I picked up both guns last weekend and have been messing around with both of them quite a bit. I expect I’m going to get some heat for this post but:
The general overall fit and finish of the Benjamin 392s blows away the Seneca Dragonfly. In my opinion based on the two examples I have it’s not even close.
Looking at the Benjamin first, the bolt works smoothly like I expect a Benjamin bolt to work. The pellets load easily. The stock sight works well. The stock itself was perfect. The trigger was fine for hunting. The stock comb is too high like everyone says but if you throw on any of the available mounts, it’s the perfect height for a scope. If you want to change the stock out it’s three screws. The only manufacturing default I found was the bolt handle looked like it had tool marks from a pair of pliers on it. Not noticeable at a distance and could probably be buffed out but it was there.
The Dragonfly looks good from a distance but the wood stock has dozens of swirl marks from the CNC that are made very noticeable by the stain on the wood. The forearm doesn’t line up with the rest of the stock. (To be fair neither does the 392s but it doesn’t look like it is supposed to.) the bolt sucks. It isn’t smooth. You have to fight with it to get it back. I think it might smooth out over time but it is not great right now. It’s not binding it feels weird. I can’t describe it well. The metal is not particularly thick. I doubt it will last as long as my pumpmaster 760 has.
The big thing people buy the Dragonfly over the Benjamin for is the pumping. In the Benjamin the pumping difficulty increases as more pressure builds. However, the arm feels solid. The action is smooth and doesn’t fight you beyond the pressure building.
The Dragonfly is not smooth. The pump feels awkward. Things fight against you from the first pump to the last. It’s just not a pleasant experience.
Maybe I got a bad Dragonfly and an exceptionally good 392s. Does anyone else have both guns? How are your experiences?

Weekly Sanji posting quota, but it's something I've been thinking about.

The fights

We've seen a lot of fights throughout the series, but the always tend to fall in the same categories. The Straw Hat pirate themselves also tend to stay within the same categories when it comes to their fights.

Desperate fights

These are fights were the only way to victory is some type of surpassing your limits or learning something new to win. They usually make for the most memorable fights since they show the most struggle. Most "extreme diff" fights we see in the story are fights like these.
Zoro, Luffy and Usopp are the characters we see in these types of fights the most. The kings of "learning in battle" they tend to obtain most of their powerups in the heat of battle.

• Examples:
  • Usopp:
    • Learning Haki (because the life of his crew depended on it)
    • Has a theme of "discovering his courage" which usually wins him the fight
  • Luffy:
    • Learning G5 (to win against Kaido)
    • Learning ACoC (to challenge Kaido)
    • Learning FS (to beat Katakuri)
    • Using CoC for the first times (saving Ace)
  • Zoro:
    • Learning ACoC (to beat King)
    • Leaning to cut steel/haki? (to beat Mr.1)
    • Surpassing the ordinary (to beat Hachi)
    • First time using CoC/ACoC? (to cut Kaido)

A common characteristic of these types of fight is cheating death. Which is something that these three (especially Zoro) tend to do in a lot of their fights. The main thing to keep in mind about "desperate fights" is that the fight itself is essential to the power growth of a character. The character from before the fight and the one from after the fight are not same and do not know the same stuff.

Emotional fights

These tend to be the go to fights for the more character driven Straw Hat fighters. Best examples being Jinbe, Brook and Sanji. With these fights, inner turmoil often ends up being the main enemy. The opponent usually ends up being taken out by a technique that was already known/was always in their arsenal. These range everywhere form "low" to "high diff". Usually the trigger ends up being a dig at the characters allies or ideals which prompts them to get serious.

• Examples:
  • Jinbe:
    • All the fishman Karate we've seen him use seems to be techniques he's known all along.
    • All of the new stuff we see from him boils down to: "Ok, now I'm mad! *insert stronger attack*"
  • Brook:
    • Everything we've seen from him seems to be stuff he's learned out of combat or stuff he's known all along.
    • Cold Soul is something he just picked up along the way
    • Soul King; the soul monster in WCI did not come as a surprise to him, he just kinda knew how to do it
  • Sanji:
    • Diable Jambe and Ashura were both powerups that Zoro and Sanji seemed to just know they could do
    • His genes did awaken in battle, but not because of battling
    • When he used Ifrit Jambe, he alluded to always being able to create flames as hot as those
    • Sky walk is something he picked up in TS
    • Even with the Raid Suit, the only reason he put it on was to hide his identity more than just getting more power

The main characteristic of these types of fights is a big reveal. The fighter usally reveals something he's had all along, and uses that "new" power to put an end to the fight. Compared to the other type of fights, the character usually knows the same things at the beginning and at the end of the fight. Though the fight serves as a showcase of their powers, it doesn't serve to directly make them stronger.

Conclusion

The reason I say we've never seen Sanji go all out applies to characters like Jinbe and Brook as well. While we've seen Zoro and Luffy push themselves to the brink of death in the hopes of finding the upper hand in a fight, these three have never had death and limit breaking as a part of their fights. They usually dispose of their opponents (or get disposed of) before reaching and adequate challenge that would stimulate their growth. And as such, we've never seen them go all out to beat an opponent stronger than them through learning/evolving.

I’ve played every need for speed in the series, none have come close to the Forza Horizon series. My opinion might be unpopular but I feel as if NFS Heat was the NFS series’ final hope because Unbound is utter GARBAGE. That being said I know that FH4 is better than FH5, thé content was better, not like the lackluster hot wheels content which anyone only ever bought to get the extra festival playlist points easier in my opinion. But the reason I like Forza Horizon so much more than need for speed is because it feels like a celebration for cars, because it is! I love thé idea of having a big ass festival strictly to celebrate cars. One could argue that the cops being in need for speed brings it over Forza, but I would rather a festival like atmosphere strictly for cars than to just try and not get busted. I don’t know how « in line » my views are with others on here but I as a PC Forza player, FH5 is good and I want to accustom myself more with the series, so I’ll be getting FH4 soon! Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

You Matter to Her in a Way No One Else Could
When you died and were reborn, you became divine. You were love, and you were violence, and you were my miracle. A God sprung forth from the decaying machinery of your broken body. Koishi, the God of Love and Hate—have mercy on us all.
Down by the shore of one of the great Lunar seas, there sat a lonely shack thatched with feathers. Inside, there was a massive wani no less than eight leagues long… and her infant son. To that crocodile who had never known true familial love, that delicate little child—who cooed and smiled at his mother’s every move—was nothing less than a miracle. Such a delicate life in her claws, who knew nothing but unconditional love for his mother—to the crocodile, it was proof there was still good in the world.
She was tired, but the crocodile forced herself to stay awake. There was something she needed to do—a memory she wanted to share with the most important person in her life.
So, with all the caution and tenderness in the world, she picked up her child with her jaws and coaxed him into her throat pouch. The newborn child, perhaps having some shared instinct with his crocodilian mother, did not cry or struggle. Instead, he let out a giggle as he poked his head out from between his mother’s jagged teeth. With a snort, the dragon climbed out of her thatch hut, and crawled along the shore, drawing a meandering trail in the sand as she went.
When she reached the point where the water came to shore in gentle waves, the crocodile set herself down in the sand, letting the waves wash in and lick at her child in gentle sprays. Her child giggled as the Lunar sea’s tickled him with its pure waters, and as he did, his mother couldn’t help but feel at peace.
Nothing. Nothing at all would be able to take this from her.
Her miracle.
Toyohime opened her eye to clear blue skies.
She flexed her fingers, and instead of feeling the cold steel of the ship she started to tear apart, she felt so many tiny pebbles, warmed by their time in the sun. Sand? She brought a fistful of the stuff into her vision, before letting it fall through her fingers and run down her face. It was too real to be a dream.
Toyohime sat up to observe her surroundings. As far as the eye could see, there were infinite stretches of sand collected into wind-swept dunes that obscured the horizon. It was hot. Unbelievably so for what was supposedly the void. She felt a gentle gust of warm wind pass by her and toss her hair. This place… this impossible place… was she dead?
She rose to her feet, fighting biting aches and pains from her battle not too long ago. No—not dead. Somehow, she had survived—there was no other explanation. And as she looked down to assess the damage she had taken, her suspicions were only confirmed. Her right arm was missing, and in its place was nothing but a healed stump. The nasty cuts and bruises she had received in the fighting had all healed over for the most part, the only evidence they happened at all being residual scars that were yet to disappear. The ground was covered in dried blood. She must’ve been laying here in this sand trap for hours.
She brought her free arm, completely healed, up to the general space where her right eye was to find an arrow still protruding from it. Wrapping her fingers around the shaft, Toyohime tore it out in a fluid motion, causing the wound to reopen and drip blood onto the sands below. But, through some miraculous action, it was mere moments before the flow of blood stopped as the wound healed shut. Her right eye was still inoperable, but this healing ability was downright uncanny, even for a god.
She flexed her fingers. It felt like there was a hole in her head from which memories and feelings poured out. The mystery of how she got here, who she killed, and whether she could even trust her own senses had no answer—Toyohime knew she herself had made sure of that. She supposed there was a good reason. The less she knew, the better. That was something she could trick herself into believing.
Though no matter how much she forced herself to forget, she had the horrible feeling she had done something unforgivable—something she would kill over. In a sea of atrocities however, she could hardly even begin to suppose what that might have been. Maybe the heat was starting to fry her brain.
After spending a few minutes snapping the arrows lodged in her body by their shafts, Toyohime looked to the horizon, and then up. Ahead, there was a massive sand dune, no less than five times her height, and beyond the crest—a black pillar of smoke. Toyohime was not alone.
As she made her way up the shifting incline, Toyohime got to thinking about her next course of action. If this wasn’t a hallucination, then it most certainly had to be some extension of Koishi's will. Land in an impossible space… the creation of something impossible like that could only be a factor of a deteriorating mind, or God. And Toyohime had no time to consider the possibility of a crumbling psyche—not when she had a duty left unfulfilled.
But then… that would mean this was the paradise of Koishi’s mind. Surely, by her side is where she would find her salvation. She had already come to terms with it—that there was nothing left for her in the old world. Koishi could pervert and corrupt reality in whatever twisted ways she wanted—as long as it was the creation of her heart, it would be sufficient. Everything beyond that was not worth saving to the former princess.
… But that also meant there would be more enemies. More people she had to kill. She was ready. Ready to kill and ready to die in the name of love.
And as she planted her boot upon the peak of that sand dune, she saw the whole world become bare before her. A fair distance away was the crashed wreck of a golden ship, releasing plumes of black smoke as it burnt away. From this distance, it was difficult to make out any finer details, but she was sure the occupants had escaped. Satori was resourceful and stubborn, if nothing else. Dying in a crash was an impossibility.
She then traced a line from the ship through the shifting sands—to a city upon the horizon. Massive towers of glass and steel pushing against the sky, half buried in the sand, bending light around them as they reflected the intense heat of the sun. It gave the sight an unnatural fuzziness, as if the city was threatening to disappear at any moment.
As she traced the decaying visage of those buildings upwards, she saw a thin line reach beyond and into the sky. The line separated into two before converging back on itself. Above the city, etched upon the sky itself, was a pitch black gap in reality, opened and filled with so many eyes. And above still, the object of Toyohime’s desires and her sole driving factor—Koishi Komeiji.
Though the God’s eye was open, as well as the myriad collection of smaller eyes and drooling jaws that had lined every square inch of her squirming appendages, it was hard to tell if she was awake or conscious. Toyohime knew Koishi best, and if she had any guess as to what Koishi had been doing in the time they spent apart, it was receding back into the numbing comfort of her own mind. Even now, Toyohime figured she was still dreaming, avoiding the cruel weight of her responsibility. What manifested outside of her mind must’ve been some sort of twisted runoff.
Down there, hidden in the dunes, Toyohime knew there were those who would take this dream from Koishi. Those who would hurt Koishi. Those people would’ve done just as well to dig their own graves and build their own coffins. Because so long as Toyohime drew breath, she would protect Koishi with everything she could muster—that was her promise and the nature of her impossible, unconditional love.
Koishi was Toyohime’s second chance.
This time, one way or another, there would be no opportunity for a third.
Mima, on the other hand, had woken up quite a bit earlier than Toyohime had.
She had not suffered any fatal wounds or debilitating strikes leading up to the point where the reality around her started to crumble and distort—but she had briefly lost consciousness regardless. She figured that might’ve been a good thing; an action so absurd and so against everything she knew, perpetrated by an impossibly powerful being… even if a mere glimpse didn’t physically tear her mind to ribbons, she had no interest in trying to understand such a nonsensical event.
Mima awoke not in a desert, but in a grand sprawling city of seemingly human construction. Though the sun still hung overhead, the impossible hills and mountains of sand that caged the city in, always seemed to shift and move in the most calculated way… such that the sun was always put out. Caught in the shade, the city looked like it was in a perpetual night, in spite of the blinding yellow of the endless desert just beyond its limits.
Though that was the case, the city was far from dark. Street lamps, blinding neon signs, blinking traffic lights, apartments and houses with windows illuminated by the fluorescent lights within… It gave the impression the city was alive. It seemed exactly as a real bustling city at night, with its breathing and blinking—but there were no people. No matter how far Mima walked, no matter how many buildings she popped in, she would encounter no souls. She would find, in those buildings, immaculate setpieces filled with lived-in charm, hints and implications of life—but not people. Not even Yukari, who she wandered the streets in search of.
She recognized this place. This city—Tokyo. It couldn’t have possibly been, but it was the same Tokyo she grew up in, back before the Moonlight Descent and before the Kaiju. Before her chance meeting with the youkai who used to be her friend. This city, trapped in the middle of the desert, caught in an artificial night that obscured the flow of time—somehow it managed to be the perfect recreation of a long lost city, as if someone had taken a scalpel to the part of Mima’s brain that held onto the precious memories of her past life. It was comforting, being back in familiar territory, but it also carried along a pervasive uneasiness. The nostalgia said it was real, but the rational mind knew better than to buy into an impossible mirage—made all the more uneasy by the deathly silence of its streets.
After wandering around for a dozen minutes or more, Mima eventually came to find Yukari in a 24-hour fast food joint. She was sitting, out of her suit and miraculously healed, on a stool that faced the street outside, with her head down and a small pool of drool collecting at the point where the corner of her mouth met the countertop. Renko always said Maribel could fall asleep anywhere.
Mima floated back and forth around the gently snoring form of Yukari for a bit, considering her options. She changed back into her Renko form for a second, and after adjusting her hat a little, she reached over to tap Yukari on the shoulder… but then shied away. Glancing at Yukari, then back to her bag, she rummaged through its bottomless contents and pulled out a whole host of items: hand mirrors, makeup kits, two liter bottles of listerine, mints and peppermint breath spray and assorted beauty products.
She stole a quick glance back at Yukari to make sure she was asleep before going at it—in one go, she dumped every minty product she could into her mouth before swishing the unholy mixture in her mouth. It was not a moment later that she coughed out all of that liquid ice with a retch and a gag. Sheepishly, she turned her head to see if Yukari had woken up in all the commotion. Luckily, she was still knocked out something fierce. Mima might’ve guessed she was dead, if it weren’t for the occasional snore.
Undeterred, she opened a hand mirror and began to apply her makeup. Carefully. There was a subtle art to it—she only needed enough to hide any unsightly blemishes she might’ve gotten from her rather shut-in lifestyle as a ghost. Anything more, and Maribel was bound to notice Mima was purposefully fixing her appearance around her. None of that. Mima was trying for a more subliminal approach… It’s what worked in the past, after all.
Well, upon further thought, Mima figured “worked” was too strong a word. She did die before she saw any results, after all. But enough of that, Mima thought—now that she regained her memories, she’s finally gotten another shot. This being the apocalypse and all, she figured she should probably make it count.
She clicked close her portable hand mirror and, along with the rest of her stuff, threw it back into her field bag. She stole one last glance at Yukari, who was still sleeping soundly, before straightening her hat and clearing her throat.
“Maribel…” she said in a quiet, sing-song voice. She placed a hand on Yukari’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Maribel, wake up.”
No response. Mima pouted as she shook her around again. “Merry? It’s so scary around here—I need someone super strong and amazing by my side. Maybe we could hold hands?”
Nothing but more snoring. Mima’s expression fell. “... Okay, seriously. Wake up.”
“Don’t make me break out the big guns, Merry,” Mima said, digging through her bag and pulling out an airhorn. “I’ll do it. You think I’m bluffing?”
A tense beat passes. Mima stows away the airhorn. “... Ah, I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t do something like that to you. You’re too cute, hehe.”
“I’m not above this, though.” She reaches back into her bag and pulls out a spray bottle filled with water… before giving Yukari’s face a couple of quick spritzes.
That quiet, tranquil expression to Mima seemed almost a timeless representation of the relationship she shared with Maribel quickly contorted into one of disgust. After a moment of being pelted with spray after spray of water droplets, Yukari finally was roused from her sleep, a squinty, grouchy mess.
“Who..? Urgh…” She mumbled with a groan. When Yukari saw Renko, immaculately constructed before her with enough accuracy to convince her she came straight from her memories, she froze. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “... Renko?”
“Hehe… Yep, it’s me! Your best friend. Best girl-friend, even. That is, a girl who is also a friend. Not a girlfriend, you know? Aha… Unless? Kidding, kidding.” Mima flashed an easy smile. “Glad you’re awake. Hey, before you say anything else—how do I look? I look cute, right? I know we’re in the middle of saving the world and everything, but I’ve actually been spending a lot of time taking care of my appearance.”
As Mima continued to ramble on and Yukari continued to wake up, her expression made a slow and gradual pivot. Where at first Yukari couldn’t hide her bemusement from her face—as well as that strange pained expression someone would have, seeing a loved one they have long since finished mourning appear upon their doorstep—she eventually came to settle on an empty stare and a neutral, apathetic expression. It hurt Mima a little, seeing such a radical turn in her demeanor.
“Oh,” Yukari muttered. “It’s just you.”
Mima didn’t think she intended it, but there was a layer of latent annoyance in her words. Or maybe it was disappointment? A thousand years or more apart did a lot to shift their relationship. That much was clear—and it hurt.
Yukari took a moment to look Mima up and down. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she delivered an unceremonious answer. “You look fine.”
Mima sighed in response. “Hey, I’ll take it.”
“More importantly…” As Yukari continued, she craned her neck around to absorb every detail of her surroundings: everything from the light fixtures above to the tables that were so meticulously set and prepared. “... Where are we?”
Her eyes naturally gravitated toward the front counter and the kitchen section that was just behind—meticulously wrapped burgers and fresh fries, set underneath heat lamps… it was as if they were all made recently. But that wasn’t even the strangest detail Yukari’s eyes were able to pick out. Upon one of the tables was a tray, filled with half eaten food—as if the patrons ceased to exist in the middle of their meal. This was beyond a mere liminal space, where it gave the impression of once being a place where people gathered—it was closer in relation to the scene of an ongoing disaster, where people had left in a hurry.
In that way, it didn’t carry much of the surreal quality of a place no longer meant for humans—it more so felt like a place with a cursed history, its sinister and mysterious narrative etched into its skin and flesh through the vestiges of human presence. Mima could tell, being a ghost herself, there was more to this place than the physical construction. As to what ‘more’ was, she could not place.
She could tell Yukari was thinking something similar by the way she walked around and took in the feeling of the place. Her posture was rigid and cautious, but not necessarily ready and waiting for danger. There was a quiet dread to the things that weren’t, but should’ve been.
“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” Mima replied, following Yukari around with her arms folded behind her back. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but… I think we’re back in Tokyo.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Yukari replied. She walked over to the table with the food and traced a finger across its top. No dust clung to the surface of her finger, as if the tabletop had recently been cleaned. She brought the back of her palm close to the food. It was still radiating just a little bit of heat, as if it had been freshly served. “That’s the part that scares me.”
“... Assuming this is all very much real, this must be Koishi’s doing,” Yukari declared, taking a moment to look down at herself. As she flexed her fingers, her eyes narrowed. Mima figured she might’ve just realized she had been healed and mysteriously back to her usual outfit. She still looked younger and weaker than she once was, but there was an undeniable, albeit subtle increase in the vitality she seemed to convey. As Yukari’s eyes wandered to the empty city street outside, Mima couldn’t help but notice that expression—that idle, faraway gaze that looked like Yukari had trapped herself in a vivid daydream. She couldn’t help but realize how much Maribel had changed—and yet stayed the same.
“Whatcha thinking, Merry?” Mima tried, shuffling up to Yukari’s side.
“Yukari.”
“Oh. Right. Ha, that’s my bad. My bad…”
“I’m thinking: why Tokyo specifically?” With a wave of her hand, Yukari opened a gap next to her. Through that little tear in reality was a bird’s eye view of the whole city, as well as the infinite desert that surrounded it. “... There must be some significance to this location, but I couldn’t possibly imagine what it could be. Not right now, knowing what we know.”
“Hey, I grew up in Tokyo, you know? Maybe it has something to do with that? And… y’know, we were teaching in Tokyo before…” Mima gestured vaguely around herself. “... Everything, I guess. Maybe Koishi’s reacting to our memories.”
“Could be. Could just as easily be something related to Koishi. Could be nothing at all.” The view through the gap eventually fizzled out, leaving nothing but the inky blackness of the pocket dimension Yukari held dominion over. She let out a sigh before stitching the gap closed with a wave of her hand. “I’d suggest we keep on moving. Collect as much information as we can about this place. But only what we need—the plan is still largely the same. There’s no telling when she will appear again. Best be as quick about it as we can.”
“Oh. Uh… Alright. That’s cool.”
“... What?”
“Hm?”
“What’s wrong? You disagree?”
“Oh no, ah…” A sheepish grin crawled across Mima’s face. “I was just thinking about how much you’ve changed, is all. It’s just… you know, a huge city missing all of its people is pretty mysterious, huh? Don’t you want to do more exploring? Poke around a bit and take in the sights? Like we used to—just one last time?”
There was an unsettling period of silence where Yukari stared straight through Mima with that flat look. She averted her eyes for a passing moment. When Yukari returned her gaze to Mima, it was steely and cold. “No. Neither of us are kids anymore. We have duties and responsibilities that we can not abandon. Not for anything.”
Yukari brushed past Mima. The gesture wasn’t very rough at all, but Mima felt it come at her hard. As Yukari opened the door, she looked back at Mima and gestured to her to follow.
“Let’s go.”
Orin did not want much from life.
There was Satori, her master, who she cared about deeply. There was Okuu, her best friend, who she loved. There was Koishi, the younger sister of her master, who she felt obligated to take care of. And of course, there was her job of transporting corpses, which she could do endlessly and without tiring. Those things more or less encompassed everything she cared about—Orin was a simple person.
So as she crawled out the emergency hatch located at the top of the ship her master had so recklessly buried into a sand dune, she couldn’t help but feel so hopelessly out of her depth. With a groan, she hoisted herself over the lip of the hatch before losing her balance and tumbling over.
As she tumbled downward, bumping her head against every little edge the ship had on her way down, the visor to her suit cracked and then shattered. But as she flopped down into the warm sand, her arms and legs spread in a state of absolute fatigue, she couldn’t really bring herself to care about the warning tones in her helmet—or the fact she was able to breathe the air here, in what used to be the void. Frankly, all she could think about was how much she wanted to go home.
“Orin! Are you okay?” A familiar voice called from somewhere outside her field of vision. It was followed by the hasty clattering of boots on metal as they no doubt clambered down the ship in a hurry.
All Orin could offer in response was a weak grunt and the extension of a thumbs up.
“Are… are you insane?” Another voice called soon after, all breathless and hoarse. It cracked with exertion, as if it had already been worn out by so much screaming. “Satori, what form of devil possessed you to do that? We could’ve all died!”
Satori, of course, didn’t respond. Not before she entered Orin’s field of view, her own helmet long since thrown away. Her face was etched with a rare look of concern, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief when she saw Orin manage a weak smile. Wordlessly, Satori jostled off the smashed helmet from Orin’s suit and brushed away any remaining debris… before pulling her into a tight embrace.
Orin, dazed and shocked from the crash, could manage little else than to rest her head upon her master’s shoulders as she was pulled in. But through whatever stores of energy she had left, she managed to raise her arms and wrap them around in loose reciprocation.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
Satori pulled back from the hug, but stayed kneeling by Orin’s side. Cautiously, she looked to the horizon, as if she had caught a vanishing glimpse of something stalking them from behind the shifting sands. She extended an elbow for Orin to grab on to. “Let’s go. Can you stand?”
“I… I think so,” Orin mumbled, hooking one of her arms around Satori’s elbow and placing a hand on her shoulder for support. Her master lifted, and in response Orin tried her best to stumble onto her feet, with mixed results. As she straightened herself out with the help of Satori, she heard her bones shift and crackle in strange ways—followed by an absolute lightning strike of localized pain in the leg and the fuzzy static that came to replace it.
After a sharp intake of breath and a pained wince, Orin settled into a decidedly unconvincing posture—she plastered a smile on her face and shifted all of her weight onto the other leg in a poor imitation of nonchalance, but Satori’s face only got graver. It broke Orin’s heart. For a moment, Orin tried to separate herself from her master so she could stand on her own—but Satori only squeezed her in closer, as if she would’ve lost Orin the second she let go.
That didn’t surprise Orin much. She knew better than anyone that the events one year ago were still fresh in her master’s mind. Even now, it haunted her every action, and now the consequences were starting to catch up with everyone involved. But to Orin, that didn’t matter. It never did—not so long as Satori was her master, and Orin was her pet. Satori could march to the deepest pit of Hell, pick a fight with a God, oppose reality itself… and Orin would march along right beside her, no matter what.
Patchouli, on the other hand, did not share the same sentiment. She marched up to the two, at least temporarily uncaring of the fantastical environment they found themselves in, and went straight to airing out her grievances.
“Recklessly engaging with Toyohime like that, against all better logic… one day, and this day might very well come sooner than you think, your obsession with that cursed woman will hurt someone you care about,” Patchouli snapped. As she looked to Orin, whose body was riddled with evidence of blunt trauma, her expression softened. “... It already has.”
“As if we had any other choice. It was our best shot to kill her, once and for all,” Satori replied, stone-faced and cold. “... Besides, let Orin speak for herself. As if you know what she does and doesn’t wish for.”
“... Orin wasn’t the only person who got hurt. Or killed.”
“It just so happens that Eirin conveniently falls outside my definition of ‘people I care about.’ I fail to see the issue.” Satori snorted with disgust, as if offended by the mere implication. Orin wanted to speak up and cut between the fighting, but couldn’t find the strength to oppose her own master. “That aside, who says I was the one who got her killed? She got herself killed, following her own incomprehensible mess of half-baked ideas and strategies. What are you coming at me for?”
“How could you be so cold toward someone like her? Especially since we were all fighting out there together, as comrades? Have you no shame?”
“I’ve no love for her. Not after what she did to my sister.” Satori stared straight into Patchouli’s eyes. Sometimes her master was like this—staring straight ahead through a person, as if judging the content of their soul itself. Sometimes, this was literally the case, given that she made liberal use of her opened third eye. “We might be fighting beside each other, but we’re fighting for completely different things. Yukari, Eirin, Kaguya, even you and I—we’re all fighting for something different. Those are just the facts. Just as it was a fact that Koakuma had darkness in her heart. It’s that kind of fact.”
“How cynical. Aren’t we friends?”
Satori fixed Patchouli with a steady glare as she thought through her answer. Even with an open eye, Orin found her master’s thought process difficult to parse.
“... No. We aren’t,” Satori settled. “It’s not a secret—I’m fighting to get my sister back. I’m fighting to kill the person who turned her into a monster. I’m fighting to protect my family. You are doing none of those things—you’re fighting for a more abstract reason: protecting the world, or preventing human suffering, or whatever other justification you assign to your actions. It’s admirable, but recognize that It’s only by convenience that we’re here, helping each other out.”
“... Is that right?” Patchouli muttered under her breath. “Then if it came between Yukari, or Eirin, or me, or anyone else… and your family. Who would you choose?”
Silence.
“It’s best to be honest with ourselves. It saves us the heartache.”
“I see.”
In the silence that came after, the atmosphere seemed to become heavier. Orin spent each passing beat being suffocated by the pressure. Her eyes darted from Patchouli to her master, and then back again.
“Er…” Orin started. “Let’s ah… could we just figure out what we’re going to do next, maybe? Without fighting—that would be nice.”
“Good plan, Orin,” Satori said. Though strangely enough, she wouldn’t take her eyes off of Patchouli. “I’m not quite sure what we would do without you.”
Patchouli looked away. Orin couldn’t help but feel vaguely responsible—though the second the thought even popped into mind, Satori squeezed a little tighter, as if in reassurance.
“... There’s no use in arguing,” Patchouli said with a heavy sigh. “Or rather, it’s a subject for later, when we aren’t all in danger. For now, I agree—we should figure out our next steps.”
The guns had long since run quiet.
Those satellites—their powerful bodies forged by the greatest minds, cast in the strongest metals, and mounted with the fiercest weapons humanity could muster—how could they have possibly matched the horror of God’s wrath? They could never, and for their hubris, their bodies and their souls were scattered and broken as a million glittering lights upon the ocean.
Those were the kinds of things Kaguya Houraisan thought about as she sat beside a flickering fire, her only source of light deep in the darkness of a desert night, not a few meters from the turned and battered wreckage of the CNS Beyond the Sun. In the void, It was battered by unseen force, turned three times—and upon the fourth, struck down and consumed by the void, as was the divine will of God. To its crew, it might have seemed like nothing less than a castigation of divine nature—but Kaguya knew it was nothing more than the temper tantrum of a child. As infant children must necessarily cry, Koishi must necessarily kill—it was her unconscious will.
Woe upon humanity, as its greatest accomplishment was brought low and made worthless before a child. Her own child. What a dubious honor it was—being the mother of such a terrifying, omnipresent killer.
Kaguya was on the ship when it was attacked by Toyohime. She was there to see Eirin march on to meet her. And she was there to see her die. It didn’t bother Kaguya too much—after all, she had watched Eirin die countless times. She will likely watch her die countless more, before all is said and done. But it was there, seized by the temporary shock, that Kaguya lost consciousness. When she woke up, she was deep within the fresh wreckage of humanity’s greatest weapon—alone. On what happened to her crew, and why Kaguya was spared, she could only make guesses.
With no direction and no plan, Kaguya spent what felt like hours wandering the claustrophobic halls of that great metal cage of a ship. But she was alone. Alone in such a way that not even the impression of humanity remained. Even the spot where she saw three men become atomized by Toyohime’s attack, which had burnt dark impressions of their silhouettes into the steel, was mysteriously void of any sign they were killed at all. The damage remained, but the people were gone—erased from existence in a way only God could manage.
When she eventually emerged from the dark recesses of the ship into a darker night, with nothing but the stars above and the inexplicable ground below, she could do nothing but start a simple fire. The night was cold, and she had a feeling it would be long. Warmth would be needed.
This, alone and huddled by a dying fire, must have been the end. Kaguya shifted closer to the flame, and held her knees closer to her chest. She didn’t know what to do. When her own daughter had sought her out, she didn’t know what to say. All she could do was recognize—that in pursuit of an easy life, she had made things so much worse. She wondered if it was too late to make things right between herself and Koishi. If Kaguya had looked up to her daughter now, and said sorry, would she hear? Would she care?
She wasn’t sure. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out.
As she stared at the stars above, Kaguya heard the shuffling of boots displacing the sand. The sounds came in an irregular, halting motion. When it came to a stop, Kaguya lowered her gaze to the figure who stood at the edge of her fire’s light.
A moon rabbit in a pilot suit, all ripped up, tattered, and blackened by combat. In the gaps of her suit, her skin had melted away from severe burns—and froze in place, creating large patches of gangrenous tissue that covered her body. As Kaguya’s eyes drifted downward, she noticed a patch of body that had a view to the other side. Somehow, by some miracle of medicine, the wound remained stable and closed.
Her face was concealed by her helmet, tinted and patterned by a spider web of cracks, but by the way she stood, so still and lopsided, Kaguya had the impression of an empty gaze just behind the facade.
The moon rabbit carried in her left hand a revolver, its chambers empty and on display as the mechanism that connected the grip to the top half of the hung loose. In her other hand, was an ax, splintered in half at the handle from excessive use and its blade caked in a thick layer of blood.
Without a word, the moon rabbit collapsed into a heap by the fire.
Kaguya rushed to the moon rabbit’s side and, upon removing her helmet, froze.
Atonement—she wondered if it was even possible.
Previous Chapter:
Interim Chapter 11

I initially was able to communicate with my E3V2 but for some reason the hot end and bed would heat up but the print would stop.
Thought maybe I have to PID bed and hot end so I did and update my Printer.cfg file and then it just stopped communicating all together.
I have Octoprint working on a separate pi 4 for this printer fine so I know the USB cable and USB port both working on Printer.
ls /dev/serial/by-id/* command is responding back with /dev/serial/by-id/usb-1a86_USB_Serial-if00-port0 which means I am talking to the printer....I believe.
I see this in the klippy.log amongst other things.
=============== Log rollover at Wed Mar 22 00:12:09 2023 ===============
Start printer at Wed Mar 22 00:12:09 2023 (1679458329.9 41.3)
Unable to open config file /home/pi/printer_data/config/printer.cfg
Traceback (most recent call last):
File "/home/pi/klippeklippy/configfile.py", line 158, in _read_config_file
f = open(filename, 'r')
FileNotFoundError: [Errno 2] No such file or directory: '/home/pi/printer_data/config/printer.cfg'
Config error
Traceback (most recent call last):
File "/home/pi/klippeklippy/configfile.py", line 158, in _read_config_file
f = open(filename, 'r')
FileNotFoundError: [Errno 2] No such file or directory: '/home/pi/printer_data/config/printer.cfg'
During handling of the above exception, another exception occurred:
​
Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Hello all! Still a leo newbie, after doing some reading on my own, I figured I’d double check here!
Just got our little baby in January, “secondhand”, and we were told she’d be a year old in March.
She was eating as much as I’d give her to start. Mix of meal worms, crickets, and dubias, following the “2 appropriately sized insects per inch of length” guide I’d found.
Just recently though, she’s been refusing to eat when offered via tongs, and barely eating when I leave them in her dish for later.
She’s also been choosing her half log hide over her humid hide more. She was HUGELY into her humid hide before.
She’s still acting the same though, aside from those two things, and seems to have fully warmed up to me now. Comes out of her hide to see me and has been climbing into my hand when I offer it.
She also doesn’t seem to be losing any weight. Nor do I see signs of impaction or being egg bound.
I read that sometimes they go through a stubborn phase when they mature, but that seems to be at 18 months, not 12.
Could it just be that I was misinformed of her age when we got her? Or do you think there’s something else going on??
Any insight would be appreciated!
Oh! And she’s in a 20 gallon, heating pad under the hot side, daytime heat lamp (white, not red or blue), temperatures/humidity are kept in the suggested ranges, multiple hides, faux plants, with a mix of carpet, moss, and safely sized stones for her bedding. (Working on figuring out a possibly bioactive setup)

UPGRATED VERSION – Dual steamer and Iron. Produces a powerful and consistent steam. 2 in 1 for Flat hot and Hanging hot. Safer structure design to minimize leaking water. More sufficiently, and bursts strong hot steam swiftly, without water sputtering.
https://zafyn.com/collections/new-products/products/useful-portable-handheld-steam-iron
​
https://reddit.com/link/11y7hxu/video/nu3x7wivnl261/player
QUICK & POWERFUL – Ceramic soleplate, heating up just 50s, prevents clothes from damaged. Powerful and stable steam to remove heavy wrinkle, odors and degerming.The steam is continuous and powerful, which can penetrate the clothes deeply and quickly.
SUITABLE FOR MOST FABRICS – One handheld fabric steamer to make shirts, suits, down clothes, night dress, wedding dress, pants crease free.
​
MULTIFUNCTION – Strong steam can be used in many ways-Cleaning dust. Pillow high temperature clean, sofa clean etc.
BEST EXPERIENCE – We also provide 100 ML Measuring Cup. Perfect for travel and home use.

HOW TO USE IT?

Directly hanging your clothes on the hanger, putting them flat on ironing board or even on the table. (you need to add the water in the tank(100ML) not more than the max line or it will leak or spoil when you ironing).
Secondly, adjust the temperature dial to the max, then the working light turned red. After the working light turned off, you can adjust the temperature to what you want, there has three settings, so them you can press the steamer button, and begin working.
Finally, just add water and turn on, waiting for 50 sec, you can start ironing your clothes.
​

SPECIFICATIONS:

​

• Weight: 1100g.
• Power: 1000W.
• Color: Purple / Blue.
• Size: 35 x 8 x 10 cm /(13.78*3.15*3.93 inches).

PACKAGE INCLUDE:

​

• 1 x Base.
• 1 x Metrology Cup.
• 1 x Plush Brush Combination.
• 1 x Portable Handheld Steam Iron.

https://zafyn.com/collections/new-products/products/useful-portable-handheld-steam-iron

Hi All,
Turning into an expensive case upgrade, bought new Lian Li case as old one was broken (power switch), it was 8 years old so thought why not.
6x ARGB fans, Razer Chroma Hub, and a few new SSDs later - started putting it all together.
….to find my old PSU of also about 8 years old, doesn’t fit, as the motherboard eps cable won’t reach when going through the rear cable management route :(
So, time for a new PSU.
I have stretched my budget as far as I can, and found a Corsair RM 850ew (whatever the w is, I don’t know). It’s also an upgrade from my XFX 550.
It’s within my price range, seems to be an ok/good PSU.
I was reading a few reviews though, and one review was talking about how these should not be installed “fan down” as they are semi passive, which will trap heat and reduce life of the unit?
Nothing in the manual says don’t do that, it says follow case instructions, which in Lian Lis instance is “fan down”
My preference would be fan down, as I have 2x ARGB fans blowing upwards into the GPU on the bottom of the case, but if I need to go fan up, then ill have to remove them :(
Any thoughts?

Hello! This was supposed to be a series of videos, each discussing Ninjago media but I ran into technical difficulties and I was forced to make this as massive posts. I'm using the script I wrote for the videos so sorry if the wording seems a bit weird. I've changed it as much as I can. This segment was written on the spot. This post will discuss the pilots. So without further ado, let's dive into this. The pilots were released on 14th January 2011 and are the first official part of the Ninjago canon. They consist of two 22-minute episodes or four 11-minute episodes depending on where you view it. Most people have seen it as 2 episodes tho including me so I'll be talking with that configuration in mind. The first pilot is called "Way of the Ninja". This is basically the foundation of the show. The first shot we get is a beautiful landscape with a blacksmith shop at sight and an old man, who we will soon find out is Wu, walking towards it. Then we meet our main protagonist for the pilots, Kai - a young boy with a fiery temper and a desire to be the best at everything. We see his impatience when he pulls the sword out the fire the wrong way and it doesn't turn out straight. Then we meet the catalyst for Kai's journey as a ninja- his younger sister Nya. At first glance we can see she is much more patient and even tho she is younger, she's much more mature than him. Through the dialogue we find out that their parents are gone or presumed dead but that is later to be discussed. After the revelation of this fact we can imagine they lived on their own their entire lives. And now we see the old man approaching. The viewers witness a short brawl with words between Kai and the elder. Kai's hot-headedness is at full display in the next couple of scenes when the main antagonist of the pilots is revealed through dialogue. The sky goes dark as the Skullkin approach with their skeleton-themed vehicles. Then we meet 3 of the Skullkin, Kruncha and Nuckal, the comic reliefs, and Samukai - the general. As Kai gets ready to fight he warns his sister to stay back, showing his protective nature towards the people he loves. After a short fight tho, Nya joins the battle. Unfortunately she soon gets kidnapped by the skeletons. Wu saves Kai. Then we get this confrontation between the two contrasting personalities. Kai, angry and ready to fight wants to follow the enemies and save Nya but the wise old man who reveals himself as Sensei Wu tells him that he stands no chance and he can't follow them into the place they live in, the Underworld. So he invites Kai to become his pupil. Kai accepts with the intention of saving his sister. And so his hero journey begins. We get the iconic "Long before time had a name" monologue in which we find out Wu is the FSM's younger son and his older brother, Garmadon was corrupted. He is the one who ordered the kidnapping of Nya. We get a fun little training montage with all of Kai's failures but as times goes on he studies all the difficulties in the course and soon masters them. This shows his adaptability to new situations. Kai is impatient to learn Spinjitzu so he can fight off the Skullkin and asks when is he going to learn it but Wu isn't impressed and leaves his question hanging. The next scene is in the evening. Kai is getting ready for bed when he gets attacked by mysterious men in black. After a brief fight between them Sensei Wu stops them and reveals that those are his other pupils. Then we witness the iconic scene of Wu using Spinjitzu to give the ninja their signature colours. The trio of ninja change their gi from black to their respective colour and Kai gets his own gi in firehouse red. Then we get introduced to the new characters. Jay, the one in blue, master of lightning, with a sense of humor and loves dabbling in cooking and model building. Cole, the black ninja and master of earth. He is the rock foundation of the team and the natural leader. And Zane, the white ninja, master of ice with untouched potential. Wu tells them about the four golden weapons and how each of them has to retrieve one of them. So they go for the Scythe of Quakes first. On the way the ninja chat about how each met Wu. Jay met him on top of a building, drinking tea and Jay crashed into him while testing his mechanical wings. Cole met him on top of a mountain he climbed. Zane met him meditating on the bottom of a frozen lake. Soon the team has arrived in front of the place where the Scythe of Quakes is kept safe. There are Skullkin all around the place. Wu tells them that when they get the weapon they mustn't use it. Meanwhile Kai runs off first. The others follow him and Cole says that he shouldn't run off like that or he'll blow their cover. They enter a cave where the scythe is but they bump right into Samukai. Then a battle unfolds as Jay realises that the way to unlocking Spinjitzu is just repeating the training course. Everyone unlocks Spinjitzu and the Skullkin escape. The team's celebration is short-lived when the guardian of the scythe shows up- a giant earth dragon. Quickly, Kai grabs the scythe and uses it, thus ignoring Wu's prohibition. As the ninja escape through a hole in the mountain, Wu greets them and scolds Kai for using the scythe against his words. This sets up Kai's arc about learning that not everything centers around him and he must let others help him. Samukai explains the situation to Garmadon. We don't see him, we only hear his menacing voice which amplifies his presence. The mere fact that we don't know how he looks and what to expect from him makes him more threatening. This is how the episode ends. Episode 2 is called King of Shadows. The episode starts with a ship sailing between two icebergs. The ninja are on the ship and they are traveling to the place where the Shurikens of Ice are kept. Then we get a montage where the ninja obtain the shurikens and the Nunchucks of Lightning. The next scene is the ninja having a break and dancing to some music. Then they go to sleep. But Kai sees Nya in the woods and he runs after her. Suddenly he is in front of the Fire Temple. He follows Nya in the building only to find her tied with chains above lava. Without thinking Kai jumped ahead and obtained the Sword of Fire from the pedestal and freed his sister. But then the unthinkable happens, Lord Garmadon himself shows up in his giant shadowy form. He transforms himself into Kai's shadow and beats up Kai pretty easily. But then Sensei Wu appears and fights the shadows. He takes the sword and falls with it down in the volcano of the temple to prevent Garmadon from getting it. Meanwhile, the Skullkin steal the rest of the Golden Weapons while the ninja are sleeping. They wake up and go after them but fail to retrieve the weapons. Turns out that the volcano that Wu fell in actually leads to the Underworld. When the ninja get to the temple they are greeted by Kai and Nya riding the fire dragon. Jay falls for her. Kai tells everyone that they need to befriend the dragons because they are the only creatures who can travel to the Underworld. The next shot is the ninja riding the dragons as they open a portal to the Underworld. They go through various different tunnels until they reach a massive cave with a skeleton base guarded by it's inhabitants. There are giant spiders everywhere. The ninja get quickly spotted and they attempt to form the Tornado of Creation successfully. With it they create a skeleton-themed ferris wheel with all the Skullkin trapped inside. The heroes move forward. Inside the base they find Wu fighting Samukai with the Sword of Fire while Samukai wields the rest of the weapons. Samukai obtains the 4 weapons and we see Garmadon for the first time in physical form. He doesn't seem worried about Samukai gaining the powerful objects tho. He's actually planned it all along. As Samukai spins with the four weapons he dissolves into dust. No one can handle all the power of the weapons at once. But after the general a portal opens and Garmadon enters it claiming he will return more powerful. The team is left with the weapons. In the next scene the ninja are back at the blacksmith shop celebrating temporary victory. Kai promises the villagers that they will be ready when Garmadon comes back. And we finish the pilots with the full team shot. This was so so long and I'm sorry for that but congratulations if you read through it all! Idk when I'll make the next post about S1 but seeing how 2 episodes took me so much time to write about, I'll try to shorten the post more or I'll be making a whole novel just for one season. I just wanted to take my time on the pilots, the next posts will discuss only the highlights. Anyways, have a nice day and till the next post!

Hi recently got an used pixel xl for emulation. It is all set up with lineage and daijisho and some emulators and games. That side of things makes the phone heat up but not too bad. I also use a razer kishi so my hands aren't really on the phone then either way. Its when I try and play android games when the phone gets nasty hot like too hot to even keeping holding the phone. I usually play vertical android games so keeping the kishi on during those times is funny. But has anyone else experienced this and if you have what did you do to fix it? I did get the games through the Google play store could that be affecting the heat of the phone? Should I be worried about the longevity of this phone cause I don't think the constant overheating is great haha 😅

When I watch people do PC builds on YouTube and they show there awesome builds they all have the most high end components in it but how come they never mod any of it. As far as I could find on YouTube I couldn't find any videos that heavily mod the components in there system. Here are some mods I looked into that I would like to see done if not already done and I can't find it.
Changing the Aluminum IHS on the CPU to a Copper one. (Liquid Metal Between)
Putting a copper plate on your GPU
Deshroud and Put better fans on GPU
Change thermal paste between GPU and heatsink to liquid metal.
optional Add a better heatsink to the GPU
IDK if this effects performance much but I also found these
Changing chipset heatsink to a Copper one
Adding copper heatsinks to CPU VRM's
Adding copper heatsinks to GPU VRM's
Replacing GPU thermal pads with thermal putty
And even further IDK how much this effect performance but here's more.
Copper RAM Heatsinks
Copper NVMe heatsink
Change power supply fan to better one (Be Careful)
Also optimize the are flow maybe like have the GPU fans blowing out the bottom of the case to isolate its heat from the other components. Or maybe putting it in GPU enclosure.
If you wanted to go further you could water cool it but I was mainly wanting to see air cooled only.

So my parents always complain about my room being a dump and how I never clean it so one day I decided to get up off my ass and actually do something about my dirty room for once and I got rid of most of the things that make my room claustrophobic and I felt good about myself for once in my life until I was eating dinner tonight and I’m just eating a hot pocket with tea and then all of a sudden I hear a trash bag being drug down the hallway. I immediately stopped what I was doing to go check out what was going on and turns out my mom found it and found all my junk was in there and they were pissed off about me throwing away school supplies that I never used and they were going on and on about how damn expensive a pair of pencils and other shit is. They asked me if I would throw away 7 dollars and I said “probably not”. I wanted to say that I would donate it to charity because I honestly don’t care we’re my money goes and I’m not real great at understanding how hard you have to work to earn money because I don’t have a full-time job while my parents blow there money on fancy schmancy shit that has to atleast be over 100 dollars. I was wondering why my mom was going through all my junk and she was assuming that I had her clothes in my drawers or my closet and just a little FYI. I am a dude so I don’t wear girl’s clothes. Like what the fuck? Why the hell would I be keeping some damn dresses, tank tops, leggings and other feminine like clothing in my closet? I’m an introvert who does literally nothing and interferes with no one. I can’t do good things for anyone because when I do, I just wind up overworking myself until I make a rookie mistake and the whole world just turns upside down. I don’t understand. Why do people love to violate me soo damn much? I write a story and try keeping it to myself. My school finds it to disturbing and bans it. I have a search history on my phone that I don’t want checked. It’s been checked. I try letting out my anger by talking to myself. What’s this? It’s a motherfucking eavesdropper. I live my life like I am a ghost and sure I get respect for being that quirky quiet kid that people think is their savior but that doesn’t mean anything. I feel like more than half the time that people would want to hear what I would want to say. They would completely disagree and leave me to be a wast of precious breath. I’m like a ghost almost. Everyone thinks ghost’s are scary and media portrays them in a bad way but they are just like me. They exist among those who are wild and free and simply live in solitude until someone finds them and calls them out for but in a more realistic case. People don’t know that I exist until I make a mistake.

I heated a spring red hot with a blow torch and then quenched it and it is a little bit harder but still weak.

I bled the system but had a big leak from radiator drain plug, and fixed that and just topped of the coolant. could i have air in my system causing it to run hot, even though i properly bled it before the leak? my air conditioning won’t blow hot, so i really think it is air in the system but i want a second opinion
Car is currently at the mechanic because of me not being able to fix crankshaft sensor codes. but i am trying to decide if i should just pay for the extra hour of labor to have him diagnose the cooling system when the car is there

I have an '09 wrangler unlimited X with those two sensors consistently reporting "not ready". I have completed multiple drive cycles but the sensors stay the same. I bought my jeep from a smaller dealer and they cannot find the issue and think that it could be that my system needs updated. Has anyone also experienced this and/or might know the problem?

Alan sat underneath a tree, watching as the Atlantic waves splash and thrash on the beach. The air was thick with moisture; it felt warm on his face, but he had no need of the breeze for relief from the heat. His face burned and was red from the blazing Sun. He was sitting on the ground, his back against the trunk of an ancient palm tree. It was hard but dry, and it offered him some protection from the relentless rays. The sea water glistened like black glass.
There was not much time to rest, as the Spanish overseers were sure to come searching for him soon, but he just needed to sit awhile and gather himself. He would soon have to return to work, in the fields of sugarcane. The sun was very powerful today, perhaps more so than ever before. Brittany certainly never got this kind of sun.
He looked out onto the ocean, listening in closely and waiting for it to speak.
"Come out to me," a voice boomed in his head.
"Why?" Alan asked.
The voice laughed and repeated the same words: "Come out to me."
Alan lifted himself up from the palm and hobbled along onto the beach, towards that black glass sea.
"Do you want me to take my clothes off?" he asked.
The wind picked up, making his long red hair fly about wildly. Alan took it as a sign from the sea that it would have been wiser if he had stripped himself down to his skin. So he did. He began removing his clothing. First his shirt. Next his waistcoat, his breeches, then his boots. Then his socks. And finally, he peeled his tunic off from his body.
The ocean gusted. Alan thought it must have blown up a sudden swell and was making the most of the occasion by trying to break him. He caught hold of the hem of his tunic and pulled, lifting it high over his head and letting it drop into the water. The sea swallowed up the fabric with ease and he stood there naked as the day he was born. Alan held his arms out to catch the gentle breeze that was starting to blow, his nakedness in the breeze cooling him off immensely.
He felt the wind and stared off into the sea as he reminisced on his youth. For indeed he was baptized many moons ago now, and his childhood was becoming more of a distant memory. Alan was once a simple young lad, a fisher boy. Living with his parents in a small hut on the Breton coast. He was simply Alan then, not ar Morlaer or the Scourge of Biscay or El Azote or the Vicomte de Poudouvre… Alan's father Kaourantin was a fisherman just like himself, he preferred to cast his nets from the rocky shore and catch all manner of fish in the tidal pools. Alan would go out with his father, learning to fish and learning to sail. It was on his father's boat that Alan had first heard the ocean call out to him.
"Hear me, boy," the sea had said to him. The young Alan listened intently. "Hear my voice and heed it well, for I give you sound advice."
Alan had heard the voices and told his father, his father reassuring him that this was a gift from God. For the sea was run by one of God's angels, and this angel had decided to speak to Alan. As the boy grew, he developed a closer connection to the sea. He spent almost every day on the coast or on a fishing boat, waiting for the sea to speak to him. His family worried about him, for he would spend hours sitting at the end of the pier, just looking out across the water and listening to the seabirds cry to their mates. Sometimes they were concerned that perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but were quite sure it was indeed the ocean's angel speaking.
Alan's thinking was cut off by the sound of an angry Castilian, barking at him in his strange tongue. The man had obviously found him. The Spaniard commanded. He did not understand the man's words, but he understood their tone and their intent. And he could tell from the look in the man's eyes that he was clearly unhappy. The Spaniard picked up some of Alan's clothes that were strewn across the sand and pointed at them, clearly ordering Alan to dress himself. Alan had nothing to hide, so he stood up, gathered his clothes, and put them back on. He followed the Spaniard off the beach. The man took him to the edge of the settlement, where the slaves were working in the cane fields.
There was quite a large group of slaves there, and they all turned to stare at Alan. The Spaniard ordered him back to work, handing him a cane knife. The other slaves were mainly Moors and Pagans. They worked in the fields, cutting stalks of sugarcane. It was hard to communicate, as Alan did not share a language with any of the slaves. Alan could understand bits of Castilian solely from his knowledge of French, but certainly not enough. He made do by picking up various gestures and motions. Alan was able to make an acquaintance with a Spanish Moor, a man similarly red with burns as Alan is. The Moor had given his name as Zacarías Davídez. The two had become fairly close since Alan had arrived. While they first communicated with a simplified form of Castilian, to ensure their overseers could not understand, the two had begun teaching each other. Zacarías had taught Alan some of his native Arab tongue, while Alan taught Zacarías some of his Breton. Soon enough they were communicating rather comfortably in a strange mish-mash of Arabic, Breton, and Castilian.
Zacarías noticed Alan returning with the overseer from his rest near the beach and went over to speak to him. Alan heard Zacarías say something under his breath and then heard the man's rough Arabic curse. Zacarías turned to Alan. "The overseer is very displeased with you. I'm sure that's clear to you."
Alan nodded his understanding and returned to working in the fields. The day was hot and humid, as it often was in the Caribbean in the height of the summer. He would sweat profusely, his red hair clumped tightly to his head with wetness. It was a miserable way to spend a day. The sun beat down relentlessly, while the humidity hung in the air like a blanket. The slaves worked tirelessly, their backs bent and arms pulled taut in the effort. Zacarías helped Alan with his work. He had to show him what to cut, how to chop the cane properly and be easy to haul behind. The sun began to set, and the slaves stopped work to return to the huts for rest. In the darkness, the slaves would sit in groups and talk in whispers. Alan joined in and listened as the other slaves spoke of the land and sea spirits. They described to him their gods, the gods that were not Christian. Zacarías leaned over to Alan, whispering to him in the two friends' own language.
"There are many pagans here, they do not know of God and reject Him. They worship their idols blatantly. They will be punished for this in the hereafter."
Alan nodded quietly, understanding the importance of what Zacarías said. Indeed, it was good to have a friend who understood the importance of God, even though he may be a Moor.
—
It was not long before Zacarías introduced Alan to his friends. His friends were also Moors, and Alan was able to speak to them with his bits of Arabic and Castilian. As time went by, the men became his closest companions in the plantation, his only true brothers. Zacarías explained that he and his friends were rebels once, years ago. They had fought against the Spaniards to save their homes and families, but were captured and eventually sold off to slavery here in these islands of the New World.
Alan explained how he ended up here as a slave, and the Moors found it quite amusing that Alan was actually a nobleman, a man with estates and wealth!
"We are both here because we hate the Spaniards." Alan told Zacarías.
The Moor smiled. "Yes, we are. It is always good to find a brother who will understand."
They laughed together. This is when Alan learned about what Zacarías called "Islam", the religion of the Moors. Zacarías and his fellow Moors began to tell Alan of the Prophet Muhammad and of the Quran. Alan began to be fascinated by the stories of the Prophet Mohammed and the tales of battles waged against his enemies, eventually ending in victory.
Eventually, Zacarías told Alan that if he ever decided to convert, he should come to him for help, as Zacarías was a well-read scholar before his capture and life of slavery. Alan continued to listen to his new Moorish friends, learning the traditions and teachings of their faith.
Weeks later, Alan decided to convert in secret, afraid the Spanish overseers would discover it and beat him or kill him. In the darkness of night, he, Zacarías, and many other Moorish slaves had gathered to pray together, to honor their God.
They made their prayers silently. Then they would pray together and wait until the coast was clear to move back to the huts. Alan watched on, waiting for them to finish. When the Moors were done praying, Alan was approached by Zacarías.
"Are you ready?" Zacarías asked him.
Alan blinked, then nodded.
"Raise your finger and repeat after me. La ilalaha illallah Muhammadur rasulullah.''
Alan repeated the words that came out of the old Moor's mouth.
"La ilalaha illallah Muhammadur rasulullah." He said it aloud.
After a moment of silence, his companions nodded to him as well. Alan felt an immense relief. He had converted to Islam without the Spanish overseers knowing it. Zacarías grasped Alan's shoulders and smiled.
"Welcome to the fold of our religion, brother."
Alan bowed his head low, his face flushed with joy and gratitude for having been given a chance at redemption. All his sins were forgiven for becoming a devout follower of God, and his new friends would certainly give him much comfort and protection. Perhaps they would be able to fight the Spaniards together one day. They returned to the slave huts in the cover of darkness and fell asleep with smiles on their faces. Alan would hear the sea groan and moan, before speaking to him once again with words the Sea had told him before. These would bring him a sense of hope.
"West, my love, west. This is your destiny."

Hey, so as I'm sure you all know, everyone in the travel universe seems totally obsessed with merino wool. And in the spirit of wanting to pack minimally, all fitting in a 35-40L backpack, it does actually seem like a good option.
My questions are, in your experience, does it really live up to the hype--not too warm/cold, repeated wearability, no odor, moisture wicking, gives you handjobs, bakes you cakes, etc?
And also, if worth it, are there any lower price point brands or types that are still good? Most I'm seeing are in the range of $75-125 per shirt. That's a lot, especially if you're aiming to buy say 2 tshirts, 1 longsleeve, 1 button down, or etc--at any rate, in the 3-5 shirts range.
Not really in a position to spend $500 on shirts.
​
Side question, any recommendations on brands or types of pants that are versatile? I will be in Europe from mid Apr thru early Jul, so starting in spring (chilly nights), will be in the Alps in May, but by end of trip will be in Southern Italy and Greece in the heat.
I was thinking 1 pair of jeans and 1-2 ~chinos or similar. But at REI and places like that, I've seen those 'performance" pants which are supposed to be rugged, but not too hot in the summer, and kinda versatile. Again, all this in the aim of packing appropriately and minimally.

I have an ‘09 wrangler unlimited X with those two sensors consistently reporting “not ready”. I have completed multiple drive cycles but the sensors stay the same.
I bought my jeep from a smaller dealer and they cannot find the issue and think that it could be that my system needs updated.
Has anyone also experienced this and/or might know the problem?

DNA expert/Forensic serologist Susanna Ryan who tested the pants of homicide victim Cheri Jo Bates Was on Morfs Podcast talking about the Bates case. I found it very interesting listening to what she had to say about her case.
I would recommend watching the episode to see what she said yourself but I Will summarise a few key things she said. Its the Citizen Detective Podcast on youtube. About 55'56 mins in is where she appears.
DNA expert/Forensic serologist Susanna Ryan on DNA IN THE Cheri Jo Bates Case'
About the case
“I would say overall one of the most unfortunate things is that this evidence was not stored properly. So DNA is probably not your answer in this case”
On possible DNA evidence in the Bates case.
“These items were stored in an environment that was not conducive to retaining DNA So most the DNA is gone from all of these items”
On how the possible DNA was stored
"It was in a very hot environment. Riverside gets pretty hot in the summer time.
And from my understanding from what I was told the items were stored in a on temputure building.
That was exposed to heats. From you know how many years until testing was conducted."
Regarding Hairs they found in Cheri Jo Bates hands
“They don’t have a DNA result from Cheri Jo Bates herself. They haven’t even excluded her as the source of the DNA.” “We do not know for sure these are not Cheri Jo Bates hairs.”
Regarding a cigarette butt recovered from the alleyway
"It contains only 42 picograms of dna That is 7 cells of DNA, very low. Really low."
Regarding Male DNA she found on Cheri Jo Bates Pants
“I have some questions about the pants yes there was male DNA present on them but I don’t know if that was placed there at the time at the time of this crime or if someone in 1966 or the many decades since came into direct contact with those pants.”
Regarding an old Riverside attempt to get DNA
"In prior testing from a riverside Lab they were unable to get anything from a blood stain. A blood stain is a really good source of DNA So if you can't get a result from a blood stain that is just an indicator of how degraded the DNA is."
"I have seen that in my Lab and other Labs which have done testing where they are not getting results at all. Like there is nothing there is Zero DNA. Coming up from blood stains from the pants for example. "
Regarding the 4 hairs
"I also have questions because these are listed as having blood present swell. So I am wondering how well they were cleaned. Now this is 1999 mitochondrial dna I am sure they definelty tried to do many washes. To try and remove any residual blood. But I do have concerns as to if all of that blood was removed. So are we getting the DNA that is from the Hair or are we getting residual DNA from the blood. I don’t know."
On how they case could move forward with DNA
"I think if you are going to move forward with DNA in this case at all, there were four hairs that were found in her hand. The FBI only tested one. So I would say alright lets get those other three hairs tested. That would be your best bet because even if its really degraded that’s what they work with all the time. The DNA in rootless hairs is already in most cases degraded. So that is your best chance of getting a result.
But everything else that I have personally tested or looked at the results of its a big fat zero like that DNA is pretty much gone."

So my parents always complain about my room being a dump and how I never clean it so one day I decided to get up off my ass and actually do something about my dirty room for once and I got rid of most of the things that make my room claustrophobic and I felt good about myself for once in my life until I was eating dinner tonight and I’m just eating a hot pocket with tea and then all of a sudden I hear a trash bag being drug down the hallway. I immediately stopped what I was doing to go check out what was going on and turns out my mom found it and found all my junk was in there and they were pissed off about me throwing away school supplies that I never used and they were going on and on about how damn expensive a pair of pencils and other shit is. They asked me if I would throw away 7 dollars and I said “probably not”. I wanted to say that I would donate it to charity because I honestly don’t care we’re my money goes and I’m not real great at understanding how hard you have to work to earn money because I don’t have a full-time job while my parents blow there money on fancy schmancy shit that has to atleast be over 100 dollars. I was wondering why my mom was going through all my junk and she was assuming that I had her clothes in my drawers or my closet and just a little FYI. I am a dude so I don’t wear girl’s clothes. Like what the fuck? Why the hell would I be keeping some damn dresses, tank tops, leggings and other feminine like clothing in my closet? I’m an introvert who does literally nothing and interferes with no one. I can’t do good things for anyone because when I do, I just wind up overworking myself until I make a rookie mistake and the whole work just turns upside down. I don’t understand. Why do people love to violate me soo damn much? I write a story and try keeping it to myself. My school finds it to disturbing and bans it. I have a search history on my phone that I don’t want checked. It’s been checked. I try letting out my anger by talking to myself. What’s this? It’s a motherfucking eavesdropper. I live my life like I am a ghost and sure I get respect for being that quirky quiet kid that people think is their savior but that doesn’t mean anything. I feel like more than half the time that people would want to hear what I would want to say. They would completely disagree and leave me to be a wast of precious breath. I’m like a ghost almost. Everyone thinks ghost’s are scary and media portrays them in a bad way but they are just like me. They exist among those who are wild and free and simply live in solitude until someone finds them and calls them out for but in a more realistic case. People don’t know that i exist until I make a mistake.