April 25, 20241 yr 16 minutes ago, EvilCaseMcCoy said: Ben Stiller getting spicy? https://screenrant.com/severance-season-2-filming-wrap-production-confirmed/ He was the peacemaker. Quote However, Severance season 2 experienced many issues in its attempt to return to the small screen. According to a report, co-showrunners Dan Erickson and Mark Friedman had a falling out during season 1, and the latter required persuasion from principal director and executive producer Ben Stiller to return for season 2. However, further conflict between the showrunners caused difficulties in script development and budget management, so House of Cards creator Beau Willimon was reportedly brought on to smooth things over.
April 25, 20241 yr Popular Post I heard the two struck a deal, where one would come in and do the work during the day, while the other would handle their personal affairs outside of the office.
April 25, 20241 yr I hate how nobody has watched Severance. It's one of those shows you want to talk about with everyone, but you get a "huh, never heard of it" more often than you get someone who has seen it.
April 25, 20241 yr 3 hours ago, Red Five said: I heard the two struck a deal, where one would come in and do the work during the day, while the other would handle their personal affairs outside of the office.
April 25, 20241 yr 3 hours ago, SimonBolivar said: I hate how nobody has watched Severance. It's one of those shows you want to talk about with everyone, but you get a "huh, never heard of it" more often than you get someone who has seen it. I only know 2 people who have Apple TV
June 11, 20241 yr 14 hours ago, Captain Ron said: Season 2 footage in the new AppleTV promo The new HBO.
July 10, 20241 yr Hell yes. Coveted as fuck. Prepping the egg bar as we speak. Hope it matches the weird tension of Season 1.
July 10, 20241 yr 5 hours ago, mdmost said: January 17th 2 years and 9 months after the end of season 1. is that the record? and i'm not counting reboots, or what Netflix did with Arrested Development. just series that during their natural course had really extended breaks between seasons. Edited July 10, 20241 yr by Jive Turkey
July 10, 20241 yr 17 minutes ago, Jive Turkey said: 2 years and 9 months after the end of season 1. is that the record? and i'm not counting reboots, or what Netflix did with Arrested Development. just series that during their natural course had really extended breaks between seasons. curb had some long ones.
July 10, 20241 yr 23 minutes ago, Jive Turkey said: 2 years and 9 months after the end of season 1. is that the record? and i'm not counting reboots, or what Netflix did with Arrested Development. just series that during their natural course had really extended breaks between seasons. I think Stranger Things had a longer gap. I remember watching a season in the teens with my then wife and several years later the next season coming out after I already settled into post-divorce life.
July 10, 20241 yr 1 hour ago, Pato del Muerto said: Another rec for Acapulco. And the colombiana is quite fun to look at.
July 10, 20241 yr 1 minute ago, gofuckyourself said: I see now that I’m on the severance thread and not the apple thread. These things happen.
July 10, 20241 yr I forget what happened in S1. I’ll have to rewatch between now and…January 2025?!?!?
July 10, 20241 yr Started watching season 1 over again to try to remind myself what happened since it's been so long.
July 10, 20241 yr 39 minutes ago, Sbbruin said: Started watching season 1 over again to try to remind myself what happened since it's been so long. Elon brain chip
August 23, 20241 yr Just finished a rewatch of the season. So damn good. That season finale is up there with some of the best ones ever. The whole show is done so well. Highly recommend a rewatch.
October 23, 20241 yr 7 minutes ago, Red Five said: I’m avoiding trailers these days. What’s the release date? Same, no spoilers for this show. I like the surprises too much to ruin any.
October 23, 20241 yr 38 minutes ago, Red Five said: I’m avoiding trailers these days. What’s the release date? This is more of a teaser than a trailer, it feels like
December 9, 20241 yr I am so ready for this show to come back. This one was a trip and it was more fun totally no knowing anything when i started.
December 14, 20241 yr Just finished a rewatch of season 1. Can’t wait for next month for season 2. i have to think that Mark’s sister will have to lead the charge from the outside since none of the outies will be aware and Helena will be actively working against them. Burts retirement party was about as sad as it gets.
December 15, 20241 yr loved s1, keep trying to get people to watch it but some say it "looks too weird". that trailer was awesome but will not help my case.
December 15, 20241 yr 18 minutes ago, henrygandorf said: loved s1, keep trying to get people to watch it but some say it "looks too weird". that trailer was awesome but will not help my case. The first time, I stopped a few mins into the 1st episode. Came back later and pushed through. Glad I did, as I was rewarded
December 22, 20241 yr On 12/15/2024 at 11:39 AM, henrygandorf said: loved s1, keep trying to get people to watch it but some say it "looks too weird". that trailer was awesome but will not help my case. I fell into a rabbit hole of severance theories on YouTube. I won’t link them all but they’re easy to find. my favorite theories Others in that town are severed and are “innies” while out in the world. Think of all the weird characters who are in Ricken’s home; dinner and then at the book reading. The one woman mentioned a wound on the back of her head from birds pecking her. Or was it the severance procedure? Ricken is part of the black sheep side of the Eagan family. He apparently has a fair amount of money and it’s not from his book sales. Family money? He also has red hair like Helly. Even more out there, Ricken is a clone of Keir Eagan. Keir looks to have spent more time philosophizing than anything else. Sounds like Ricken. why is Ms. selveg/cobel so interested in Devon/Ricken/baby except her religious devotion to the Eagan family. clones are a possibility since Ms. Casey was supposed to have been killed in a car accident and says her life has only been 100 hours awake. The data refinement team’s work is about improving their own feelings, thoughts and desires via programming. It’s why they can’t see each other’s scary or other “numbers.”
December 22, 20241 yr Siap. Apple released a free ebook called severance the Lexington letter. It’s about another data refiner and her outie experience and it includes the data refiner handbook. Not necessarily any spoilers in there but it provides more severance background. Edited December 22, 20241 yr by Nice Guy Eddie
December 22, 20241 yr 2 minutes ago, Nice Guy Eddie said: Siap. Apple realized a free ebook called severance the Lexington letter. It’s about another data refiner and her outie experience and it includes the data refiner handbook. Not necessarily any spoilers in there but it provides more severance background. https://severance.wiki/severance-_the_lexington_letter_transcript Super long-cat, but for those of you inclined... Spoiler Severance: The Lexington Letter (Transcript) [Transcriber’s note: The free Lexington Letter e-book is formatted for viewing on a narrow screen and the original line lengths have been preserved for this transcription.] TO: JIM M (jm@topekastar.com) FROM: DARIA T (dt@topekastar.com) SENT: November 12 at 12:43 PM SUBJECT LINE: Lumon letter Hey Jim, I received the letter below from a Severed employee at Lumon. I also scanned the employee handbook that she mentions in her letter here too, so that’s attached. The whole thing seems pretty out there… but perhaps worth pursuing? What do you think? Daria — Daria Thorne, Reporter The Topeka Star Attachment 1 of 2: [Transcriber’s note: Scanned attachment of printed pages] PLEASE READ IMMEDIATELY Daria Thorne c/o The Topeka Star Saturday, November 10 Dear Ms. Thorne, My name is Peg Kincaid. Until yesterday, I was an employee at Lumon Industries here in Topeka. I’m writing on behalf of myself and my friend, Peggy K, who is now no longer with us. Maybe it’s strange to call her my friend, but it’s how I think of her. Depending on how much you know about Lumon and what they do, maybe you already know what I mean. I chose to reach out to you because I’ve seen, among other things, your thorough coverage of the Dorner truck incident on November third. I thought about going to the cops with what I’m about to tell you, but people say Lumon has a lot of connections with the police and City Hall and so I don’t think they would believe me anyway. I hope you believe me. I really need someone to believe me. With that in mind, I’m going to try to give you the full story. Forgive me if I get a bit rambly… I tend to go on and on when I’m nervous. And I’m really very nervous about this. Right now, I’m staying in a motel because I can’t shake the feeling that someone has been watching me. The same black cars seem to always be parked next to mine. And for the last few weeks, my mail has been all crumpled when I’ve gotten it at night, like someone’s digging through it. It all feels so off. So yes, I just want to get this all written down, in case something happens. Something beyond what’s already happened. Alright. Here goes: As a bit of background (I think, in your field, you call it “color”), up until about two years ago, I was a school bus driver for Clover Elementary down off Route 2. I’d been there for about twelve years. I loved my job. I love kids, even though I don’t have any of my own. And I sincerely believe they liked me too. At some point, the kids learned that I was the youngest driver on the school’s payroll (even though I was already fifty), so they gave me the nickname “Baby Driver,” a reference to the beloved action film of the same name. But despite this fun camaraderie and my relative youth, I’ll confess I was starting to feel burned out. My route had gotten longer, I had a few real misbehavers, all that stuff. It all came to a boiling point one day in February. It was a cold day; the kind I used to call a “booger- freezer” to get a rise out of the kids until a fundamentalist mom heard about it and complained. I was near the end of my afternoon route when, through no fault of my own, my bus hit black ice. I pumped the brakes, as per protocol, but our momentum kept us sliding and for the first time in my career in child transpo, I landed my rig in a ditch. All the kids screamed. I wanted to scream too, but you know how it is — gotta be the adult. Thank the good lord no one was hurt, just shook up. But we were stuck for nearly two hours, with the heat knocked out. The kids were crying, scared, cold, asking for their mommies. We had three urination events, which in the low temperature proved a real issue. Finally, another bus was able to come by and get my kids. I remained with the vehicle (again, protocol), and listened to the radio to try to stay warm. I don’t know, it made sense at the time. Now this is the part that, when I look back, still makes me squirm. While I was sitting there waiting for the tow, boogers freezing, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “Fuck this job”. I may have even said it out loud, I’m not sure. But I either thought it or said it, and right at that moment, as if it had heard me, this ad came on the radio. It was an employment recruiting ad, but they were weirdly vague about the job. Lot of flowery talk about “making history” and “rethinking the notion of work.” I was sort of tuning out until the end when they said the name of the company: Lumon Industries. I knew who they were — I’d been using their deodorant since puberty — but I didn’t know they had a branch in Topeka. I remember thinking “Well, that was weird”. Anyway, two hours later, the tow truck finally came and yanked my rig from the ditch. I got home five hours later than usual, with an angry voicemail from my supervisor accusing me of driving recklessly. I wasn’t asking for a medal or anything, but a word of acknowledgement over the hell I’d just been through would have felt more appropriate than a chewing out. That night, I told myself I needed to start looking for a new job. I was off the next day, and I went downtown to run a few errands. On the way home, I passed what I realized must be the new Lumon site, which had been under construction for the past few months. It was a big building that looked almost like a mall. I thought back to when I’d heard their ad while shivering in that freezing bus. And even though I had ice cream in the trunk, I found myself turning into the parking lot. I parked, and I went in. At first I figured no high tech company would hire someone like me. I mean, I only got through a few semesters at Kansas State. But the nice Lumon lady who greeted me told me that didn’t matter. She said that I could get a great office job, incredible benefits, manageable hours, and all I had to do was this tiny little procedure called Severance. I’m guessing you know what that is. Well, I didn’t — remember, this was a few years back and it took them longer than it probably should have to explain it to me. They told me that after a screening process, I’d have a small, totally painless chip inserted into my brain. That freaked me out for a beat, but they assured me it was easier than getting a cavity filled. Then they told me that the chip would make it so I wouldn’t remember work. That was the real benefit here: I’d have absolutely no memory of work. Never. I’d just go into the office and the chip would turn on in my brain, activating my work self — my “innie” is what they called it. That person would do all the work. And then when I’d leave work, the chip would turn off, and I’d be back and have the whole rest of my day ahead of me. No memory of work and four times the pay? Despite it being quite a drastic procedure, all that made it feel like, well — a no brainer. Or, ha, a half-brainer? Because of Severance? You get it? Sorry. My dad always hated it when I joked when I was nervous, but here we are! So where was I? Right. Back to Lumon. I got the procedure, I was Severed, all that, and it was totally fine. They even gave me a really nice four-cheese panini afterward because my procedure time slot butted up against the lunch hour. I thought, “This is so great! What a great place to work!” I was wrong. Very very wrong. But I wouldn’t learn that for another two years. I started at Lumon the following Monday and settled into this nice day-to-day routine. I’d show up at work, swipe my fancy Lumon badge and then change out of my outdoor clothes and into some Lumon neutrals, as they call’em which means no labels, tags, patterns, no words at all, on anything. Company policy. Lumon wanted a complete divide between innies and us people on the outside, a.k.a. the outies. No written word, no messages back and forth were allowed — all of that is what you sign up for when you get Severed. In my orientation, they even talked about these code detectors built into the elevators that would sense written words. It was a fancy place. Then, after changing my clothes, I’d take the elevator down to the Severed floor in the basement and then — nothing. Sweet sweet nothing. In the middle of the elevator ride, my Severance chip would switch my consciousness over to my innie, this whole other personality, with no memory of my life here in Topeka. She could walk and talk and all that, but didn’t remember, say, my third-grade teacher’s name, or me falling off a horse and breaking my arm when I was eight, or when my ex-husband told me he wanted a divorce. Lucky girl. She was ME, but NOT me. So yeah, my innie would wake up and head to work — doing whatever it is my innie did down there. Some desk job with data, I’d been told. And meanwhile, the other half of the brain that is, ME — would basically get to just take a nap for the day. At the end of the workday, I’d come to, in that same elevator, maybe a little tired after what I assume was a hard day’s work, but otherwise none the wiser for earning that paycheck. And that’s how it went, day in and day out, for two years. Until one particular Tuesday, when I messed it all up. Or, actually, we messed it all up. That Tuesday, I got off work — in other words, I came to in that elevator — and went to my locker. Nothing odd there. But then, as I was pulling on my jacket, I felt something in my pants pocket — a surprise, since we’re not supposed to bring anything in or out. I pulled out a half-sheet of typing paper, neatly folded into pocket size. Seeing that the upstairs security guard was busy watching soccer on his phone, I opened it up. Now, at this point, I need to back up again and give you more “color,” but I promise it’s for a very important reason. My sister Meryl is only about eleven months older than me. We actually were born in the same year, funnily enough. We’ve since grown apart as time’s gone by, but as kids we were really close. In fact, we were so close that we invented a secret language together, called Puglish. We’d write long letters to each other about what boys we liked or teachers we hated in Puglish so no one else could understand. I say “language,” but actually, all we did was replace each letter with a different symbol. “A” was a seahorse. “B” was a lightning bolt. “X” was a pair of boobs, which got us in trouble once or twice, but not too often because it’s an uncommon letter and we were sneaky. Anyway, like I said, Meryl and I had grown apart over time, and I hadn’t thought about Puglish, let alone read or written it, for more than thirty years. So, on that Tuesday at Lumon, you can imagine my surprise when I unfolded the paper and found it lined with rows of little seahorses, lightning bolts, and other distantly familiar symbols. There was even a boobs in the second paragraph. I stood there, baffled at how a full note in perfect Puglish had ended up in my pocket while I was down on the Severed floor. I took the note home and looked it over. It was strange how quickly my memory of our code came back to me, and I was able to read the message almost as if it had been in English. Understanding its contents proved a little harder: Dear Peggy K, I don’t know what this language is, or why it’s in my head. It’s been coming to me slowly over the past few weeks. I find myself writing it at my desk. I thought if anyone would know what it was, maybe it would be you. I don’t know if this will even pass the code detectors, but I felt I had to try. I know this is a breach in protocol. Please don’t be angry with me. If you cannot tell, I am your innie. I live down here in the Macrodata Refining Department, with my three co-workers. I have often thought of you and what your life might be like out there, and why I exist in the first place. Why does one choose to get Severed? Maybe this language isn’t real and I’m writing nonsense. But if you can read this, I would love for you to write me back. I understand if that is not possible. I do not mean any harm. Sincerely, your innie, Peggy K — Well, this knocked me on my ass, I’ll be honest. I hadn’t really given my innie too much thought before then. Like, I knew she was down there, doing her thing, but part of what I loved so much about this whole Severance thing is that I didn’t need to think about it. But then there she was — Peggy, my innie, writing to me. In Puglish. I stared at it for a long time. It also tripped me up because I hadn’t been called Peggy since elementary school. I’d been told during training that my innie would be like a little kid, with little to no life experiences, but I didn’t think it’d be so… obvious. I stared at that note for the rest of the night. I thought of her, or me, or a different version of me I guess, down there in the dark, on the Severed floor, clearly desperate for more information. I was really torn about what to do. I loved my job, or what I knew about it, and I didn’t wanna mess that up. Writing messages to my innie was definitely against Lumon policy, there’s no question about that. Was it possible a code invented by two grade-schoolers could be enough to trick the detectors? Granted, it was a new technology, but still! To this day, a part of me wishes I’d done what I was supposed to: Call my Lumon supervisor, Mr. Alvarado, and report my innie’s infraction. But sometimes, at the end of the day, I’d come out of the elevator feeling, I don’t know… different than I’d ever felt before. Maybe a little giddy or sometimes all wound up, or scared even, and it made me wonder: What were they doing down there with my body? So, the next morning, I decided to write her back — just this once — and ask her. She wrote back right away — I got a message in my pocket that next night. She told me she worked as a Macrodata Refiner. When I asked her what that means, she told me it involved working at a computer, putting these special numbers into special bins, which made no sense to me — that’s a JOB?? And I’m making four times as much as when I was driving a bus? Once the floodgates were opened, I couldn’t help myself — I wrote back to her more and more, asking follow-up questions. She responded with such a weird description that I had to write it down here: The best I’ve come up with is that the numbers make you feel things. It’s not an individual number, but a whole cluster of them, and after a while, they’ll sort of *throb* a certain emotion at you. Sometimes it’s joy or sadness or worry. Sometimes it’s obvious, other times more subtle. Each type of number has its own designation, like the angry ones are called MA. Once you’ve identified the numbers, you surround them with the arrow on your computer and into a bin they go. I want to take a moment, Ms. Thorne, and say that th1S sounded as nuts to me as it does to you. These numbers made her feel things? Peggy tried to help me out, and describe it more, but the more detail she’d go into, the more confused I got. I asked her if the numbers ever ended. She told me yes, when you finish a file. I guess there’s a whole wall of them on her computer screen, but eventually, the wall runs out, and all the numbers have been sorted, and that’s that file completed. Peggy told me that they get prizes when they finish the files: Some weird stuff, like a melon bar and something called a “music-dance experience” and a waffle party. It all sounded pretty infantilizing to me, but I hope they at least get different types of syrups to go along with those waffles. It wasn’t always me drilling her though — she also asked me things too. And over and over again, I was beside myself with how much it felt like I was talking to a kid-version of, well, myself. She wanted to know everything about outside life, like what it felt like to be drunk, or asleep (I’d never thought of it before, but she’d never been asleep, because I do all that on the outside!), or to fall in love (that one was a toughie to answer, just ask my ex-husband) or to have someone you love die. It was strange to see how the procedure filtered her knowledge. She knew what beer was but couldn’t name a specific brand. She knew she lived in America but couldn’t draw a map of it to save her life. She knew that movies exist, but not who David Niven was (despite him being by far my longest-standing crush). It was like she’d seen only the vaguest shape of the world through a foggy window. She asked me what snow felt like (I sat on that one for a while, and finally came up with holding a cold cotton shirt that melts in your hands), and if I knew how to ride a bike. (I do. Not very well, but I don’t tip over either.) And if I ever regretted getting Severed. To be honest, I hadn’t — until I thought more about her sitting down there, in the dark. So anyway, yes, Peggy and I wrote these letters back and forth for, I don’t know, maybe three or four weeks. Not every day, but enough that it started to feel like… this sounds crazy, but like I’d found a new friend. She made me see my life in a different way. I used to think my life was boring, and pretty mundane, but Peggy found all the little details I’d mention fascinating, even glamorous. Once I painted my nails hot pink (which is really not my style), just to see what she’d think. That night, she wrote me back saying tears had sprung to her eyes, our nails were so beautiful. Sorry, I could go on forever. Like I told you, I ramble when I get nervous and I’m jumping out of my chair over here. No joke — Housekeeping just knocked on my motel room door and I shrieked. So anyway — Me and Peggy kept thinking we’d get caught, but nothing seemed to come of it. Peggy grew concerned that their head of security, Mr. Dooley — a “pale little man with a terrifying smile” was watching her more closely than usual. She described seeing him at the far end of the hall when she’d leave for the day, “Just standing there, smiling. Like he knew what I was doing but wanted to play with me a while before dragging me to the Break Room.” I asked her what the Break Room was, but she never told me. Despite the forbidden nature of our whole interaction, this seemed to be a specific topic she was afraid to broach. Still, those code detectors never seemed to bother us or pick up the Puglish. If they had, I would’ve cut it off, played dumb, blamed my own idiocy — and never Peggy’s — but it never happened. But then we get to that morning of Friday, November 3rd, which is why I’m writing to you in the first place. I come-to in the elevator as usual that night and check my pockets, just like I’ve been doing for months — and there’s another note from Peggy. And she’s really excited. She finished her file, which was named “Lexington,” earlier that afternoon, at 2:30 pm. She says she’s been so excited to tell me about it that she could barely wait to go home, even if it meant cutting her melon bar party (???) short. She told me that the Lexington file had been extra complicated and particularly exhausting to do (this made sense to me — I’d felt fried for the last few weeks after coming-to in the elevator and didn’t know why). She said she’d pushed through and completed it and that everyone at Lumon, including her boss and her boss’ boss, was thrilled with her work. They’d even given her an extra melon bar party to cash in later in the week. Whoopee, right? Again, I don’t fully get this whole refining-files thing, but a big win at work makes me look good too, so what the hell. And our whole body just felt JAZZED when I came to in the elevator, which wasn’t a bad feeling either. I drove home and went for a jog for the first time in weeks. I felt like I could tackle the world. Later that same night, I’m watching TV and I see you, Ms. Thorne, on the news. Your face was as serious as I’ve ever seen it, your voice steadfast and resolute, as you reported about the truck that had been blown up in New York at 2:32 pm that day. The Dorner Therapeutics truck. Dorner, of course, is a major competitor of my now former employer Lumon. God, watching that footage made my heart stop. Seeing bystanders running for cover, the destroyed street, all of it seemed like hell. That’s when a sudden, intrusive thought dumped a hard knot right into the pit of my stomach. I looked back at my earlier note from Peggy, and read again when she’d completed the Lexington File. The time had been 2:30 pm. Two minutes before the bomb went off. I was stunned. I tried to tell myself I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming. Two people were burned alive in a truck. Four others were dead, too. No explanation, no terrorist group claiming credit. The next day, Dorner said that some of their devices had been destroyed. Their prototypes or whatever. It almost seems like this was some kind of corporate espionage. It all seems like too much of a coincidence, doesn’t it? Is that why these numbers are making the innies down there feel things? Because they’re dropping bombs or blowing things up from down there? What had I gotten my body — and my innie, my friend — into? I barely slept that weekend. On Monday morning, I wrote Peggy another note, asking her to send me any information she could about the file she’d just refined. Told her it was super important. She didn’t know anything about the Dorner truck down there, of course, but I tried to press her more about the numbers. I asked her: What do her bosses tell her about the numbers? About Lexington in particular? What is this data they’re refining? Not much, she said, other than it being very important work. Finally, I worked up the nerve to tell her about the truck. It took me over an hour to write that note. I told her I couldn’t be sure there was a connection, but that the timing felt too close to ignore. I told her not to refine another number down there, no matter the consequences. I told her that, if I was right, then Lumon had been using us both for something insidious and horrifying. I told her none of this was her fault. And that I loved her. I didn’t hear back. A day passed, then three. Every day I went down, hoping to feel the familiar pressure of a note in my pants pocket as I came back up. But there was nothing. Was she mad at me? Horrified by my claim? Or was it something else? Was there something stopping Peggy from responding? It’s a funny thing, worrying about your innie. I was leaving each day without a scratch on me, and I was certainly still alive, which meant that physically Peggy had to be fine. But her silence every evening grew more terrifying as the days turned to weeks. I wanted to write her again, ask what was going on — but was Lumon on to us? If so, another note could spell disaster for my dear friend. One Tuesday, I emerged to find my hair wet. A note on my windshield from Lumon informed me that my innie had had a “visually comedic but painless mishap with the water cooler”. I was given a gift card to Murray’s All-Day Breakfast Buffet as an apology for the inconvenience. That night, over hashbrowns, my mind raced. What the hell were they doing to her down there each day? How could I help? Should I resign? Since Lumon was the only place she was alive, quitting would essentially mean killing her. Surely, I couldn’t do that, no matter how bad things had gotten. It was two weeks later when, upon ascending for the evening, I felt something thick and firm tucked in the back of my waistband. I struggled to show no emotion as I went to my locker, retrieved my personal items, and went out to my car. When I was safely off Lumon property, I breathlessly pulled it out and saw a faded, spiral-bound booklet with a teal cover marked “The Macrodata Refiner’s Orientation Booklet.” A note was taped to the front, written in the King’s English in my very own handwriting: Dooley found your last note. Been in Break Room. Don’t know how long. Think you’re right about Lexington. Lumon updating code detectors but they’re down today. Hope this booklet gives clarity. Be careful. I love you too. I opened the booklet and was startled to find an eerily chipper creature smiling up at me from the page. He looked — pardon my indelicacy — like a little dildo with translucent skin revealing a spiral-shaped digestive tract leading down to his anus. After reading his intro, I learned that this was “Sevy,” a personified Severance chip and the internal mascot Lumon uses to train its innies. Describing this document is probably a fool’s errand, so I’m enclosing it here for you to look at too. I’ve spent hours going over it, trying to decipher what the numbers might mean, as explained by the all-knowing Sevy. Maybe you can figure out more, ’cuz to me this whole thing feels like it was written for a child. That’s all you’ll tell me about what all this stuff means? The only thing the handbook says about it is, “We know you may be curious about what the numbers mean. However, knowing the true meaning behind the numbers could inhibit your natural intuition.” Well, my natural freakin’ intuition is telling me something horrible is happening here. After that, I didn’t hear from Peggy for a week. I didn’t write anything either, worried that Lumon’s updated code detectors would be able to read Puglish and I’d land her back in the “Break Room”, which I could tell by now wasn’t a fun place with bean bag chairs and a pinball machine. This brings us to last Friday morning. I sat in my car in the Lumon lot, trying to mentally prepare for my strange daily descent, and wondering what horrors the day held for my dear Peggy. For some reason, I thought of that moment on the bus, skidding across the ice with the kids screaming behind me. Knowing I was responsible for whatever was going to happen to those children in the coming seconds. As their screams rang in my head, I did something that contradicted my better judgment. I grabbed a fast-food receipt out of my cup holder and hurriedly wrote a note in Puglish. It was a very quick note. All it said was “Are you okay?” I went into work and descended in the elevator as usual, trying not to look nervous as I went down. When I came back up, my heart was RACING, my palms were sweaty — though of course I didn’t know why. More troublingly, I felt a dry clump of something in my mouth. I looked at my watch: 9:10 am. Only ten minutes had passed since I’d gone down. Trying to look casual and avoiding eye contact with the security guard, I made a beeline for my locker. There, I deftly spat out the object in my mouth, which I found was a wadded-up sheet of paper. Unable to wait, I opened it and read: Peg, Leave now. Get somewhere safe. They will try to follow. Nothing they say is real. Distribute the training booklet. Answers are there if you look. Thank you for my life. You were the best part of it. I’ll be with you always, Peggy K — And that was it. I called Mr. Alvarado and quit on the spot. I left Topeka without returning home. I only wish I could talk to Peggy again, tell her that I was going to get help for her and for all the Severed people down there, and that somehow… somehow I’d get the word out about what Lumon is doing. That attack killed six people, and I can’t even begin to tell you why — even though I may have been the one (or two) who pulled the trigger. But the thing that hurts the most is the only way I could ever talk to Peggy again is to go back to Lumon to switch my Severance chip back on… and I can’t do that again. Not ever. So instead, here I am, writing to you. I considered putting this up on social media, but I have about sixteen friends on there, including my ex-husband, and figured you could get the word out faster than all that. I hope so anyway. For me and for Peggy. Thank you for your time, Ms. Thorne. I look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible. My cell is 785-555-4332. Please hurry. Very sincerely, Peg Kincaid [End of Scanned Pages Attachment] Jim M (jm@topekastar.com) Re: Lumon Letter, November 12 at 12:43 PM TO: Daria T (dt@topekastar.com) FROM: Jim M (jm@topekastar.com) SENT: November 13 at 10:03 AM SUBJECT: RE: Lumon letter Hey Daria, Read through this letter. Interesting stuff but all, as you said, pretty “out there” I don’t think we have the resources right now to put you on this type of story. Besides, seems more like a disgruntled employee making stuff up. I called over to a source I trust implicitly at Lumon and it sounds like she was let go because of too many absences. Let’s have you focus on the high school basketball playoffs, as discussed. Thanks, Jim — TO: Jim M (jm@topekastar.com) FROM: Daria T (dt@topekastar.com) SENT: November 13 at 10:08 am SUBJECT: RE: Re: Lumon letter You’re sure? I can still file that story and then move onto this. These allegations, if true, are pretty astonishing. DT — Jim M (jm@topekastar.com) Re: Lumon Letter, November 12 at 12:43 PM TO: Daria T (dt@topekastar.com) FROM: Jim M (jm@topekastar.com) SENT: November 13 at 1:03 pm SUBJECT: RE: Re: Re: Lumon letter Too late anyway. Just saw this — from Carolyn over in Obits: Margaret “Peg” Kincaid, 54. Peg Kincaid passed away from complications from a car accident on November 11th. She is survived by her sister, Meryl Rasmussen, of Tacoma, WA, and a group of supportive and loving friends throughout the Topeka, KS area. A dedicated school bus driver for several decades, Peg enjoyed bridge, spy novels, gardening, cats, and David Niven films. She will be missed by all who knew her. A memorial service will be on November 20th at 10 am. In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation to the Topeka Humane Society. Tough break. Sorry. Not to sound too harsh here, but all this might be for the best… her whole letter felt really loose and it’s not like we want to get into a libel suit with Lumon. You may remember what happened with the Nashville Tribune when they printed what they thought was a well-sourced exposé on Lumon’s feeding tube devices: They got sued into oblivion and folded six months later. Please send me those basketball pages ASAP though. I want to run them in tomorrow’s edition. Jim — Jim Milchick, Editor The Topeka Star
December 24, 20241 yr PSA: Apple dropped the first 8 minutes of season 2 tonight. Early Xmas gift I guess. The full episode debuts on Jan 17th.
December 24, 20241 yr Love this show but I'm already regretting watching the trailer. I definitely can't watch part of an episode. Gonna hold out until it's released. Coveted as fuck.
December 24, 20241 yr I fell into a rabbit hole of severance theories on YouTube. I won’t link them all but they’re easy to find. my favorite theories Others in that town are severed and are “innies” while out in the world. Think of all the weird characters who are in Ricken’s home; dinner and then at the book reading. The one woman mentioned a wound on the back of her head from birds pecking her. Or was it the severance procedure? Ricken is part of the black sheep side of the Eagan family. He apparently has a fair amount of money and it’s not from his book sales. Family money? He also has red hair like Helly. Even more out there, Ricken is a clone of Keir Eagan. Keir looks to have spent more time philosophizing than anything else. Sounds like Ricken. why is Ms. selveg/cobel so interested in Devon/Ricken/baby except her religious devotion to the Eagan family. clones are a possibility since Ms. Casey was supposed to have been killed in a car accident and says her life has only been 100 hours awake. The data refinement team’s work is about improving their own feelings, thoughts and desires via programming. It’s why they can’t see each other’s scary or other “numbers.” We know the first one is true via the Senators wife who was clearly severed to avoid the pain of child birth and didn’t remember the main character’s sister when they saw each other after having met at the birth cabins.
December 27, 2024Dec 27 I feel like a lot of us would pay good money to sit in a room and have Ms. Casey read nice things about us.
December 27, 2024Dec 27 Oh most definitely. However, I would also pay good money to sit in a room and have her read bad things about me, such as what a naughty boy I've been and so forth. Edited December 27, 2024Dec 27 by HornOnTheBayou
December 28, 2024Dec 28 I guess I'm going to have to rewatch Season 1. Any good recap videos out there?
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