Some creepy-ass guy is smelling a chick's hand.  ...and now they're kissing.  This is the last time I jump into an episode of Criminal Minds partway through.  Oh, look at that!  They're in a van.  Surprise!  Agent ambush!  Cue the 'gun to the chick's head' stand-off.

...sorry.  I'm easily distracted, as you may have already notic-whoa.  Assassin's Creed-style takedown, minus the hidden blade.  I gotta watch this show more often.  But not while I'm trying to make a blog post.  Especially one that I've been spending so much time thinking about.

The Fears.  So-called 'gods' that embody a specific kind of fear.  The Slender Man.  The Plague Doctor.  The Wooden Girl.  The Rake.  There are more, of course, but you get the picture:  We're fucked.  With a garden tool.  Sideways.  But I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, even before coming into contact with the Blank himself.  Bear with me as I continue to think out loud (though, not really out loud, as this is a text-based medium).

When I started the first (fake) blog, I had already decided that the Slender Man was going to get involved and fuck things up for the main character, Nobody.  As I continued to familiarize myself with the other blogs, however, in order to avoid some of the more notorious 'cliches' (keep in mind, I was thinking as a writer among other writers at the time, not as a [hopeful] survivor among other survivor) that reared their ugly heads at least once per blog, I became aware of the other Fears.  This post was my first knowing (wasn't aware the Rake was a Fear; just thought it was a creepypasta the Hybrids 'threw in' for the hell of it) exposure to something other than the Slender Man that seemed to run in his 'pantheon' (and sorry for referencing you again, Gargoyle; I'll stop after this, I swear).  Shortly thereafter, this post pointed me towards another Fear:  The Convocation (unless I was horribly misreading).

Now, from the perspective of a writer, I was pissed off.  'We' (again, thinking we were all just a big group of fiction writers (and, as an aside, being as pompous as to assume I was part of the group just by starting a blog)) already had one big Eldritch Abomination that was raping our lives.  Why the hell did we need more of them?  From a storytelling perspective, it just didn't make sense.

One apocalyptic monster is essentially perfect:  you know you're going to get your ass handed to you, but there's always that lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will come along and shove the Big Bad's head straight up his ass and save the day.  That hope is what makes the story so much more tragic:  every time that hope is stomped down, it's like pouring rubbing alcohol in an open wound.  Makes for a very successful story.

A whole damn pantheon of them, however?  There is no hope.  That little space of mind reserved for hope in situation A is now occupied by your worry of how you'll kill yourself with some measure of peace and dignity before they kill you.  Face it:  you're better off dead (even if that just sticks you in the Archangel anyways) than you are trying to scrape out a meaningful life while there's a sick, twisted family of 'deities' fucking the hell out of the world for shits and giggles.

Before you get after me for saying this, that's not how I actually feel.  I don't intend to jump off a chair with a cord around my neck (more spare cords and cables around here than rope, and I have no idea what the hell half of them are for), and I don't want anyone else to do the same.  The above is from my perspective as a writer.  I'm probably showing my lack of experience or creativity here, but there's really nowhere to go with the above situation.  You basically have to give your protagonist (or protagonists) the ability to kill 'gods.'  It's been done, yes, but the way some people talk about these Fears, they're above 'god-level'.  They're not just 'over nine-thousaaaaaaaaaaaand,' they eat 'over nine-thousaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand' for breakfast.

Now, being a little bit wiser, I realize that these things just might be real.  I know exactly how foolish this makes me, but in this matter, when we're talking about uber-powerful beings of unknown origin, I'll believe in what I've encountered.  So far, that's limited to the Slender Man.  Never met the Choir, never seen the Convocation tearing shit up, never heard the Plague Doctor tapping his cane on the sidewalk.

And honestly, we could all just be bat-shit insane.  Just about everyone who begins to have Slender Man related breakdowns and sanity slippage was introduced to it by someone else.  On top of that, not everyone exposed to the Slender Man blogs or vlogs is targeted.  I know for a fact that there are at least ten people in my school who have read some blogs and watched the entire MarbleHornets (and continue to watch each new Entry), and I'm the only one who has become a target.  These guys aren't the most secretive people; if they were being hunted by him, I would know (I'm quite observant).

Is it really that dumb to suggest that maybe the Fears (the Slender Man included) could be nothing more than mass hallucinations?  Delusions and ghosts created in the minds of viewers and readers who are already somehow susceptible to that kind of thing?  Maybe there's just something about the Slender Man story, perhaps the fact that he thrives on our fear and paranoia of him, that sets off some mental trigger that causes us to believe we're truly being chased by a paranormal near-deity?

...bah.  Feel free to disregard all of the above.  I'm taking a psychology class, but I still have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to the mind.  Most of that up there was probably nonsensical bullshit, and I'm sure there are holes in that logic large enough to fit a Reaper through.  Go ahead and point them all out; I can hardly get defend my words when they make no sense, can I?  I'm not saying those of you who have had encounters with the Fears are liars.  I'm saying that I'm not ready to believe that things get worse than Slendy.  Again, foolish, but I'm content being a fool.  Ignorance is bliss, you know.

One final point for consideration before I [finally] go to bed:  our universe is built on duality.  For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  There are heroes to fight every villain, and monsters to challenge every paragon of virtue.  So where are the Fear's counterparts, their 'opposing force'?  I don't care what anyone else thinks:  I believe they exist...somewhere.  I don't think the God I pray to every evening is one of them.  That would be stating that the Fears are gods, and I do not believe they are.  I believe they are powerful beyond human comprehension, but that doesn't make them gods.

That makes them really fucking scary.

Okay, topic.  Topic, topic, topic...  Curse my poor short-term memory...

Ah.  I remember now.  All going back to a conversation I've been carrying on with another blogger involved in this sort of situation.

I don't know how to lead into this, so I'll just go with 'blunt' and 'too the point':  I have a girlfriend.

What does this have to do with anything?  Well, as I've seen in numerous places, Runners don't typically keep people around that could be used to hurt them.  As I've been warned, too many times has a cocky, headstrong Runner been reduced to a blubbering mess because his/her significant other was killed, mutilated, maimed, turned, or caused to disappear while they could do nothing to stop it.  Zeke Strahm lost Lizzie,  Zero lost Nessa, and so on (not very genre-savvy as to the last blog, so I'm not sure if that's at all accurate to say).

A lot of the more intelligent Runners would say that the best thing to do would be break it off and actually start running before something very, very bad happens.  Well, I won't.  Why?  As stupid as it sounds, I had to go through hell and back again to finally establish (actually, re-establish) a relationship with this girl, and on top of that, I'm not planning on running anytime soon.

I'll handle the 'girlfriend' part first.  Basically, we've been romantically linked three times, this being the third.  Yes, that means I've broken it off twice.  And this is part where you start to hate me:  both times was over another girl.  The same girl, actually.  Before you ask, yes, I do consider myself a monster for this.  I'm no stranger to self-loathing, and I doubt I'll ever get over what an ass I've been.  I told you here:  I'm no White Knight.  This is why.  I'm more akin to a Dark Knight, though one who's more content to flee than fight.  Some day, I might be able to climb Mt. Ordeals and become a Paladin, but for now, I'm stuck in my role.  Last note:  the other girl will no longer be a problem, and I've pulled my head out of my ass enough to know how I feel and who I feel it about.  Probably not the first time a guy my age has said that, but I'm running on 90% certainty, here, as opposed to the 80% certainty with which I've handled mostly everything else in my life.

Now for the 'not running soon' part.  This is probably more idiotic than re-establishing a relationship with someone you've already hurt twice, but it's how I'm doing things:  I'm sticking around to graduate high school.  Then I'm attending college.  Both very stationary activities which will leave me pretty vulnerable to Proxies and the big guy himself, but I'm making a change and actually planning ahead for something more than five days away.  If (and it's a very big 'if') we one day get rid of this Eldritch Abomination, and the world is saved, well, I'll still have to get a job, preferably one I like.  To do so, I'll need a college degree.  Even as a writer (my hopeful future, provided I survive), I'll need as much experience and education on the writing front as I can get.

Hell, who knows.  Maybe, when it's all over, I can bring together all the struggles against the Slender Man, and his demise, into a big collective biography.  Imagine bouncing your kid on your knee, pointing to an old alias of yours (in my case, [Moral]) in a large volume, and saying "That was me, -insertnamehere-.  I lived this.  I fought him.  I helped save the world."

...or the book will backfire, summon Slendy back from his grave, and fuck us all over again.

...

On second thought, I'll stick to writing trashy zombie romances.  But hey, it was a thought.

So there you have it.  Throwing my biggest weakness out there for the rest of the world to see.  Incredibly stupid move, no?  Unless of course I have some sort of contingency plan.  Some sort of fool-proof

-delay as I rush home from school to continue writing this on my laptop-

plot that will keep her safe, even though I'm trumpeting to Blogger, a very public medium, that I have this weakness just waiting to be exploited.  An idiot I may be, but to quote a Dilbert strip:  "There's nothing more dangerous than a resourceful idiot."  I like to think I'm fairly resourceful.  Not insane, sadly, as that seems to help make every plan work without a hitch, but resourceful and stupid enough to make a stupid plan work, or a stupid defense soli-

Nausea.  He's nearby.  I have to go.

Just wanted to address the issue of the new blogger layout:  I've actually been using it since this blog was created.  I signed up with a Google+ account (mostly to see what it was), and it automatically gave me the new layout.  By now I'm used to it, and I didn't figure out until yesterday that I could change it back to the old layout (though doing so comes with a warning that the 'new interface' will become official and the old interface discontinued 'within the month').

But, I digress.  I don't have time for a long post right now, which is unfortunate, as I just found something to write about (courtesy of an e-mail convo I've been carrying on with A. Lucia for a while now).  So, expect another post tomorrow.

Well, goodnight; here's hoping we all wake up in the morning.

Okay, so I'm walking home from work.  It's dark out.  Long shadows in the streets between the safe havens of the street lights.  Creaky gates at the lumber yard no more than fifty feet away from my house making noise that I can hear at least two blocks away.  Nobody else is out, to my knowledge, but I've got my knife sitting snugly in that little coin pocket located on the right side of my jeans.  You know, the pocket you don't actually put coins in because you know you'll never get them all out again.

I'm feeling relatively safe as I stroll down the sidewalk, earbuds in each ear and the soothing sounds of Voltaire's "Riding a Black Unicorn" filling my head (Yes, I like Voltaire.  Don't judge me.).  Then I come to the intersection.  A vast expanse of asphault, a veritable ocean of tar lying between me and my destination.  Some nights, when the streets are dead and there's no one driving, I like to stand in the middle of the intersection for a while and look up at the sky, or if it's winter, watch the snowflakes drifting lazily down under the yellow glow of the streetlamps.  Quite magical indeed.

Tonight, though, I'm cutting right across.  It's raining, and I don't have my umbrella.  It's not a torrential downpour, granted, but it's not a light sprinkle, either.  It's that stage between where you can walk around thinking "Hey, this isn't so bad," only to find when you get to where you're going that you're soaked.

I'm not sure at what point I noticed the headlights bearing down on me, but when I looked up I could've sworn they were mere inches from my hip.  I am sure that in the next instant, I felt something slap me in the chest hard enough that I went flying, nearly landing with my back on the curb (which I'm sure would've broken a few vertebrae, at least), but safely out of the path of the truck that probably would've made a nice [Moral]-colored stain all over the intersection.

The truck comes to a screeching halt a second later, the midsection resting exactly where I would've been standing.  Way too late, had I not been pushed out of the way.  Or bitch-slapped out of the way, as the case may be.  Actually, while I knew the nausea I was feeling could've been attributed to nearly becoming a hood ornament, which isn't exactly one of my childhood dreams, I had a sinking feeling it had more to do with the tall, well-dressed, faceless man who was peeking over the other side of the truck at me, head cocked quizzically to the side and one little tendril just snaking it's way back out of sight over his shoulder.  At that moment, one thought ran through my head:

Well, shit.

But I couldn't run.  I think Gargoyle explained best here, in 'Layer 3 - Perception Barriers':

"Another instance is an apparent ability to stop an individual dead in their tracks. Causing the body to simply lock up and be either extremely difficult or damn near impossible to move." - Quoted from Beneath Stone Skies "So You Wanna Punch Out the Construct?" (I hope he doesn't sue me).

Basically, he had me in a lock, and he had me good.  I figured I was as good as dead.  I read somewhere that when he's going in for the kill, his tentacles or 'arms' or whatever are all out, ready to rip you apart, so by that logic, I should've been fine.  No more than two arms; I was 'safe.'

Whoever wrote that nugget of information:  Fuck you.  You go stand in front of the Blank himself, your body locked, completely helpless, and tell me that the first thought running through your head isn't to the general tune of "OHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUCKIAMGOINGTODIEOHFUCK".  Then you can talk about being 'perfectly safe' unless you see more than two 'arms'.

Anyways, I was broken out of my pants-wetting fear by the guy in the truck, who had practically kicked his door open, grabbed me by the collar, and dragged me to my feet.  Imagine my surprise when he was the angry one.  Him.  The guy who had nearly run me over.  While he was yelling the longest string of expletives I've ever heard (guy was probably a sailor), I glanced at his hand.  He was holding onto his phone, which was displaying a 'call ended' timer.  The son of a bitch had nearly run me over while talking on his phone, and he was angry?  Fuck that shit.

So we started to argue quite heatedly, and despite the fact that there was a church that I think may have been having a service just on the other side of the street, we were both using language unsuitable for the ears of young children; he was shouting something along the lines of "WATCH THE GODDAMN ROAD, YOU LONG-HAIRED LITTLE FUCK!"  I was only marginally more polite.  Marginally.  I can't remember most of what I said; I was still battling the nausea and headache that everyone's favorite faceless stalker was causing.

Then the bastard hit me.  It may have had something to do with what I was saying about his mother at the time, but there's no way of knowing for certain now.  One minute I'm standing arguing with him, the next minute I'm back on the ground, a pretty good imprint of his fist on my cheek and at least one loose tooth.  I started to get up, but I was paralyzed again.

"What the fu-!?"

That was the last thing the man said before a long, slender black tendril gagged him, wrapping around his neck and cutting off his air.  Two more grabbed his arms and lifted him into the air.  I could feel the anger coming off of the thing, and I wanted nothing more than to run, but he held me firmly in place with that mental lock of his.  Another set of 'arms' wrapped around the poor guy's ankles.

Ever heard of 'drawing and quartering'?  Well, back in the good old days, those accused of high treason would be hung until nearly dead before being disemboweled and cut into four pieces.  A more modern interpretation I've seen shows the criminal having each limb tied to a different horse.  The horses then run in different directions, pulling the victim apart.  The latter is much closer to what I saw.  There was no real resistance; just a loud, wet ripping noise and the splatter of blood and organs onto the ground.

Then he just stood there, 'staring' at me.  Stupid as it sounds, I feel like he was telling me that I had a purpose in whatever sick plot he has.  Like he was showing me that if I hadn't had a purpose, I would end up just like this poor bastard who was...suddenly whole again at his feet.  Dead as a doorknob, yes, but whole.  I could just barely see little lines of black stitching him together; his 'arms' at work again.  But why bother?

I understood when the body stood up, moving like some jerky, stop-motion animation, got into the truck, and proceeded to drive it into the wall of the post office kitty-corner from the church.  I've never been one for loud, sudden noises, so when the airbag went off, I flinched big time.  When I opened my eyes again, surprise!  I was alone.  Just me and a totaled truck driven by a dead man.  So I did what any sane person would do in that sort of situation:  I threw up and passed out.

Long story short, I woke up in my room the next morning.  The accident received surprisingly little attention; they chalked it up to some moron talking on his phone while driving home, even though his wife insists he'd hung up before the accident.  I haven't come forward with any information, obviously.  Who would believe that a faceless Eldritch Abomination killed a man and puppeteered his corpse into an accident?  The police who would believe that are either the ones in the cult that worship this thing or the ones that are in the government organization trying to cover his movements up, keep him out of public eye.

So I've been lying awake, losing sleep over it.  It's not some cliche about 'seeing it every time I close my eyes.'  In fact, I haven't really thought about the dead man much at all.  Yeah, it was a gruesome way to die, and I wouldn't wish it on my enemies (okay, that's a lie), but it's been completely overshadowed by the thought that I was saved by this monster.  Not only does this mean that I owe it something, but it also means it has a reason to keep me alive.  Whether that reason fits into some big master plan or just that he's not done fucking with my life quite yet, I don't know.

It sure as hell keeps me up at night, though.

I know I wasn't going to post two days in a row but...

...

...he killed someone.  Right in front of me.

All I can think is that it could've been...me.

I...I need time to process this.

If you hadn't guessed by now, I'm trying to stagger my posts as much as I can.  I don't want to do daily updates, because I think that would make for a lot to catch up on if this blog were to suddenly receive a crap-ton of attention and have people reading all the way from front to back (so to speak).  Granted, every other day is going to be a lot, too, but I'm only posting so frequently because, being relatively new to this whole Runner situation (though I can't really be called a Runner if I'm hiding out in my house), I have a lot I want to get out right away.

Since today is Sunday and I just got back from church, I wanted to write a bit about the religious aspect of the Slender Man, especially after watching DarkHarvest00 with the Gorr'Rylaehotep connection.  However, I decided against it.  Why?  Well, religion is always an uncomfortable topic, especially on the internet.  Given the instability of some Runners, the last thing I want to do is piss anyone off by discussing religion.  Maybe some other day I'll tackle that topic, but not right now.

So instead, I'll discuss the moral code I mentioned in my first post, not only as a way of explaining a bit about where my moral compass points, but also as a means of reminding myself what they are in case I ever end up in one of those situations where everything is gray, and there's no black and white to bail me out.  Genre-savvy as I am, I know that will happen sooner or later.  Here's hoping it's later rather than sooner.

My code, in order of importance, looks something like this:

1.)  All life is sacred.
2.)  Dead men are of no help to anyone.
3.)  The Truth can hurt, but lies make enemies.

Pretty short, I know, and probably anticlimactic for all the buildup, but I find the simplest things to be the most effective.  To put it in more basic terms:

1.)  Don't kill if you don't have to; always look for an alternative.  If someone's in mortal danger, save them however you can.
2.)  Unless #1 calls for crazy, suicidal heroics, try not to get yourself killed.
3.)  Don't lie.  Nothing good ever comes of lying.

Number 3 is the one I expect to break first.  ...okay, screw it.  I already broke it ages ago, but I'm trying to cut back on the lies.  I've been pretty good about 2 so far; the fact that I'm still sitting here writing this is always a good sig











....just kidding.  Anyways, 1 probably sounds the most amateurish and 'green' of all of them, but I mean it.  I originally had it written down as 'all life is sacred but my own,' but realized once again that sounded too melodramatic and like I was trying too hard.  Honestly, I expect this one to be the first to go when the situation calls for it.  I'm a coward, plain and simple.  I'm not going to be like Zeke, firing off cluster-f-bombs like no tomorrow when I see Slendy, all while loading a pistol and lining up a shot between his eyes.

...yes, yes, I know.   You know what I mean.  My point is that I'm no White Knight.  I'm more like Abra:  I may seem impressive, and may one day even be impressive and powerful, but right now as soon as the battle music starts, I Teleport the fuck out.

And you know what?  I think I'm fine with that.  Better to live to fight another day (see number 2) than die trying to be The Hero.  Even if The Hero does get the girl, the car, and the key to the city.

Right.  New post.  Keep it short.  Succinct.  To the point.

I've been gone the past few days for two reasons:

1.)  I've been doing some serious catching up on blogs and vlogs pertaining to everyone's favorite faceless stalker.  I decided that if I'm want to live longer than a few months, knowledge is probably a good thing.

I caught up on a lot of the vlogs that I'd missed earlier, one of them being DarkHarvest00.  I simply have to ask:  why on God's green Earth would you view a video of some bizarre cult ritual (with rather catchy music, I must say; I need to speak to their basses about joining my school choir) and then go back and try to break in again?  At what point do you throw in the towel and say "Screw this, I'm going home"?  Although I do have to commend Alex (he of the much-cursed name, apparently):  he is probably the only person I know of who hasn't wanted to go chasing Slendy into the trees at night.

I also caught up on CaughtNotSleeping, and am now suitably afraid, mostly because of the most recent video.  Does this mean we can add telekinesis to the ever-growing list of Slendy's powers?  As an aside, this was the second 'badass' to have died on camera (if he's actually dead) after Zeke.  I'm starting to think Slendy has a snuff-film fetish.

2.)  Slendersickness.  Since my last post, I've had a few nasty coughing fits, felt weak, had a constant splitting headache, and been plagued by bouts of nausea.  The upside?  I figured out that the nausea is usually a precursor to an encounter with the lanky bastard himself, so I've been able to use it as a warning signal.  The downside?  I have emetophobia (or at least, I'm relatively certain I do).  Even a bit of nausea sends me into total breakdown mode.  Not fun.  The good news is that it's been clearing up over the past twelve hours or so, and I should be perfectly fine by tomorrow.

...I hope.

Okay, so posting that I'd probably die was maybe a little over-the-top.  I dunno why I said it; I think I was just feeling a little melodramatic last night.  I'll try to keep from posting when I'm feeling like that.  Blogger is already full of people whining about their problems and emotions; I can't expect anyone to wade through entries like that when I can't, can I?  Anyways, this entry is a little easier to post than yesterday's, since I know what I'm going to talk about.

In September of 2011, I decided I was going to start a Slenderblog (Slender Blog?  Slender-Blog?  Slender-blog?  Note:  ask someone about proper terminology).  I'd been watching the big three series on YouTube (MarbleHornets, EMH, TribeTwelve) and reading some of the major blogs (The Tutorial, Seeking Truth/The Mystic), and figured it would be fun to contribute to what I thought was a collection of ARGs based around one terrifying Eldritch Abomination.

I failed.

The story brought nothing new to the mythos, and pretty much consisted of 'Nobody' whining about his mysteriously missing best friend/girlfriend 'Dom'.  Real original, I know.  And then, surprise!  Dom's account is suddenly hacked by someone who speaks in a mildly cryptic fashion!  I even spent a few months writing up Dom's 'journal,' which is now just lying in my backpack with a bunch of random sketches pertaining to the Slender Man and a few curse-laden entries.  That was going to play a major part in the story, but I realized that if I posted images of the journal to prove it was real, then later posted anything I'd written, people would probably recognize my handwriting.

But my blog did accomplish one thing:  it 'infected' me, to use M's terms.  The 'drunk' post was made the day of my first actual encounter.  That day, there was a lot of fog.  I've got a few pictures on my phone that I could probably stand to upload at some point, if it becomes relevant.  Anyways, I was minding my own business walking down to school, when who should appear standing beside a tree than the big guy himself.

I stood there for about ten seconds before I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and laughed when I saw he was gone.  I chalked it up to an overactive imagination and a product of sleep-deprivation and simply carried on with my day.  I've only seen him once more since then:  yesterday afternoon, in my backyard.  No fog, no sleep-deprivation; nothing but cold, hard fact.  That was one hell of an awakening.

Which brings me here, to Moral Runner.  I felt that if I was going to come clean, it couldn't be on the same blog, so I started this one, and will probably only be updating here from now on.  So, I apologize for anyone that was actually concerned about Nobody and Dom, and even Ellie (my own attempt at creating a badass, I guess), but they're not real.  I am.

I also apologize to any of the other Runners who blog.  I wrote off your lives as games, your losses as interesting developments, your pain as good writing, and your stories as...well, just stories.  If it makes you feel any better, I had to change my pants after I saw him yesterday.

...damn that was long. >.<;  I'll try to keep the posts shorter from here on out, unless it's absolutely necessary.

Any writer will tell you that beginnings are hard.  This should be easy for me, especially after the last blog, but...  Well, if what you thought was just a game became horrifyingly real, I imagine you'd have a hard time starting up a blog without a second thought, too.

I guess I'll start out with myself:  [Moral], or just Moral.  Great name, I know, but I chose it for a few good reasons.

First and foremost, my story will end up having a moral to it.  What exactly it will be, I don't know; the lesson is usually most apparent at the end, and I'm in no rush to face the end.  If I had to make a guess, though, I'd assume the moral of my story will be "Don't start a 'Slenderblog' under the assumption everything's fake."  More on that later.

Second, and most obvious, I wanted to remind myself of my own moral code somehow, and choosing this username seemed as good a way as any.  In my situation, your own code is one of the only things you still have, and I don't want to lose any more than I already have.  Again, more on that in a later post.

Finally, it sounded cool to me.  ...which invariably means that it sounds lame to everyone else.  Might as well have chosen the name 'Lloyd' and been done with it.

But, I digress.  To sum up my introduction:  My name is [Moral], and I'll probably die tonight.

Sweet dreams.