Relatively new b8.5 s4 owner here with my first oil change coming up, is it worth it to take it to Aud? I know they charge premium prices for an oil change but Ive heard its worth it compared to any old shop

Beep—beep—beep—beep beep—
I lifted the thermometer I had placed in her flushed left ear.
Looking at the reading on the thermometer, it showed "38.2 C".
Although a pregnant woman’s body temperature tends to be higher, this was definitely a fever, no doubt about it.
I slowly lowered my hand holding the thermometer, looking at Hoshino-San lying on the couch, I covered my face and recalled this morning.
…
The usual morning routine, I entered the bathroom for the usual grooming and looked at myself in the mirror.
After coming out, I noticed the mobile phone on the kitchen counter was buzzing with a notification, so I checked it.
I noticed that Hoshino-San had sent me two messages.
I opened the chatroom: "Amamiya-Sensei, I think I have a fever." she messaged—ugh. She sent a sticker—a somewhat chubby white seal looking displeased with a thermometer apparently stuck up its rear—What?
I turned off the phone screen and put it into my pocket. I put on my mask, grabbed the alcohol spray, and rang the doorbell at Hoshino-San's next-door apartment.
After a moment...
…She didn't faint, did she? But then—she opened the door, her face looking somewhat flushed.
"Ah~~Uno you're here~" She—What? "Hoshino-San, are you okay?" I asked.
"Relax! I just feel a little—" she said, waving her hand forward, then her body started to fall forward—"HEY ! HOSHINO-SAN!" I quickly stepped forward to catch her, her head leaning slightly on my shoulder.
"I'll take you to the couch to rest first." I gently assisted her, helping her to lie down on the couch.
…
Looking at her lying on the couch, she was resting with her eyes closed. Apart from looking exhausted, coughing, and a runny nose, her symptoms didn't seem severe. It's possible that she started feeling unwell on the way home yesterday, and her symptoms worsened during the night, preventing her from sleeping well.
I noticed her constantly adjusting her position, so I went to her bedroom and fetched a blanket and a pillow. I gently lifted her head and put the pillow in a comfortable place for her, and then covered her with the blanket.
"Is there anywhere else you're feeling uncomfortable?" I asked her softly. "Hmm... my... my head hurts a lot." she answered weakly, her face showing discomfort and her hands gripping the blanket tightly.
She couldn't take care of herself in this state, and I couldn't bear to leave her alone. "Hoshino-San, do you feel too cold right now?" I asked her gently.
"Uh... yeah, um... yes..." she answered slowly with her eyes closed. I got up, looked around for the air conditioner remote, found it, and turned up the temperature slightly.
After that, I went to her bathroom, rinsed a plastic washbasin, filled it with seventy percent hot water and thirty percent cold water, soaked a towel in it, and brought it to the living room.
I dipped the towel in the water, then wrung out most of the water. I then gently placed the warm towel on her forehead. Her expression seemed to relax a bit.
I watched her resting quietly.
After a while, I reheated the towel and placed it on her forehead again.
"Hoshino-San, did you do anything yesterday that might have led to catching a cold?" I asked her gently. "Uh... drank too much lemon water?" she answered me.
Uh... dinner last night? If I recall correctly, she didn't drink much.
"I saw you didn't drink much lemon water yesterday, was there anything else?" I asked her gently. "Um... yesterday... I think I took a cold shower." she answered slowly.
"For a long time?" I asked her. "I... don't remember, I think... after dancing yesterday afternoon, I showered until you rang the doorbell?" she slowly—What?
She showered until I rang the doorbell? I had finished a movie before I went to see her!
"Do you only take cold showers, Hoshino-San?" I asked her gently. "Well... at the beginning there was hot water, but later it ran out." she answered slowly.
I got up and gently opened the balcony door. The water heater is the same model as mine, the movie "The Graduate" is about 100 minutes, so this water heater can provide hot water for about 20 minutes, which means... 80 minutes of a cold shower.
No wonder she caught a cold... I heard her coughing from inside.
It seemed that I had no choice today. I walked over to the railing, dialed the hospital, and waited for the call to go through.
"Hello, this is Amamiya Gorou, a gynecologist. I have an emergency to attend to. My neighbor suddenly has a fever and can't take care of herself. She has no one else to look after her. I'm sorry, I need to take a leave of absence." I said. "Understood, Amamiya-Sensei, thank you for informing us. Are you sure your neighbor's condition requires your personal care? Does she need to be taken to the hospital?" the other party asked.
"Yes, I'm worried about her condition. I believe I need to see her myself. I've already assessed her illness. I will observe her condition. If it worsens, I will take her to the hospital immediately." I replied. "We understand your situation, Amamiya-Sensei. How long do you think your leave will last?" they asked. "I estimate I will need a day. I will handle this issue as soon as possible and return to the hospital." I answered.
After some more conversation, I managed to take the leave. I started thinking about what food is good for someone with a cold.
…
To be honest, aside from catching a cold when I was a child, I don't seem to have much experience with colds. Among the people I know, the one to ask about making a meal for someone with a cold would be...
But I didn't really want to call— I heard coughing from the room.
…
Sigh. I dialed a number from my contact list, waiting for the other party to pick up.
"Hello, this is the Amamiya residence." the voice on the other side said. "Hey, Grandma, it's me—" She cut me off. "Oh! My dear grandson! How rare of you to call back home! Did you miss Grandma?" she said joyously. "Kind of, but today I wanted to—" She cut me off again. "Gorou, are you bringing your girlfriend home this time? Should I notify the relatives?" She inquired—
Yes, this is precisely why I don't fancy making these phone calls.
"No, no, no, wait a moment! Grandma! Not every time I call it means I'm bringing a girlfriend home, okay!? I have other things to discuss!" I said, burying my face in my hands.
"Well, what could be more important than you bringing back my great-grandson? Gorou, you're nearly thirty now. There are only old folks and adults in our hometown, no children or babies. I'm bored! I wouldn't mind taking care of a child again, after all, I did help raise you!" she started to ramble.
"No, Grandma, aren't you missing several steps here? It's not like once you have a girlfriend, a baby pops out, right? Can't you just let things take their natural course? And today I really didn't call to talk about this!" I answered, feeling helpless.
"So, do you have a girlfriend?" She asked. "...No." I replied.
A moment later.
"Alright then, what did you need today?" she said, sounding a little impatient. "Do you remember what you used to cook for me when I was sick? The kind that made me feel better really quickly?" I asked her.
"I don't recall having any sort of family heirloom elixir. Or are you referring to the usual meals you ate when you were sick?" She asked. "...Yes, the latter. The meals you prepared when I was ill, do you remember them?" I clarified.
"...You don't sound sick to me?" She queried. "Uh...no, it's not me—" She cut me off. "Who are you cooking for?" She asked, seemingly curious. "Well, my neighbor—" She cut me off.
"Oh!? A girl?" She—what? "Does that matter?" I asked, looking ahead. "Of course, it concerns my great-grandchild." she proclaimed proudly.
"Grandma, please, can you stop fixating on having a great-grandchild?" I said.
After a pause.
"Okay, Gorou, it was lovely chatting with you today. Let's talk again another day. Bye—" I cut her off. "ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! HOLD ON, DON'T HANG UP!" I shouted.
I took a deep breath.
"...Yes, she's a girl, are you satisfied now?" I finally answered. "Oh, I thought it might have been a boy. That's a relief." she responded—what?
"Grandma, you're being too pragmatic." I retorted. "This is about my great-grandchild—so when are you bringing her home?" she asked—wait, what?
"Grandma, first, she is my patient, second, we're not that close, and third, she's only sixteen." I responded.
"Gorou, first, so what? Does that matter? Second, you know they say 'familiarity breeds affection'! Third, I gave birth to your mother when I was sixteen." she countered—wait a minute, the third point, what the hell, sixteen? I never knew that.
"Grandma, what do you mean 'does it matter?' She's my patient, I'm an 'OB/GYN'. How do you think the baby in my patient's belly came about?" I told her seriously.
"And so?" She—really?
"Grandma, babies don't just spring from stones, nor do they reproduce asexually." I replied.
"What is reproduce asexually?" She asked.
…
"Anyway, Grandma! Times have changed. If this were to happen, I would be socially ostracized, seriously!" I told her.
"No worries! Then just wait until she's twenty! I can wait a few more years, no problem!" she said. "No, Grandma, this—wait! Today I really just called for a recipe! She's not feeling well right now, can we talk about this another time?" I asked her.
After a moment.
"Um...alright, rice porridge—add a little ginger, steam some chicken breast and dice it." she answered. "With ginger, right?" I repeated.
"Yes, you could also make her a vegetable soup! Add tomatoes, onions, and garlic. Oh yes, garlic is very important!" she instructed. "Alright, alright, garlic, got it." I echoed.
"I used to stir-fry some broccoli, but softer food is better for someone with a cold." she advised. "Mhm, I'll keep that in mind." I affirmed.
"Oh, our Gorou is finally cooking for a girl! It seems my teachings weren't in vain!" she said, laughing. "Grandma, can you not—" She cut me off.
"I thought that since the family persuaded you to become an OB/GYN, you had lost interest in cooking—"
...
Right, isn't it?
After the family convinced me to become an OB/GYN, how could they think I was still interested in cooking? I gazed at the blue sky ahead.
...
"Gorou?" She called. "Yes, Grandma, I hear you. Is that about it? I have to go, she's not feeling well." I told her. "Alright then! Don't forget to come visit Grandma when you're free! Bye!" she said. "Sure, I will, goodbye." I hung up.
...
I should have just googled it instead of putting myself through this. I looked at the black smoke billowing from the chimney in the distance.
Isn't this what they wanted? Isn't this what I had to do? Isn't this why I switched from being a surgeon to an OB/GYN?
After all, my mother—
I heard coughing from inside the room.
...
Now's not the time for these thoughts; she needs someone to look after her.
I slid open the balcony door and casually closed it behind me, moving closer to Hoshino-San, who seemed to be asleep on the sofa.
I thought about cooking at my place and bringing the meal over later, so as not to disturb her. After all, I just live next door.
Taking the key placed next to her entrance hall, I locked her door and returned to my place next door.
Back home, I took out the necessary ingredients from the fridge. To make a rice porridge with steamed diced chicken breast, I needed to find my steamer, which, luckily, I found after a brief search.
Taking out the chicken breast... ah, it needs defrosting.
Covering my face, I hadn't considered this. But I decided to use the microwave to thaw it.
I put the frozen chicken breast into the microwave and turned on the defrosting function, but I shortened the microwave time.
After each round of microwaving, I would move and turn the chicken breast. It's a bit of a hassle, but at least it ensures that every part defrosts evenly, to avoid some parts being cooked while others are raw.
Once the chicken breast was fully defrosted, it had a nice, even color—from pink to pale yellow. Despite being frozen, it was still not sticky and retained a certain firmness.
I took a sniff; it had no off-putting smell.
Next, I placed the defrosted chicken breast in the steamer and started to steam it. It should take around 20 minutes. Meanwhile, I planned to prepare a vegetable soup.
I cleaned the carrots, onions, garlic, and tomatoes, and cut them into appropriate sizes. I then grabbed a pan, heated a bit of oil, and started sautéing the garlic and onions until the onions turned semi-transparent.
Next, I added the diced carrots and tomatoes and continued to sauté for a while. A few moments later, I added an appropriate amount of water and covered the pan.
The simmering process also took about 20 minutes. By that time, I could start making the rice porridge. I picked up another pot, washed it clean, and washed a cup of rice as well, then drained the water and added four cups back.
After putting it on the stove, I turned on medium heat and slowly brought the rice to a boil until it softened. This also took about 20 minutes, by which time the porridge became thick. By then, the chicken breast was ready. I took it out and let it cool on a plate while checking on the vegetable soup.
Hmm, the scent of garlic was present but not overpowering.
A moment later, I checked on the rice porridge with a spoon. The grains were distinct but had clearly softened. When I lifted the spoon, a thin strand of white liquid was dragged up.
I diced the cooled chicken breast on a cutting board and added it to the porridge. I also prepared some ginger, grated an appropriate amount into the porridge, and waited for the ingredients to meld together.
The vegetable soup was about ready. I seasoned it with a bit of salt and pepper, then covered the pot and brought it over to Hoshino-San's house. Upon entering, I set it on the kitchen counter. She seemed to be sound asleep.
I returned home and saw that the porridge was almost ready, so I turned the heat down and picked up the frying pan, getting ready to stir-fry some broccoli.
I washed the broccoli and cut it into small pieces, then started stir-frying it in the preheated pan. During the process, I alternated between medium and low heat until the broccoli turned green and began to char slightly.
Recalling my grandmother's advice to make it softer, I added a small amount of water. After covering the pot, I turned the heat to low and let it simmer. I took the opportunity to serve the porridge to Hoshino-San, who seemed to have sensed it even in her sleep. With her eyes closed, she appeared to be smelling something.
After that, I dished out the cauliflower and added a touch of salt before bringing it over.
I took a brief rest on the sofa, picked up a tissue nearby, removed my glasses, and wiped the sweat off my face.
The morning sun was illuminating the entire room, and the wind chime on the balcony outside the glass door was gently chiming as always. The quiet hum of the air conditioning wasn't too loud.
Hoshino-San was still sound asleep on the long sofa to my left — albeit with a faint snoring due to her stuffy nose from a cold.
A little later, I went into the kitchen, picked up a bowl and spoon, lifted the pot lid, and served a bowl of porridge.
"Hoshino-San, can you eat?" I asked slowly, then brought the bowl closer to her.
I initially wanted to help her up, but she seemed to get up automatically at the scent of the food.
I handed her the bowl, and she held the spoon in her right hand with her eyes closed.
She scooped up a spoonful of porridge, then — it brushed past her upper lip.
...Uh.
She paused for a moment, then — this time it almost went into her nose.
"Hoshino-San, let me help you!" I said anxiously, fearing she might burn her nose next.
I scooped up a spoonful of porridge.
She kept her eyes closed, her delicate mouth slowly opening to let my spoon in. Once I put the spoon in, she closed her mouth, swallowed the porridge from the spoon. As I slowly pulled out the spoon, it seemed like she still wanted to keep it in her mouth.
She then swallowed, a smile creeping onto her face with her eyes still closed.
...This is just too cut-
No — no, I'm a doctor. I need to stay calm. She's my patient, and she's only sixteen.
I continued to feed her the remaining porridge.
A while later, I had managed to feed her half the bowl of porridge, and got her to have a few bites of the vegetables and vegetable soup.
She didn't seem to like garlic very much and now, with her eyes still closed, she was sitting on the sofa.
Thinking about it now, although I could take care of her all day, I don't have a car in case we need to rush to the hospital. I should contact her guardian.
"Hoshino-San, could you please..." Before I could finish, she had already laid down on the sofa and continued to sleep.
Alright then.
I helped her pull her feet onto the sofa, made her lie flat, covered her with a blanket, and planned to check her phone for an emergency dial setup to find an emergency contact.
Surprisingly, there was one.
I slid open the glass door, walked out onto the balcony, and made the call.

Just got my cholesterol results back after 2 months of dietary changes. They read:

• Total cholesterol: 318 => 237
• HDL: 48 => 45
• LDL: 248 => 175
• Triglycerides: 140 => 88

I switched to a whole-foods plant based diet high in fiber and protein (so many beans and barley). I also started eating A LOT more healthy fats like flax oil and olive oil. I’m happy with my progress in total and LDL after just 2 months. However, with my huge increase in healthy fats I was expecting a rise in my HDL, but instead it fell. Any idea what I can do to balance this out?
I already exercise 6 days/week and have for the past few years. Over the past 2 months I lost 4 lbs (not a lot, but good progress, and I’m trying to lose 10 more).
Edit: And I haven’t taken any statins or other prescribed medication.

To protect themselves. Say the oil change is every 30k miles is it safe to do it at 40k or 50k

Link in French – Guerre en Ukraine : les relations économiques de l'Autriche et de la Grèce avec la Russie
​
Greek and Austrian flags at a meeting between the two heads of government in 2015
The war in Ukraine has not prevented some countries from maintaining close economic ties with Russia. Austria, for example, has not cut its ties with Russia, especially when it comes to gas. Before the war, Austria imported 80% of its gas from Russia. This share logically fell after the Russian invasion. But since December 2022, it has risen again to 71%. And yet, the Austrian government has set itself the goal of becoming totally independent of Russia by 2027. However, the contract between the Russian giant Gazprom and the Austrian energy company OMV runs until 2040, with no possibility of withdrawal. Even the government does not know the details of this agreement, according to the Austrian Chancellor. Enough to make some experts doubt whether the 2027 target will be met.
>>> Embargo: Russia's new oil route to circumvent sanctions
Banks such as RBI (Raiffeisen Bank International), which is still present in Russia, are also highly profitable, with record profits for 2022 of 3.6 billion euros. Some 60% of these profits come from its Russian subsidiary. Although the bank announced at the end of March that it intended to sell or spin off its Russian subsidiary, no timetable has been put forward, and both options are now difficult due to Russian legislation, which has hardened since the start of the war.
Greek shipowners and Russian oil
Greek shipowners control half of Europe's tonnage, and some are accused of circumventing international embargoes. Greek shipowners are omnipresent on the world's seas, with 59% of the European fleet and 21% of world tonnage, 49% of which is oil. For Nicolas Varnikos, shipowner and President of the International Chamber of Commerce, "Greek shipowners are not doing anything illegal". Despite this, Ukraine has repeatedly denounced the practice. It has even publicly accused five Greek shipowners of transporting Russian oil and gas. They have all denied this. Trade with Russia has been a tradition since the XIXᵉ century.
>>> War in Ukraine: four questions on the European embargo on Russian oil.
According to the Greek press, in April this year alone, Greek shipowners transported 50% of Russian oil worldwide. And transport routes have now changed: gone are the easy routes like the Bosphorus Strait. Among the goods, 40% are transported by tanker, i.e. oil, and 25% by gas. How much of this comes from Russia? That's still a mystery. It seems that Russian oil is mixed with oil from countries that are not under embargo, which nobody can control. And even if the benefits are real, the sanctions against those who violate the embargo are derisory, so there's no end in sight.

My (21F) college roommate (21F) of two years let me use her second car for 6mo. We never wrote a contract but we decided I would pay for the insurance and didn’t want anything else. I took car of the car (oil change, got it detailed, etc.). We had been having issues for a few months and ended up moving out and on our own. I still continued to use the car for about two months and then she decided she wanted to sell it. The car wasn’t in the best condition so it wasn’t a smart financial decision to buy it from her. I ended up buying another car but needed to ship it so I asked if I paid a daily rate is she would let me use it until she she actually sold it. I know her well and knew it wouldn’t be done for another few months. (she still hasn’t and it’s been 3 mo)
I was flying to Florida after a week and a half of that agreement. She showed up to my apartment the day I was leaving and asked for the keys which confused me but I handed them over, told her to move the car because it we be towed if it was there for more than 48 hours. 2 days later she saw a tow truck then called me to tell me which I then reminded her they tow in that specific garage. She then called me again 2 days after after that saying she was going to go look for the car then saw it was towed, didn’t surprise me. She then asked if I would help her with the fee which was $350, she asked me for $100 and I agreed just so she would leave me alone. The place said she had to pick up the car the next day before 11am. Picks it up two days later instead and they charged her $400 and she asked me to split it 50/50. At this point I just told her we would talk about it when I got back, she ended up blocking me on everything and is just now (3 months later) texting me for the money.
I agreed to the $150 but don’t think that it was fair I was even paying at all because it was not my fault. I had reminded her multiple times and it was towed because of her own irresponsibility. I know it’s not that much money but she completely sees it as my fault and wants me to pay it all now. I just can’t tell who’s in the wrong.

Home from college, and Im looking into taking care of my car so it’s healthy enough to take back to school with me next school year. Took it in for an oil change, and the guys took a picture for me, and told me my transmission was leaking. I took it to a mechanic for an actual diagnostic and he told me he thought the “shift selector input shaft seals” were leaking. The place doesn’t do any transmission work so he couldn’t give me a quote on cost, i was just wondering if anyone on here had encountered this problem in a similar model and how much it ended up costing. REALLY hoping it won’t be too ridiculous but i just don’t have any experience with cars or car trouble :/
Thanks so much!

After a 1940 defined by gathering strengths and refinement across the feature, the early months of 1941 bring a few troubling portents behind-the-scenes for Fox's affectionately termed Grainy Gladiator. Nothing ruinous in itself, but signs of an upcoming radical shift away from what the character represented to start.
For one, the April issue of Adventure Comics (#61) brings with it a new cover feature, Ted Knight AKA Starman, courtesy writer-artist Jack Burnley. Already the second lengthiest entry in the book at nine pages, Starman quickly managed what neither Sandman nor Hourman could during their respective years as star attractions and upgraded to a full thirteen pages by his third appearance in #63. For context, Sandman only went from six pages to ten with its upgrade, while Hourman has remained rockstaedy at eight pages, and neither took down another non-superhero supporting feature to justify the page increase like Starman did Barry O'Neil and Mark Lansing. Moreover, from Starman's second appearance on, he is only drawn by Burnley; writing duties now belong to the Sandman's own Gardner Fox.
Which loops in with two other issues at play over Wesley's tossing, turning figure. Starting with issue #61, available online sources no longer fully agree who wrote what for the Sandman feature. You must understand, outside superstar figures with major pull like the creators of Superman or Batman, very few creative teams are properly credited in these Golden Age comics - my credits the last few posts have all been crossreferenced across numerous wikis and databases who owe their credits to investigative work by fans like Jerry Bails back in the 1960s. Such work was sadly not exhaustive, and while a few places (like DC Continuity Project and Wikipedia) state or else imply Fox stayed on as writer for the next few issues, from June to November there is no consensus as to who penned the stories.
I shouldn't be surprised if Fox's involvement terminated with the March issue, for April also saw All-Star Comics shift its format slightly, with Fox writing all nine interior stories for the 64 page mag in addition to his duties on the longer Starman feature. Man would have to work double time to keep pace, even if Sandman didn't drop to eight pages with #62 in May. Either way, Fox is certainly gone following #64 in July, as that issue features the final story drawn by regular artist and co-creator Creig Flessel, who departs to work on Shining Knight later in the year. As I say, things are changing fast for Sandman, and not all changes seem necessarily for the better. Best, however, to take the stories on their own level before drawing any final conclusions!
^{Coverage note: This entry goes to July rather than June for the sake of my sanity. If I stopped midway through the year, I'd only need cover seven features here, but the back half of '41 would require coverage of eleven. A nine-nine split feels much more feasible.}

• ADVENTURE COMICS #58 (January)

Orchids of Doom - Gardner Fox, Creig Flessel, Chad Grothkopf

Once again, a socialite friend to Wes and Dian is at the center of a minor mystery with big implications - namely, how can Pedro Nogades, father to Carla, rightly claim he breeds otherwise purely wild orchids in captivity? Investigating as the Sandman, Wes and Dian find a dead man in the Nogades greenhouse with his head stripped to the bone, and in following another fellow who sniffed an orchid before promising a shipment of such to some ruffians on the bad side of town, see his own face dissolve to bare skull. A visit to the police chemist reveals the orchids on the dead men's persons were laced to release a deadly flesh-eating gas on exposure to natural air, which is enough probably cause for Wesley to enlist Carla's boyfriend Bill in staging a raid on the Nogades manor. Some close shaves and fisticuffs end with the group discovering a diorama of the local coast, laid out to assist enemy agents in an invasion. Pedro is put away and the orchids revealed as concealing microfilm copies of the coastal plans, but how do we square the mystery that started it all? Simple: Nogades was no botanist, and called the flower by the wrong name when concocting his cover story!
An alright yarn to kick of the calendar year. As per usual when Fox tries for a somewhat complicated mystery, he's no adequate means of tying off loose ends other than large blocks of text, but it's lively and keeps the situation evolving with decent justifications for mid-story action and dragging Bill along for further fisticuffs. Hooking the entire mystery on, "Oh, the bad guy misspoke," is a tad lame, if understandable in the context of Fox's passion for slipping general knowledge flexes into his stories. Flessel and Grothkopf get some good mileage out've the skull imagery that crops up whenever the flower kills, and I rather like the brief bout of fisticuffs towards the end. The minor social awkwardness when Bill gets in the car with Wes and Dian is pretty good too, and I'm sorry to report I can't add this story to the "Wesley getting shot" count, as the bad guy only plugs his hat. Kinda funny having a Golden Age Sandman story involving orchids given Neil's own pre-Sandman work with Black Orchid, innit?

• ADVENTURE COMICS #59 (February)

The Story of the Flaming Ruby - Fox, Flessel, Grothkopf

There exists a ruby of blazing red, which has driven men to rage and madness wherever it appears, and today it sits in the hand of a young man in the local jeweler's shop, who flashes it cross Dian's vision. Later in the evening, she wakes in a trance consumed with the urge to kill her father, stopped only by Sandman as he rushes in from investigating a similarly queer case. A bank teller friend from his private life has found himself driven to steal from the vault and deliver it to some crooks on a lonely road every night, all after one of those men flashed him the ruby. Wes and Dian are unable to stop this night's transaction (on account of the ruby briefly turning Dian against Sandman), but seeing the gem in action gives Wes an idea on how to counteract its effects, and go into battle during the next drop armed with blue cobalt glasses. A brawl puts down all the blackmailers except one, but Wes opts instead to go after the head of the operation, knocking him out and lurking in the dark to catch the last as he reports in, revealing the bank teller! Turns out the ruby DOES have hypnotic properties and was used to assist their robberies, but the teller - hoping by playing at the victim to lure Sandman into his cohorts' midst and rub him out - spoke as if he remembered the whole experience, where Dian forgot herself on every exposure. Oops!
Same basic mystery structure and resolution type here as last month, complete with overly-wordy explanation, although I find the hook of pitting Dian and Wesley against one another gives it a minor leg up, as does the relatively straightforward nature of the criminal operation compared to planting microfilm in deadly flowers. There's a more even balance between the rush in bust 'em up style of crime-fighting the feature has developed and the stealthy skullduggery I think suits the character best, with nice action art to match each. Dian has some silly faces whenever she wakes from her hypnosis, and the four panel sequence of Wes halting her murder attempt works pretty well. This is, unfortunately, the final pencil-inking collaboration between Flessel and Grothkopf, and much as I've kvetched over the second man's solo work, I'm sorry to see the back of him in this capacity. When the two were in proper tune, they were the best artistic team Sandman enjoyed yet.
(Stop dodging bullets, I want to see you gunshot.)

• ADVENTURE COMICS #60 (March)

Mystery at Malay Mac's - Fox, Grothkopf

^{Hey, a rare post-Hourman, pre-redesign cover appearance! That's always nice. "Hello, officer? Yeah, coupla chucklefucks right here, the alley off Fourth, can't miss 'em."}
What's this? Dian breaking into a notorious criminal slumlord's safe in the bad part of town? A safe, as Wes discovers after he scares the lady off, filled to the brim with poison gas! Evidently not, as Dian is sound asleep when Wes arrives at Belmont manor to investigate, and a subsequent visit to Mister Mac reveals the only person who'd know the safe was booby-trapped is a local kidnapping organizer. Some blind, flailing fists turns up the girl, Dian's perfect duplicate, snatched from out of state to replace Dian and gain leverage over the cops. Too bad the kidnapper's made of strong stuff, knocking out Sandman and taking both woman for a ride to get back at Mac. Fortunately, Dian leaves Wes a trail of jewelry out the window, enabling him to follow and take down all the crooks with one throw of his gas pistol, revealing in the process 'twas Mac himself who tipped Dian's duplicate to his safe, in hopes of spoiling his rival's big plot.
Art-wise, this is probably Grothkopf's best work for Sandman to date. His tendency to exaggerate is translated into some properly goonish faces for the villains and really, really strong action poses, with some properly atmospheric shots sprinkled in for good measure. He cannot draw the gasmask for piss, but there's such an improvement I almost thought this was a Flessel joint before checking the wiki credits. Makes me wish we could see what he'd do if he kept on as a solo artist - free from the impulse to treat the feature as a cartoon, he produces damn fine work. As a story, this makes good time to mention my misgivings with Wesley's tendency to burst through windows and start swinging long before he thinks to use his sleeping gas. While it's great fun to describe and hype up as the mark of a madman who's even cooler as the badass normal than Batman, it also encourages a faster degradation in the character's identity. I'm sure you'll notice it's been yonks since lurking in the shadows and thinning the ranks by knocking them out in advance has factored into the stories. That Wes handles the bad guy by literally clonking him over the head with the gas gun rather than pulling the trigger speaks to the influence other, punchier superhero features have exerted over the strip.

• ADVENTURE COMICS #61 (April)

The Menace of the Metal Gun - Fox?, Flessel

From aboard a mysterious aircraft, a madman fires upon the city with a metal-melting ray that dissolves the skyscrapers into slag! Alerted to Doctor Borloff's activities, Wesley meets with swift defeat when the rogue scientist melts his gas gun and escapes in his cylindercraft to terrorize afresh. There IS a bright side, as seeing the ray firsthand gives Wesley some idea how to counteract its effects, and he sends Dian and her father warning for the local airforce to coat their planes in sand as a silicate buffer against the ray. Alas, only one officer heeds his message, leaving Sandman alone to get aboard the machine via his new wirepoon gun and defeat Borloff from within. For his brawling process, a good midflight fight is nothing if the hero gets tossed out an open door, but fortunately he can grapple onto the lone surviving plane, recover his bearings, zip back up, and put a stop to Borloff's dreams of world conquest once and for all!
Action is the name of the game here, and even without Grothkopf's inking enhancements, I think Flessel does a fine job on his own. I'm wary of the wirepoon in the future, as by year's end it will completely replace the gas gun as Sandman's sidearm of choice in further drift from the original Christman concept, but taken as a neutral in its debut, giving Sandman greater aerial mobility does lead to some cool shots and enhance the sense Wes goes stark bananas in the mask by pulling some stunts that would almost certainly pull his arms from their sockets in real life. There are, however, some particularly stiff action shots, and in one panel Flessel cocks up the design on the mask worse than Grothkopf last ish. Based on the opening vignette, Borloff decimated millions of innocent lives in addition to all the planes he melted out of the sky, making him easily the deadliest foe Wes has faced to date, and in turn making the "We did it, gang, everything is bright and peachy again!" ending sorta offputting. They'll have to organize mass funerals tomorrow, Wes. Show a little respect.

• ALL-STAR COMICS #4 (April)

For America and Democracy: The Grey Shirts - Fox, Grothkopf

In the top-level story, the JSA learn of their mission for the FBI: a group of Nazi insurgents known as the Grey Shirts are plotting subversive and destructive activities all across America, and are now posed to badly destabilize the nation in a series of disruptive attacks. Each is assigned a mission at critical points cross the nation, though given the widely-ranging disparity in their powers, their usefulness to the cause varies equally wildly. The Atom humiliates some goons spreading Nazi ideology at a single college, Hawkman barely prevents the destruction of an aviation plant in California, and Hourman's defense of an Oklahoma oil field ends with him toppling one of the oil towers to stop his quarry. Meanwhile, Green Lantern detonates a zeppelin secretly jamming radio transmissions nationwide, the Spectre casually annihilates some otherworldly vampiric globes sympathetic to Hitler's cause, and Doctor Fate uses his magic to out every single spy on the eastern seaboard. Uneven efforts or not, the group converge on the Grey Shirts' ringleader, and with a little help from Johnny Thunder, turn him over to good ol' J. Edgar Hoover's custody. Alas, Wesley does not get the blood he's thirsting after.
(Also Doctor Fate alerts Wesley to the identity and location of the ringleader before his mission starts rather than letting him figure it out on his own like everyone else. Prick.)
For his six-page leg of the assignment, the Sandman is off to El Paso, Texas to assist a local newspaper under threat from the Grey Shirts for printing pro-democracy and anti-Hitler editorials. Of course, this being Wesley Dodds on the job, he gets this information by roughing his way into the newspaper offices, then acts on it by beating on the guard at the Grey Shirts' camp and pounding down a band of brainwashed young men to prove he's a better American than them. After sending the wannabe Nazis for a whirl by running their bomb shipment off the road, Wesley doubles back to completely break the recruits' spirits, daring them to prove their hard enough by shooting an unarmed man in Hitler's name, chiefly himself. When none can cut the mustard, he marches them back into town with collars strapped to his car, and inspires the lot to join the Army to a few shirtless bars of "God Bless America."
Cripes but jingoism produces some heady results, doesn't it? I'm not sure I can rightly condone the ridiculous levels of patriotism on display here, even against such classically anti-American enemies as Nazis, yet at the same time, look at this and tell me it isn't the hardest shit you'll see all week. Again, though I've my misgivings about Wes as a brawler no matter how entertaining the results prove, there's something endearing about him being so raring for a fight his first move is to altercate the receptionist at the place he's assigned to defend. On the whole, Grothkopf's final Sandman contribution also shows refinement from his earlier works, the broader, thicker elements of his linework now tempers on a somewhat more grounded approach. Certainly the Sandman himself keeps a consistent look better than he does in any other issue published thus far this year. I DO notice he reused Flessel's design for the District Attorney wholesale on the newspaper publisher. Since he's going and heading out on a job well done, let's not hold it against him, eh?

• ADVENTURE COMICS #62 (May)

The Purple Death Ray - Fox?, Flessel

At the nightly planetarium show, a member of the audience screams and falls down dead, stricken by a litany of strange symptoms with no obvious cause. Wesley, believing the man was killed by a death ray, examines the auditorium's projector, only to find no obvious alterations or fault. Undeterred, he purchases himself a seat next to the murdered man's for the next show, which is now occupied by another fellow who received a last-second courtesy invitation. Acting quickly, the Sandman reexamines the projector from the shadows and finds a replacement bulb screwed into the socket pointed directly at the man's chair. With assistance from his wirepoon, Sandman swings down and wrenches the man from his seat just as the show starts, the bulb bathing his seat in deadly radiation. On learning the man is a former judge and the deceased a former DA, it's not long before Wes ferrets out the killer; it's the cashier, a former scientist sent to jail for misappropriating university funds years ago, out for revenge and now stopped cold.
See, while I'm skeptical about the growing presence of science-fiction elements in the series, they make fine fodder when they play to Sandman's strengths. Lurking high above a crowd of people seeking the answer to some deadly mystery is exactly Wes' bag, and plus or minus some strange mask drawings, Flessel captures that thrill of closely examining a big deadly machine in secret before it fires. I'd submit the page where Sandman saves the judge from the beam as an easy contender for best of the year thus far, and the shot where [Wes pushes Dian away from the killer's bullet](blob:https://imgur.com/7247f414-8a57-489f-a9bd-d85bc9e19a6a) is another fine piece of work. My memories of this one before sitting down to reread and write were a lot chillier, probably because I wish the series remained in crime pulp rather than raygun pulp, but a good outcome is a good outcome. Seriously, though, why is the mask going so bobble-eyed of late?

• ADVENTURE COMICS #63 (June)

The Voodoo Sorcerer - ???, Flessel

As Dian and Wesley tiff over his interest in an exotic dancer they know through a mutual friend, the woman's tail-lashing dance is interrupted when she sees a great glowing triangle materialize before her eyes. With the shock straining her bad heart, the Sandman brings her to boyfriend's house, where he reveals the triangle is a voodoo witch doctor's means of accusing someone of murder - just as news comes over the wire that the man the woman lashed with her costume tail has died! Smelling a rat, Wes rushes to the scene of the crime to find the taile barbed with poison quills, only for the titular sorcerer to bumrush him out the window. It's a big misunderstanding, thankfully: he's as shocked by the murder as Sandman, and only summoned the triangle on suggestion from an acquaintance, forgetting the dancer would know its significance through her partner. By happiest coincidence, this provides Wesley the solution to the mystery right quick, for only his friend's chauffeur would have motive, opportunity, and knowledge to frame his employers and their associates for the murder of a stock broker who owed them money.
Hmm, ah, see, on the one hand, it IS nice that the voodoo guy is innocent of everything except a lapse in judgement and the real twist is an unassuming little man exploiting the mystery and fears around his craft to cast suspicion off his person. On the other hand, eek, yike, zoinks! None good. Bad, even. Outside unfortunate depictions of non-white persons from the 1940s, the story's pretty weak for a murder mystery, as numerous elements are evidently known to the characters well in advance, yet only made clear to the reader right before they become relevant, like the exact identity of the murdered man. It's only eight pages, so there's little opportunity to piece information together on your own time, and as such it is heavily reliant on narrative cheats to generate cheap surprise. About the best thing here is the big page-dominating panel of Wesley swinging through the city on his wirepoon, unconscious woman tucked under arm. Kinda hard to convincingly raise my dander about what it means for the character and his feature when it's successfully operating on the long-standing principle of "masked mystery men swinging on a wire through skyscrapers looks really cool." S'like a solid fifth of the formula behind why Spider-Man is so enduringly popular.
(Also not a big fan of how Wes dismisses Dian from participating in the case without any adequate reason why. She calls him out over it, even, and nothing in the story justifies his decision to fly solo on this one.)

• ADVENTURE COMICS #64 (July)

The Unseen Man - ???, Flessel

Dian's purchase of paints from a local hobby shop includes quite the unusual accidental item: a paint that turns anything and everything invisible on contact. Determined to solve this mystery on her own, Dian investigates the shop with the dealer's cooperation, only for the dread Unseen Man to get the drop on her. Fortunately, Sandman is there to save her because he won't let Dian do anything on her own; unfortunately, Dian doesn't know Wes can see her attacker through his blue cobalt lenses and pulls him away, thinking him mad and letting the Unseen Man go free. As reward for her screw up, she's targeted in her home the next night, only for Wes to barge in again, having anticipated the only possible secret identity for the crook would make him likely to strike back at Dian. It is, unsurprisingly, the hobby shop owner, who Wes turns over to the police before heading out to patent his invisibility paint with the United States Army.
Alright, it's definitely not Gardner Fox writing anymore, because I cannot imagine Fox treating Dian so poorly. I gave her some dignity in summary, but this story is plain dumping all over her as a fussy, incompetent tryhard who fails at investigating on her own on account her womanly ways. Just look at the sheer antagonism between her and Wes; you two are partners, she's saved Sandman's skin like a dozen times, worn his costume and wielded his gas gun to do it once, even! Don't try to BS me into thinking Wes would run this paternalist "let me handle it, Dian, I wear the pants in this relationship" crap on her. You're only alive because she's worn your fucking pants. Otherwise, 'nother instance where the story and art alike don't give me much of note. I reckon Flessel was about done with the series with Fox gone and sorta phoned in his last few assignments. They're nowhere near the standard of his early solo artistic duties on the title. There IS another good wirepoon swinging shot, if one counterbalanced by a crummier instance with yet another weirdly-proportioned mask.

• ALL-STAR COMICS #5

The Mysterious Mr. X: The Kidnapper's Union - Fox, Cliff Young

The Justice Society are bored. Bored, bored, bored. Why are they bored? There is no crime. Not a single ruffian or scoundrel or roughneck lawbreaker anywhere in the city! Where did crime go? Crime has taken an enforced vacation, courtesy the plans of big crime boss Mister X (hats off), as prelude to his big plans for taking out the JSA and putting all his criminal enterprises back on easy street. It's quite the collection of rackets out against the superheroes - an arsonist ring for Flash, a jewel snatching gang for Hawkman, leader of the phony fortune teller underworld against Doctor Fate, even hard-pressing gym membership shakedowns for the Atom! Naturally our heroes triumph, though every one also encounters a strange little man idly strolling through their battlegrounds. He's so omnipresent despite his mousiness, he's even there when they convene at the police station to organize Mister X's (hats off) arrest. Except this unassuming slip of a man? He IS Mister X (hats off), and with the Justice Society having taken all the fun out've crime, he's turning himself in to live comfortably on the state's dollar in jail. WHOOPSY-DOODLE!
For his six-page part in the game, Sandman must contend against the kidnapper's union, who naturally enough have abducted Dian to get his attention. Not only have these lowlives taken Dian hostage (though she doesn't particularly mind), they've taken out phony accident insurance claims against themselves should the hero injure any of them en route to his untimely death! Nobody quite expects Wes to avoid the sniper-guarded roads to their remote hilltop hideout, though, and a quick wirepoon swing over the canyon (complete with Mister X - hats off - sighting) puts him right in the criminal den. From there, it's a simple biff wham boom to take down the punks and disarm their supporting fire. Alas, Sandman is once again only in the loop on the true nature of the threat against the JSA because someone notifies him from their own investigation, this time Flash via telegram. Let him do his own detective work, you pricks!
Right. You see these panels? You see Dian being calm and collected in the midst of a kidnapping operation? You see Wes trusting her with a submachine gun to keep watch on the fools who mean them harm? Yeah, THAT'S Fox writing Dian. Whoever's writing the Adventure feature at this time ought've taken notes. Artistically, Young makes a fine replacement for Grothkopf and Flessel in Adventure - he can match the first for goons, the second for action, manages a nice turnaround effect before Wes swings on his wirepoon, and even gives us a by-now all-too-rare heavy shadow shot on Wes and Dian. I'm a big fan of the lead kidnapper who calls the JSA the "Justiss Sassiety," and find this instance of Mister X (hats off) the second best in the book, behind only his appearance in the Hourman story, which I think speaks for itself. Probably the only time I'll express preference for something Hourman related over Sandman.
The loss of all three major contributors to the Sandman feature across early 1941 and the crunch down to eight pages has certainly made the Adventure Comics side of the Sandman line a rockier experience. It's still possible to derive enjoyment from the wonky mysteries and higher-concept criminals, but one must accept atmosphere and and particularity have been near-entirely sacrificed for generalized bombast and louder appeal. Don't misunderstand, I've become a fan of Wesley Dodds, Fist-Swinging Bullet Sponge, and my past praises for him aren't diminished by the realization of what this has done to his integrity as a character circa today's stopping point. The trouble is, while I enjoy this half-mad, impossibly reckless read on the character, it simply no longer bears any resemblance to the early days' lurking and creeping through the seedier parts of town. There's a great series of justifications running through the Sandman concept - he's no powers, so he uses the gas gun, so he needs the gas mask, which hides his identity so perfectly it frees him to wear the ordinary business suit, which highlights his vulnerability. Fling him around like a ragdoll who knows no fear of injury or death, although I'll clap for the bravado of it all, I must object if it means any notion he should be sneaky or cautious degrades.
Especially if it means the gas gun vanishes from the character. It hasn't met its final end just yet, but for this seven month block it's proven a very perfunctory aspect of the strip, hung by his side and occasionally brandished without acting as an integral part of the action or storytelling. The wirepoon has subsumed its function as the sidearm, and while I must stress there are plenty aces shots of Wes swinging that fully justify its prominence, taking precedence over the thing that makes him the Sandman, Crimefighter What Fights Crime By Putting The Criminals To Sleep plain rubs me the wrong way. Be awful nice i we could have both without the new toy putting the old out to pasture, y'know? It's not led to anything I'd full-throatedly object over just yet, but... ach, you'll see next time. Speaking of...
Next time! 1941 comes to a close as Wesley picks up another feature to his name, and also a stupid, ugly new costume!
(Previous write-ups: 1939, 1940 pt 1, 1940 pt 2)

Hello,
I have a F30 335i N55 6 Speed and I've been dealing with a engine shake with varying frequency at idle. I am full bolt on (oversized intercooler, charge pipe, down pipe), pure stage 1 turbo w/ blow off valve, tuned with bootmod3 to stage 2. The ignition coils and spark plugs were replaced with tune with OEM coils and N20 plugs (1 step colder) gapped to .020" and the vehicle ran beautifully for a while. The vehicle now vibrates and I'm currently pretty deep into diagnosis. Here's what I have done.
I found the passenger engine mount had collapsed so I replaced both and trans mounts. I was hoping any vibration was being transmitted into the frame, it helped but didn't fix it. I then replaced all the plugs again with a new set of N20 plugs at .020" and reset all adaptations, which didn't help either. I had no relevant faults in the vehicle and the vibration was still present.
So I ran the misfire detection test plan and got "cylinder 1 air mixture something" so I smoke tested the intake and found the blow-off valve leaking, I documented and replaced it with the stock diverter valve. I am currently waiting for a replacement valve. Continued smoke test and found charge pipe leaking at the reducer so I removed, cleaned, and reassembled and no more air leaks. I re-ran the misfire detection test plan and the best result I could get after "cleaning spark plugs" was "cylinder 5: rough running increases spark duration unremarkable." I completed the swap, coil with #6 and spark plug with #4. Re-ran "cleaning spark plugs" and the result was the same, cylinder 5. I then swapped #5 and #6 injector, completed compensation, reset adaptations, test drove, re-ran misfire detection, fault on cylinder 5 still. Unplugging and plugging in MAF doesn't have an effect on idle condition. VANOS is operating within spec, all angles are hit. Valvetronic is also "operating without fault." I then completed compression test and leak down of all cylinders, results were all normal and as expected. I can share these if requested. I then removed the tune and flashed back to stock, also replacing the spark plugs with a set of N55 stock gap plugs. Now I get fault "catalytic converter efficiency," which is expected, no misfires or any other faults, but the vehicle shakes still when slightly pressing the pedal in idle. Checked smooth running values and misfire counter values in the DME, all within spec and 0. I then scoped the ignition coil and injector patterns from the DME. All of these were okay too, I can share these as well if requested. I then reprogrammed the entire vehicle, I was already at 22-xx-xxx so I had to manually select DME and put the factory level VO in vehicle, then reprogrammed my conversions. So here is where I start to load my shotgun, replaced all injectors, compensated, deleted adaptations, no effect. Replaced both oxygen sensors, no effect either.
I'm this close to ordering a DME. I kind of want to try swapping a IVM or start swapping all the sensors off another F30 N55. It doesn't feel like a engine vibration from a vibration damper or flywheel as the vibration almost goes away when driving at higher RPM's.
Anyone have any ideas?
I would also like to note, before someone says it, that I have already completed walnut blasting and the LPFP has been replaced. I have also completed all maintenance above and beyond with all fluids and filters, if it can be changed, I've done it. The engine even has a new oil pump, oil pressure valve, oil pressure sensor, and all gaskets replaced. New clutch, new suspension.

The XJ220 is the best Jaguar and craziest 90’s supercar ever made.
The Jaguar XJ220 might not be the most celebrated supercar ever made, but it’s most certainly one of the most special. Following the hum-drum oil crisis-restricted ’80s, the ’90s saw a proper renaissance of supercars. Many of which landed on our walls in poster form, catching our eye every day and helping us dream of 200+ mile-per-hour blasts as youngsters. But while cars like the Porsche 959 and Ferrari F40 get most of the press, let’s not forget about the most insane car of the decade – the Jaguar_XJ_220
In fact, the most popular YouTube car guy on the planet, Doug DeMuro, thinks that this swoopy Jaguar is the absolute craziest car sold in the ’90s. And who are we to argue with a guy that has over three million loyal followers? “It’s one of my all-time favorite cars,” DeMuro says. “That’s because it isn’t just a supercar. Cars like the Ferrari F40 and Aventador and Bugatti Veyron, everybody knows about them. They get all the press. But this car is just as special. And yet, it isn’t as celebrated or as well known.”
XJ220
And that’s a real shame, but one that DeMuro seeks to rectify with this video. Even though the Jaguar XJ220 suffered from several “undelivered promises,” as DeMuro points out. That includes the car’s failure to reach a claimed 220 mph top speed, even after Jag removed the rev limiter and cats. The production version also lost the concept’s rear-wheel steering, all-wheel-drive, scissor doors, and mid-mounted V12 engine. But none of that really mattered in the end.
XJ220
“Even with all the changes, the XJ220 still performed,” DeMuro says. “This was the fastest production car in the world for one year until the McLaren F1 came along and beat it.” Even then, Jaguar didn’t have people lining up to buy the XJ220. They ended production early after having sold 280 units. But today, people are finally starting to realize how great the XJ220 is, and prices have been going up steadily.

I bought a 2015 Mazda 3 with 160k miles and used it for Uber. Not realizing how much I drove I put 20k miles without changing the oil. I switched to Penzoil Natural Gas based synthetic (supposedly the best)oil and Denzo filter. When I drained the oil and transferred it from the pan to the jug that oil comes in there were only 2.5 quarts. I notice my engine was running ever so slightly rough before the oil change (idk if that’s normal, might be my paranoia ) and still seems to be. So what damage may I have done and what can I do at this point? Is there better oil for this car?
Thank you and I know I effed up so please be kind.

There’d been another shooting today, in some dainty little cafe downtown, in the places tucked so neatly away only people who had visited there their whole lives went. Pete Cordell sighed to himself as he stepped past the shattered glass. Once, the scene inside the cafe would have made his stomach turn. These days, the sight of eviscerated bodies and rooms painted with blood barely fazed him. The entire cafe was ruined, bullet holes riddling every surface imaginable. He whistled, low.
“They must have used up ten mags to do this much damage,” he observed out loud.
“Hey, you’re finally here!”
Pete looked up at the new voice - a man he’d worked with for a bit under four years now but still barely knew anything about - Wesley Smith. “Crazy shit, isn’t it? You’d think it was an action movie in here with the amount of bullets they dumped.”
“I’ll say,” Pete grumbled.
“That ain’t the weirdest shit though. Come over here.” Dividing the cafe in half was a massive sheet, and Wesley brushed past it as Pete followed. He stared.
On the ground was a gun - which wasn’t the first thing to draw his attention. What did draw his attention was the pool of blood on the ground, way too large for any normal injury to have caused. He moved his gaze around and his jaw slackened. Slumped against the wall were the remains of a black-robed man - although remains were generous, considering all that remained was a single arm, a head, and blood-soaked garments. The wall behind the remains was cracked and severely dented, as if something great and powerful had rammed into it. A few feet away, a body had its head entirely gone, nowhere to be seen, with only a spray of blood, a stain of flesh and the same deep impact on the wall where the head should have been.
“Pretty freaky, right?” Wesley’s facade of bravado wouldn’t have fooled even a child. “Makes you feel like you’re in one of them horror stories, you know?”
“I’ll say,” Pete repeated, coughing to get rid of his shaky voice. A buzz from his radio drew his attention, and he held it up to his ear.
“All officers to the station now. I repeat, all officers to the station now.” The voice on the other end was… strange, but Pete chalked that up to his wracked nerves.
He nodded to Wesley and ignored the strange feeling in his stomach. “Alright. Let’s go.”
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A few days later, Pete was flipping pancakes in the kitchen. His wife came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as the kids squabbled around the table.
“Had a good sleep?” He asked as she rested her chin on his shoulder.
She hummed in affirmation. “How was the latest case?” she asked.
He frowned. It’d been another shooting, in some dainty cafe downtown, and he’d… hang on, what had he done? Before he could strain himself too much, a memory slotted into place and he relaxed.
“Oh, nothing special. Nothing special at all.”
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It was just a few minutes into the breaking of dawn that a massive clanging woke Devona up. He shot out of the bed, not falling out of the bed but instead scrambling for the lightswitch as he got to his feet. His brain pushed past the fight or flight instinct that had shattered his sleep and he relaxed again as his memories came back. A few months into WICCA’s formation, during the time that they had been starting to talk to each other for purposes other than business, they’d headed over to Cirius’s abode.
“And here is my bed!”
They all stared at the bare mattress lying upon a metal frame, only a thin scrap of fabric and something that was barely a pillow upon it. The rest of the apartment wasn’t faring much better, with only a mini-fridge in the kitchen and one of each bathroom item. The walls were a murky grey with the wallpaper peeling, and there was a stench of alcohol in the air.
Axon let out a whistle. “Damn, you live like this?” Her expression turned solemn. “Seriously, though, these conditions are pretty rough.”
Cirius shrugged. “Eh. Could be worse. I used to just find a dumpster that wasn’t full and sleep in there.”
Devona sucked in a breath. “That’s… really bad.”
Cirius gave another shrug. “Some dumpsters aren’t that bad actually. Getting chased away with a broom for being an intruder or like, getting shot, is worse.”
“Well, moving on from that depressing bit of background, you could for sure get a better apartment with how much you’re being paid,” Axon interjected.
Cirius’s eyes widened. “I could?”
“Yeah, man. You know how much money you have. It’s all in your bank account.”
His eyes widened further. I have a bank account?”
“What do you mean? I sent the details to you through your email…” Understanding dawned across her face. “Goddamn it.”
There was a crash outside of the apartment, drawing their attention towards it. Devona walked open to the door and gingerly opened it to reveal two men tussling upon the ground, swearing angrily at each other.
“Hey John!” exclaimed Cirius cheerfully as the man on top lifted his fist and slammed it on the other’s face.
Devona stepped forward with his hands held out placatingly in front of himself.
“Alright, now, let’s calm-”
Devona was interrupted as he was talking by a fist swinging straight towards his face. As he reeled back, another hand was already closing over it and forcing the assailant down. Harlow stared down at the man they were forcing down with a singular hand, watching as his expression strained to continue to look defiant through the pain.
They pressed down further, causing the man’s expression to shift into pain as he hammered onto the floor with his free hand, hollering to let him go.
Devona gingerly placed his hand on their shoulder. “Hey, I think that’s enough now.”
Harlow raised an eyebrow at them. He tried to punch you.
“Well, he didn’t punch me.”
Harlow tilted their head but let go of the person, allowing him to run off with a bruised ego and most likely a bruised wrist. The other man got up and staggered away, the smell of alcohol fresh in the air. Devona let his hand drop as Harlow watched them go, wiping their hand upon their cloak.
After that, Cirius had thankfully used the money to get a proper apartment. Or rather, several proper apartments since he kept getting kicked out. And now he had found himself inside Devona’s new house. Devona sighed and rubbed his eyes to get rid of the tiredness, heading down the stairs to see what the commotion was all about. Cirius was sprawled upon the floor, his pillow several feet away, the couch he was staying on half tipped over and his blanket looking like it had been attacked by a savage animal.
He waved. “Hey bossman.”
Devona stared. “How.”
“Well, you see, I kinda woke up. And stuff was like this.”
Devona sighed and picked Cirius up. He held him like a cat, with his hands underneath the arms as Cirius’s legs dangled, and plopped him down onto the couch after pushing it down with his feet. He began to clean up the rest of the mess. Cirius shot to his feet instantly.
“I could-”
Devona waved him off. “It’s fine. It’s early, just try to get some more rest in. I’ll get another blanket.” He continued to clean up in silence, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He turned and Cirius was still sitting up, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
“Well, if we’re not going to sleep again, why don’t we eat breakfast? I’ll get the cereal.”
They ate together in silence, letting the sound of chewing fill the air. As Devona was thinking about setting up a garden outside, Cirius spoke up.
“Sorry for the blanket. And for waking you up. And-“
Devona raised a hand. “I told you, it’s fine.” Internally, he frowned.
“Was Cirius still hung up about that?” He had noticed an uncanny silence, but he had drawn that up to tiredness. Speaking of, was Cirius even tired? Cirius had been wide awake every time Devona had gone to bed, and wide awake when Devona awoke. One time, Devona had walked blearily down the stairs to get a glass of water in the dead of night, and almost got a heart attack from Cirius suddenly talking.
“So, what’s the mission for today, bossman?” Cirius interrupted his train of thought, rocking on his chair and back to his usual bounciness.
“Well, if you read your email, you’d know,” Devona deadpanned before relenting. “It’s just an attendance to some event that acts as a cover for underground dealings. While Claren deals with negotiations, we mingle with the crowd unless Harlow needs some backup. They’ll be off stealing some documents.” He polished off the last of the cereal. “We should get some more rest before the mission. Don’t want to be too tired.”
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Claren and Harlow were already there when Cirius and Devona arrived. They were all dressed in suits again, like they had been at that party months back. Claren took a few seconds to assess their outfits. Before the mission, Claren had talked with Devona, telling him that he would stand out too much. His height was the most obvious, but according to Claren his posture was ‘too subdued and open to pass as a crime lord’. Instead, Devona would be with Harlow, finding the documents, while Cirius would be a possible back-up to Claren. Really, it was because it was doubtful that he would be able to carry out a stealth mission.
Devona went over to greet Harlow. After exchanging conversation, he grabbed Harlow by the shoulder and the two of them vanished. Claren adjusted his suit, the light glinting off of the two rings on his fingers. “Well, you can go and mingle with the party. If I’m in trouble, try to cause a distraction.”
Cirius nodded thoughtfully. “Explosions?”
“Try to keep those to a minimum.”
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Cirius was mingling, but he was not mingling happily. The people really did hold themselves in a different way than Devona did, with pushed up chests and little hand waves. Everyone who talked to him seemed to need to suddenly leave, so Cirius was currently standing by the food table chomping on dishes.
“Real boring party,” a voice drawled.
Cirius turned. He tilted his head and stopped biting down on the plate. Leaning up against the table with an easy casualness, dressed in a full tuxedo with bowtie and tailed coat, the speaker plucked a grape from the stem and popped it into her mouth. Her rainbow scarf swished as she swivelled her head to look down at him, and her mismatched eyes were lit with amusement. She seemed familiar, but Cirius couldn’t put his finger on why. “Wouldn’t you say so?”
Cirius thought about this. “Eh, it’s alright. I remember one time I blacked out at a party like this and woke up in a bathtub filled with ice.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “You’re a pretty funny guy,” she snickered, waving a fork at him.
Her smile tapered into a grin, and her eyes narrowed. “But in my opinion, this party could really use some better entertainment.” She pulled a mask over her face - one of a white demon with small, pointed horns, and drew a glaive from her back. She threw it. The glaive soared through the air, and Cirius watched as it trailed dried intestines through the air before embedding itself deep inside the chest of one of the guests. Screams tore through the air and Cirius remembered that murder was not good.
“Claren, there’s been a murder! That’s not good!” he yelled, his voice drowned out by the din of panic and magic. The woman dodged past beams of energy and fire, grabbing onto the handle of the glaive and swinging it in a wide arc around her, carving into anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. Claren burst out from the room, his eyes narrowing and shield wrapping around him as soon as he realised the situation. He pressed up against the wall and then shot forward, like a rubber ball that had suddenly been decompressed. The woman’s cackling was interrupted as he slammed into her full force, sending the both of them crashing across the floor.
“Laurel Pariah. I didn’t expect you to show your face again so soon.” Cirius was close enough to hear them, and it helped that everybody had either ran away or died.
“So, my reputation precedes me,” Laurel responded brightly, kicking Claren off and swinging her glaive right at him. He raised his arm and it glanced off the glimmering shield, giving him an opportunity to land a blow at her gut. She stumbled back and he struck her across the head as she was darting backwards. Her glaive sliced through the air but ricocheted off of Claren’s shield, and he grabbed the bladed end to bring Laurel in closer. She kicked at him, causing her leg to bounce back and almost knock her over, only being held above ground by an uppercut directly into her stomach. She managed to stagger backwards, coughing.
“Wow, you really don’t play around do you?” she wheezed. “I didn’t expect to use my magic so soon, but I guess it can’t be helped.”
Claren moved back, tilting his head towards Cirius. “Go herd the people outside to safety. I’ll deal with her.” Cirius flashed him a thumbs up and headed in the direction of panicked shouts. Claren’s eyes scoured the room, as if looking for whatever Laurel may use against him. Speaking of Laurel, something strange appeared to be happening to her. Her skin seemed pale, almost bright. No, definitely bright - glowing, in fact. Before Claren could register it fully however, Laurel pivoted with a kick and sent a bolt of lightning slamming into him.
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The two of them had gotten past security with ease, Devona stealing documents from right under noses and Harlow repeating the pattern of fingerprints upon keyboards. The two of them were currently sitting upon beams, dangling their legs high above the ground.
Just a few more, and we’ll be out of here soon.
Devona tilted his head to the side. “These people really love to party, huh.”
Harlow chewed their cheek. Well, it’s sort of a coping mechanism. Unlike the more recent sorcerers like you and I, these people grew up in a society wholly made from those who possess magic. There’s a certain sense of… superiority within those places. To them, death was less of a constant presence. That was until the Scourges came. Suddenly humans, magic or not, were all pushed down a level on the food chain. That sudden shock of mortality, paired with the changing landscape of the world, is certain to cause some stress. They leaned backwards on their hands. Not to mention, it’s a pretty good cover for criminal activity.
Devona hummed. “Yeah, the world's a chaotic place.” He bowed his head slightly. “Do you think we can win? Against the Scourges, that is.”
Their tongue traced the inside of their mouth as they mulled, an action mirrored from others despite their mouth never being used to talk. It’s unclear. We don’t even know where the Scourges are coming from or what they are. There could be only a small handful left in the world, or there could be legions waiting to invade. We manage to push them back, but not without loss. The Scourge at Scotland was one of the weaker ones. The teleporting Scourge was one of the less destructive ones. And yet they managed to cause so much devastation. They tilted their head to meet his gaze. But I think we’ll win.
Devona smiled. “I hope so.”
How’s it going with Cirius at your place, by the way?
Devona scrunched up his forehead as memories came flooding in. “Well, he doesn’t eat unless I make him. Or really visit the bathroom since he doesn’t eat. I don’t even think he sleeps, at least not most of the time. I’ve also never seen him change his clothes. He seems weirdly nervous at times though. He’s probably destroyed like five of my blankets by now. He keeps giving me heart attacks at night by scurrying around the house. He tried to cook once and blew up the entire kitchen. I’m not even exaggerating, he had third degree burns all over his skin. Took me ages to patch him up, especially with him refusing to remove his clothing.” Devona sighed and noticed Harlow’s expression. They had a bemused expression on their face. “What is it?” You’re quite an attentive person, that’s all. They turned their gaze elsewhere. The last of the physical documents should be three doors down on the rightmost corridor.
“What will you be doing?”
Attending to my own business. I’ll meet you afterwards.
Devona nodded and vanished, leaving Harlow alone underneath the clouded sky.
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The hierarchy of the world was simple. At the bottom were the plants, the insects, the ones who barely fed themselves and were gorged upon or crushed by a wayward hand. On top, edging them out were the small predators, the mice and shrews of the world. And above them this and this and that until up on top the world, the pinnacle of power, was humanity. Of course, there was division within humanity. Some believed it to be race, or gender, or sexuality, or any other sort of arbitrary difference they’d use to hold a sense of superiority over others. But the true division, the fissure that stretched across like the mouth of a god, was magic.
Opal Pact was currently walking upon the tightrope across that fissure. To live in a world of magic without any of your own was common, given how billions of people did it, but to know about magic and to live in its world was less so. Of course, it was a lot less dramatic than her mini-monologues in her head, like the one about hierarchies, had made it seem. Most would expect fabulous displays of power, magic that could bend and buckle nations. Instead, they got people who could throw fancy balls that were basically slower, less effective bullets, or throw fireballs which were once again slower, less effective bullets, or become pinnacles of physical brawn who were immune to bullets and who were as susceptible to chemical warfare as anybody else. Even the ones who held incredible power weren’t immune to a knife in their neck in the dead of night. The point was, Opal was less of walking upon a tightrope and more of peering into a secret party and inviting herself in. Besides, if those unedited videos of cities’ destruction were anything to go buy, humans weren’t the top of the food-chain anymore, magic or not.
She whistled to herself, the tune of some forgotten song as she twirled a crowbar between her fingers. She knocked on the door to the security room and then smashed it open, interrupting the guard who was in the middle of trying to figure out why several of the cameras had stopped working. The smashing of the crowbar into his face sent several of his teeth scattering, and he collapsed onto his desk. He’d be fine, probably. Opal mentally shrugged with that thought and pushed him off the wheely chair, letting him flop onto the floor as she took a seat. She grabbed a can of oil from her bag and poured it out the door, letting it run down across the hallway. The tinted plastic she’d stuck to the lights before she’d made her entrance were just yellow enough that anyone who came rushing in wouldn’t have time to notice the oil until it was too late.
Opal slammed the door as shut as she could, kicking her feet onto the table and popping a piece of gum into her mouth. She chewed, letting the sugar flare upon her tongue as her fingers ran across the keyboard. There was a sound of people yelling, then the sound of bodies slamming against the wall and floor. She stretched her arms behind her head, kicking off of the desk to avoid the blast of energy that ripped right through the door. It was shoved open and Opal pushed off the wall towards the attacker, pulling out her taser and jabbing it into his stomach. He staggered and then slipped, falling chin-first onto the floor. She stepped off of the chair and kicked it, sending it bouncing around and knocking down the few guards who managed to remain standing. She slid across the floor, using the slickness to her advantage to weave past grasping hands and past the oil. Grabbing a matchbox from her hand, she struck a match and held it loftily between the fingers. The effect was immediate, with all the guards scrambling across the floors on either all fours or trying their best to stand up. She tossed the match to the oil-slicken ground and slid into the next room. The oil wasn’t flammable.
The oil eventually rubbed off from the friction, leaving Opal to walk along the floor. She eventually found what she came for. She smashed the lock off of the door, the alarm already having been disabled by her in the security room. She popped her bubble of gum and pushed the door open. Standing in the room, looking incredibly confused, was an incredibly tall man. He stared at her, the documents on the desk in front of him. She stared at him. He stared at her. She grabbed the tablecloth and threw it over his head, snatching up the documents as he stumbled back.
Opal dove out the door before the man could get his bearings, skidding across the floor and breaking into a sprint. She pulled out a bag of marbles and tossed it behind her, spilling the contents all across the floor. She used the crowbar to jam the door behind her shut, running past the winding hallways. The exit wasn’t far, and soon she’d be able to hop on her motorcycle and be scot free.
She wheeled around the corner and almost collided into a group of sorcerers. She could tell they were sorcerers since they immediately threw blasts of energy her way as she ducked behind the wall. One of them charged forward and punched the wall where her head had been. He lifted his arm to strike again and then vanished.
“Huh?” The other sorcerers seemed equally confused. Something appeared from nowhere and smacked into the face of one, leaving the last to look around panickedly before the frying pan knocked him out. The man from before appeared out of thin air, looking much more annoyed than he had before. He waved his pan at her face.
“Alright, who the hell are you?”
“Invisibility, probably. Strong as well if he managed to bypass the crowbar so easily, or crafty if he found another way to track me,” her mind supplied.
Opal rooted around for her spray-can. “Who am I? Oh, no-one really. Just a gal trying to make her way in the world.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Would you be willing to hand over the documents?”
Opal pressed her thumb and index to her chin. “Eh, probably not.”
He sighed. He vanished right as Opal lifted her spray can and sent a blast of black into his face. She broke into a sprint, shoving the documents into her pocket as she continued to dash.
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Being short certainly had its shortcomings. Cirius couldn’t shout louder than the clamour, so he climbed onto whatever surface he could find and grabbed onto a plate and a fork. He scraped the prongs along the ceramic and the screech was loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.
“Alright, alright, listen up! I’ve been told to get you guys out of here, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
The people still seemed panicked and extremely suspicious. One of them aimed a hand full of fire at him. “Who the hell are you? And why should we listen to you?”
“You guys are running around too much! Look, that guy has other people standing on top of him!”
“Help.”
“In an emergency situation, it’s always good to have someone to direct everyone else. People tend to panic and move erratically, so having a leader allows the people to calm themselves down and move in a controlled manner, minimising the risk to themselves and each other,” Cirius recited. He felt a dash of smugness for remembering the entire thing.
The people did not seem very impressed. They stared up at him with confused and vaguely disgusted expressions.
“Anyways, the point is, we’re going to leave now.”
“What about the people back there!” one person exclaimed. “I have a husband who’s possibly dying right now!”
Cirius frowned. “What did he look like?” “He had- he has blonde hair, is wearing a suit with a blue tie-”
“Oh, I think I saw who you’re talking about!”
“Really? Was he alright?”
Cirius scratched his head. “Uh, well, if he can survive without his head on then he should be good.”
“What the hell is wrong with you!”
“Come on, man!” “Why would you say that?”
Exclamations and cries of dismay rose up from the crowd and suddenly everyone was yelling at him.They started to throw plates and utensils at him, throwing insults along with them.
“Alright, alright, let’s just calm down,” he tried to say over the clamour. A plate smacked onto his head and dazed him for a second. Frustration bubbled in his chest as the people kept on yelling and yelling and the noise built up and up until the frustration melded into anger and burst from him.
“Shut up! Shut up, all of you!” he yelled, his own voice barely rising above the chaos. He grabbed a plate of his own and threw it into the crowd. “I’m trying to save your goddamn lives you idiots!”
Something bright came flying at him and he felt his body light ablaze, the fire rapidly spreading over his clothes and flesh. A silence fell over the crowd, their expressions now of shock and bewilderment rather than outrage. He moved his head towards the one who threw the fireball, the slight movement drawing gasps from the people around him. He jumped down from the table and walked towards the attacker, everyone else clearing a wide berth around him. He dug his fingernails into his bubbling flesh, tearing deep and causing blood to spill out, dampening the flames with a hiss. Blood dripped onto the floor as he flexed his hand before pulling his arm back and punching the elemental in the face. His hand practically exploded, spraying gore and viscera all over the man’s features. He fell to the floor with a horrified scream, too distracted to notice Cirius lifting a chair until it was already coming down on his head. Cirius patted down his body, ripping away at skin where the fire refused to die out. He turned to the crowd - or at least, the blurry outline of the crowd.
“So, are we ready to go now?” he asked brightly. He lifted his hand to scratch at his face and felt bone. The crowd nodded, subdued. “Pick that guy up, by the way.” He turned to the exit and they all followed suit.
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Devona was not having a good time. He’d managed to avoid most of the spray, but he’d needed to wipe away at his eyes before they stung too much. He floated past the groaning guards on the oil-slick floor, up the stairs to the upper floors. Marbles were strewn across the ground, and one man was rolling around while clutching his spray-painted eyes. The window on the far end was smashed open despite the latch being unlocked. Peeking his head around, he could see the perpetrator running along the rooftop, sticking her tongue out at the people on the ground. She grabbed an egg from her pocket and slung it at the head of one, exploding it all over his face as he tried to grab his gun.
She ducked down and slid along the tiles as bullets fired above her head, grabbing the side and swinging down into the window. A few seconds later, a chair was flung out and slammed into the remaining guards. A guard rushed up to the window next to Devona, pulling out a machine gun. Devona wasn’t a fan of excessive violence against his enemies, so he introduced his face to a frying pan. At the same time, the thief, as Devona had dubbed her, was thrown from the window. She managed to grab onto the curtain and ripped it as she slid down the wall, landing with a thud onto the ground. Standing there in the doorframe, holding onto ruffled documents as air swirled was a guard, more filing around her with magic swirling in the air.
Devona felt movement behind him and phased out, dodging the blast of energy that would have taken off his head. He grabbed the guard and phased them out with him, using their newfound weightlessness to throw them as hard. All eyes snapped to the man as he flew through the air, giving Devona enough time to swoop down and phase out the thief.
He dropped the two of them on the roof of the building overlooking the guards as they looked around in surprise. The thief immediately got to talking.
“So, you can phase out, huh? I thought you might have been a Neoteric, seeing as you look less out-of-touch than a lot of other sorcerers. Do you have a cool name for your discipline?”
Devona glanced at her. “It’s incorporealism.”
She rolled her eyes. “Bo-ring. You develop a whole branch of magic and you give it some lame name like that?”
“It’s not- whatever.”
She sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Why don’t we make a truce?” she said suddenly. “Just until we get the documents. Especially since they see us now.”
Devona looked down just in time to weave to the side and let the lightning pass by him. There was a woosh of air and all the guards were upon the roof, one of them still holding the documents in her hand.
A gust of air, a blast, and several bullets connected with nothing as Devona vanished. He grabbed one guard and threw them off, lashing out with only his foot physical and kicked another guard right in the stomach. Weave, dodge, strike, move back, more forward. The movements weren’t as fluid as they could have been, and he winced from a graze across his arm, but it wasn’t long before he and the thief were the only people still standing upon the roof.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Wow. Not bad. You’re quite the combatant.”
Devona started looking around for where the documents had fallen, turning his back to her. “Thanks.”
“What’s your name by the way?”
He lifted up one of the unconscious bodies. “It’s Devona. Yours?”
“Bergeron.” A strange name, but Devona wasn’t one to judge. “Say, I’ve just to ask, why did you save me back there?”
Devona frowned. “Is it not enough to not want to see another person die?”
She hummed. There was a bit of movement from behind him, and Devona phased out as a taser struck where he had just been. He phased back in, lashing out with a pivot and kick that slammed into her gut. He grabbed his pan and swung it at her head, clipping only her hair as she ducked down and he withdrew his body as she jabbed with her taser again. He slammed his pan onto her arm before she could reel it back in. Her taser dropped and Devona managed to strike her across the head, sending her stumbling back. She clutched his arm as if it was broken and Devona faltered slightly, just long enough for her to lash out with another hidden taser and hit him right in the gut. She grabbed onto her crowbar and smashed it against his head, with him managing to only slightly dodge the impact. He phased out again and grabbed her by the arm, throwing her against the wall. He stumbled, his vision turning white as rivulets of blood ran down his nose. Before he could recover he felt the crowbar slam into his hip and his legs buckled. The cool metal of the taser pressed into his back and jolts ran through his body.

After my recent oil change, my passenger side front fender meets my door when I open it, causing friction on the edges and rubbing the paint down to metal. This happened on my previous vehicle with the same garage last year. Now it's happened again, and I'm going back to them on a day or so to talk about what happened and how they plan on fixing it.
What should I look out for? What key points do I need to stand on? I'm firm that they messed it up, I know it for certain.