Strange Behaviour

Kalika here. I have seen multiple instances of strange behaviour while running, in every party imaginable. Some speculate it is a result of the rakshasa's influence, and some speculate it is from the psychological strain that is present with feeling under constant threat. Perhaps these things are one in the same.

So, Min's brand of strange behaviour caused a slight ruckus. It was around 3 in the morning. She puts on the radio sometimes while cleaning out weapons. There is not much to be said for nighttime radio, even by radio standards, but it does fill the silence, so I don't mind. Even though she never puts BBC4 on.

"...clear skies. Unusual, we've just had a music request from an Aidan. You're up late. Enjoy this eighties classic..."

At the name, Min looked up, and checked her phone. Aidan, I had heard that name before, possibly when she was on the phone. (I'm not eavesdropping. I simply have excellent hearing and a tendency to sit near the door when she takes phone calls.) The opening chords of a song began. Her eyes widened.

"...Bad Medicine by Bon Jovi."

That's when she just crashed, sobbing hysterically. She fought for a deep breath. I stood to see what was happening. A surge of vomit smothered a would-be scream from her. She crawled through the putrid grit and snatched up the radio, trying to change the channel but accidentally breaking the dial off. So she pounded it against the wall. As the radio grew damaged, the song morphed into a horrifically distorted version until it finally stopped. Her muscles gave, she lay there for a few minutes. I went to see to her, but she pushed my hand way, pulled herself up and wiped the vomit off her mouth with her sleeve, breathing deeply still. Staggering, she grabbed her coat and her Colt.

"I'll be back. Don't follow me," she muttered, and slammed the door behind her.

I would have followed, but I felt it best to recount this first otherwise I fear the details of what was said on the radio would slip my mind. If I can gather more information, this will make an interesting addition to my notes on psychological effects of running.

Failed

I failed the mission. Fighting on CCTV is not my jam. I don't know why Kalika insisted. We don't need footage tying us to anything or any place. Or should I say, me. If a servant or whatever other abominations is prey on this chaos gets hold of this, it's my damn image. Which one of us the paranoid one? Can't really say.

I'll stop with the bullshit excuses.

Alright, what happened. Well, an area where security cameras that Kalika can hack and my target meet is an alleyway by a frequented bar. I chalked a Timberwolf logo near the entrance. I'll be honest, it was almost a little bit too easy to get the target into place. Everything else was an entirely fucking different matter, hence why I've been recovering for a month. Shooting would attract make too loud a sound. It was remote, sure, but you don't risk it. A combat knife was my next choice. Straight for the throat. Still, I braced myself in case it went wrong. You can't afford to underestimate anyone. Not when they're built like the proverbial brick shithouse they just walked out of.

Even I wasn't ready for how damn strong he was despite that. I was parried and bashed into a wall by my neck. Everything blurred and span. Jesus, my head burned. A blue-white glow approached. Initially it seemed like some kind of phone. I grabbed for it; he wasn't calling for help or I was screwed. He clung to it. While I was struggling for it, the details of the world crept back in. It wasn't a phone. When my ears stopped rushing, I could hear it too. A Taser. And like I said, he had way more muscle than me. There was no way I was going to just prise it from him. Plus, pulling an active Taser towards me could pretty easily go wrong and by wrong I mean impending fucking death. 

So, the key was to look for the weakness. He was more focused on the Taser and steering it than anything else. So I slammed the knife into his opposite shoulder and twisted it. He made a sound somewhere between pain and laughter. Which was kind of disturbing, but nothing new. Him dropping the Taser, that was the goal. I kicked it away from us but left myself open to several punches. When I started tasting blood, I went for him again, the neck, with the knife, trying to dodge and approach from the side. But in an alleyway there aren't many directions you can attack from. Everything started spinning again when my head was knocked against a wall again. Countless bruises, a few sprains and one broken rib later, I realised I was no longer in control of the fight. So I started sprinting away, swiping up the Taser on the way.

Yeah, I ran away. Those who hate me, say your piece about me being a coward, give me your worst. The slight plus side is that Kalika trusts me for trying, but that's the participation medal of the situation. I'm not sure I trust her for sending me after someone under circumstances that really weren't in my favour just to prove I'm not a traitor. The new Taser is sort of a bonus. As per training I'm discouraged to use any unknown weapon unless I'm out of options. Plus after the fight it got pretty battered and a faulty Taser has the potential to backfire just as badly as any gun. Maybe Kalika will fix it up for me. She owes me that much.

Mutated Maenads and Uncertain Loyalties

Kalika here.

The mutation of what I estimate is 30% of Maenads into grotesque humanoids is a relatively unexplored subject. I plan to spend some time studying this but I wanted to discuss something of interest: the eyes of Maenad that Min brought have tapeta lucida.

The tapetum lucidum is a reflective layer found in the eyes of many animals that operate in low-light conditions, such as cats, aye ayes and wolves. If you have ever seen a photograph of a cat or dog that was taken with flash, you will notice its eyes appear to be glowing. This the tapetum reflecting the light back. Light is reflected back through the retina, increasing visibility in dark conditions. The "pay-off" is usually a lower clarity of vision. In some creatures, mutated Maenads included, this can be negated by strategic distribution of rods and cones.

When I associated with my previous group, one member claimed he had fought mutated Maenads by shining a bright torch in their eyes. We never discussed it in great detail, but on the basis that mutated Maenad eyes might not adjust as quickly to light levels as humans, it is now worth consideration.

Min is due back soon from getting the Timberwolf. I sent her after a very specific one and got into the CCTV there. I needed to witness it for myself. Why? Well, to be honest, while it is partially true that I needed all these samples, I sent Min to do this primarily to test if she was a servant or not. I had good reason to suspect as such that I will detail in a moment.

Min, I have some questions about your loyalties, and if you try to silence me by deleting this then I will know you have something to hide.

-Why did you delete that file? I checked and the folder it was in was last edited just after you got a hold of it and I hadn't seen it. So I know you deleted it, now what's on it, and why did you deny it?

-Who are you hiding from when you walk down the street with the green neon sign?

-Why, like clockwork, are you going out every 4pm on a Friday?

Now, I am headed out on a field trip, so you have time to think about your answers, and I find out if it is bullshit.

Maenad

Next target was a Maenad. Kalika wanted its blood, and then later texted me saying she wanted its eyes. Its eyes. What the fuck, right? Good job I'm such a fucking giver.

The Maenad I found was on the bounty list for striking down a lot of Timberwolves. They didn't have a picture of it, but the grotesque description was enough that I decided to go at night. Its residence was an dark, overgrown garden stretching to a hospital, both must have been abandoned for quite some time. The ground was either way too dry or way too drenched. I didn't take the footpath to the hospital, it seemed too obvious. Instead I decided to go through the cover of the winding trees. always keeping an eye on anything that might come sprinting out the hospital. Maenads are fast, faster than you or I. Unfortunately that also applies to their intellect.

"Jesus shit!"

The ground gave beneath me. I fell down maybe three metres. Doesn't sound like much until you actually have to fall that distance. Plus, you know how it feels when you get all your gear and you end up in a pitfall Team Rocket could have fucking dug?

I had to use my combat knives to ice-pick my way up, which took a long fucking time. Or at least, like the fall, it feels pretty long when a Maenad might charge in any second. I swear, even the crows seemed to be laughing at me. Eventually I hauled my arse up onto ground level again and made my way to the hospital. I could already smell the Maenad.

"Jesus bollocks!"

I hit the dirt as something tackled me from the side (sans mercy - my shoulder is knackered.) Used the momentum to roll away and hit a disused, overturned lawn mower. This being a Maenad, or maybe me just being slow and making excuses, I didn't have long enough to move. That's when I was being choked by something. Garden hose pipe. Admittedly I wasn't thinking straight at that point; I pulled my Colt out and tried to fire it, of course I left the bastarding safety on. Still, the gun distracted the Maenad who kicked it away from us. I braced my foot against the lawn mower, hauled the rusted blade off and rammed it into the Maenad's carotid. Impaled it pretty good into the ground. Messy, but I was able to collect some blood easily.

It actually said something. It said, why are you doing this?

I didn't have a good answer for that, so I said nothing. Taking out the eyes was the gross bit. All the soap and scalding water in the world will never make me forget how it felt getting my fingers into the socket and prying them out.

Plus the crows will eat well this spring.

Oathbreaker

One of the things I like and despise about Kalika, she's very straightforward. No song and dance, she just came up to me and said, "I need some Oathbreaker blood, some Timberwolf blood and some Maenad blood. For analysis. ASAP."

"Why?"

"You can gather it in these test tubes." She put some capped test tubes into my bag followed by some paper, sellotape and a pen. "Use these to mark which blood is which."

I didn't appreciate not being told why, but I did appreciate not having to stand guard; sometimes going out in the field is a good thing. Being the hunter rather than the hunted, it's a good feeling. Anyway, before I left, I printed off all the bounty pages on the USB that were Oathbreakers, picked up my knife and my Colt. That's why there was a silence, I had to fully commit to the mission and gather intel on the target (good fucking god, I almost sound like Kalika or Incognito.)

The Oathbreaker I found worked as a chemist sort who was on there for experimentation that left a handful of Timberwolves dead or wishing they were dead, and for aiding proxies. She had the lowest bounty of all, so I figured she'd be less on guard compared to any Oathbreakers that know they're on the shitlist. I approached by foot; she lived on a farm, growing some freaking bizarre plants I've never seen before. There was an enclosed greenhouse with this huge dark plant growing. I couldn't determine much about the shape of it, but it seemed to breathe in and out. I was about to go in and look at it in more detail until I saw the human and animal bones on the floor.

Continuing to stare and try to work out the deal was my mistake. It distracted me from the mission until projectile hit the pane just centimetres from my head. I dived behind a tractor tyre to go over what I knew. From the angle it likely came somewhat from above, so whoever shot was up high.

Now by instinct, I slowed my breathing and held my Colt properly. It stopped my hands shaking. Freaking out helps nobody but your opponents. That's when I saw the ladder on the side of the large steel circular structure. A slurry pit. I poked my foot out to bait the shooter, they fired, it hit the sole of my boot. Charging the tank, I basically hurled myself up the ladder to find the Oathbreaker reloading a crossbow, of all weapons.

I grabbed her arm and plunged the blade into her wrist. Shaking the test tube out of my sleeve, I crushed blood out of her arm as fast as possible and got the sample. She managed to tackle me onto the slurry pit cover and got a shot on my leg with the crossbow. It scarcely hurt; I looked down in surprise, and then I saw it. Little syringe-like marks on the projectile. A tranquilliser dart. Now I was on borrowed time. If I ran, or freaked out, my heart would race and the tranquilliser would take effect faster.

Her foot powered into my chest suddenly. I fell back on the ladder platform, blade making a hole in the slurry pit cover. I got an idea. Tore into the slurry pit cover with my knife, following the circumference, then extended the tear much further with two bullets from the Colt. One for the edge, and one for towards the centre. Christ, it was fucking a putrid smell, one of those smells that has a force to it. The Oathbreaker dropped straight through the rip. Rapidly enough for her to be unable to stop it. I think I saw the fear on her face. She was going to drown in liquid shit. Nobody survives that. You can't swim in it or lie on top of it; it's worse than quicksand. Even if you could navigate it, the fumes knock you out. It was too dark to see her fall in. Still, I heard the grotesque slapping sound reverberating through the steel tank as her body hit the viscous manure.

I practically fell down the ladder and stumbled into a barn to pass out as safely as possible. As you know from the fact I'm writing this, I made it back OK. Although that was the longest shower I have ever had.

Bounty

Kalika retrieved new information on Graham, or "Source 1" as she is calling him.

She found files that were bounties. There's a bounty on Graham as part of a purging of the local proxy system that you've probably heard of or perhaps taken a bullet for. Now this is happening plenty, so it wasn't especially out of the ordinary until we saw the price being offered. It was £6,500, fucking absurdly high for his age and ability. Why is it so high? I can't get my head around it. There must be something we're missing here.

Wanna hear something crazier? The files I took from the Timberwolves have a near-identical bounty. I say near-identical, it was the same stuff but written into the Timberwolf bounty format. So I don't think they stole this file from proxies. There must have been some kind of shared knowledge or system...

(No, of course I'm not going to take the bounty. As much as I need the money, I have my limits, and Kalika has her research. And I don't help servant organisations, as a general rule.)

Kalika and I are approaching a difficult decision. People are going to be gunning for him. Maybe I should start tracking anyone who's hunting him and see what I can get.

Errands

I've become everything I feared: Kalika's errand girl.

Records of proxies have largely gone under here as a coherent organisation shattered into many loners and gangs. But there's one group that rushed in to fill the power and office work vacuum, and that's the Timberwolves.

What I initially thought was going to a be a difficult task actually proved to be quite easy. Not because of any skill on my part, but because Kalika pointed out all we needed was access to a Timberwolf base computer. Since we figured the information would be shared between local divisions, all we had to do was find a smaller branch that wasn't as closely guarded.

So we found one, in Dover of all places. I was able to climb some bins and ease through a second floor window. I got in there, ducked by the computer, loaded the shit onto a USB. As I was leaving I think one of the security guards for an adjacent building saw me, but I must have got away fast enough.

The bad news is that the Timberwolves see this they'll have probably tightened security there. If they haven't already. No catching the ferry or taking the Eurotunnel to France for us. Wouldn't risk it. They don't shoot to stagger you.

Dream Diary #2: Storm

I see a hurricane turning, slowly shredding everything in its path.

My head says it is a hurricane. Everything I ever logically laid out in my life says hurricane.

My blood says it is a party.

I wake up with my head pounding.

Kalika here.

I wanted a chance to write out and explain this myself.

I called in some contacts and took the substance to a bigger lab with better equipment. With the small sample I wanted to go more in depth and prove my theory.

It was blood, but with fewer red blood cells, and therefore a bigger percentage of plasma. It appeared to have a crystallisation adjutant added, collectively this produced an orange substance. That is the basic oversight of it, but none of this is what stood out to me.

As soon as I knew it was blood, I began looking for azoth, which came out positive along with a similar grey material I couldn't identify. I then started testing for drugs, which was when I moved to the bigger lab. The emails sent do not make any kind of word or meaningful anagram. Rather, they match a chemical formula, which is C12H16N2. And as I suspected, there were abnormally high traces of this chemical - N,N-Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT. 

For the uninitiated, DMT is a powerful and fast-acting psychedelic, a rather uncommon street drug, and an active ingredient in ayahuasca. It induces feelings of extreme joy, terror, anxiety or spirituality. Users given high enough doses often report visual and auditory hallucinogenic experiences such as accessing a "higher plane of existence", meeting what is described as "intelligent beings" that they are able to communicate with. These beings are typically described as humanoid, but often supernatural in nature. So I initially suspected that this proxy was taking this substance recreationally. Min gave me a few more details about his behaviour and how he seemed to have different states of consciousness, and this matched the effects of DMT.

However, in the blood I found no evidence of the usual impurities that DMT or other drugs are cut with, and I find it hard to believe a teenage boy as unstable as Graham would be able to get hold of purified DMT, or be able to purify it himself - it is hard enough to test for, to the extent where I needed a lab. While I cannot conclusively rule out that it wasn't externally produced and ingested by someone, I wanted to discuss something else about this compound. It has been theorised DMT can be endogenic in mammals, a.k.a. naturally occurring in the body. In 2013 researchers found the compound in the pineal gland of rats. It has been put forward as a scientific explanation of alien abductions and spiritual experiences. A leading researcher on DMT has hypothesised that in near death, the pineal gland produces a significant amount of DMT that would cause near-death experiences.

I haven't identified the grey composite, and neither could anybody at the lab. It seemed, to us, quite comparable to azoth in structure and mystery. For now I'm calling it "gris", after the French word for grey.

This is based off one sample with an unreliable source. But if we were to assume everything about this was legitimate, I would say that as it seems to interfere with other chemicals in the brain, azoth, and/or perhaps that other grey substance, can somehow stimulate the pineal gland to produce DMT.

This is all very hypothetical. I plan to do further research on our source.

Kalika

Kalika

I have a room mate of sorts now, although I don't know how great that is if you both hold a gun at your sides when interacting.

She contacted me by email asking to study the substance. Since I've made no progress and she seems to have the know-how, I agreed. We settled on a meetup at an alley behind the bar and immediately pulled guns out on each other. I showed her the emails and let her go through my entire phone just to prove who I was. That basically set the tone for the ensuing hidden weapon checks and our tense walk to where I was staying. Things settled a bit after. At least, once a certain amount of time had gone by without anybody shooting or stabbing anything.

"You can call me Kalika." She set up a fold-out table and got out a micro burner and some test tubes.

"Kalika. OK. That's a pretty name."

"It's not my name. It's what you can call me." Kalika pulled out what looked like a small microscope, and held it up to show me. "I lived off nothing but one Pot Noodle a day for months to afford this, so if you break it, I break you. And for when you put this on your blog, the same goes for Graham and any of those other bumblefucks."

"I'll make sure I post about it. How long have you been running for?"

"From the rakshasa? Twelve years, maybe. Since I was ten."

"Ten? How did you survive?"

"I had a group I ran with who protected me, showed me the ropes and the guns," she said shortly, tossing a sealed bag of azoth on the table. "I was raised on bullets and wack theories on just about all the rakshasas you can think of. And my group ain't here now, so don't bother asking. We're not friends, and I don't need what happened publicised."

"Right."

"Anyway, I've got a pretty good idea of what this stuff might be based on those letter emails you got. It fits into a theory I had. I'd say those emails basically confirm it."

"What's the theory?"

"It can wait. Need to translate it anyway." She pulled out a notebook.

"What's that test tube thing with the stuff in it?"

"It's not a test tube. It's a gas chromatograph."

Not knowing what any of the fuck that was, I decided to leave her to it. Now she's hard at work, and I'm typing this up while guarding the door. Hopefully this gets somewhere.

Dream Diary #1: Faces

I dream I'm running. Black leaves crunch under my feet. I fall. I get up. But there's a crowd.

I see in it faces, faces I used to know. Faces of the dead. But one of them is missing. Then I realise two are missing. One wears a camouflage coat. The other is obscured with a blinding light.

I can't stare at the light. It knows what I did.

I woke up with bruises on my arms and dirt on my hands.

The latest Graham threat? "DON'T BE NEAR RADIOS". These are getting weirder and weirder.

Running - What You'll Need

It's come to my attention we may or may not have a new runner on their own, or possibly with another runner. Since the appropriate authority has not stepped up, I will. Consider this your official Runner shopping list.

Items

1) A water bottle. You can fill it up at public buildings with bathrooms, restaurants, whatever. Don't try to conserve your water - you'll be better at tearing them a new one while fully hydrated.

2) A flask. Sometimes water isn't going to cut it, and you want caffeine, soup or generally something more substantial. A warm drink is good for morale, and morale is good for survival. Flasks are heavy so they also make a pretty good improvised blunt weapon. And pouring scalding hot coffee on someone never gets old.

3) A scarf, preferably a thick one. It's multipurpose. You can use it for warmth, anonymity, wrap it around wounds, fold it into a makeshift pillow.

4) A roll of toilet paper. Whether it's for clearing your nose on cold nights, wiping tears or just plain wiping your ass with and stuffing it into an attacker's mouth.

5) A plastic jug. We all piss and unfortunately there aren't toilets everywhere, particularly not in hiding places. After use, throwing it also deters attackers quite effectively, even more so than the conventional weapon brandishing and yelling creative threats.

6) Toiletries. Soap, baby wipes, hand sanitiser, toothpaste, roll-on deodorant, just some things to keep you clean and blend in with the general populace, or sanitise wounds. Also, dry shampoo. Period pads, if applicable. Cheaper than tampons.

7) Cereal bars. If you're travelling and can't get to anywhere with food, these will keep you going.

8) Warm clothes. I can't stress this enough. Get a lot of layers, and don't forget gloves and socks. A waterproof is also a godsend.

9) Access to at least one thing of sentimental value. A picture on your phone, or a teddy, a necklace of your mother's, or anything like that. Whatever it takes to keep your head and remember who you are, is worth having.

Good Places To Know

1) Bakeries. OK, you're probably wondering what the fuck this is, but seriously. Bakeries make food on the day and then they throw it out in the evening when they close. Just find a side or back alley around the bakery and loot. It's relatively fresh and clean food, and free.

2) Petrol stations. You can get food here, they've always got toilets and these are usually open 24 hours with at least someone staffing it. If you feel unsafe, this is a good last resort refuge.

3) Public swimming pools. These places have showers with hot water. Good for the soul. 

4) Public libraries. A roof over your head, computer access, and relatively enough to keep you entertained. If it's not too busy and you're sneaky enough, you can get away with sleeping there. There are plenty of shelves and storerooms to hide in and get some shut-eye.

5) Food banks. Obviously. You get free food here.

6) Shelters. You can use a search engine to find one close by.

Things To Know

1) Not all the threats you face will be monsters or their servants. The weather is sometimes a bitch and the people are bitches too. Just keep that in mind.

2) When someone hurts you or makes you feel unsafe, derail all pleasantries. Exercise your bitch-slapping hand. Don't give into the social conditioning to be polite and not make a fuss. You scream and fight, you run, you do whatever it takes to get out alive.

3) If it comes to a fight, remember this isn't a Victorian gentlemen's boxing match. There are no rules, no etiquette in real fighting. Go straight for the weak spots - eyes, balls, neck, solar plexus, stamp on their jaw when they're down. You might not get a chance to land too many hits, so make every strike count in both placement and strength. This is one of the first things I was taught by my mentor and I promise you, it has never steered me wrong.

4) Running away is underrated. Adrenaline is just as much for running away as it is punching predators to a pulp. Not every fight has to end in someone dying or being knocked out. Not every fight even has to start at all. There's no shame in running like hell. People totally win medals for running like hell.

5) Carrying a weapon can be a *sunglasses* double-edged sword depending on police and security. Laws vary so I can't really give a blanket statement on this. If you do get hold of something like a gun or a knife, don't wave it around too much, have a damn good hiding place (or a fucking immaculate excuse) and as soon as you get the chance, have someone teach you how to use it.

6) Wherever possible, get a decent night's sleep. Or day's. If you dream, that's a good sign. Even if you have nightmares, that's a good sign. You're processing what's going on and your brain is preparing you to handle threats. Servants count on you being sleepless, being unfed, being dehydrated, being scared. So, if they pick on you, give them something to think about in hospital.

This is by no means comprehensive, but I hope it's a good starting point. Stay hydrated, stay fed, get sleep, and when someone attacks, you bring your A-game. And then you strangle them with it and throw them into a river. Whatever works.

Oh Shit, Wrong Email

FUUUUUCK

I wrote my own bloody email address wrong in my own bloody contact page.

I am a tosser.

God knows how many people have tried to contact me and I haven't know. Whether it's few or loads, I don't think I want to know either way.

minalexandria97@gmail.com

There it is.

Now let me get this swear out of my system.

FUUUUCK. Shite. Bollocks. Merde. Mierda. Блядь! Faen. I am a shitbrain. I shit liquid bollocks into my own head. I have been twatted in the face with the brutal cricket bat of my own fuckery.

That was a joke. Swearing is never out of my system, bitches.

Letters

Over time, someone (and my gut says that someone is Graham) has been sending letters to me. Not letter as in a written note, email actually, but the alphabet kind of letters. Nothing that I can comprehend, but I better lay it out in case I forget. For twelve consecutive days I was sent a daily email that simply said C. Then the emails stopped. Then I received sixteen daily emails of the letter H. Finally, two days and daily, the letter N. Twelve Cs, sixteen Hs, two Ns. Is someone fucking with me or spamming me, or does this mean something? Because I really can't think of anything this would anagram to or spell. And if this involves numbers, forget it. Dyscalculia shot that horse in the face a long time ago.

Game Changer

I was taught how to fight and shoot. And I was instructed on how to bring down proxy groups systematically. That meant cutting down proxy leaders, cutting off their resources, their power. My mentor was trained in combat, in sabotage, like nobody I've ever known.

It feels like, in this particular city, the game has changed here. And I'm more than just a little out of my depth. Servants are popping up seriously fast, faster than I remember. Taking out leaders of proxy gangs has become even more whack-a-mole that it was before. You smash one gang in and it splinters into six more. People are losing their minds faster. Missing persons reports, mutilations, turf wars. And however much it's covered up, I know everyone here senses something is going on. How much longer can we keep the lid on this?

I need to figure this out. And not get killed. I have a good track record of the latter, I guess. Not so much the former.

Substance

So, I fed the substance to a spider. This wasn't easy, by the way. The first time, it turns out if you put out a random substance even spiders are smart enough not to eat it.

The second time I managed to kill a fly and put the substance on it. This time the spider played ball. It scuttled around in some very weird, intricate but definitely precise patterns for a while. I tried using some pen ink to chart it but it wasn't particularly successful. That was until the spider started to spin a web. It was making a pattern until it suddenly died, crumpled up, or so I thought. Later I noticed it was gone, and I hadn't moved it. Can spiders pass out?