~Beyond the Border~ > Daiyousei's Cold Storage

That's your Touhouroscope for today

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Zengar Zombolt:
But why didn't he die of Neutrino Radiation? :V

SIRookie:
Because if I did, I wouldn't have had a stroke at 73

Reddyne:

--- Quote from: Michiru TsukiZengar on December 04, 2013, 09:21:42 PM ---But why didn't he die of Neutrino Radiation? :V

--- End quote ---
Because it would take a supernova from the sun to do that and he'd have to be somewhere between Mars and the explosion to do that.

Zengar Zombolt:

--- Quote from: Reddyne on December 04, 2013, 10:10:24 PM ---Because it would take a supernova from the sun to do that and he'd have to be somewhere between Mars and the explosion to do that.

--- End quote ---
(Note: This is exactly what I was waiting for. GG)

Reddyne:

--- Quote from: Shadoweh on November 08, 2013, 06:22:17 PM ---1. Alice Margatroid
1. Yuuka Kazami
1. Yuuka (PC-98)
4. Koishi Komeiji
5. Patchouli Knowledge
5. Sakuya Izayoi
5. Satori Komeiji
8. Yuyuko Saigyouji
8. Yukari Yakumo
10. Byakuren Hijiri
(ALL HAIL THE PAJAMAS) I haven't done this for awhile. Seiga only made 12, I am sad. :<

--- End quote ---

Future: On a cold and dreary November evening, you plod down the street back to your workplace. You're returning from supper at a run-down restaurant up the street that has long since passed its prime. You approach the oldest building on the block, which stands proudly with its imposing size as it stands out amongst dozens of other old buildings on a street near the outskirts of this tired and aged city. The heavy, old door protests your incursion with a shrill squeak, and you enter. Each of the floorboards that make up the staircase leading to your place of work groan with age as you ascend to your workplace. You are greeted by a door at the third floor landing that reads "DUNN & KIRCHEWALD (PH.D.) PSYCHOTHERAPY ASSOCIATES". You push the door open, revealing an all-too familiar waiting room with padded wooden chairs lining the walls and an ornate throw rug in the center. The grandfather clock in the corner's grating ticking is interrupted as it chimes the hour. You hang your sopping wet trench coat and hat upon the lacquered wooden coat hanger by the desk at the far side of the room. "Good evening, Dr. Shadoweh. Mrs. Upton, your 6 o'clock appointment, should be along any moment now" says the sheepish secretary slouching at the desk. "Very well. Send her in when she arrives. I shall be ready." You resume your plod down the hallway lined with old paintings and another rug upon an aging hardwood floor. You come to the door to your office, crack open the ancient locked door with your key, and slowly slump down into your plush leather chair behind an ornately carved desk.
 
The rapping of the rain upon your windows and a low rumble of thunder preoccupies you before impatience begins to take hold. Suddenly, a faint knock emanates from the door. You beckon for the visitor to enter, and in comes a small, hunched figure. Mrs. Upton is slightly overweight, has messy brunette hair in a bob cut, and bears a perpetual nervous, timid look. "Please, have a seat" you say, gesturing to a worn leather chair in front of your desk. She briskly walks to it and sits down with her timid, doe-like expression fixed in place. That expression of unease would only intensify over the course of your revelations to come. "Mrs. Upton," you start. Each word chosen and enunciated well through your deep voice as it resonates through the room. "I'm afraid I have... unsettling news. After our last few sessions, we believe that your original diagnosis of early-stage paranoid schizophrenia may have been a bit... meek. After extensive analysis both here and at our laboratory, we believe that this condition has actually gripped you for some time. Not only that, but your condition has deteriorated more quickly than we realized. You have simply remained... somewhat functional. I believe your husband's death, however, was far from a mistake. What's been far more alarming is the numerous disappearances of your neighbors and the grisly circumstances in which they've occurred. However, this is merely the beginning."
 
"I've spoken with a friend of mine who is investigating these crimes, and he also happens to possess a knowledge of the occult. It seems the death of your husband and these disappearances may be related. These odd occurrences have shared a few disturbing trends." Your voice slows, yet strengthens, further punctuating the weight of your words on this frail flower sitting before you. "You see, Mrs. Upton, the evidence at all of these scenes point to the diablerie of a most vile cult, and all tales of this cult speak of their ability to manipulate and entrance another to do their wretched bidding at the cost of the puppet's very mind and soul. And as it just so happens, the fingerprints, tools, and even blood left at the scenes of these crimes all point to one. Single. Person. Mrs. Upton, you are responsible for the death of your husband. The same applies for the dozens of disappearances around your home, too. Why, the very reason you're here is tied to the destruction of your mind through the cult's awful machinations. And I'm afraid this madness will only assault your mind further. For you are not alone. No. Someone, something must always be watching you for such precise control. The noises you hear, Mrs. Upton, late at night, when no one's around, are quite real. Many eyes are watching you. Always watching you. Rats. The rats in the walls are watching you! They're the conduit between you and the one eating away at your soul! And you can never hope to escape their maleficent gaze! 'How do you know all this,' you ask? Well, my dear, I lead the very cult behind your pitiful state, and I myself have controlled your every move without you knowing for years! All while you so desperately clutch to the last frayed strands of your humanity! AHAHAHA-"
 
"SHADOWEH!" your colleague, who apparently eavesdropped on your private session, shouts from across the hall. "Mrs. Upton is only here for her last session to treat her mild postpartum depression, so cut that crap out!"
 
Death: Eventually, your pranks cross one of your patients the wrong way because they genuinely have a serious mental condition. You are 60.
 
Last Words: "For the love of God, Montresor!" Yes, for the love of God.
 
Number: 45
 
Color: Green Greens
 

--- Quote from: Mesarthim on November 09, 2013, 03:32:53 AM ---I'm curious to see where this goes...
1. Ran Yakumo
2. Hata no Kokoro
3. Rin Kaenbyou
4. Suika Ibuki
5. Star Sapphire
6. Cirno
7. Youmu
8. Reisen
9. Nazrin
10.  Chen

--- End quote ---

Future: Life? Meh. It's okay, I guess. But somethin's missin'. Maybe it's because you're older and you're aging a bit. Maybe it's because you've done so much but only have so much left in the tank, too. Either way, somethin's gotta change. Work and dating just aren't going in your favor, so you want to devote yourself to something outside of your many hobbies, but just aren't sure what. Then it dawns on you. Why not an orphanage? Plenty of kids the world over could use a caring home, and you're just the kind to provide them with a way to get there. But this isn't going to be an ordinary orphanage. No sir. Work may have sucked for decades on end, but it more than paid the bills. Time to put that stash of cash and your drive for your escapist hobbies to good use.
 
Day one. Three unfortunate souls drag their feet to the classroom and take their seats. You stand at the blackboard, fresh piece of chalk in hand. As you finally garner the undivided attention of these reluctant new students of yours, you turn to the blackboard and scrawl "Lesson 1: How to be Batman" upon it. Despite clearly lacking any sensitivity or tact considering the events of the kids' lives, the move works and their eyes glow with excitement. You stay true to your words and teach much to your now eager new students. "Gym class" teaches Jeet Kune Do, "physics" means field trips to a spaceport, and "chemistry" involves constructive and comical use of C4. Used liberally. Even quiet time is typically used to hone their minds to perfection through meditation. The experiences are more than inspiring for all the young minds that pass through your doors. Many of them are adopted into homes which you screen to death and back to ensure that they'll be loved and taken care of. Those that aren't adopted think of you as a parental figure even as they age out of the orphanage. Overall, the orphanage produces more scholars and great athletes than anyone could ever expect from such a place. You might be a bit saddened that a few stay around for so long before simply going out into the world, although that's not to say that you don't enjoy having a squad of ninja around the house at all times.
 
Death: You're Dumbledore-esque status, which attracts the attention of some of the world's greatest and most positive people, also attracts some of it's worst. Worn by age, you are slain at 85. Many of your proteges contribute to tracking down the criminal and bringing him to justice. Not out of vengeance, but in order to prevent such a tragedy from happening a second time.
 
Last Words: "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine." Why did you quote Old Ben? Star Wars will have been out for nearly 100 years by then and no one has taste in movies anymore. Clearly, this asshat deserves the whooping he'll get simply because he only saw the prequel series. Maybe being evil would make you enjoy the prequel series. Or maybe the prequel series is so bad that it's capable of making people evil.
 
Number: 6
 
Color: Bibbidi Bobbiddi Blue
 

--- Quote from: Third Eye Lem on November 11, 2013, 05:00:29 AM ---Got room for one more?
1- Yuyuko
2- Satori
3- Yukari
4- Byakuren
5- Reisen
6- Marisa
7- Reimu
8- Sanae
9- Cirno (yes I know someone did this before, shut up)
10 - Nitori

--- End quote ---
The following views are not related to Red's thoughts on medical companies trufax 4 realsies.
 
Future: In the near future, you will have a frightening episode of low blood pressure which will cause you to pass out. You will be successfully rescusitated, but the entire process is traumatic at best and in the end, the doctors are unable to identify what caused the issue in the first place. The issue becomes a recurring one, and it is only several years later that you finally get an accurate diagnosis by a doctor intrepid enough to stick with the issue long enough to connect the dots. You have Addison's disease, an orphan disease that cannot be cured, but can be treated. The fact that the entire process and medications has cost you a boatload of cash and you are stressed out of your eyeballs has left a lasting impression. Frustrated with the entire process, you vow for changes, even if you have to do it yourself.

Taking a vein from your own experiences, you start your own business producing orphan drugs. Instead of running things like a business, you instead run production like its a research project and therefore cut out tons of extra spending on sales and middle management. This leaves technicians to do their work while what management workforce remains focuses on the legalese. The increased focus on production instead of sales is benefitted by your company's focus on treatment of specific illnesses for which you are the first to actively produce treatments for. Business goes well and before long you begin to produce more commonplace pharmaceuticals, yet your original model for how to run the biz spills over into everything else your rising company makes.

This series of events continues for some time and eventually you've become a permanent fixture on the global health care system which greatly benefits from it. The price of pharmaceuticals drops and equipment manufacturers can afford to produce simplified versions of their devices for developing countries. The stuff your organization makes reaches millions of more people than they did before. The entire new culture makes the entire process from diagnosis to recovery easier, cutting back on mistreatment and waste. You revel in the progress, which technically comes at the expense of a handful of formerly affluent CEOs. In order to help ease the tension between you and them, you frequently attend parties at their luxurious abodes. Of course, you organize the parties without them knowing and invite several hundred people whose lives you've changed for the better. These shindigs typically end with riot squads and tear gas breaking them up.
 
Death: You've got the best treatment that doctors and medicine could ever hope to provide! At worst, your systems give out when you're 99.
 
Last Words: "Dear diary: Today I got stuck in a ditch, fell into the toilet, and seem to be dying of a heart attack. I'm pleased to say these didn't all occur at once."
 
Number: 14
 
Color: Mother of pearl

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