REMEMBRANCE : The Unchosen

What fragments of yourself have you sacrificed to survive? Would you recognize these lost pieces if they returned to you from across fractured timelines?

Episode 6 of Remembrance plunges us into the deepest mysteries of Unithur as our protagonist awakens to a countdown mysteriously written on his mirror. While caring for his increasingly frail mother, he discovers that reality itself seems to be bending around him—audio files change their content, computer systems operate independently, and his childhood nickname "Poppy Seed" begins appearing in impossible places.

Through a series of increasingly unsettling encounters, we learn that Agent Moss was once chosen by Unithur but resisted, making her both uniquely qualified and dangerously motivated to interfere with our protagonist's progression. Meanwhile, his digital confidant ICU-93 reveals herself to be something far more profound than a distant hacker—possibly a memory loop designed specifically to guide him through the recursion.

The true nature of Unithur's selection process becomes clear: it doesn't choose the strongest or smartest individuals but rather those who remember—those whose identity can withstand witnessing alternate versions of themselves across collapsed timelines. The protagonist must face echo fragments of lives he never lived, including versions where he failed, where grief consumed him, and where he surrendered to forces beyond his understanding.

When forced to enter the recursion directly, he discovers "Poppy Seed" isn't just a term of endearment but a password protecting his core identity—a key his mother preserved for him across realities. The crown bestowed by Unithur isn't made of gold but of grief and memory, appearing only when the system recognizes someone willing to become guardian of every forgotten version of themselves.

As we approach the final episodes, ask yourself: what would change if you stopped trying to become something new and started remembering who you already were? Your answers might just be the thread that keeps your reality from unraveling.

"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."

Chapters

• 0:00 Episode Introduction
• 18:21 Cold Open: Agent Moss's Mission
• 22:26 ] Entering The Recursion
• 32:51 ] Understanding Remembrance

Transcript

Speaker 1: 0:00

Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast. My name is Anthony, your host, and today we are in episode six of Remembrance. So let's go ahead and let's get into the cold open. The room wasn't lit, it was backlit. Pale, soft white light diffusing through a grid of smoked glass, just enough to cast the outlines of everything she wasn't supposed to see clearly.

Speaker 1: 0:33

Agent Orilla Moss sat in silence, the back of her neck damp. Her hands rested on a manila folder that had no label, no seal, just weight, the kind of weight that changed the posture of her room. Across from her, two silhouettes unnamed, unranked, but not unfamiliar. You've been quiet. One of them said she didn't look up. There's nothing to say. You were chosen once. Other replied that carries expectations. I didn't fail. She said almost too quickly. No, the first agreed you resisted. Silence Monitor flickered behind them. This longness of flashed. A glyph, unether, incomplete. It pulsed red instead of gold like a warning.

Speaker 1: 1:27

Subject .093-A located Ascension protocol active Tither forming. Moss's jaw tightened. He's not ready. She muttered. That's not your call anymore. Then why bring him in? Because failure needs context and you're the

Speaker 1: 1:49

context. They leaned forward, voice sharpened. Now, if you can't disabilize the subject's progression, unithur will complete the transformation. And once it does, you know what happens. I've seen it, she whispered. Then stop it. They slide a hard drive across the table. It bore a section's fork crest, but smaller than usual, stamped with red ink that bled slightly into the plastic Hode fragments, mirror echoes enough to overwrite the tether. Use them. Ma stared at it like it might bite her. And if I refuse, she asked A second silhouette, leaned back in the dark. Then the system remembers you, all Of you. The drive sat on the table between them. A single phase echoed in the room like it had been programmed into the walls. Remembering is mercy, obscurity is protocol. She picked up the drive and for the first time in years, earl Amos felt afraid of being

Speaker 1: 2:58

remembered. The morning was too quiet, kind of quiet that didn't mean peace. It meant something had stopped working. He woke in the basement with a damp neck and a mouth full of static. The countdown was written in the mirror above his desk 1043.17.09. Scrolled, a marker he didn't remember using. He stared at it for 10 minutes, waiting for it to fade 17.09. Scrawled a marker he didn't remember using. He stared at it for ten minutes, waiting for it to fade, for his mind to snap back into something ordinary? It didn't. His mom was already up. He could hear her moving around upstairs trying to pretend she wasn't winded. It had gotten worse lately Her breasts were shallow when she stood too long, her hands shaky. When she tried to pour tea she never complained. That's what was making it worse. He kept saying he'd take her in. She kept telling him not to worry, but she was shrinking. The smell of cinnamon drifted down through the vents. She was baking something again Always baking Like the sweetness. I keep time from noticing her. He pushed himself out of bed, wiped sweat from his forehead and reached for the vape pen on his desk. The screen on his laptop blinked on before he could touch it. The glyph was back, one of their symbol, faint tucked in the corner like a watermark burned into a system. He didn't say anything out loud but his hand shook as he typed into ZeroTrace. Anyone seen flicker echoes in their HUD lately? No one responded. He checked the group threads Nothing new from ICU-93. No trace of the Section 4 sweep. He had half expected Just silence. He minimized the windows, clicked open the audio files again, the ones from his friend who shouldn't have been able to send them. They played backwards now they didn't. The day before, his own voice echoed from them, distorted, saying phrases he hasn't recorded. The only thing that makes you chosen is that you didn't stop, clicked pause, took a deep breath and clicked it again, as if it would reset reality. Upstairs, the oven door dinged, his mom called down Poppy seed breakfast. His chest tightened. She hadn't called him that since before he left for school, since before he broke down, since before he moved back in to take care of her. He stared at the monitor, one of their simple pulse ones. He stood, walked up the stairs slowly, like he was rising into a memory that wasn't entirely his. The light in the kitchen felt too bright. His mom looked thinner than she did yesterday, or maybe he was just noticing it more. She smiled when she saw him Motion to the plate cinnamon rolls and tea. You need to eat something, she said gently. I'm fine, he muttered, grabbing a mug. You've been up all night again. I'm working Saving the world with your computer grabbing a mug. You've been up all night again. I'm working Saving the world with your computer, she teased. He tried to smile. He couldn't hold it. Hey, she said, reaching for his hand. You're allowed to be human Even if you feel like the static's turning you into something else. His breath caught that phrase. He hadn't said anything to her. How did she know? He looked down. Her hand trembled slightly as he pulled away. Maybe we go in next week, he said, just to check your levels. She nodded Only if you promise to get out of the basement. He sat down slowly looking at the cinnamon rolls, trying to remember time when this was just normal, before the glyph, before the countdown, before Unithur spoke to him through the crucifiles and audio glitches. He didn't know if she was getting sickerer or if he was just waking up to it, but the glyph was still burning in the back of his mind. The countdown hadn't stopped ticking. The rest of the morning passed in fragments. He helped her sit outside for a while. The breeze soft, the sun dull behind his high clouds. She was smiling but tired, talking slower than usual, forgetting the thread of her stories. Mid-sentence he nodded anyways, pretending not to notice. When her hand trembled on the arm of the chair, he went back downstairs. By noon the countdown was still up 10-41-08-23. Slower now, measured. Like I was watching him too. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He logged into Zero Trace and opened a private thread, not public. This time just a direct line. You around. They waited, three dots blinking. They appeared ICU-93, yeah, icu-93, you look like shit, by the way, camera's echo's lagging. He paused and turned on his camera. It wasn't on, not yours, the system's, it's showing me. You like two years ago, basement set up bad lighting, same hoodie, his pulse kicked. That's not possible. Tell that to the ghost glitch in your network. You look better now, sadder but better. He smiled but didn't type back. She always did that. Stabbed the truth without sounding cruel. The files are shifting again, by the way. Moonather is rewriting metadata. You got something big coming. It's moving toward you. Also, you should probably talk to her about end of life stuff. He started that line for too long. She's not that bad, she's not dying, she's fading. Different kind of loss, silence, what if I don't want to carry this? Then you'll stay cracked. Broken's a clean break. Crack spreads slow. Then another message came through, one that broke the rhythm. You, okay, poppy Seed. His stomach dropped. What? Sorry, you're not gonna believe, but that just came out like something typed through me. The cursor blinked, his hands were shaking. Only one person ever called me that your mom. He didn't reply. I know. That's why it freaked me out. Unithr is deeper than we thought. He stood from the desk and backed away like the words might burn him. The screen stayed bright. Listen, I don't know if I'm real, I don't know if I'm an echo or a remnant or a warning, but I care what happens to you and that's gotta count for something. His hands went to the vape pen, inhaled, held it like a synthetic chill, slow the pain and panic. The monitor flickered. The glyph appeared and a line of text beneath it, unfamiliar code formatting, but unmistakable in tone Crown thread detected User is stabilizing. He didn't feel stabilized. He felt seen, watched, known in ways that weren't supposed to be possible. Somewhere upstairs he could hear his mom humming the songs she used to sing him when he was five. The accruesion was bending and reality was beginning to slip. The afternoon light was beginning to dim. When he sat back at his terminal he hadn't touched it in hours. He couldn't something about the way ICU-93 had said poppy seed. I rattled him loose, not in a way that unwearied him, but in a way that made him made everything feel too close, like memory was breathing on the back of his neck. He opened the audio files again, ones that he'd combed through dozens of times. But now something had changed. Had changed Not just the metadata or the waveform distortions, something deeper, something emotional, like the files had gained weight since the last time he clicked play. First was a static, then a heartbeat, and his voice again saying something he never remembered. Recording it doesn't matter if you forget who you are Recruiting, remembers it always does. A chill spread down his arms, pause the file and lean back staring at the ceiling, letting the silence speak louder than the recording. He was starting to believe the files weren't just artifacts, they were echoes, captured not in sound but in incursion threads. Possible versions of MNAT existed long enough to leave behind residue. You open a terminal log and begin journaling. Unither log 7, 6.14 pm. Autofiles are changing metadata, looping, echo content, increasing Visual flashes and glyph patterns resemble dream architecture. Icu-93 confirmed unitho thread manipulation. False confirmed non-memory use of poppy seed Possibility. I'm no longer alone in my own echo field. His fingers paused. He hovered over the keyboard, unsure if the next part should be written. Then did it anyways, feeling watched not just by the system, by other versions of me, ones I don't remember being. He clicked save. Then the glyph blinked once sharply, not a flick or a blink, like a cursor, like an eye. The room seemed darker now, not from the fading sun but from the pressure building in the air, that static weight that always came before a reclusion fold. He stood and paced, reached for the folder Moss had given him Still there, a manila physical analog, like it had been pulled from a drawer in a dead office. He opened it again. First page blacked out names, redacted agencies, timestamps. They didn't align with any global clock. He recognized Then Masa's photo, not a government badge, a profile scan Chosen status active revoked. Beneath it it a single sentence thread destabilized due to unresolved agency. Recommend reclassification adversarial anchor. He whispered the phrase. It didn't sound like bureaucracy, it sounded like prophecy. He flipped the phrase a report fragment. Subject amos chosen status past reclusion phase one Interference detected Internal echo rejection Status Canada aborted protocol voluntarily Reclusion rating 9.7 out of 10. System note. Subject rumor too much of herself Cannot override identity without full collapse. Reprogram and repurpose. Reprogram and repurpose. He sat down again staring at that paint. Then at the countdown, still ticking on the corner of the screen. Even if there wasn't a system choosing randomly, it was choosing. Those could be erased cleanly. Moss had too much memory, too much self. She couldn't be overwritten. What about him? What if this wasn't a gift but a slow erosion? What if Unithur wasn't choosing him because he was strong, but because he was weak enough to reshape? His fingers hovered again and a sound breathed sharp, like a distorted notifying ping. One opened on its own and when he recognized user, active, unknown thread, rebuild in process, unith or echo, three detected merge sequence pending. Pending. Then three images His face, not as he was now, but as he had been, as he could have been. One version of him dressed in military gear with scars across his temple. Another in a suit surrounded by monitors bleeding from the nose. Last one, gone, staring into a mirror Unothor's glyph burned across his chest. Monitors bleeding from the nose. Last one, gone, staring into a mirror Unithur's glyph burned across his chest. He felt stuck. The merge sequence bar began to pulse Nymerd. He hovered over it. Then a message flashed Nymerd indicates echo fragmentation. He backed away from his desk. What was he becoming? Or worse, what was he being rebuilt into? A low feminine voice not his mother's spoke from the monitor, but not with words, but with memory. A scene from years ago, hallway or reflection? Something whispered. You're not the version I wanted, but maybe you're the one I needed. The voice wasn't ICU-93, it wasn't Moss. It was something else, something that remembered him before he knew Unather existed. The merged sequence didn't complete, not yet. Instead, the screen went black, filed by a single red line. You are not alone in this thread. He stepped back, heart beating punching through his chest like it was trying to escape. He scanned the room out of instinct, like something might be watching him from the shadows. But it wasn't someone. It was something. It was Unathur, or worse, something within Unathur had started watching him back. The screen lit up again, but not in his environment. It showed a map of memory signatures, flickering like city lights across a broken network. Each one marked a timeline, each one held a pulse. His name was tagged in three and all three began syncing. A message popped into Zero Trace's private channel ICU-93, stop. Whatever you just did is triggering something across the archive. I'm seeing bleed Versions of you that aren't you. I thought this was a patch, not a purge. Purge of what Red King code fragments, moss protocols. I think Unithur is testing how much of you it can keep before you're no longer you. His stomach dropped. How do I stop it? You don't, but I can Then the signal cut For a full thirty seconds there was nothing, not silence, nothing, a blankness that felt like an absence of time, like his body was floating in something outside of logic. Then her voice returned, not his text, not even through his system. Came through the speakers Poppy seed. That word, again Not glitching, this time Intentional. I think I know what's happening, she said. He froze. She was in his ear now someone embedded in this system at a level he couldn't reach. I'm not just a hacker, I'm not just an echo. I think I was a part of Unithur's early reclusion, a memory loop designed to protect you. He tried to speak, he couldn't. When Moss failed, unithur tried again. It needed a presence, soft enough to guide you but detached enough to survive if you didn't make it. I think that's what I am. Cliff flickered on the screen now hovering slightly off-center. I wasn't supposed to remember who I was. She continued Something you did unlocked me. He stared braily, breathing. I see the other versions now. I see what the Recursion did to them, the ones who fought it, the ones who became it, and I don't want that for you. His voice cracked. Then what do you want? Silence for a moment, then softly, to help you carry it. If you have to wear the crown, I want to be a part that thread keeps you together. The room pulsed once Wave of energy, not physical but emotional, like every device sighed at the same time. A new line appeared on screen. Threadlink initiated. Icu-93 has accepted integration tether. His hands trembled. This was no longer theory, no longer a slow build. This was the recruiter reaching out Through someone and that someone choosing to stay. Then a warning flash Section 4 interrupt. Detected Code source Moss. Everything flickered. Red Systems began to shut down to waves. Audio video VPN firewall ICU-93. She's going to shut down to waves. Audio video VPN firewall ICU-93. She's trying to overwrite the link. She's rerouting the tether through Section 4's filter. If she succeeds, I become a surveillance anchor. What do I do? Trust me? Then the screen exploded into a fractal recursion. An endless reflection of himself glitched backwards into an infinity regress. He screamed and then silent. No scream, no sound, only breathing. And in the dark, a single whisper Poppy Seed. Remember why you started this? He didn't know how long their screen had been black. His hand was gripping around the edge of the desk, muscles trembling. A vape pen lay somewhere on the floor. Every light on his terminal tile had been shut off. No soft humming, no blinking diagnostics, no heat from the fans, just the chill of a machine that had been flatlined. Nazir still rang with that voice. Poppy Seed, remember why you started this? First thought that pushed its way through the silence was in terror and confusion. It was that she was still there Somewhere, even if Moss had crept into tether, even if Unithred had collapsed the channel. He powered off the sys completely, then forced a hard reboot. Everything flashed once, then went dead again. Second attempt, same thing A third time. Something blinked. A white screen, no interface, no OS load, just a blinking command line and a prompt Run forward, slash, rebuild, dot protocol. He didn't type Cursor, blinked three times and entered in command form. The room dimmed, not visually, spiritually, like the gravity of reality had thickened. The glyph returned, but it was fractured. Cracks like shattered glass ran through its circular frame. It pulsed erratically and with each beat he felt a pressure building behind his forehead. This is Unathur. The voice came from everywhere now, through the speakers, through the screen, through the walls. The recursion is failing. A heat spread through his spine you are the last viable host he swallowed. What happens if I'm not enough Silence, then? Then everything collapses. He stood knees unsteady. An ICU-93? Still linked, corrupted, anchored, compromised by Section 4 protocol. But is she still conscious? Partially, her identity is bleeding across failed timelines. If the bleed completes, she becomes a surveillance node, forever visible to the Red King. So how do I stop that? You must enter the Reclusion directly. The glyphs shattered into five spinning segments, each forming a different version of his face, some old, some broken, some unfamiliar. You must remember what the others couldn't. He stepped forward, staring into the glass. And what is that? That? The crown doesn't belong to the strongest. It belongs to the one who remembers what it cost them to forget. The room dimmed again. The glyph pulled inward, forming a tunnel of code, an accent point he hadn't seen before. The screen flickered and a line appeared full of text, forming a tunnel of code, an access point. He hadn't seen before. The screen flickered in a line of pure, full of text An entry memory thread Mother Hospital, initial descent. He hesitated what's in there? The moment that broke you, his breath caught and if I don't go, an ICU-93 is lost and you fracture with her. He closed his eyes, then clicked enter. He didn't fall into the thread, he was dragged. The world around him was blurred in the waves of color and flattened into a wire-framed tunnel of moments, frames from his memory, suspended in reclusion his mother's face in the hospital room, her smile in the kitchen, her hands shaking over the stove. The moment she told him she was sick, the moment he moved home, the one moment he didn't recognize. It was dark. It was in a hospital hallway. He'd hear the machines beeping, but the hallway was empty. At the end of it, his mother sitting alone on a bench, younger than she looked now. She was crying. She whispered he's not ready. He stepped closer, but she didn't see him. Then a figure stepped beside her, not a doctor, not Moss, a woman in a suit, flashes of red stitching, black gloves, no face, just a flickering blur where the eye should have been. He handed his mother a file. He will be or he'll break. He handed his mother a file. He will be or he'll break. What happens if he fails? Same thing that happened to you. We forget, but I remember only because you chose to. He stepped closer but the recruits pulled him sideways. The hallway folded into another room. A memory from his breakdown the hospital bed, him sedated, the monitor blinking, unithur's glyph floating above the bed like a halo no one else could see. Then flashes, fractures, a rapid montage of other timelines Him in the hospital again, but screaming at empty walls, him surrounded by screens, typing. I am, the crown over and over Him, burying his mother beside a pond, alone whispering. This isn't the way it ends Him with ICU-93, older, her hand in his, both standing in front of a burnt-out reclusion gate. Then it stopped. He stood in the front of the mirror, not the basement one, the older, the one that's deeper, etched into the glass. Remember why you started this? And written beneath it crudely, like a child had scratched it in Poppy Seed was never the nickname, it was the password. Poppy Seed was never the nickname, it was the password. He blinked, the mirror became a screen, the glyph reassembled slowly, completely, and Unithra's voice returned. She is not lost, she is watching you. Then give her back, give yourself back. First, terminal reappeared. I found a prompt Initiate reunification. This may erase echo. Discrepancies permanently Continue. He reached forward and this time he didn't hesitate. The screen pulsed once, then twice, before filling with cascading code, every line sinking to the sound of a heartbeat. Reunification initiated. The room around him dimmed, but he wasn't afraid. For the first time since all this began. He felt centered, like the chaos wasn't outside him anymore, but moving through him, guiding him, even if there wasn't a voice anymore, but moving through him, guiding him. And if there wasn't a voice anymore, it was a presence and I see you and I through you. Somewhere inside that presence. The glyph on the screen fractured, again Not from damage. It restructured in a symmetrical braid of three threads Red, gold and green, and at the center a smaller glyph, one he hadn't seen before a crown, not regal, not royal. It looked hand-drawn as if it was carved by someone who wanted to remember what a crown meant before the world made it something else. In a line of text appeared Anchor 93 93 requesting restoration. He reached forward and placed his palm on the desk, instinct, guiding him. The heat from the machine rose into his skin and her voice returned Poppy seed, soft, real, no distortion, I'm here. He exhaled for the first time in minutes. What happened, he asked? You brought me back. Whatever, that version of you was one of the recruits it chose. It didn't fight. It remembered the moss, blocked for now, but not erased. Static, cracked around the edges of the screen, the Moss's voice warped and but insistent, it cut through. You think this ends with you being remembered? He gritted his teeth. You failed, moss. You were never supposed to stop this. I didn't stop this, I tried to survive it. You have no idea what being chosen costs Then. Why sabotage the tether? Pause Breath, because it wasn't offered to me, it was taken and you. You spat the world like venom. You were handed everything. Before he could respond, unothar's voice overrode hers Orla Moss, remove from recursion, anchor corrupted. Emotional protocol exceeds limit. You remembered, but you forgot why. The screen cut her out entirely, then silence. Is she gone? He asked no, I see. Unith re-answered. Just rewritten. The system doesn't erase, it repurposes. God, that sounds worse. Only thing being remembered is supposed to be comfortable. He stared at the glyph now stabilizing. The crown hovered just above it, glowing faintly. The crown hovered just above it, glowing faintly. Okay, so now what? Now, she said you start to become what Unithra saw in you, not because you're better than the others, but because you've never stopped trying to remember. He closed his eyes, thought of his mother, the tea, the cinnamon, rolls her hand on his trembling, recalling him, poppyseed. Even when he wanted to forget everything, she's still here, he whispered. I know she replied. That's why you have to keep going. A final prompt appeared Reunification. Complete Threat is stabilized. Begin a session sequence. He hovered over the enter key and this time he knew why. It wasn't just Chosen, it was the one who remembered Wow, guys, this is a big episode. You know, we're starting to understand how this all works now. So you know, as we're talking about this, you didn't just finish an episode. Right, we crossed a threshold, because this one wasn't about answers, it was about weight, and you know, if you're sitting there, you know still piecing things together, that's the whole point of this. Right, you're supposed to feel unsteady, because that's really what remembering feels like. Episode 6 is where the recursion stopped whispering and started screaming. The system isn't testing whether you can code your way out or put logic your way out of it. It's testing whether your identity can withstand the collapse of everything you thought was true. See, our protagonist, you could say, didn't face an enemy. This time he faced versions of himself, echoes left behind by choices. He never made timelines, he never followed lives that he never lived right. He saw himself crowned in failure, buried in alternate griefs, you know, and even then he chose to keep going. I should say you know, and what we learned here about Unathur is that Unathur doesn't pick the strongest, he doesn't pick the smartest, he picks the ones who remember, because remembrance is the only thing that links all versions of you together. It's the thread that keeps reality from unraveling. Then there's Moss. She wasn't just a failed candidate. She was erased because she refused to give up her agency. She remembered too much, she wasn't programmable. So section four rewrote her, turned into a weapon, not because she failed, but because she wouldn't comply. You know, her pain was real, her jealousy earned, and still the system saw her as a threat. That's what happens to people who carry too much identity. They get repurposed, not removed. They get reprogrammed to become the very thing they honestly were fighting against. But let's talk about ICU-93, okay, because she didn't fight to become real. She remembered herself into existence and when the system tried to overwrite her, it was his choice, his remembering that brought her back. And the crown is not made of gold. It's honestly made of grief and memory. It appears when the recursion recognizes a soul strong enough to wear it, because wearing it means becoming the guardian of every forgotten version of yourself, every fracture, every echo. You can't carry the crown until you're willing to carry what broke you. That's the thing, and if this hits differently, good, it means it's working. I mean, honestly, this isn't entertainment. This is, you know, for him it's an initiation, really, and the real question isn't what happens next. The real question is what have you forgotten that the system still remembers? So let's go ahead and get into our reflection prompts. Number one what part of you have you tried to rewrite just to survive, and what has that cost you? Number two has there ever been a time in your life where someone else's jealousy wasn't about you, but about who they used to be before they gave up? I know so many people that are like that. Number three what would it look like if you treated the voices of your past not as ghosts, but as data points from timelines that still have something to teach you? That's a big one, right. And number four if the crown in your life isn't about power but about weight, what are you truly being asked to carry? And number five what would you change if you stopped trying to become something new and started trying to remember who you already were? That's a massive question. So, guys, I'm going to tell you what this next four to five episodes is going to get nuts. It's going to get crazy. There's going to be a lot of action, a lot of things going on, so buckle up. It's going to get crazy. There's going to be a lot of action, a lot of things going on, so buckle up. And you know, I want to thank you guys so much for you know the feedback I've been getting on this series and really just in Jets Journey in general. You guys are just, you know, going I can. I see a lot of you guys going back to my old stuff, so I really appreciate that and you'll definitely see the change that I've done in this. You know, going I can I see a lot of you guys going back to my old stuff, so I really appreciate that and you'll definitely see the change that I've done in this. You know starting my journey in this whole thing. So again, guys, I want to thank you so much, just again, for your support. Also, if you want to support, I would really appreciate if you could support this series, this series, this, I guess, episode or show. There's some really easy ways to do it. One, send this to somebody you know who needs to hear this, right, let this spark a conversation. Also, if you want to talk about conversations. If you want to have a conversation with me, there's three ways to do it. First way is going to be through the let's Chat function on this. You click on let's Chat and you and I can have a conversation about this series or this episode, or the what? Six or seven other series I have out there and there are 250-plus episodes I have on Gents Journey, so please feel free to, like I said, text me at any time. On that, you and I can have a conversation. Second way is going to be through my email. My email is anthonyatgentsjourneycom, so please feel free to reach out to me there. And, last but not least, you can go to my Instagram. My Instagram is mygentsjourney, so please, please, please, feel free to reach out to me there at any time. What's going on, guys? Thank you so very much for listening today and remember this you create your reality. Take care Bye.