True And Unnerving Stories When You Work With Someone

0:00Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a long time reporter and an on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology, I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it. Asking where this is all going, they come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon, and plenty more. So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices, and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, I'm Josh Speagle, host of the podcast, Lunatic in the newsroom. If you enjoy journalism that drifts into my old panic, wild overthinking and a guaranteed nervous breakdown, Lunatic in the newsroom is for you. It's news like you've never heard before. The only newsroom with a panic button, you'll laugh, you'll cry, and gasp and horror as the show spirals completely out of control. It's not just news, it's emotionally unstable.

1:00Lunatic in the newsroom, listen today. Hello, I'm Wilkins, stories all the time. Glad you are here. Let's get into it. When I was 22, so it seems like a lifetime ago now, I landed myself a security job with steel plant here in Pennsylvania. It was a pretty easy gig for the most part, but there were a lot of overnight shifts and depending on who you were working with, those shifts could either suck or be a whole lot of fun. I've been working there for about a year with the same team the whole time and one day one of the senior guys announced that he was throwing in the towel. He was moving someplace else to be closer to his family, so naturally the boss needed to replace him. We all hoped the replacement would be a good guide and a decent worker, but what we got was a guy named Parker. A decent worker who seemed to have all the personality traits of a serial killer. We first met Parker on day ships because you had to complete a probation period before you were allowed to work nights. He was about six feet tall with dark eyes, close crop, dark hair and a rough beard. He also had a weird scar on the right side of his neck

2:02like where a patch of skin was paler, pinker and shinier than the rest. Then whenever he took his gloves off, you could see that he had the same patches of deep pink scar tissue on the outside of his fingers, like near his knuckles. We figured that he'd been in some kind of accident like a bad car wreck or something, but since it's not polite to bring that kind of stuff up, no one ever asked him. But then it wasn't Parker's scars that freaked us out. It was the way he acted. He was quiet, real quiet, and whenever he speak, it was like English was a second language to him. He had a distinct northeastern Pennsylvania accent and by that I mean like Scranton, Wilkes Bar and the Paconos, that kind of area. But then when he spoke, it was like he was fratting over every little syllable. He talk, talk like this, as if stressing over every little word. He'd get real jumpy sometimes too, like a skittish horse. He wouldn't scream and dive under the table in a time he heard a loud noise and we guarded a steel plant, so in a day times there were many, but you could see him softly flinch or spin his head around anytime something took him by surprise. The guy seemed like a turtle ball of nerves and the fellas even jerked that he might kill a man

3:03if he snuck up on him and spooked him bad enough. But then at the same time he was a good worker, so while we remained fairly cautious, we eventually accepted him as one of us. About six months since Parker working with us, I found out that I'd be working with him for a whole week's worth of night shifts, just me him and the supervisor needed us to say I was not looking forward to that I'll see if it would be in a security office, watching Tamas and stuffing his face with letter pies, but it would be up to me and Parker to put all the grounds of the plant on foot. Unlike I said before, a few were with the ride crew nurse could be a dizzyed walk around, talking about the birds or the flyers, just shooting a breeze and all of that. And then with Parker, I got the fill in that the conversation wasn't exactly going to flow and the idea of walking around at night with the button. And so I could felt more of a wrist than chase and donkeys off the side all in all that came down to two options where the shifts were lose out on pay. And so I worked the my wish I could say walking this night with Parker was like a buddy-cut movie or something of the nature that we slowly wound up to one another when we've been pals ever since but that was not the case. Whenever Parker was sitting in turtle silence, staring off into space like he was watching a movie no one else could see he'd been mastering to himself. He'd most the only dude when he thought no one was around but I caught him doing it once or twice. And when I did, he sounded like he was real angry

4:04about something. And that's what God is all thinking. He really was some kind of ticking time bomb. A kind of guy to just snap one day and go totally postal. Naturally, no one wanted to be around him when he did and when I said that they tried to cozy up to him a little so that he might just skip off of shooting me when he finally did bring a gun to work I'm really only half joking with you. The second night shift we worked together we were walking around the plan's perimeter fence when I decided to ask Parker what he did before security. And he didn't tell me much but he did mention having worked for a company that didn't have his back after he got hurt so he moved on and that's how he ended up working security. I told him he should just lie around that he could probably win millions if it was some kind of industrial accident but he told me it wasn't like that and that the best thing he could have done is just move on. Whatever it was from the way Parker talked about it sounded bad and with me not being a total jerk asked him nothing more about it and changed the subject as quickly as I could. Parker didn't follow any sports. He wasn't into moves like me and some of the other guys there and he didn't drink, he didn't smoke and he didn't have any way for a kid for girlfriend and it got to the point where I asked him what the hell do you do when you're not at work?

5:06And he told me he either worked out worked on his car or read books. I asked him what kind of books he read and he started talking about a bunch of old Russian guys whose names I can't even pretend to remember or spell. I've never been much of a reader and the last thing I read was half-finned back in high school but Parker didn't strike me as much of a reader either so to hear him talking all fancy like that. It was kind of surprising. He finally managed to find a topic of mutual interests and automobiles and after Parker told me that he had a 2006 Pontiac GTO that was all we talked about for the rest of the shift. It was the most conversation any of us had ever had with him and to me it was a sign he wasn't going to show up in a hockey mask one day and start chopping us all up with a machete. That's what I told my supervisor to when he asked how working with Parker had been come the end of the shift. I really did everything I've been told about Parker getting out of the previous job and how in spite of him not giving me much detail I felt I had a rough idea of what had happened. I said I had no doubt whatsoever that Parker had a messed up pass but that I figured that he was way more of a threat to his former associates than he was to us and it turns out I was right about that in ways that I could never imagine.

6:06On the fourth of what was supposed to be five night shits together Parker and I stopped by the god chat by the main engines for some coffee. It must have been around 1.30 in the morning. It had been a real quiet night and I planned on working my way through a bag of those many powdered doughnuts before we got back on our feet again. I was sitting at the little desk where we kept the log book reading through a copy of the previous days paper someone had left behind while Parker was standing by the Shaq's window, staring out into the darkness and muttering to himself. 48 eyes before I'd have found that kind of behavior creepy but it's amazing how quickly you get used to a person's quirks after working a couple of 12 eye or night shits with him. He could stare off into space, motted himself a little and I didn't think it was normal by any stretch but it didn't freak me out as much as it did when I first met him. But what did freak me out was when out of nowhere Parker told me there's something coming up the road. We never got anyone coming up the road at night not unless it was someone from security but they always called ahead. But what was even stranger was when I looked up and saw absolutely nothing on the road outside the Shaq. Now keeping in mind that I'm looking for headlights so when I don't see any I'm assuming that there's nothing.

7:08I also kind of assumed that I don't know Parker was just being a little overzealous on account of how jumpy he always was. It wouldn't be the first time that he acted like that I made a mountain out of a mollil but the boss liked it and said that we should all act a little bit more like that. And so I look up, see nothing and I respond, are you sure buddy? Because I don't see nothing out there. Parker then says something in response. They got headlights switched off but there's something, they're all right. And then no sooner had he said that when the headlights of what looked like a truck or a van switched on so bright that it was almost blinding. I was halfway through yelling at something just like who the hell are those guys when Parker turned and with this real angry look on his face. He comes lunging across the Shaq at me. I backed up, asking what the hell he was thinking but he didn't stop. He ran, lowered his body like some football player about to tackle me in WAM. He took me down so hard it knocked the wind out of me and even though I was fighting for my life I didn't stand a chance of overpowering him. I had flashes of thoughts running through my mind, stuff about an inside job about how Parker was a plant and that he was about to kill me to keep me quiet. Hell knows where heist a team would want from a steel plant

8:10but I guess I wasn't thinking straight at the time. This also took place over the space of a couple of seconds who like the lights came on, Parker turned and tackled me. Then I'm right about to yell, what are you doing? When the whole god I'm Shaq exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. I could hear automatic weapons, maybe half a dozen of them all slinging lead at the Shaq, the sort of docker docker docker. The glass came in first but after that you could hear ricochets and see sparks before a bullet hit the light above our heads. I'm plunged to Shaq into doctors before shiring us with even more broken glass. Parker was on top of me the whole time but obviously but then I realized why he'd taken me to the ground and I quit trying to struggle. He didn't want to hurt me very much, the opposite in fact. The guy I once thought might end up going porcelain us was trying to save my life. The gunfire was over in a couple of seconds and I know it's a huge cliche at this point but it did feel like way longer. But then the second it went quiet, Parker rolled off of me and then scurried out of the shack at a bit of a crouching position. I wanted to follow him and I wanted to get up and run but my legs just wouldn't let me. All I could think about was whatever

9:10automatic weapons they had outside and how if I stood up they'd put so much lead in me that you could shave my head and use me as a pencil. I wasn't certified to carry a weapon yet but Parker had shown up certified which I guess is half the reason he got the job. So while I was armed with nothing but my flashlight and some pepper spray he'd gone running off carrying our only weapon. I knew whatever brief window I had to escape the Shaq was gone. Parker had seen to recognize that the guys outside were reloading and had ducked out of the shack before they had a chance to open fire again. I figured that meant that I had second before another house storm of bullets ripped through the shack and potentially me too but then get up and run and I give them something solid to aim at and I'd be totally screwed not just partially. And so I waited and waited half expecting that sound to return again of gunfire and from my lights to go out but they didn't. And the only thing I heard was a sound of footsteps getting closer and closer to a shack. Unlike I said before I had nothing but my pepper spray but I knew that I had to do something or whoever was out there was going to walk inside and finish me off and so I did the only thing I could think to do and start making a lot of noise. I started yelling about how if they took one step closer

10:12I was going to open up with my shotgun and how even though I wouldn't be able to take all of them out at least one of them was going to die. The footsteps suddenly stopped and there was a moment of silence and then I heard a voice. It sounded like a man who smoked exhaust pipes in a gravel for breakfast and when he spoke he didn't sound mad or scared. He sounded almost smug asking to which I obviously responded. We didn't have anyone but at name working for us so you can bet your ass I let them know that lick is split. And I told them there was no McCabe there and that's who they were looking for. They'd risked 100 years in prison for absolutely nothing because whoever that was was not here. There was another pause and then the guy said something like, I know he's there. I respect you trying to protect him but it's going to get you killed. And a piece of shit like that isn't worth dying over. I had to tell him the second time that I had exactly zero clue what he was talking about and that no one had to die because they made a die mistake. There was another pause and I heard the dudes outside sort of whispering to one another but I couldn't make it out. Then the other guy who smoked exhaust pipes said, all right, you got to count a three to tell us

11:12from McCabe is there and we're coming in to kill you. And after that he started his countdown. After three I told him that there was no point in killing me and all he said in response was two and that I started thinking that maybe I could die part of the broken windows they started approaching and then I could use the shackers cover for a few seconds to run off into the night. The guy shouted one and I was thinking, okay, I need to clear this window in one try or I'm dead and then the guy shouted, all right, we're, and that's all I heard because whatever is next word, it was drowned up by the sound of more gunfire. I had maybe nine or 10 shots and then someone screamed before some fire again. I was so scared I thought that they were just shooting up the shack again and instead of actually risking safety to get inside the shack to kill me, they were just going to empty the bullets into it again and the hopes that a shot went through and hit me. But then I very quickly realized nothing was hitting the shack. All the shooting was directed at something else outside. I knew that was my golden opportunity to run but when it came to standing up again, I knew it was just too much of a risk while there were bullets in the air. I had to say put, wait for the shooting to stop and then wait for a moment. But literally no sooner than the shooting did stop,

12:13I heard footsteps printing over to the shack before suddenly Parker was standing in front of me, pistol in hand and this absolute psycho kind of look on his face. He barks at me, get out of here, there'll be more of them coming. I don't know what it was about him telling me all of that but all of a sudden my leg suddenly remembered how to work again. I didn't thank him. I didn't ask any questions. I just ran full speed towards the plant security office to take shelter there. There was a chance I was super had seen what was happening but there was also a chance that he hadn't either so I needed to get their ASAP to make sure the cops got their ASAP to. And now long story short, we watched the cameras the whole time till the cops do show up but all we see is the shackle shut up and the headlights of whatever vehicle the shooters had approached him. Parker, I'm okay, whatever you want to call him was nowhere to be found nor to my knowledge did he ever resurface. Our boss handed over all his paperwork to the cops every last scrap that we had to go on and they came back and told us all of it was false. The only thing that was real was Parker's face and that it did match a guy named McCabe who used to be part of some prison gang until his relationship with his associate

13:14sired for some reason. And that's all the explanation we ever got and as far as I know Parker or McCabe is still on the run. I don't know what he did to pistas guys off so much but I know they made a mistake coming after him like that. The mistake they paid for with their lives. Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a long time reporter and an on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology, I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it. Asking where this is all going, they come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon and plenty more. So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, I'm Josh Spiegel, host of the podcast, Lunatic in the newsroom. If you enjoy journalism that drifts into my old panic wild overthinking and a guaranteed nervous breakdown, Lunatic in the newsroom is for you.

14:15It's news like you've never heard before. The only newsroom with a panic button, you'll laugh, you'll cry and gasp and horror as the show spirals completely out of control. It's not just news, it's emotionally unstable. Lunatic in the newsroom, listen today. My name is Father Thomas and I've been with the parish priesthood at St. Nicholas's Catholic Church here in Winchkin for the past three and a half years. Winchkin is a small town here in rural Gostershire and about 5,000 people are very proud to call it home. It's about as quaint a rural English town as you're ever likely to find with a beautiful village crane, a trio of timelessly charming pups and even a 15th century to decassal on the town's outskirts. There's nowhere on earth I'd rather be living or serving God. But it's also true that Winchkin has a history steeped and strange and sometimes rather sinister occurrences. Visit the local museum and you'll be told that Winchkin's started life as a room and hammered around the middle of the first century but about three miles to the southeast. Atop a place called Cleve Hill, they'll find traces of a Neolithic burial ground that dates back 5,000 years.

15:16The area's inhabitants would take their dead to a chambered lawn barrow atop the hill, which was not only a place of reverence, but also a place of right and ritual where the living could come in with the dead. There was a focus on collective memory and kinship emphasizing the dead as part of a community rather than isolated individuals and befitting my profession that's something I find profoundly moving. Yet I've often wondered how much influence those ancestral spirits have today or if the strange events have observed around Winchkuma the echoes of much more recent events. In a 16th century, scandal rocked a nearby monastery known as Hales Abbey. For hundreds of years, the monastery had been home to a religious relic known as the Holy Blood, which consisted of an ornately decorated wooden box containing a glass vial of Jesus Christ blood. Supposedly, the vial had filled with the blood which dripped from Christ's featuring his crucifixion and had been delivered from the holy land by crusading nigh sometime in the 13th century. The night claimed the relic had been given to him by the monks of Hermitage. Some were near the dead sea after defending its occupants against a Sarri's in raid. The monks guaranteed their various halls and the relics authenticity claiming it had once belonged

16:16to one of Christ's apostles following his internment Hales Abbey, the monastery became one of the most prominent in all of England. But sometime in the 16th century, an inspection of the holy blood and covered something deeply shocking, the vial containing Christ's blood had been stolen. Following an investigation, the official story became that the holy blood had been stolen by a group of professional thieves at the behest of a wealthy benefactor. However, someone was rich enough to finance the theft of such a relic you can bet that they had a large house with a large stuff. A staff witch, if they believed the blood of Christ was secreted somewhere in their home, would have had a very hard time keeping their mouse shut about it. Yet, as history shows, near the dothieves know the buyer were ever found. Many believe the holy blood would still be intact, hidden away somewhere until it's inevitable discovery. Others have a much more disconcerting explanation. Shortly after the theft of the holy blood, a royally sanctioned witch finder arrived in Gloucestershire. The king of England, James I, was obsessed with stamping out witchcraft and other heresy, and so when he heard the holy blood had been stolen, he believed devilry was afroated and sent his chief witch finder to root it out.

17:17The witch finder's investigation led to the belly witch trials, where by Joan Flour and her two daughters, Margaret and Philippa, were accused of cursing the Earl of Rutland. After half a dozen of the Earl's family and friends suffered sudden and tragic deaths, many blamed a hidden coven of witches. Margaret and Philippa Flour were hunted down, arrested, then hand-following convictions for communing with the devil. Their mother, Hartbrook and an impoverished, died in prison not long after. Few years later, a woman named Alice Cullen was accused of causing illness and death by using curses and charms. She was convicted for following testimony from her own neighbors and was executed to the cheers of the gathered Tantsook. It's clear that at the time many believed that the holy blood had been stolen by the accused and used in a series of profane rituals. They believed these rituals had brought a great and terrible darkness to the region, and it seems there are some who still believed this even hundreds of years later. I've seen some rather unsettling graffiti around town over the years. Things quite unlike the usual dross teenagers like to dop, but those will not be the focus of this memoir. What I've told you are things I wished any before I arrived in Witchcum and because of the very least,

18:17I feel like they have helped me understand some of the things that have happened here since. For although I now live a life of peace, harmony, and simplicity, I had to endure a living nightmare to obtain it. I won't stalled to fight you with the finer details of entering the priesthood, but let's just say it's neither quick, nor easy, nor painless. For some perspective, priests, it takes years of discernment before they commit themselves. Then after that, you're looking at a decade of training until you're even considered for priesthood. Then when you finally do become a priest, you have to serve under another much more experienced counterpart before either taking over the parish or being assigned one of your own. That's the exact position I was in when I arrived in Witchcum back in early 2020. St. Nicholas's church was under the care of Father Michael, an elderly priesthood held the position since the Midmenus 1,970s. He was set to retire in the summer of 2021, so the idea was I'd spend 18 months under his tutelage before taking over as guardian of the church in parish. The usual period of tutelage is two years, so as you can imagine, I was rather surprised at the offer of a rare shortcut. Needless to say, it came with a caveat.

19:19Father Michael, who was almost 79 years old when we first met, had been in a state of mental decline for quite some time, and his condition had become of deep concern to many of his parishioners. People spoke of strange sermons, trapping outbursts, while unsettling remarks during cloistered conversations, and to a boss, the bishop of Clifton, this was unacceptable. If I could keep Father Michael's behavior under wraps and prevent the situation from progressing into a full-blown scandal, then one of the most coveted parishes in England would be mine for as long as I could serve it. I knew it would be a challenge. I was sticking on the role of a carer as well as a priest, but at the same time, it was an absolute no-brainer, as they say. I considered it an honor to be able to attend to a veteran of the church during the twilight of his tenure. I just didn't realize how terribly taxing it would prove to be, both to my faith and to my sanity. I first visited Winchgum in December of 2019, prior to my confirmation there. Father Michael had something in the final seon who he transferred the parish to, but after some afternoon tea and a long conversation on ecumenical matters, the man himself told me that I'd gotten the job. Father Michael was anything like I'd imagined him,

20:20and in so many words, I've been told that he was losing his mind and was a liability to the church. But our meeting suggested nothing of the sort. Father Michael was aged, but his mind was as sharp as his wit, and as I said, we spoke at length on a number of different topics, all of which he displayed a vast knowledge of. He was assertive but welcoming, charming but humble, and displayed wisdom without arrogance. He embodied everything I thought a priest was supposed to, so quirks were no quirks. I was thrilled at the prospect of being mentored by him, even if that mentorship came with its unique set of challenges. In early February of 2020, I moved into the spare room of a cottage that sounds behind St. Nicholas's church. It's a beautiful little cottage with a thatch roof and a small rose garden. It's also my current home in the place that I present the sit and type this memo. But back when I first arrived, it was a place of great uncertainty for me. But now, almost five years to the day since I moved into the cottage, I've more and answered questions than ever. My first month or so under Father Michael's two-diligence movie. I helped him perform Mass, I helped him perform baptisms, and we went through procedures for both weddings and funerals.

21:23I accompanied Father Michael in visits to hospitals and nursing homes, and I sat down on pastoral counseling sessions to learn how to provide guidance and support to my future parishioners. I shadowed Father Michael in preparing sermons and homelies, and then when it came to my own personal duties, I would organize Bible study groups or youth group meetings. I also had to manage the daily administrative duties of the church, which kept me very busy, I can assure you. But that first month, aided by the warmth of the Christmas season, made for a very smooth transition into my new life. There were no signs of Father Michael's decline, none of his episodes as people I'd taken to calling them, and at first it appeared the whole thing had been quite overblown. But then it happened. One evening after dinner, Father Michael and I were enjoying a cup of tea and a few biscuits when the subject of parish funerals came up. A conversation on the topic then me entered into one about death in general, and well that might sound like a subject too heavy for tea and biscuits, discussion of the afterlife can be a rather common thing for those who take the cloth. Father Michael and I had very briefly touched on the subject while discussing parish funerals on a previous occasion, but that marked the first time

22:23that we delved into the subject in depth. He mentioned how his time on earth was drawn to a close, and how he'd been pondering on what that meant for his eternal soul. Father Michael knew he'd lived a good and decent life, one dedicated almost entirely to the church, no less, but he still found himself preoccupied by matters of faith. In a remark, I thought it was a passing one. Father Michael mentioned how he sometimes envied the holy martyrs, those whose dedication to the faith have cost them their lives. He quite rightly said that while pre-stalked by special place in heaven, martyrs, by virtue of the sacrifice, may bypass progatory and enter heaven immediately as their suffering is considered a purification in itself. And it's this that was the source of his self-confessed envy. The subject of the church's martyrs is something we're encouraged to reflect on often, but at the time I was only familiar with some of the more well-known martyrs. They're St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr who was stone to death after preaching about Jesus. Then they're St. Peter, who was crucified upside down as he felt unworthy to die in the same way as Christ. But perhaps the most famous is Paul the Apostle, one of Christianity's greatest evangelist who was beheaded in room under Emperor Nier.

23:25Yet, although we touched on them, it was these martyrs Father Michael wanted to discuss. He asked if I was aware of St. Sebastian, and I was, but I discovered I was privy to the whole story. Sebastian was murdered by being shot full of arrows, but bizarrely, and unbeknownst to myself, he'd survived this phase of his execution. His austric killers, who had never seen such corporeal with silliance, thinned him cut from the stake he was tied to and then beaten to death with clubs. They broke every bone in his body, one by one, until massive internal bleeding caused his heart to finally give out, and he passed into martyrdom. Father Michael said that when he recently revisited the tale of St. Bethelmue, who was skinned alive prieters, beheading to ensure maximum suffering, he felt a deep and shameful sense of envy. He felt the same covetousness when he reread the story of St. Catherine of Alexandria, who was put to death using a spike breaking wheel. And for the unfamiliar, the breaking wheel is a method of execution which involves being tied to a large spooked wheel before your legs, arms, and ribs are broken, usually in that order to, again cause maximum suffering. The whaling victim shattered lins are then woven into the breaking wheel spokes in a sickening cyclical recreation of the human form

24:25before being displayed as a warning to others. The fate of the subjected to the breaking wheel is similar to those who underwent crucifixion in that they didn't expire right away and sometimes spent days at time cleaning to life. Their body's rat was agony until they finally expired. And to put St. Catherine's suffering into perspective, it's said that the breaking wheel broke before she did, shattering from the force of the blows to her body before she was even close to expiring. Then, much like St. Sebastian, her ex-cuseners were so awestruck at her dedication to her faith that they ordered her beheaded less of zeal-proved contagious. Father Michael said that he also envied St. Adness who was so touched by God's grace that the flames of her ex-cusion pyre could not set her ablaze. He felt the same towards St. Peter and St. Felicity who in the Roman Colosseum were torn apart by wild animals before being put to the sword. Father Michael claimed to feel a deep melancholy alarm with a sense of frustration that God had never provided him with a similar opportunity to prove his faith. He acknowledged it was a dark, potentially perturbing point of view, yet it was when he wrestled with nonetheless. As you can all imagine, I found his confession to be deeply unsettling, but relatively unsurprising.

25:26I'd receive prior warning that Father Michael might say or do some rudder unusual things, preventing such instances was half a reason I was there, but what I was not prepared for was what he said next. In known certain terms, Father Michael told me that he was not only envious of the church's holy martyrs, but also embod those who made them so. Unbeknownst to those who beheaded, flayed, or burned the faithful alive, they'd been a part of God's plan and without their actions, the holy martyrs would not be so venerated today. Even if he himself could not achieve martyrdom, he would gladly swap places with one of the many martyrs ex-cusion as simply to be closer to the act itself. Father Michael said if he'd known the implications of his actions, he'd have tortured St. Caffin lawn after the wheel broke, knowing her continued suffering would only elevate her status in heaven. As he talked, he became more and more animated and then more and more manic until suddenly there was spittle flying from his lips as he made his case with wide front guys. I'm not ashamed to say that I was frightened because the fear wasn't for myself. It was entirely for the health and well-being of Father Michael. It had been the first time he'd exhibited any objectively disturbing or upsetting behavior, the kind of thing I'd been warned about before my arrival,

26:28but still, seeing it a close for the first time and knowing just how graphically he could speak, it made for a chilling revelation. I reported the incident back to the Bishop of Clifton, the head clergyman for all of Glershire and he essentially told me to keep up the good work. Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a long time reporter and an on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology, I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it. Asking where this is all going, they come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon and plenty more. So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices, and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast wherever you get your podcasts. I'd managed to talk Father Michael Dan from the mile form of media he talked himself into and he seemed rather self-aware regarding his deteriorating condition, so there was no conflict following my intervention. But the same could not be said for the next instance of escalation. Sometime after our conversation on martyrs,

27:30Father Michael asked if he could share something with me, something he believed might make me rather uncomfortable. When we got back to the cottage, I put the kettle on, put on a few biscuit and cream cakes, and then sat down for some tea before he made his rather daunting announcement. Father Michael had been talking to an angel. And my heart sank the moment he said it, realizing his condition was far more severe than mere verbal diarrhea. If he was suffering audible or even visual hallucinations, then he evidently required urgent medical care. And as you can very well imagine, I was keen to get to the bottom of his angelic interactions to determine if they were harmless metaphors or yet more worrying manifestations of his encouraging madness. Father Michael told me that for the past few years an angel had visited him in the middle of the night around once a week. He'd waken in the wee small Ios of the morning, not to a voice but to a feeling and then after walking downstairs, he'd sit in the darkness in the chair in the corner of the room and he'd listen to the angel speak to him. I asked what form this angel appeared to him in, that Father Michael didn't know. He sat in the corner facing the wall as a means of protecting himself. He believed looking upon the angel's form

28:30without the proper permission would burn his eyes out and set his very mind flame. I asked Father Thomas what made him think that he didn't have permission to look if the angel was present and conversing with him and without going into the long-winded explanation he gave me, that's just say that his answers were at best inconsistent. I knew he needed help and he needed it as soon as possible. But when I tried contacting the bishop with my concerns, the only person I could reach was his assistant, priest to him to save his own embarrassment or remain enamed. Now, Father Nameless or should that be Father Spineless claimed the bishop was very busy with prior engagements but that he'd be more than happy to assist me. Obviously, my request was that he put me in touch with the bishop because I had a very important development to report to him, but after almost a week of opuscating, I realized the bishop was deliberately avoiding my calls. I was furious, but the church's strict hierarchy is just that strict. I had no choice but to deal with Father Spinus and the process was as frustrating as it was fruitless. Much like the realization that the bishop was avoiding my calls, there came a point where I realized Father Spineless was acting in a manner one might describe as deliberately obtuse. When I explained that Father Thomas needed urgent psychiatric care,

29:33he asked for more details, but when I gave them, he appeared to completely misunderstand both the timeline and the severity of the events. I hadn't dealt with this assistant much, after all. I was only a few months into my winch contendere, but it didn't take me very long to figure out that he wasn't an imbecile, he was merely acting like one. And all with a view to frustrating my attempts to get help for Father Michael. Without going into too much detail, if Father Michael needed serious psychiatric care before his retirement, the church would be obligated to pay for his medication and potentially even expensive private medical care. But if his condition stayed a secret until after his retirement, then any expenses incurred would be Father Michael's responsibility. The church would still technically be paying for his treatment, but it had come out of his pension and not their own personal coffers. Break into too much of the budget and our bishop might lose his standing with the archbishop, which would no doubt affect his chances of climbing the paracolata. I didn't find that out from Father Spinus, but when I did, you can bet your ass that I sensed some very ungodly language as way when I called him back. The audacity of the bishop to try and further his career and at the cost of such a senior and well-respected member of the church

30:34seemed nothing short of criminal. While the Spineless simply told me that he'd pass on what I'd said to the bishop and I assumed it was thinly veiled sarcasm, it was not. Just a few hours later, I received a call from none other than the bishop himself and to say he wasn't pleased with me would be the understatement of the century. Without given details of the entire exchange, he rather furiously asked if his instructions had been unclear. He reminded me of what I'd been told prior to accepting my position in Winchgum and then asked if there's anything I misunderstood. I told him no, that I hadn't misunderstood anything, but that Father Michael needed the kind of urgent care that I was incapable of providing as a mere priest. The bishop then simply told me that if I was incapable of fulfilling my duties, he'd find someone that could. The whole point of me being there was to prevent any kind of scandal, be it moral or in his case financial and in all fairness that it indeed be made clear to me prior to being formally offered the position. It was either put up and shut up or hit the road and potentially wait years for the chance to take another parish because I would most certainly be blacklisted by the bishop. Not formally, you understand, but blacklisted nevertheless.

31:35And so I issued a formal verbal apology to the bishop and then reassured him I was capable of the task at hand. And that was the late spring of 2020 and as many of you will remember, lockdowns followed shortly after. I thought the temporary cessation of church services would give Father Michael a well-deserved break and to an extent it functioned exactly as I'd hoped. But over time, the prolonged isolation led to a serious and rapid decline in his condition. In the end, I actually considered the social distancing to be something of a double-edged sword because as much as it played have gone farther, Thomas mental health shielded his deterioration from the public eye. He became increasingly erratic, having difficulty sleeping and was prone to increasingly maniacal outbursts which both concerned and frightened me deeply. He remained fixated on the concept of martyrdom from the perspective of both the saint and their killer. And I ticked to locking my door at night for fear that he might do something unspeakable. Thankfully, the easing of lockdowns and the autumn of 2020 helped a great deal with Father Michael's condition. Being first back into public life proved something of a shopper to the system and one he desperately needed. And so for a while anyway, he was able to get back into a steady routine and was able to focus

32:36his mind on much healthier thoughts than those of martyrdom and murder. But once limitations were reintroduced towards all saints day and Father Michael was limited in even the number of funerals he could attend, his condition sank back towards the severe. He became increasingly fixated in the idea that he was about to be the recipient of what he called a heavenly communication. But whenever I pressed him on the matters, he began speaking in scriptural riddles and avoided giving any straight answers. Obviously, it was something I found deeply concerning, but it marked something of a new phrase in Father Michael's state of mind. Instead of pruning irritable and quick to anger, he was euphoric. As I said, it was deeply concerning, but this new phase came with behaviors that proved considerably more manageable than those previously exhibited. The approaching Christmas season gave him something to focus his mind on, something that wasn't as gassy or gory as his form of fixations and that I most warmly welcomed. Yet after New Year's Day came and went, things changed dramatically. The isolation of the January lockdowns and the desolation of the bleak British went to prove devastating to Father Michael's state of mind. His conversations with that angel went from being

33:36a weekly to an almost nightly affair which in turn meant his sleep hygiene was atrocious. He became irritable, angry, sometimes even violent, and he smashed household items, snapped at parishioners and in one instance I had to physically intervene during a mass after he took a disturbing diversion relating to communing with angels. I began to wonder if I could survive another year of Father Michael's tutelage and I used the word survive in a literal sense. Little did I know, but he'd begun within a month. Throughout most of February 2021, Father Michael had been taking a break from his paracult duties. He had refused previous suggestions, he undertake a period of rest, but following the cessation of the Christmas period, his mania had been replaced by a rather crippling depression. His public absence was relatively easy to explain and I was experienced enough to effectively replace him during that period. But then one Sunday morning, the 28th of February to be exact, I worked to find Father Michael dressed, composed, and ready to administer mass. It was like all his depression and mania had suddenly evaporated and not only did he seem perfectly fit and well, but he seemed positively excited to perform mass. The service itself went impeccably

34:37and the parishioners were positively beaming to see him up and about again following his absence. Then afterwards, over a pot of tea and a few custard creams, I began asking Father Michael's about his rejuvenated state. I asked a few gentle but probing questions. His responses were quite direct. He told me that over the previous 12 months, he'd ask God many, many questions, none of which have received an answer. But in the early I was a Sunday morning, he'd finally received a response from the angel he'd been communicating with. The angel told him how the very night, Father Michael would be given a sign and he would not know where, how, or exactly when, but he would be given a sign. Again, I did nothing but worry. He had peaks and then troughs and then higher his peaks, the lower his troughs. And if his so-called angel failed to reappear that evening, if he didn't receive his so-called sign, though would be a change in his mood and it might plummet toward manageable or even dangerous lows. All I could do was hope for the best and be ready for anything, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened that night. Nothing. Father Michael's usual bedtime, the one he stuck to when he wasn't feeling manic was usually around 9.30 at night.

35:39He taught her off around nine and I was under the impression that he was undertaking his evening bedtime routine but then suddenly he reappeared fully dressed and began to put his coat on. I asked him where he was going, but he didn't respond. He just walked towards the front door of the cottage and then as he opened it, he looked at me and said, you're going to follow me. He didn't say it in imperative, it wasn't a command, it was a statement and emotion, a statement of cold, hard fact. Because as he stepped out of the cottage and began working off into the night, I rushed to put on my own coat and hat and then followed him. All of my questions went unanswered. Father Michael simply told me to be patient and then led me on a short walk out into a field just east of Submel Lane. I walked through the trees, crossed the public footpath and then stopped someplace in the middle of the field looking up toward Russia Lane. I once again asked Father Michael what he was doing but instead of furthered his missile of my question, he told me, we're waiting and then took something small from his pocket and unfolded it. It was a pen knife, it's Blake glinting in the pale moonlight. I pulled up my phone and placed a phone call to the local police exactly 9.47 poem, I remember. I told them Father Michael was having another of his episodes

36:42but that this was one much more severe than the others. The dispatcher taught me officers would be there with the minutes and then after the townup and went about trying to talk Father Michael out of Dune whatever I believed he was planning on Dune but he struck me, really struck me, I mean and it wasn't the knife that he produced. It was how common collector Dune was as I bit him to fold away the knife and reconsider whatever he was planning. Father Michael simply smiled. He told me all I needed to do was wait a few more minutes and then all would become clear. I told him the police were on their way in that in order to prevent a scandal he needed to make sure that knife was out of sight before they arrived. Father Michael didn't listen and once again simply told me to be patient. A wave of relief washed over me as I saw the blue flashing lights of the police car behind us and I began calling out to them as they advanced in our direction. Once they drew level I told them Father Michael had a knife at which point the officer produced an electric stun gun. I saw him produce a stun gun then turn back towards Father Michael intent on begging him for done the knife and something happened that I have yet to reconcile with my insanity. Father Michael was looking up into the skies completely deaf to the police of both myself and the police officers and then out of nowhere there was a great green flash

37:44in the sky before a sharp streak of bright white light bursts from the green flash. It was one of the most incredible things I'd ever seen and then as the strange lights faded and a great boom echoed across the skies Father Michael turned. He told me his question been answered that he was to be martyred at the hands of the man standing in the field with him and the man was immediately approached me with a knife holding it up by the blade as the police screened at him to stand still and put the knife down all three of us myself and the two officers began backing away from Father Michael begging him to stop what he was doing before somebody got how he commanded me to tell him over and over again. And each time I refused he became more and more at then finally he completely lost his mind. He turned the knife around charged at me with it raised above his head and was instantly shot by the stun gun world in policemen. He dropped to the ground fell unconscious and was swiftly transported to hospital where it was assured that he had every hope of making a full recovery. But Father Michael never woke up. The stun guns charge in tandem with an diagnosed heart condition had a terrible effect on Father Michael's cardiovascular health. He grew worse and worse until eventually he simply passed away in the early hours of the following morning. I was the first to hear the news and when I did I wept.

38:44But it wasn't so much shock or grief that brought tears to my eyes. It was that Father Michael had been proven right. Father Michael believed God had told him how he be martyred that knife by someone standing in that field with him. He believed the witch can meet your right which has since been completely unscientificly blamed was his sign that he was indeed to become a holy martyr. He didn't believe he'd leave that field alive and in more ways than one, the actions of that policeman proved him exactly right. I have no idea how Father Michael knew about the meteorite. Sometimes I think it was all just some terrible coincidence and that it's sudden appearance was a matter of misfortune. But other times I think differently. Frankly, I'm not sure what to think anymore. The only thing I know for certain about the incident is that it joins the long list of other strange occurrences that have taken place in winter and over the years. And outless, there will be many, many more. Back in 2013, I was a deputy manager at a hardware store here in Delaware. For my morning shifts, I'd open the place up, get the computer and registers up and running, then I'd head into the office to check our answering machine. This was probably one of the more crucial aspects

39:45of my morning routine because that was my way of finding out if any deliverers had cancelled. If anything was arriving earlier than expected and also if anyone had called in sick that morning. So I sit down with my coffee and I listen to maybe two or three fairly routine messages. Then, when I hit play on the next one, I recognized a voice right away. I'd been half expecting to hear Greg's voice on one of the messages because he was supposed to be there that morning to help me open up. Hearing his voice was kind of a relief of first because at least an either he was okay and just sick. But that's not what he'd called to tell us. Greg was an older guy close to retirement age and he was quite possibly the sweetest man I'd had the pleasure of walking with. So naturally, when I didn't see him that morning, I was concerned. I figured he was going to say how he wasn't feeling too good, how he was going to take the day off and as much as it was going to stop trying to find coverage for him, I was just glad to know that he was okay. But what he had to tell us was anything but reassuring. The message started with good morning ladies which made me smile right away because it was how he greeted us every morning. But then he went on to say I'm real sorry but I don't think I'll be making it

40:46into work tomorrow morning and gonna see Sherry. I didn't know who this Sherry person was but I also wasn't super close with Greg. Not like he was with the ladies who worked in the store's floor or registers and so I would to ask them. I asked my coworker a woman named Jeanine who Sherry was in relation to Greg and then the way that she looked at me told me almost everything I needed to know. Sherry was Greg's wife. At least she had been until she passed away. I guess that doesn't make her not his wife but you see what I mean. And so when he said he was going to see Sherry, a figure that he meant that he was going to visit her grave or something. But then when I said that and expressed why I wasn't sure that warranted a sick day, a Jeanine totally agreed. She says it wasn't like Greg told of a colon sick and he only ever visited Sherry's grave on the anniversary of the birthday and usually once around the holidays. I didn't ask Jean, well, what does it mean when he says he's going to see Sherry? And after she turned a wider shade of pale, she simply responded with, I think he better go make some phone calls. To which I did. I called Greg on his cell, maybe two or three times, hoping maybe he just wasn't hearing the phone. And I tried his home phone number

41:47but again, my calls went unanswered. I put the phone down and then I swear to God not even two seconds goes by before it rings. I'm hoping it's Greg, but it's not. It's Greg's son. Then when I asked if his dad was okay, he told me, no, Greg was not okay. In fact, he passed away during the night. Greg's son said that this is what he figured from having seen a scene appeared as dad at Goffin a bunch of paperwork done, including his will before laying down in an easy chair and just slipping away during the night. He watered his house plants, paid his bills, put on his best suit and shined his shoes and then after leaving messages for us and one for his choir director letting him know that he wouldn't need to write to practice, Greg lay down in his recliner and just died. There was nothing to suggest that he'd expedited his exit, so to speak. There were no pills, no blood, no clear plastic bags or anything of that nature. Everything looked entirely painless and entirely natural. But then somehow I find that all the more haunting. The thing that scares me is sort of how he knew it was his time. Do we all know when we're close to death? And do we all feel so God unchirriable

42:48or was Greg just not afraid to go? The whole thing with Greg isn't the scariest thing that's ever happened to me. I've been in a 14 car pileup where a family of four died and let me tell you that was way more terrifying than finding out Greg had passed away peacefully. But that accident doesn't stick with me the way Greg's sudden passing does and I guess that's because all of those and answered questions regarding one of the few things we all share. Man, woman or child, Easter Wes, North or South are unstoppable and inevitable end. I know this is a bit of an unusual request, but I was hoping you could give me some advice on how to handle a situation with a male colleague of mine. Now I'd rather not say where I live or work or anything like that. I'd like to just try and keep this as anonymous as possible, but who is the gist of my story? We first met when I started working at a large retail store that had lots of employees. He was the first person to really make an effort to be friendly with me and I thought that we might end up being work friends, but I was wrong. It quite quickly progressed from him being warm but platonically friendly to asking me to go out for drinks with him. I wasn't looking for a relationship at the time and I knew exactly what the implications

43:49of his invitation was so each time. He'd asked me I'd politely decline helping. He'd eventually take the hint, but he didn't. He seemed to think that if he just kept asking that, I'd eventually say yes. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't like him like that, but I also didn't want to lie and say that I had to boyfriend. In the end, I thought the best thing to do would be to transfer to a different department, but it became this sort of cat and mouse game of him following me wherever I went in terms of developmental transfer. In the end, I had to go to a char about it. I only then did this job as transfers without cluing him into the fact that I'd approached them. I'd made the mistake of giving him my phone number when I first started as he'd offered to work any shifts I needed covering, but after realizing he was only going to use that to pester me, I blocked his number. I made my social media private, but he sent me a follow request anyways and I chose to just ignore it once again assuming that he'd have the emotional maturity to just understand his attention was not appreciated. But again, he did not. His increasing stoke a like behavior wasn't all that much of a problem at the time. I'd made sure our two departments were just about as far removed from one another as it was possible to be,

44:49so it wasn't like we bumped into each other often. And when we did, it was just sort of a smile and a not kind of exchange as we went about our duties. That then one evening, after we'd all closed up and I was walking to my car, I looked up from a phone to see him standing near my driver's side like he'd been waiting for me. It was early winter, so it had long gone dark by the time we got out. I'd parked my car quite far from the store, so there was hardly anyone else around as I was walking. And then suddenly there's my cheerful stalker who's basically cornering me in a dark car park. I was a mix of startled and nervous, but I just did what I usually did in that sort of situation and tried to be as friendly and disarming as possible. I asked what I could do for him and he started trying to make small talk. I humid him for a moment or two and then very politely asked him what he wanted. Then when he asked if I could give him a lift home, I felt my heart jump into my throat. I knew he lived on my rat home, close to it anyway, but I knew he knew that too. So turning him dumb wasn't going to be easy without cunning across as rude or selfish. So I'd note, this also might seem like a perfect in normal exchange and I might seem selfish in not giving him a lift home,

45:51but this was not a normal exchange. This guy couldn't take the hint that I wasn't into him, so he clearly wasn't playing with a full deck and now he's blocking me from getting into my car in a dark car park after making sure that there's no one else around but me in him. I'm not trying to use this to slag off men, so please don't think I'm doing that, but sometimes guys just don't appreciate how punch-shittingly terrifying that kind of behavior is to girls. He was quite capable of overpowering me if he wanted to, which is why I had to stay on my best behavior and keep him sweet. But he made that very, very difficult for me and part of me thinks he did it deliberately. In the nicest voice I could possibly master, I told him I was too busy to give him a lift and then made up some excuse about having to pick up my mom from her friend's house. I just really didn't want to be alone in the car with him. I had visions of dropping him off his flat, asking me to come inside and then making a big scene and refusing to get out of my car after I rejected him, none of which I am emotionally equipped to deal with. And so quite naturally, I didn't want him anywhere I couldn't physically remove him, especially the passenger seat of my car. I gave him my excuse and he seemed to take it on the chain, but then made a sharp segue into the ignored

46:52Instagram folder request. And when he asked me if I'd seen it, I lie. I told him I hadn't and I'd been taking a bit of a mental health break from social media, which was partially true. He then counted that since we were colleagues to be nice to be able to keep in touch on social media. I tried the path of least resistance and told him I check my install the first chance of God, but then instead of leaving me alone, he started asking about my phone number and why I wasn't answering my phone. I had to tell him I got any number and hadn't memorized it yet, but he smelled a lie in an instant. And in that moment, the way he looked at me, chilled me to the bone. Upon detecting the light, the smile was immediately white from his face. He went cheerful and warm to frighteningly cold and it took just a second for it to happen. I started to feel very unsafe around him. He said the colds weren't connecting, but the little robotic voice didn't say the number wasn't in service. It said the person was available and apparently my now not so cheerful stalker understood the difference. He started asking if I blocked his phone number and then before I could even answer, he asked, why did you do that? What have I ever done to upset you so much that you'd block my number?

47:54I tried to dig myself out of the situation as best I could by giving the sonnest most non-confrontational answer possible, most of which involved me claiming that I essentially was a ditty ahead who barely knew how Instagram or phone carriers even worked. But that wasn't good enough for him. He kept asking why and how and what questions, sometimes without even letting my answer go from the previous and an end, they completely lost my rack and I went mental on him. I told him I wasn't into him and that he should have gotten the message weeks ago and that he needed to leave me alone or I'm going to H.R. without telling him it would be for the second time. He gave a bit more math asking if I was messing around and if I was really that petty, but he knew what he was doing. I'd rejected him and now he wanted to shame me. It had done since all this time, really. Only after he was satisfied with burying me, he did he relent and walk away, but the damage had been done. I know that might sound a bit overly sensitive and I absolutely hate any kind of conflict and I find myself welling up with tears every time the adrenaline starts to subside and that incident was no exception. It might sound naive and retrospect but after that I really did think it was all over. I tried to be strong,

48:54but I think all my stalker saw was weakness and now I know his little car park confrontation is only the beginning of what he had installed for me. He was quiet for a while, my stalker I mean. He stayed away from me at work and whenever we did run into one another, he didn't even acknowledge my presence. And it suited me, but I could tell he felt severely humiliated. But to be brutally honest, I didn't care. I wish he'd taken the hint way back when he first started asking me out, but that's just a way the cookie crumple sometimes, isn't it? And the point is I thought it was over. I thought he'd finally leave me alone, but he hasn't. And now it's only gotten worse. Last week I woke up in the middle of the night to a text on my phone. I also needed to wiser while I was there, to check the notification to see who it was from and saw it was from an unknown number. I was half asleep when I first started reading it, but by the time I was maybe two or three lines and my heart was pounding. The text was from my stalker and it said something along the lines of, hey, my name. I think I'm parked next to your car. Do you live at my address? Because I swear to your car I'm parked next to. What are the chances, huh?

49:55He even sent a picture just to make sure that I knew that he hadn't made some kind of mistake or was just messing with me as revenge for scolding him. My heart was in my throat again. I was wide awake. A thousand million different questions all running through my head at once with the primary one being how the hell did he find me? My overarching theory is that he followed me home. He obviously got in self-acar, didn't he? And obviously with me not talking to him, there was no way of me knowing that he bought one. He could have followed me home in right behind me the whole time and unless I really looked into my rear view to see who the driver's behind me where there's no way out of known that he was following. I think I'd have figured that part out. The only thing I can't figure out is what to do next. I know this might be too much of an ask, but is it possible you could read this out? Let your listeners know what I'm going through right now and then they could give me maybe the best advice in the comments. I'm not talking about legal stuff either because I have absolutely no faith in a police to be able to keep me safe. I also don't think moving back in with my parents is an option because they live within five minutes drive of the place we work in. I don't want my car sitting outside the place and the off chance for my stalker spots

50:56and then knows where they live to. I'm all them willing to crit the place where I work and I think there's probably what I'm going to do the first available opportunity but I just want to know if anyone else has had the same issue. Doesn't have faith in the police to put a stop to it and ended up doing something that they don't know made it all go away. Also my dad's not around anymore but I really don't want to tell my brother about this because if I do he'll probably just end up going to prison. I just know he will. And they say that because people are inevitably going to ask why don't you get your dad or other male relatives involved in the short answer to that as I don't have any. I know this probably wasn't the scariest thing you've ever read and I feel a bit weird sending it to you and those people who's legit nearly died in the experiences they tell you about. But please, when I say I'm really scared I mean it from the bottom of my soul. I'm scared this isn't going to be something I laugh about in 10 or 15 years that obsessive admirer I roll my eyes about when my future husband reminds me of it. I'm scared this is going to be the last chapter of my short life. The sky is escalating and I really will try anything to make it stop because there's only one way these things end up that escalation doesn't stop.

51:56I'm scared I don't think I can even bring myself to say what that end result might be. And that is the end. Thank you for listening and I will see you in the next one.