#same goes for... nearly everything they've done with identities

[ardentblossomings]

man I could take veilguard criticism so much more seriously if people were to refrain from using words like "gender ideology"

[combicry]

*Note; This story is a WIP, it is a 'remix' version of events that tie in the Devil May Cry mainline games (heavily on 4 & 5), the Nextflix DMC anime, as well as DmC: Devil May Cry & the comic adaption. There will be some things that may not make sense right away or I may confuse some things - I am still reworking it out myself. Nothing will be canon on this blog, regardless. Dante is a descendant of the original Sons of Sparda. I will be expanding upon this as much as possible over time. I hope you come to enjoy my version of Dante & everything I have planned for him. Thank you. / / Note, ii* triggering content for violence & sexual assault.

         Dante, it's a family name. One that originates from nearly a millennia ago    ...    A shorted version of  Durante.  An original Son of Sparda, born to a human - witch mother    &.    brought into this world with a twin of his own - Vergil. They've been long dead, as far as anyone knew. Dante didn't know this story all too well, not until learning that  he, himself  has a twin brother by the same name. Their birthright bled the lines of both demons    &.    angels. Humans were lost in the mix a long, long time ago. Reproducing a new age for each race - creating the nearly invincible Nephilim. While not  directly  related to the Sons of Sparda, he lives with their blood in his veins. Dante of the new era can classified to be a sort of  succession  of the original twins    &.    much more dangerous.

         Dante inherits the rebellion, albeit a more  adjusted version  of it, rather than what was seen used by his ancestor. The rebellion Dante uses is one that is fused with his body, his energy, able to call on it with ease for combat needs. The same goes for all of his weapons, they're formed from the creation of his own aura, as well as boss enemies he's fought    &.    killed. Creating them into an armory ample for slaying the demons, or angels, were they to become his enemies, too.

         Despite being hidden away from civilization, A mansion    &.    gated home, in a secluded area, off the grid as a whole as a means to protect themselves. Unfortunately, Mundus' wrath was far underestimated - hunting Sparda    &.    his new family. His demon henchmen attacking Vergil, as far as Dante knew. Being scared, there's not much he could've done as a seven year old - the demons forced him to watch his mother get assaulted    &.    ultimately her heart ripped out by his own uncle. Mundus had feasted on the beating muscle, with a sadistic smile    ...    he had planned to consume the hearts of each spawn, intending for Sparda to watch helplessly. However, Sparda managed to  save  the twins, hiding them amongst humans    ...    though, due to this trauma, Dante had awakened his powers prematurely. Seeing the humans who've become possessed, who work with Mundus    &.    trying to hurt him in orphanages. For awhile, Dante had used a nickname;  Red.  Eventually revealing his true identity in his late teens, once causing a riot    &.    being thrown into a cell.

         For months, Dante had been tortured, beaten, tested on    &.    starved, for Mundus' mere entertainment. This caused many psychological issues, eventually escaping    &.    turning to alcoholism    &.    sex to suppress his pain, his memories.. He became an official unofficial demon hunter - living on the on the Casino Pier of New Jersey. Living paycheck to paycheck, which hadn't been much anyway, yet wasted it away at Lilith's Nightclub    &.    hard liquor.

         After a fight with his first Hunter Demon, Dante is recruited into  The Order  by Kat    &.    his younger brother, Vergil. He's told more about his past, their history, who they are    &.    what it means to  be  who they are. How these  human afflictions  could never work on he nor Dante. Spoken of their father, who just like their ancestors, is Sparda, procreating with an angel    ...    who coincidentally shared the  same name  as his original wife, Eva. Rather than a witch, she's an angel. The two creating two lives together, something far greater a threat than doing so with a human all those thousand years ago. They visit their childhood home, Paradise. Exploring the area through Limbo using Kat's sigil    ...    Finding out exactly what happens, awakening his potential,  fueling his rage for Mundus    &.    the Demonic race as a whole.

        This sealed the deal, Dante would become humanity's protector -  in time.

[stargazer-sims]

Somewhere In Time

♫ Somewhere In Time - David Mallett ♫

__________

"At which point are we going to address the elephant in the room?”

"Hmm?" Nikolai looks up from his book. He'd discovered fairly quickly that Iryna doesn't like him to read at the table at mealtimes, but he's not about to break a lifelong habit just because she shoots him dirty looks whenever he does it. It's her turn to make breakfast. She's standing at the stove and she's not looking at him. "What elephant?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Iryna says.

"Suppose you enlighten me?"

"I know who you are."

"I should hope so," he says. "You've been living with me for nearly a month now."

"Nika—" she begins, but then cuts herself off with a disgruntled sigh. "No, never mind. If you want to feign ignorance, then be my guest. We'll pretend to be strangers until you get tired of the game."

Up until Iryna moved in, he thought he'd grown too old to experience the sudden tingle of pleasure he'd always associated with young love, with infatuation and crushes and fantastically-imagined scenes of the future. Yet here it is; a tiny zap of joy at hearing her call him by such a familiar name as easily and naturally as if she'd been doing it all her life.

The truth is, he does know who she is. He hadn't recognized her when he saw her outside his door that first day, but he supposes that wasn't unexpected, given they hadn't laid eyes on each other in nearly sixty years. Minutes into their meeting, however, realization came crashing in.

He was actively in denial of it initially, telling himself that it was nothing but an old man's wishful thinking. He insisted to himself that she couldn't possibly be his Ira. After all, what were the chances that she'd not only immigrated to the same country as him, but also ended up living in the same city? But, as time has gone on, he's found it more and more difficult to ignore all the long-buried memories that float to the surface of his mind, and all the little cues that make his certainty of her identity grow stronger.

He sighs too, but not with impatience. "No, you're right. We do need to talk about it. Just... not over breakfast, if that's all right with you."

"All right," she says. She expertly flips the two pancakes in the frying pan before aiming a look over her shoulder at him. "Why don't we go down to the beach after we eat?"

He nods. 'Yes, I'd like that."

They don't talk much during breakfast, but he does her the courtesy of putting his book away. He wonders what she's thinking. Is she as awestruck as he is by the incredible coincidence of their reunification? Or maybe she's remembering a time before that one bad decision they'd made had sent their shared timeline spinning so drastically out of control.

How different our lives might've been if we'd only exercised a little restraint, he thinks. If they'd waited a little longer, he might've asked her to marry him, and she might've said yes. They could've raised their children together and had a pleasant life.

But no... if things hadn't gone the way they did, he wouldn't have his wonderful son Mikhail. He wouldn't have his adored grandchildren Kolya and Natasha, and his sweet grandson-in-law Mishka. Raising his son on his own hadn't been the smoothest ride, but he has no regrets. Given the chance to go back and do everything over again, he might make other choices, but knowing that rewinding time is an impossibility, he's proud to have made the best of the hand he was dealt.

After they finish eating, he tidies up the kitchen while Iryna goes to shower and change. By the time he's done, she's in the midst of applying her makeup. Thankful that they've got two bathrooms, he climbs the stairs to go to his and put himself together for the day.

They decide to walk to the beach. It takes a bit longer to reach the shore from his current home than it did when he lived with Mikhail and Elena, but he doesn't mind. He and Iryna are both healthy and fit for their age and they enjoy walks. Plus, the weather is ideal for an outdoor excursion. It's sunny but not too hot or humid, and there's a nice westerly breeze.

They make awkward small talk for a few minutes as they head toward the waterfront, but the halting dialogue quickly fades away, as they both know it's only an attempt to distract themselves from the real conversation that's yet to come. Nikolai tries to figure out if he should let her bring up the subject first, or if he should just plunge in. It might be easier for her if he starts, but she was the one who asked to talk, so maybe...

He rolls the problem over and over in his head on the way downtown and all the way to the end of the waterfront boardwalk. The boardwalk terminates abruptly with only a set of wooden steps that lead down to the beach.

The stairs have seen better days. There's no railing, so he holds out his hand to support Iryna as they descend.

She glances at his hand and then looks up shyly at him, and for a second he thinks he catches a glimpse of the blushing twelve year old girl he'd met at the rink decades ago. He pictures her with long strawberry-blonde hair spilling out from under her blue knitted hat as she reached for the hand of his twelve year old self who was prepared to steady her as she stepped onto the ice for the first time in her brand-new skates. The image is only in his mind's eye, of course, but the recollection is as clear as if it'd happened yesterday.

"Don't worry," he says, just as he did back then. "I won't let you fall."

He can't remember what she'd said in response at the time, but in the present she places her hand in his and says, "I trust you."

When they reach the bottom of the steps, she doesn't release him immediately. Nikolai doesn't try to pull his hand away either, rather enjoying the feel of her slender fingers wrapped around his and waiting to see how long it will be before she lets go.

They wander for several more minutes in silence until they encounter some large rocks. The stones are smooth from millennia of exposure to ocean water, wind and rain.

"Let's sit," Iryna suggests, and finally slips her hand away from his.

He nods, and lowers himself carefully next to her on the worn rock. It's not like his sofa at home, but it is surprisingly comfortable.

"So..." he begins.

"I think we're in the midst of a story one couldn't make up," she comments.

"That thing about truth being stranger than fiction?"

"Admittedly, it probably would make a great plot for a novel."

"So," he says again. "Tell me something. When you answered my ad for a roommate, did you already know it was me?"

She shakes her head. "No, I had no idea. When I saw your name, I thought it was just a funny coincidence. I replied to your ad out of curiosity, if I'm being honest."

"You didn't intend to move in?"

"Not necessarily with you, no. I did need a new place to live, and I'd lined up a few other places to view, but when I saw you..." She directs her gaze away from him for a second. "I'm not sure if I was ready to believe it."

"I understand," he says. "It was the same for me. When I realized it was you, I told myself that couldn't possibly be right because..."

"Because you thought I was half a world away?"

"Because I didn't know anything, whether you were still in the old country or even whether you were still alive, or... anything."

"I'm very much alive."

He smiles. "Thank the fates for that."

"When did you know it was me?" she asks. "Surely you didn't recognize me on sight."

"No, I didn't," he admits. "You're still beautiful, but you don't look the same as you did when we were sixteen."

She laughs. "Neither do you."

"No escaping the steady march of time, is there? If you want to know, the giveaway for me was when you said you used to know a boy named Nikolai whose mother called him Nika. The way you said my name... It triggered something in my brain. You still say it exactly how you used to."

"You know, that was the moment I recognized you as well," she says. "The way you reacted to me saying your name."

"You and Mother and my sisters are the only ones who ever called me Nika. My ex-wife tried, but it always sounded wrong coming out of her mouth."

"You were married?"

"For a while, yes. Her name was Ivana."

"Did you have children?" she inquires.

"Three," he replies. "All girls. Zara, Anastasia and Tatyana. I don't see much of them, unfortunately. After the divorce, Ivana made it clear she didn't want anything more to do with me, and that included giving me time with the girls. Since they grew up, we exchange letters and emails and pictures, but it feels like they're my distant relatives instead of my daughters."

"I'm sorry," Iryna says. She takes his hand again. "That makes me feel like a terrible person for complaining about my son." She squeezes his fingers in what he's sure is a reflexive motion and adds quietly, "My younger son."

"I don't think you'd find a reason to complain about your older son," he tells her. "He grew up to be the sort of man any parent would be proud of."

"You... you know where he is?"

"He's here in town."

She practically whispers her next question. "What's his name?"

"I named him Mikhail," he tells her. "Both our names are on his birth certificate."

Her reaction isn't what he expects. She stands abruptly and turns away from him. Before he can say anything further, she starts to run. She makes it several meters down the beach before she drops to her knees.

It takes him half a minute to realize that she's crying. He gets up from the rock and jogs the short distance to where she's kneeling in the sand.

"Iryna," he says, as he kneels in front of her.

She raises her head, and he sees that her tears have smudged the makeup around her eyes. Her voice breaks as she says, "He was right here the entire time. Both of you were. You and... Mikhail. I've been in Canada for years, and I came to this city ten years ago. I could have—" The remainder of the sentence is lost in her tears.

Nikolai slides closer to her and pulls her into his arms. He doesn't even pause to consider whether this is the appropriate thing to do. He's simply operating on instinct.

She doesn't resist his embrace. She melts into it, wrapping her arms around his body and leaning her head on his shoulder.

For a moment, he feels as if they're the only two people in the world. He closes his eyes and listens to the gentle, rhythmic splash of waves against some nearby rocks. Somewhere over the water, a seagull calls mournfully. The light wind stirs his hair and carries the distinctive scent of seaweed and salt. The noise of cars from Harbourside Road is a faint swish in the distance, and from here he can't hear any footsteps or voices on the boardwalk. It's just him and Iryna, alone at the centre of the universe.

"You didn't know," he murmurs. “It's not your fault. None of it is. I need you to know I never blamed you for any of it, not for an instant."

"What about Mikhail?"

"He knows it wasn't your fault. When he was old enough to understand, I told him what happened."

"I didn't want to give him up, but my father—"

"I know," he whispers. "You had no choice. No one blames you."

"I blame myself."

He doesn't know what to say, mostly because he can only guess at what it must've been like for her to have her newborn baby literally taken from her arms and given away. She'd carried him inside her for nine months, and despite knowing that her parents would never let her keep him, she must've dreamed of the future they might have. She was sixteen and Nikolai was a few weeks away from his sixteenth birthday when Mikhail was born. Making plans for their little family was unrealistic, although that didn't stop him from dreaming too, regardless of the futility of it.

Mikhail was born at home because Iryna's family had been too ashamed of her condition to dare venture out in public with her, and as if the humiliation and shame of being an unwed teenage mother in the 1960s wasn't enough for her to bear, her parents told her that they had no interest in supporting her bastard child. Her father decreed that the baby would go straight to an orphanage after he was born.

When Nikolai told his parents, they were outraged. They hadn't been pleased when Nikolai confessed to them that he and Iryna had slept together and that she'd fallen pregnant, but they weren't so unreasonable as to expect him to give up his child to strangers.

"We'll say the baby is your brother or sister," Mother had declared. "No one but our family will know. But, Nika—" here, she'd paused to make sure he got the point— "This baby is your child, not mine. I will help you, but you are ultimately responsible. Do you understand?"

He'd thrown himself into her arms, weak with relief and gratitude, and she'd hugged him tight. "I'll do everything. I'll make you proud of me."

She'd leaned in close and said quietly against the top of his head. "I'm already proud of you, my little mouse. Even when you make mistakes, you take responsibility for them. You always find a way to make it right."

But, he wasn't at all sure he could make that situation right.

He recalls standing on the street in front of the Komarov house with baby Mikhail cradled protectively against his chest. It was December, and the baby was covered by nothing but a one-piece pyjama and a green and white blanket Iryna had knitted before he was born. Mr. Komarov hadn't seemed the least bit concerned about shielding Mikhail from the cold. He'd thrust the day-old baby into Nikolai's arms as if he were disgusted by Mikhail's very existence.

"Take it," he'd said. "Do whatever you want, but don't come back here any more." As he ascended the steps to re-enter his home, he turned to look back at Nikolai and added, "If I catch you anywhere near my daughter again, I will kill you."

Nikolai hadn't doubted the threat. There were rumours about what Mr. Komarov had done to grown men twice Nikolai's size. A scrawny, awkward fifteen year old would be no match for him, if he chose to make good on his word.

Too frightened to speak, all Nikolai could do was stare up at Mr. Komarov and pray that he could communicate his understanding by his expression alone.

Mr. Komarov went up the last few steps, and Nikolai started to leave, but when the older man swung the door open, Nikolai could hear Iryna inside. She was screaming. Never in his life had he heard anguish distilled into such a pure form. There was no other way to describe it. If the deepest pain known to humanity could've been represented by a sound, that was it.

Mr. Komarov bellowed into the house, "Shut up, girl! It's done!"

Nikolai had tried his utmost to restrain himself, but Iryna's desperate cries were too much for him. Before he could stop himself, he was shouting her name. "Ira! Ira, don't worry! Some day we'll all see each other again, I promise!"

He knew he'd done precisely the wrong thing even before all the words were out. Mr. Komarov whirled and came charging down the stairs again, straight toward him. The roar the older man let out was wordless and almost as feral as Iryna's wails of grief, and it terrified Nikolai to his core.

Clutching baby Mikhail against him with both arms, he ran down the snowy street, away from the house. He was shaking so violently that he worried he might fall, and his eyes were streaming tears to the point that he could barely see where he was going. He didn't stop until he reached the end of the street and turned the corner.

Still trembling, he dropped to the sidewalk and then laid Mikhail carefully on his lap so he could take off his scarf and unbutton his coat. First, he wrapped the scarf around Mikhail like a swaddle and then wriggled out of his coat and bundled that around the baby too. He hoped that it'd be enough to keep little Mikhail safe from the unforgiving winter air until they reached home.

He was never more grateful for anything in his life than he was to walk through the front door of his own home and straight into the embrace of his mother and sisters. Mother took Mikhail from him, and the very next second his older sister Dasha was throwing a quilt around his shoulders and leading him into the blessedly warm kitchen.

"It's going to be okay now, Nika," Dasha assured him. "Mother knows what to do, and Katya and I will help."

It would be a long time before he was able to believe everything really would be okay, but eventually he accepted it. He never forgot Iryna, but for Mikhail's sake, he'd had to move on with his life. He'd finished school, went to university, and worked to support himself and his son.

When Mikhail was seventeen, they immigrated to Canada for a better life, and he can say that the past forty years have indeed been the good life he'd hoped for, all things considered. He couldn't completely let go of the thought that he and Iryna might meet again some day, but he'd long ago given up dwelling on the idea. The secret to happiness, he's learned, is to focus on things that are present and real; family, home, work and hobbies. Longing for unreachable things is the way to ensure that a broken heart will never heal.

Things that are present and real. Ira is present and real, here in my arms.

His face is wet with his own tears.

Iryna shifts slightly and says softly, "Nika?"

"I'm here.”

"You said you didn't know what love was," she says. "The day I came to see about the rental, remember? You said that when you were a teenager, you were too young to know what it meant."

"Yes," he agrees. 'I said that."

"You were wrong."

"Was I?"

"You knew," she says. "You wouldn't have raised our son if you didn't."

"I couldn't abandon him. He's part of me."

"And me," she says.

"Yes, and because of him, we're linked together. Even if I didn't know where you were, I could always see a little of you in him."

She pulls away from him slowly, and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can you tell me about him?"

"I could talk for days about him," he says. He takes off his glasses and rubs at his own eyes. "He's an amazing son. He's clever with machines, like you. He likes fishing and hockey and rebuilding old cars. He's been married to the same girl for over forty years, and we've got two grandchildren, Nikolai and Natalya. Kolya and Natascha, we call them. They're twins."

She lets out a tiny gasp that seems to him to be a mixture of joy and astonishment. "Oh! Grandchildren!"

"And perhaps a great-grandchild next year," he says. "Kolya and his partner got married in July, and they're planning to grow their family."

"I... I'd like to meet them."

"You should," he says. "Mikhail and Elena and the twins know about you. That you're my roommate, I mean, but they don't know who you are. Give me a chance to talk to them first, and then I'll introduce you properly. Would that be all right?"

'Yes," she says. "I think that would be best. It might be a shock if I suddenly appeared out of nowhere and announced that I'm their mother and grandmother."

"Elena and Natascha wouldn't believe that."

"And Mikhail?"

"Let me talk to him."

"All right," she acquiesces. "In the meantime, do you have a picture?"

"I do. I've got loads on my phone, and our family portrait is in my bedroom at home. My phone's in my pocket. Let's see if we can help each other up, and then I'll show you."

It doesn't take all that much effort to get up. Nikolai's knees ache a little, but he's otherwise unharmed, and Iryna doesn't seem any the worse for wear either. He spends a fruitless minute trying to help her brush the sand from her dress before they both give up, laughing.

"Never mind," she says. "Most of it will dry and fall off by the time we get back to the cottage, and then I'll change my clothes and throw this into the washing machine."

He swipes at the leg of his shorts. "These as well."

"Those as well."

Now that he's standing, it's easier to slide his phone from his pocket. He opens his photo gallery and hands the device to her. "Take a look. Oh, and feel free to ignore the pictures of Fish."

They stroll back to the rock they'd been sitting on earlier, and Iryna spends several minutes scrolling through photos and asking Nikolai to identify all the people in them. She exclaims over how much both Mikhail and Kolya resemble him, and gushes over all his candid snapshots from Kolya and Mishka's wedding reception, and she's even interested in the pictures of Kolya and Natascha's friends.

"Your family is beautiful," she says at last, passing the phone back.

Her fingers brush against his as he reclaims the phone, and he gets that same flutter of happiness he experienced at breakfast. He gazes at her, taking in every perfect line of her face, changed so much from when they were young and yet so achingly familiar.

He smiles at her and says softly. "Not just my family. Our family."

__________

TO BE CONTINUED

[redmoonrising-rp]

GENERAL RULES

You must be 16+ to enter this server! If found lying about your age, you'll be kicked ASAP.

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CHARACTER RULES

Natural pelt colours are a must, but stylized/fantasy style markings are perfectly fine. The same goes for eye colours.

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[iceslushii]

So, I'm writing this to document what I can only assume is my sudden descent into insanity. I can't possibly be THAT bad a navigator, and yet as I write this I've been trapped in Ikea for 2 days. I haven't seen another person in the entire time I've been here. I thought it was a prank at first. Turn the place into a maze, get all the people out and see how long it takes me to get lost, then everyone has a good old laugh. Realised that wasn't the case when I tried to backtrack. Everything had changed, so I ended up lost. Instead of the exit, it was just row after row of bookcases.

So, I'm trapped in Ikea. Sounds like the setup for a bad joke. The lights went out at 10pm. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, that loud electrical THUNK sound and then pitch blackness. Place is full of beds though and my phone has a torch on it - but no damn signal - so I found a bed and went to sleep. Spent most of the next day trying to find my way out with no luck. Did find a restaurant serving those meatballs though, so at least I won't starve. That's probably the punchline to that joke. Anyway they were still warm and fresh, but I haven't seen anyone around who could have cooked them. Made my way back to the beds before the lights cut out again since it's too dark to search with them off.

It's 9.10am now, the lights came back on a little while ago. I'm sure I've searched the entire area around where I came in now and the exit obviously isn't here, so I'm going to pick a direction and hope for the best.

Day 3 of my magical Ikea mystery adventure. If I wasn't sure that there was something seriously weird about this place before, I am now. Walked for 3 hours in a more or less straight line (insert Ikea joke here) before I came across a ladder next to one of those huge stock shelves they have here. Climbed up to get my bearings, and it looks like this place just stretches on forever. Like that scene from the Lion King, except instead of trees and grass it was all shelves and tables and crap. I did see a person moving not too far away though, so I headed over.

Thought it was a staff member at first - it was wearing the uniform. And hell maybe it was, maybe freakish 7ft tall monsters with long arms, short legs and no faces are just the kinds of thing they want working at Super Ikea. Damn thing completely ignored me though, and with no eyes or ears I can't even be sure it knew I was there. Thought about shoving it or something to get its attention, but its hands were big enough to crush a water melon so I decided against it. It just kept moving along and eventually I lost sight of it so I decided to carry on the way I was going.

Anyway, no comfy bed for me tonight. Looks like I've entered the Improbably Hard and Pointy Table section of the store. Guess I'll have to make do with some bunched up tablecloths. Phone battery died during the day too. Didn't work anyway, but I feel like I've just lost some vital lifeline.

You ever see one of those cartoons where they're going through doors in a hallway and they just pop out of another door in the same hallway? That's how I feel right now. I've seen nothing but the same identical bookshelf for 2 days now. Just row after row after row of them. I mean, come on. I love books as much as the next guy, but this is excessive. I'm obviously still moving forwards though, I can see the signs hanging overhead passing by. Too bad none of them say "Exit".

Not sure who I was addressing that question to. Lets just say it was practice for the autobiography I'm going to write when I get out of here. I'll call it "My perfectly normal trip to a regular old Ikea".

If I ever get out o

Finally found some other people! Yeah, turns out I'm not the only poor bastard trapped in here. Lucky for me, I guess. My 6th night here, 2 of those staff things came at me in the dark. Different from the first one I saw, but still messed up. Heard them coming, they were saying that the store was closed and I had to leave the building, all nice and polite like. I'm not sure which part of that was weirder, that they don't have mouths or that they were apparently trying to kill me while they were saying it. Came at me like rabid dogs.

So, I legged it. Sprinting through ikea in the dark like a fucking madman. I saw it when I cleared another stand of those giant stock shelves, all lit up with torches and floodlights. They've built a whole town in here! Got a massive wall built out of shelves and beds and tables and whatever else. I swear to god it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Anyway I guess they saw me coming (or maybe they heard my girlish manly bellows of fear), because they had a gate open and 2 people were there waving me in. Heard the staff things slam into the gate behind me after it closed, still politely informing us all that the store was now closed. They wandered off eventually though.

They call the town Exchange, because that's whats on the sign hanging from the ceiling directly above it. Exchange and Returns. All lit up against the night using lights they've found and plugged into the power lines. And there are beds and food and people. Over 50 wonderful people with regular sized limbs and a full set of facial features. It's now my 7th night here, and the first one not spent in darkness. A full week living in Ikea. There's probably a TV show in that somewhere.

Now that I'm around other people, I'm starting to feel more normal. Maybe normal isn't the word. But after a week with only the sound of my own footsteps for company, I was becoming increasingly sure that I'd just gone nuts. That I was tied up in some padded room somewhere, banging my head against the wall. But no, I feel quite sane now, thank you very much!

Apparently there are other towns out there. Some with more people, some with less. I found that fairly mind-boggling - how can that many people go missing with no one noticing. Surely someone would have noticed that everyone who goes to ikea seems to fucking vanish. Or maybe it's not everyone. Maybe we're just the lucky ones.

The people here just call those staff monster things the Staff. Apparently they are fine during the day, minding their own business walking the aisles. As soon as those lights go out though, they go fucking bonkers. So during the day people go out to find food, water and whatever else they need. Apparently there are restaurants and shops around that randomly get restocked. No one knows how. Maybe the staff do it. Apparently they aren't very good at their jobs though because the restocking sometimes takes a while, which means the food needs to be rationed. Maybe if they weren't so busy chasing people around in the dark they'd get more done.

Anyway when night comes the staff go nuts and everyone holds up inside the walls. Apparently it's the same everywhere in this place, whatever this place is. The Ur-Ikea, from whence all other Ikeas sprang. Or maybe we're all still just in the regular ikea and this is all some fever dream brought on by mind-numbing boredom. Who knows.

Been here for 10 days now. Most of the people I asked said they stopped keeping track a long time ago and one guy, Chris, said he'd been in here for years.

Years.

[ILLEGIBLE SCRIBBLES]

Apparently there are rumours of people who do manage to get out. And of people who see the exit, only to have it vanish before their very eyes. I get the feeling not everyone believes that, but I do. Explains how we got stuck in here in the first place (sort of). And I mean, come on. Staff monsters, row after endless row of high quality Swedish furniture. I don't know why they would find a disappearing door so hard to believe in.

Anyway, I went out scavenging for food at a nearby shop with Sandra and Jerry today. Once you learn the landmarks of this place it's not so hard to navigate. The overhead signs help a lot, but there are others; not too far in the distance a huge section of those giant stock shelves has collapsed against each other and way off in the east (we all assume it's east anyway - apparently Ikea doesn't sell compasses) is some kind of tower that looks like its made of wood, reaches all the way to the ceiling. Maybe they were trying to break out through the roof. Lights up at night so there must be people there, but its apparently a few days walk (which means it must be miles away) so no one here really knows for sure. Apparently I got incredibly lucky sleeping out in the open for a week without getting ripped to bits by the staff. That's me. Lucky lucky lucky.

We found some food in the shop. Guess the staff restocked it during the night, which was nice of them. There was a telephone on the wall, so I figured I'd try it out. There was a voice on the other end, but they were just talking nonsense. Random words strung together with no real meaning. You ever see a video of someone with aphasia? Kind of sounded like that. Didn't answer me when I spoke to them anyway. Sandra says all the phones in here are the same.

Oops, asking the journal questions again!

I was thinking last night. The ceiling on this place is pretty high and as far as anyone can tell it goes on forever. Shouldn't there be some kind of weather in here? I'm sure I read about some NASA building that was so big it had its own weather patterns, with clouds and stuff. This place is definitely bigger than that, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure I've never felt so much as a temperature change in here.

I'll add it to the Grand List of Weird Bullshit.

The staff attacked the Exchange last night. Must have been 20 or 30 of them all just asking us to leave the store calm as you like, while trying to smash the walls down with their bare hands. Apparently this happens pretty regularly, so everyone is prepared for it. Knives from the restaurants, lawn mower blades made into hatchets, a fire axe. One guy, Wasim, even made a functional crossbow. Anyway the walls have holes in them, which I hadn't noticed before, specifically so we can stab out at the staff when they attack. Took a couple of them down myself. They don't seem to bleed, which is weird, but they go down as easy as a regular person once you start sticking holes in them.

We had to haul the bodies away in the morning. Apparently the dead ones will attract more during the night, so we had to get them away from Exchange. We have a couple of those trolley things they use to move big boxes around, so we loaded them up and took them over to Pickup. Apparently people just name everything in here after whatever sign is hanging overhead.

Pickup was grisly. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of dead staff all piled up. There was no smell, which was a blessing. Apparently in addition to not bleeding, these things don't rot either. My curiosity got the better of me while we were unloading them, so I took a look at one of the more cut-up ones. They're just skin, or something that looks like skin, all the way through. No muscle, no bone, no organs. Are they even really alive in the first place? They certainly seem like they have bones when they are moving around, pounding on the walls. And I'm sure I felt more resistance than just skin when the knife went in during the night. Maybe something happens to them when they die. Just one more thing on the ever-increasing list of Weird Shit that goes on in here, I guess.

Something occurred to me, after the staff attack the other night. Every time you see a situation like this on TV or in a film, like its the end of the world or everyone is trapped on an island or whatever, once groups like ours start to form people always seem to turn on each other. Fighting for food or dominance or whatever else. That hasn't happened here. Apparently people from other towns come by from time to time, just to check in or occasionally to trade if they are short on something. But everything is always cordial. Friendly, even. Maybe its the threat of the staff, or perhaps the constant restocking of supplies in the shops means there's nothing much to fight over.

Maybe people are just better than they are generally given credit for. That's a nice thought. I think I'll go with that one.

A dozen people showed up at the gates this afternoon from a town called Trolleys. Apparently the staff broke through the walls and tore the town apart during the night. These 12 are the only survivors out of over a hundred. We let them in, obviously. One more point in the human decency column. Later, I asked if anyone knew how many of these towns there were out there. Between us and the new folks, we managed to come up with over 20 names. 20 towns filled with people, and who knows how many beyond that.

The motto for this place should be "How Is That Even Possible". Surely someone, somewhere must be looking for the thousands of people that must be in here.

I've been here for a little over 2 months now. Not that much changes, as it turns out. A couple of new people showed up, same story as the rest of us. Nice little trip to Ikea and suddenly they're trapped in Billy Bookcase's House of Faceless Weirdos. The staff attack the Exchange once or twice a week. We kill them and haul their bodies off, sometimes they hurt some of us first. They killed a guy called Jared a couple of weeks back. It was awful, frankly. Turns out regular humans still bleed in here, even if the staff don't. We tried our best, but none of us are doctors.

Jared was a good guy. He deserved better. We all do.

It occurred to me a couple of days after that, none of us were really looking for a way out of here. I don't even know where we'd start.

One of those quad copter things with a camera attached buzzed passed Exchange today. I thought it meant that someone was finally looking for us, that help was on the way. Apparently it's not the first time this has happened, though. Same thing happened a few months ago, and everyone is still here.

No idea if it saw us, it didn't stop if it did. Just kept flying until we could no longer see it.

Note: Based on recovery time of the journal, this entry appears to line up approximately with our first successful test piloting a drone inside SCP-3008-1. Analysis of footage shows a walled settlement under a sign labelled "Exchange and Returns". Attempts to relocate the settlement failed. Origin of previously sighted drones is unknown.

I started talking to people about the stuff they miss from home during dinner today. Probably not the best idea I've ever had, everyone seemed pretty down after. A bunch of people here have families. Husbands and wives, kids. Dogs. Franklin apparently has a pet llama, though I'm not sure I buy that.

But apparently some of the people here have some seriously odd gaps in their knowledge. 3 of them had never heard of the International Space Station, 2 of them seemed to think █████ ███████ was the Prime Minister, and one of them had apparently never heard of the Statue of Liberty. I believe them, too. They seemed just as confused as the rest of us.

The more I thought about it though, the more it started to explain a few things. What if the reason no one is looking for all us missing people is because we haven't all come from the same place. This is going to sound weird (maybe that should be the motto for this place) but what if all the people here have come from different dimensions? Realities? Whatever you call it. I've seen enough TV shows to know the drill. Sarah comes from a place where there is no Statue of Liberty. They didn't launch a space station where Wasim is from. If everyone here came from different places, even from ones that seem identical, there'd be no huge missing persons panic. No mass search. We'd just be a blip, a single missing person in a world of non-stop news.

Well. That was a fun train of thought.

Just realised that yesterday was the six month anniversary of my arrival here. I wonder if Ikea sells party hats. The routine around here has remained more or less the same. More new folk show up, one every couple of weeks or so. Food supplies go up and down, but we've never actually had a major shortage. Occasionally we get a visitor from one of the nearby towns, usually Checkouts or Aisle 630. We check in with each other from time to time, occasionally trade supplies if someone gets particularly low on something. It's comforting, in a way. A reminder that we aren't alone in here, some small glimmer of civilisation. Sometimes they bring medical supplies. Apparently there's a pharmacy a few towns down from Checkouts that gets restocked every now and then, so they share out what they can. I've never heard of an Ikea with a pharmacy before but at this point I wouldn't be surprised if someone stumbled on an Ikea Organ Harvesting Lab. Would certainly explain the staff.

Speaking of our faceless jailers, their attacks have been getting worse lately. 3 or 4 times a week now, with twice as many staff as there used to be. No idea where they all come from, or why the attacks have increased. We tried following one of them during the day a few weeks ago, me and Sarah. Wanted to see if they lead back to a staff room or something. Didn't seem to go anywhere though, just randomly walked through the aisles. We had to turn back before we found anything.

We've been reinforcing the walls, trying to arm ourselves better. Certainly no lack of materials to use. Wasim has been making more crossbows, but it's pretty slow going.

Too bad Ikea doesn't sell guns.

Note: No new personnel have entered SCP-3008 at Site-██ in the time span indicated in this entry.

The attacks are getting bad now. Almost every night, and with so many staff that the bodies almost pile high enough for others to climb the walls. I think we're in real trouble here.

Exchange is

I think Exchange is done. We got hit pretty bad last night. Not many casualties, but the wall is wrecked. We finally figured out why the attacks had been escalating, too. A box of supplies had a chunk of one of the staff in there. No idea how it happened but apparently a piece of one will draw them as well as a full body. Too late now in any case, there's too many bodies for us to haul away and still have time to fix the wall before night. Candace has called a meeting. I suspect there will be talk of abandoning Exchange, maybe try and get shelter at Checkouts or something.

It's already getting late though. I don't think we'll have time to make it. Maybe some of us will. I was fine for that first week out in the dark, after all. But then, how often can I keep getting lucky.

I'm only writing this for a sense of closure, I guess. For me, or for anyone who finds this. If this is the final entry here, I hope whoever is reading this is doing so from outside of this place.

My biggest fear? If I do die tonight, I'll just wake up here again in the morning.

Note: This is the last entry. It is assumed that while attempting to reach the "Checkouts" settlement he was separated from the rest of his group by a pursuing SCP-3008-2 instance and happened upon the exit.

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see

Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye