plain, gruff man, built like a brick, who appears to be in his late 40s and is wearing a rather plain white button-up shirt. Once he notices you, he will look up from whatever he was doing and regard you with a disgusted glare. With confidence, ask him one question: "Can any joy come from it?"

Once the question has been asked, the foreman will stand and leave the office. Follow him. You will both be on the catwalk once again, whereupon he will shout a command to the child workers. What he says exactly will be lost in the din of machinery, but the child laborers will understand. The children will throw themselves into the machinery, altering the sound in horrible ways. You will clearly hear the bones snap and muscles rip as the children are torn and crushed by the machines, into which they unquestioningly threw themselves. Throughout this nightmare spectacle, you will hear the Holder's voice explain the true nature of joy and pain, though I will not write it here for only the worthy may know it.

Once all the child laborers have been thoroughly shredded by the hellish machinery, the foreman will tell you to go back to his office and wait for him there. Do as he says, and upon entering the office door you will find yourself in whatever place you most often sleep at night. On your bed (or whatever sleeping surface you use) will be a plain white button-up shirt just like the one the foreman wore. This shirt will bestow a sense of familiarity and camaraderie with those you speak to.

That shirt is Object 118 of 538. You now know joy, and as such, may never have it.
Genetic Memory

Many classic horror icons, such as Giger’s Xenomorphs, Silent Hill’s Pyramid Head, and other disturbing creatures, share common characteristics. Pale skin, dark, sunken eyes, elongated faces, sharp teeth, and the like. These images inspire horror and revulsion in many, and with good reason. The characteristics shared by these faces are imprinted in the human mind.

Many things frighten humans instinctively. The fear is natural, and does not need to be reinforced in order to terrify. The fears are species-wide, stemming from dark times in the past when lightning could mean the burning of your tree home, thunder could be the approaching gallops of a stampede, predators could hide in darkness, and heights could make poor footing lethal.

The question you have to ask yourself is this:

What happened, deep in the hidden eras before history began, that could effect the entire human race so evenly as to give the entire species a deep, instinctual, and lasting fear of pale beings with dark, sunken eyes, razor sharp teeth, and elongated faces?

… Just be careful out there.

*Original Author Unknown*
Holder of Sorrow

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Sorrow." The worker will frown and bite his lip. Hesitantly, he will lead you deep within the facility until you reach a rusted, charred iron door. He will open the door for you, and you must enter the darkness beyond it in complete silence. Once you are inside, the worker will quietly close the door and bolt it shut.

You will hear the many screams of tortured souls within a few meters of you. Should the screams stop at any time, quickly scream at the top of your lungs, "I do not feel sorry for you!" If they do not resume, hope for a quick death, as it is useless to run. However, if the screams return, continue walking forward in darkness. Keep walking until you see a dim light glow in front of you. Once this happens, immediately halt and stare at it.

You will be tempted to look upon the faces of the tormented beings hanging on the walls, and they will plea for your help. Do not answer their cries, for if you avert your eyes from the light, your mind will instantly be shattered and you will reflexively begin to gouge your eyes out.

The light will reveal a man standing with his back to you, and his presence will cause the screams around you to subside. He will only respond to one question: "Who will be spared when they come together?" He will whirl around to meet your gaze, and answer your question with excruciating detail. Do not interrupt his speech. What would happen if you do could not be described by the most sick and twisted criminal in the history of the world.

When he is done, he will hand to you what appears to be an ordinary rock. He will back away from you, the glow of the mysterious light fading away. The words will begin to ring in your mind, "He who is without sin shall cast the first stone." Close your eyes and count to ten. When you open them you will be standing in front of the front desk in the institution.

The stone is Object 85 of 538. It can only be thrown when they come together.
Football at the 2020 Summer Olympics – Women's tournament

Japan  v  Canada

Chile  v  Canada

Japan  v  Great Britain

Chile  v  Japan

Canada  v  Great Britain

Zambia  v  Netherlands

China  v  Zambia

Netherlands  v  Brazil

Netherlands  v  China

Brazil  v  Zambia

Australia  v  New Zealand

Sweden  v  Australia

New Zealand  v  United States

New Zealand  v  Sweden

United States  v  Australia

Great Britain  v  Australia

Sweden  v  Japan

Netherlands  v  United States

Great Britain  v  Sweden

### Gold medal match

*Main article: Football at the 2020 Summer Olympics – Women's tournament – Final*

Great Britain  v  Canada
Dream-Land

By a route obscure and lonely,

Haunted by ill angels only,

Where an Eidolon, named Night,

On a black throne reigns upright,

I have reached these lands but newly

From an ultimate dim Thule—

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,

Out of Space—out of Time.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,

And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,

With forms that no man can discover

For the dews that drip all over;

Mountains toppling evermore

Into seas without a shore;

Seas that restlessly aspire,

Surging, unto skies of fire;

Lakes that endlessly outspread

Their lone waters—lone and dead,—

Their still waters—still and chilly

With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread

Their lone waters, lone and dead,—

Their sad waters, sad and chilly

With the snows of the lolling lily,—

By the mountains—near the river

Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—

By the grey woods,—by the swamp

Where the toad and the newt encamp,—

By the dismal tarns and pools

Where dwell the Ghouls,—

By each spot the most unholy—

In each nook most melancholy,—

There the traveller meets aghast

Sheeted Memories of the Past—

Shrouded forms that start and sigh

As they pass the wanderer by—

White-robed forms of friends long given,

In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.

For the heart whose woes are legion

'Tis a peaceful, soothing region—

For the spirit that walks in shadow

'Tis—oh 'tis an Eldorado!

But the traveller, travelling through it,

May not—dare not openly view it;

Never its mysteries are exposed

To the weak human eye unclosed;

So wills its King, who hath forbid

The uplifting of the fringed lid;

And thus the sad Soul that here passes

Beholds it but through darkened glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,

Haunted by ill angels only,

Where an Eidolon, named Night,

On a black throne reigns upright,

I have wandered home but newly

From this ultimate dim Thule.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*