#2019 Dodge RAM All Black

[ausetkmt]

Arrest report shows Jacksonville Sheriff's officers struck man seen in viral arrest video 17 times

he Jacksonville Sheriff's Office released the mugshot and arrest report of the 24-year-old man who was seen being arrested Friday in a viral video that has his family calling for justice. Jacksonville police said Le'Keian Woods fled the scene of a traffic stop and actively resisted officers at the time of his arrest, a JSO incident report states. 

Woods was struck a total of 17 times by responding detectives and officers during his arrest, according to the report. 

Four Jacksonville Sheriff's Officers were involved: Detective Beau P. Daingle, Detective Josue Garriga, Detective T. McCullough and Detective Hunter Sullivan. 

This is the fourth time Garriga has made headlines: He was a member of the group chat investigated by JSO for biased texts -- including messages disparaging Jamee Johnson, the 22-year-old FAMU student killed in fatal police shooting in 2019. Garriga was also the officer who killed Johnson when he pulled him for over for a seatbelt violation, shooting him four times. And when he was working as an officer in Putnam County in 2015, he was one of several officers who fired at 48-year-old Andrew Williams, who later died. 

Woods arrested

 JSO's Gang Unit was conducting surveillance Friday in the area of Toledo Road and Powers Avenue in an unmarked police vehicle, the report states. 

Garriga, was parked in a gas station parking lot. While at the gas station, Garriga said he saw a gray Dodge Durango park at a gas pump, but the driver never pumped any gas, the report states.

A short time later, a gray Dodge Ram arrived at the gas station with three people inside. A man wearing "all black with a jacket and hood pulled over his head" got out of the passenger side of the vehicle. Garriga later identified the man as Le'Keian Woods, the report states.

Garriga notified other Gang Unit detectives what he was observing at the gas station, noting the Woods' pants were "weighing heavy" on his right side, and told detectives he believed he was armed with a handgun, the report states. 

Garriga said he saw Woods standing with the man from the Dodge Durango, noting he believed the man had been waiting for Woods in the parking lot. After a few moments, Garriga said Woods got into the back seat of an unidentified man's car, removed cash from his person, and began counting the money. Police say the unidentified man stood by as Woods counted the money. Garriga noted hearing the man say "hold on, we are handling business," the report.

Several lines in the report at redacted after this point. 

After the interaction, the report states the man got back into his vehicle and the Ram began to back out of the parking lot. 

Garriga said he saw the driver of the Ram not wearing a seatbelt. Garriga notified other detectives the Ram was leaving the gas station and began to follow the vehicle. 

The report says detectives Daigle and Sullivan followed the Ram down Toledo Road toward Old Kings Road South. 

Daigle attempted a traffic stop on the Ram near the intersection of Old Kings Road South and Plaza Gate Lane, but the vehicle continued driving "as if the occupants were looking for a place to run from the vehicle," the report says.

The vehicle continued into a dead end of an apartment complex driveway. Daigle and Sullivan attempted to conduct a "high-risk takedown" at the location. As Daigle was giving verbal commands to the occupants inside the Ram, Woods fled the passenger side of the vehicle and ran into the apartment complex, the report says.

Woods is tased, punched, elbowed, and 'unintentionally' kneed 

Sullivan chased after Woods, yelling "get on the ground." Sullivan said Woods was holding onto the front of his waistline throughout the chase, and believed he was armed and resisting. Sullivan said he drew his taser and told Woods he would be tased.

Sullivan discharged the taser, striking Woods, but appeared to have no effect, the report states. Woods was tased a second time in his and he fell onto the roadway on Plaza Gate Lane. When Sullivan reached Woods, he told him multiple times to put his hands behind his back, which he refused to do, the report states.

Sullivan said he noticed blood on Woods face from falling on the pavement. 

Woods continued to resist and attempted to keep his hands underneath him toward the front of his waistband, the report says. Then, Sullivan said he punched Woods in the face. 

Sullivan continued to tell Woods to put his hands behind his back which he refused. The report says Sullivan then laid on Woods' back to hold him down on the ground. Woods then tried to lift himself and Sullivan off the ground "to stand up."

Sullivan punched Woods in the face four more times and once in the ribs as responding officers arrived to assist, according to the report. 

Garriga said as Sullivan was "actively fighting to gain control of Le'Keian's left hand," he struck Woods four times in the upper shoulder. At the same time, there were "unintentional" knee strikes made to Woods' face, the report says.

Woods continued to "physically resist" detectives' efforts to gain control of his hands to place them in handcuffs, according to the report. Detectives said every attempt to grab Woods' right arm would result in him pulling away and tucking it under his body.

Garriga said he then struck Woods four times in the ribs.

At this point, McCullough arrived and assisted responding officers in restraining Woods. McCullough said he struck Woods in his eye three times with his elbow. 

Directly after McCullough struck Woods, Sullivan and Garriga were able to get Woods' arms behind his back and handcuff him, at which point "all force utilized immediately stopped." The report says Woods continued to resist after he was already in handcuffs. 

The Jacksonville Fire and Rescue Department responded to the scene and took Woods to UF Health for treatment. 

During the time Woods was being taken into custody, Daingle was holding the occupants in the Dodge Ram at gunpoint, the report says.

The driver of the vehicle was identified as Vontez Wright and the back seat passenger was identified as Raymond Wison. Both Wright and Wilson were taken into custody. 

Detectives then conducted a search through the vehicle. Much of what was found in the vehicle was redacted from the arrest report, but it does say narcotics were found and tested.

Wright's driver's license history showed two prior suspensions for fleeing and attempting to elude. Wright was arrested for traffic violations and possession of under 20 grams of marijuana. 

Wilson was questioned and released at the scene after being interviewed.

Woods' charges

Woods is being held at Duval County Jail on charges of armed drug trafficking, possession of a controlled substance, and resisting an officer with violence. 

Attorney Dexter Van Harris represented Woods in court Sunday morning. Van Harris told First Coast News the judge found no probable cause on two of the six charges he is facing, and his bond on the other four totals about $170,000.

Woods' next court date is scheduled for Oct. 24, 2023. 

Calls for justice

Sunday afternoon dozens of people rallied on the steps of the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office headquarters after a video of Woods' arrest went viral.

During the rally, Woods' mother, Natassia Woods, spoke to the crowd describing how hard it's been to get an update on her son's condition. She told First Coast News her son's attorney, Harry Daniels, told her that Woods was going to and from the hospital to be treated for a concussion. 

“I’m at a point now that I just want answers for my son," Woods told the crowd. "I want justice for my son. No one should be beaten like that.”

As Woods' mother spoke, she was surrounded by dozens of people with signs that read 'Justice for Ken.'

“We were definitely outraged," said Mary Dennis, who attended the rally. "When I saw the video, I just couldn’t believe that it took that many people to take one person down.”

The Jacksonville Community Action Committee, who organized the rally, called for three things in light of Woods' arrest going viral on social media.

One, for the officers responsible to be held accountable. Two, for JSO to get rid of its Gang Unit. Three, create a public safety committee made up of community members to review public safety polices. 

“Why can’t the city have an institution that can hear the voices of the community in a controlled way that can affect policy in a positive way," said Michael Sampson with the Jacksonville Community Action Committee.

In a statement released Monday, Wood's family and their attorneys said they will speak about the incident during a news conference Wednesday in front of JSO headquarters at 2 p.m. 

(https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/crime/arrest-report-shows-jacksonville-sheriffs-officers-struck-man-seen-in-viral-arrest-video-17-times/ar-AA1hAHC4)

[randomnonsensedragonage]

Chevalier No More

Avenie Caron & Jean-Marc Stroud - 1464 words

CW: Canon-typical violence

Summary: Avenie, a trainee at the Academie des Chevaliers, discovers the dark side of the path she's chosen. Then a mysterious Grey Warden offers her a new way forward.

A/N: Slowly working on uploading some of my Ao3 only fics to Tumblr as well. This one was originally published in 2019.

Read on Ao3

“No,” Avenie said. “I won’t allow this.”

Her hand rested on the hilt of her blade. Behind her lay the gates of Val Royeux’s Alienage, and ranged in front of her were several of her fellow trainees at the Academie. Her friends. Or so she’d thought.

“Come off it, Avenie.”

“Allow this? Is she serious?”

“It’s just a bit of fun.”

Avenie gritted her teeth. Chevalier training may have been a lie, but it hadn’t been useless. She was surveying the situation as she’d been taught, looking out for ways to defend herself and get the upper hand if they decided to fight their way past her. The street they were on was open, big enough for fighting, and though many of them were tense as though ready for battle, they seemed caught off guard, not as ready to attack as she was. But the fact remained that it was six against one, and most of them had had more training than her. She might be able to stop one or two of them, but the rest would either overpower her, or simply leave her to fight while they ran to the Alienage. She would have to talk them out of it.

“Attacking elves is not the purpose of our training,” she said, heart racing. “We-we must protect the weak, not prey on them.”

A few of her companions exchanged looks. There were titters. Eyes were rolled. Ariel, the tallest and most charismatic of the group, spoke.

“Avenie, it’s tradition,” he said, voice reasonable. “Practice. Elves today, Orlais’ foes tomorrow. Generations of Chevaliers have done the same.”

“The tradition is wrong,” she said. How could she make them see? She was a fighter, not a diplomat, and her voice shook even if her hands didn’t. She could only think of one more tactic.

“Julien, please.”

He was at the back, almost hidden in the shadows and head hung, but he looked up when she spoke. His black curls framing his face, eyes that same blue that always made her heart pound.

“You cannot agree with this. Please, make them see reason!”

He looked at her, blinked. Then, he looked at the ground. Her heart felt like it would tear into pieces.

Ariel drew his sword, the ring of steel echoing on the quiet street.

“This grows tiresome. Chevaliers, with me!”

Avenie drew her own blade, a noise echoed by the drawing of five others. They ran at her.

Avenie ducked, dodging out of the path of the sword that had been aimed at her chest. She came up and rammed into the nearest attacker’s chest, knocking him back. Someone tried to grab her from behind, and she spun, catching them in the chest with the flat of her sword, then lashing out at fighters to her right, to her left. She spotted Karine, one of the only other women in the group, attempting to get past her, but she leapt to the side and blocked her, at the same time kicking the man who tried to stab her in the side.

Bad idea. He grabbed her leg, pulling her to the ground. Her face hit the dirt, and she struggled to free herself as he dragged her across the dust. With a roar, she twisted, turning herself on to her back and jumping to her feet, knocking Ariel back at the same time. Righting herself, she wiped the blood from her nose, spat out the dirt, and held out her sword. But they were surrounding her, coming from all sides. Ariel’s grin was wolflike, and even Julien’s gaze was intense and cold. She stepped back. She would keep fighting them as long as she could. Even if they killed her, at least she would die defending others.

Then Karine cried out, doubling over in pain. Someone had slashed her in the back, and used the opening to break through the circle surrounding Avenie. A man ran to her side. All she could tell about him in the dark was that he was tall and solidly built, and he had a sword.

“With me,” he said. “We can take them together.”

Avenie nodded, not really having any other choice. He moved so he was at her back, facing those who were behind her. They separated.

Swords clashed in the night. Avenie was taking on Ariel and Julien, the strange man the three others. Karine was nowhere to be seen, must have stumbled off back to the Academie. Avenie hoped this meant she’d learned something.

As she knocked Julien’s blade aside, she glanced over her shoulder at the battle behind her. Though he was outnumbered, the strange man was fighting well, expertly dodging the three trainees’ thrusts and slashes. She saw him knock big Octave aside, slash a wound down his breastplate. The man stumbled and fell.

Before long, the battle was over. Several of her former friends lay on the ground, and the others had run back to the Academie. Avenie wiped her sword and re-sheathed it, noticing that Julien was not among the dead. She felt numb.

“Come on.” The man’s voice. He reached for her wrist, holding her steady. “We ought not to linger here.”

Too exhausted to do anything else, Avenie went with him.

The man’s name was Stroud. He was a serious looking fellow with dark hair and a handlebar mustache. Not the type you’d forget, but Avenie didn’t realize who he was until they were already speaking over drinks at the tavern.

“Jean-Marc Stroud?” she said. “The former Chevalier?” No wonder he had fought so well. “I thought you were exiled from the empire.”

Stroud took a sip of his drink, then shook his head.

“No, not exiled. I left by choice. But I do return from time to time.” His eyes twinkled. “You likely don’t remember, but I was among the Grey Wardens who visited your class at the Academie.”

Avenie did remember. Several weeks back, when they’d been learning how to fight Darkspawn, the Warden Commander had visited along with several others, who’d remained at the back of the hall. Stroud must have been among them.

Stroud set his stein down and wiped foam from his mustache. He was looking at her seriously.

“What are you going to do now?” he said. “You fought with your fellow trainees, and not, from the Academie’s point of view, over a point of honor. Things will be difficult for you after this.”

Avenie nodded. She ran a finger along the rim of her wine glass, but didn't lift it. Her stomach still felt too hollow for drink.

"Do you regret it?” Stroud said.

“No,” Avenie said immediately. “What they were trying to do was wrong. I’m just… disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“In the Chevaliers,” she said. She reached for her glass. Perhaps she needed the alcohol after all. “I thought… I thought Chevaliers fought for others, not just themselves. I thought they protected people.”

“Some do,” Stroud said. “Not all participate in the so-called tradition your friends were emulating. But protection is not a priority of the order.”

Avenie blinked away the blurriness that was starting to obscure her vision. “I… I don’t know what I’m going to do now. But I will not go back. I will not serve an order that places honor so highly above anything else.”

“So, you became a chevalier because you wanted to protect people?”

Avenie nodded.

“And because of that you stood up to your comrades in arms, your friends, even though you knew they might kill you?”

She nodded again.

“May I make a suggestion?” he said. “The Grey Wardens would welcome you as a recruit. Bravery and tenacity are things we admire. Not to mention the desire to protect. And we could use someone with your combat skills.”

Avenie took another sip of her drink, thinking.

“Is the training difficult?”

“Not nearly as difficult as training at the Academie. But it does require sacrifices. Your life won’t be the same after you join.”

“But I could do good.”

“Our purpose is to fight Darkspawn and stop Blights. So, yes, you would be doing good. You would also be able to move much more freely and widely.”

Avenie didn’t answer, so Stroud cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps you should take time to think about it. I’ll be—”

“I’ll do it,” Avenie said.

Stroud blinked. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Yes. I can’t be a chevalier anymore… but as a Grey Warden my skills wouldn’t go to waste. I’ll do it.”

Stroud smiled. He reached out and shook her hand. “Welcome, Avenie Caron,” he said. “The Wardens will be glad to have you. I’ll speak to the training master, and we can go to Commander Clarel in the morning.”

Avenie nodded. A Grey Warden. Somehow it felt right.

[arcanum-of-stars]

TW: talk of a car accident + pictures

Alright this is going to be a bit of a long one. I really appreciate anyone who reads it through though. So if anyone didn’t know, I was in a car accident on May 27th 2019, one year ago today. I got T-boned (sorta) by a big Dodge Ram truck, while I was in my tiny 2004 Honda Civic. I was on the way to pick up my boyfriend and one of his fathers friends to bring into St.John’s. They live about an hour drive away. That morning I left around 7:20 and three minutes later it happened. I don’t remember exactly what happened because I got knocked out. In my mind, I picked up my boyfriend and we were all in the car driving to where we needed to be. And then I “woke up” and I was in my car crying, a paramedic was holding my head still as I was in the driver seat, still holding onto the wheel.

I heard them talking about my boyfriend and then they called him on my phone. I started crying even worse when I heard his voice. I was scared, I didn’t know what had happened, there was blood on me, and glass everywhere. They got me to come out through the passenger side and get up onto a gurney. I was put in the ambulance where the paramedic asked some questions as we drove to the hospital. They had to cut the sweater I was wearing off of me, it was covered in glass and blood. I laid on the gurney while they put an IV in. I don’t remember at what point they did put it on but I had a gauze pad wrapped around near my left eye.

A family friend of my boyfriends father who was in the hospital came in to see me. She started crying. I thought, “I must look like garbage laying here all bloody and bandaged with a neck brace” She asked what happened and I said I didn’t know. I really didn’t. Not too long after my boyfriends father came in. He actually cried a bit and told me I gave him some fright. Then my boyfriend came in and stayed with me through the xrays and when I had to get stitches. I had three cuts on my eye and the biggest on was a chunk taken out and you started to see the bone underneath so that was fun.

When it came time to give them a urine sample I couldn’t walk. It was so painful to move my legs and I need to be put into a wheelchair and even then my boyfriend was with me every step of the way to help. Him and his father were there because the police couldn’t get ahold of my family and neither could the hospital. It was my boyfriend who got into contact with my mother and let her know what had happened. Then they brought me to my parents house afterwards

Before we left though, we stopped to look at my car. I couldn’t see it at the time because, well, I couldn’t walk so I wasn’t able to get out of the truck. When I had to go back to the hospital for X-rays a few days later I was finally able to see my car, as well as the truck that hit me. I was told that I was lucky to be alive and that I made out with minimal injuries; a black eye, 8 stitches, a small collapsed lung and I could barely walk the pain was so bad in my legs

But the main point of me saying this is because I could have died. That impacted the people around me. I’ve had depression for a several years now and even self harmed and had suicidal thoughts. You really don’t realize how much people care for you until something really bad happens like this.

I have anxiety driving even in passenger and if I tried to drive I really don’t know what I’d do. I have scars on my face from the cuts that were so deep you could see bone and some scars on my legs. The fines I still need to pay from that accident that constantly cause me stress. The physical pain and emotional pain from that accident are something that I have dealt with and have. But nothing from that will ever affect me more than when I saw my boyfriend come in. I couldn’t move from where I was, I was covered in blood and looked awful and the only thing I wanted right then was him with me. I reached my hand out to him and said “I need you” and that was the moment he broke and started crying.

I would have made my turn if the guy driving the truck wasn’t speeding in a 30 zone. If I remember he was going around 60-70. He also had a kid with him who was luckily ok.

Please if you’ve read this far, take this as a reminder, people do care. Don’t take for granted the people close to you and please drive safe.

[superbataddicted]

Writer's Month 2019

Day 4 Prompt: Road Trip

Fandom: Superbat, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Superman/Batman

Writer: batzmaru65

(This is an AU where both Clark and Bruce grown up together in Smallville. They had graduated from high school and had decided to go on a road trip together. In this AU, Clark had not discovered his superpowers yet.)

"See, we should have just flown in," Bruce groused, gesturing disgustedly at Clark's Dodge Ram which had decided to breakdown in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing but cornfields glazed orange by the setting sun. Night always comes faster in Kansas when autumn is fading and winter about to come.

"Where's the fun then?" Clark remarked as he Iugged the toolbox from the truck bed and Bruce watched the flex of his biceps as he carried it to the front.

Patting the hood fondly, Clark winked at Bruce, "Don't worry. This darling maybe be old but it's still got lots of sprite left."

Bruce rolled his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh. He could understand why Clark loved the truck so much. His favourite memories of him and his dad revolved around this vehicle and despite its age and the effort to keep it running, Clark refused to give it up. It was his way of remembering his Pa who had died last summer in a sudden tornado attack.

Bruce got up from where he had been squatting and went to help. The hood was already up and Clark had bent over, tinkling with the engine parts.

"Move your butt," Bruce slapped Clark's ass, grinning unrepentantly when Clark shot him an offended glare. But he did as was told, shifting to the side, making space for Bruce. Together, they worked in silence and perfect unison. Bruce holding the torch and handing over the tools needed. They had done this so many times that there was no need for Clark to tell him what to do.

A flash of light against the gathering darkness caught Bruce's attention. He looked to the horizon, frowning pensively as another quick flash of light streaked across the stormy skies. Seemed like their troubles kept piling up. He hoped it was not a sign that their graduation trip was cursed.

The two of them were on their way to Metropolis, the big city that never sleeps. Neither of them had ever been there, having spent all their 18 years growing up in Smallville. So upon their graduation, Clark had suggested a trip out. Bruce had liked the idea but thought Clark was quite mad to want to drive all the way there.

"It's a day's drive!" Bruce stared at Clark, incredulity writ on his face. They had argued and in the end Bruce had caved in not because he had been persuaded. He just could not refuse Clark when he pulled out that puppy-eyed look and began to pout. That was how they had ended up here, stuck in the middle of nowhere on a deserted road.

"Okay...this should work," Clark straightened up and turned to Bruce.

One look and Bruce began to chuckle. Clark in his usual goofy style, had managed to smear grease onto his face. There was a slash of black across his forehead and blobs on his chin and right cheek.

Realising what had happened, Clark began rubbing his face with the sleeve of his plaid shirt, flustered and embarrassed. Bruce laughed even harder as he ended up spreading the grease over a wider surface area. Letting his arm fall to the side, Clark's lips began to droop into a pout.

"Alright, alright," Bruce sucked in a deep breath and forced back his laughter, though his eyes continued to twinkle in merriment, "Here, let me help you."

Bruce stepped closer, lifted the hem of his T-shirt and began to wipe the stains away. They stood in the failing light, bodies not quite touching. The tip of Bruce's tongue peeped out from between his lips as he focused on the cleaning while Clark's heart beat faster and faster, Bruce's scent filling his nose and his warmth seeping into his skin.

"Do you know why I wanted a road trip?" Clark husked.

Bruce paused and looked at him, breath taken away by the intensity in Clark's eyes.

"Why?" Bruce asked, even though he already knew what the answer was.

"So that I can do this..." he pulled Bruce in, "and this..." he pressed his lips against Bruce's fuller ones and began kissing him. Bruce melted against him, mouth parting and head angled to give Clark better access. They kissed with wild abandonment, free to express their feelings however they liked without fear of discovery. Smallville is a nice but conservative town and their relationship would not have been well-accepted. So they always had to be careful, had to hide their affection which began as a childhood infatuation and later blossomed into love.

The two of them would have proceeded to more explicit display of their emotions if not for a bright flash followed by a loud roar that rattled the car windows and shook the ground. They broke apart, grinning sheepishly as droplets began to fall.

"Where's our motel?" Bruce asked as he tugged his shirt down, shaking his head to flick raindrops out of his eyes.

"Another twenty minutes or so," Clark replied as he slammed the hood down and picked the toolbox up. The two of them dashed into the truck as the drizzle turned into a heavy downpour. Bruce switched on the wipers and headlights, and looked over at Clark, a hand gripping the car key.

"Your darling had better start or you're gonna have to fix your erection yourself. I'm not gonna let you fuck me in this old bucket."

Clark grimaced and kept all his fingers crossed. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when the engine hiccupped and then roared to life.

Bruce grinned and pulled back the clutch, "Well, you're in luck, Smallville."

The truck lurched and began rolling down the road, picking up speed. It was soon swallowed up by the darkness leaving behind swaying cornfields and pouring skies.

[hidding-in-shadows]

weak endeavors  chapter one: 2 A.M.

@soulxmakaweek

Summary: For SoMa Week 2019. Soul's an underground boxer who's just trying to make some extra money to start his own life, it's not his fault that his trainer's daughter seems to catch his eye, and he can't seem to stop her from wiggling her way into his life. Mature for adult language and situations.

FFN Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13266914/1/weak-endeavors

Archive of Our Own Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549988/chapters/43967119

Black was the only color that hid the blood.

At first he had tried red, but when the blood dried (his or his opponents, sometimes he couldn't tell), it had turned a rusty color. Then he had tried brown, but he could still see the sliver of an outline from the splatters. Finally, Blake had given him some black wraps with a mumbled try these, and from that day on, Souls hands were wrapped in black and unforgiving.

He didn't like the fights. He never got a fighters high, but it brought in the most cash. His other two jobs were made through friendships, the first at Blake's shitty hole-in-the-wall bar where being drunk seemed like a requirement when entering the place. The second he enjoyed more, but was less entertaining, at Blake's girlfriends book shop. It was small, hipster heaven. He had caught people coming in simply to take an aesthetically pleasing photo for their Instagram more than once. But, both were minimum wage, and part-time, and that wasn't enough for him to make it on his own.

"Soul," Blake's voice echoed in the empty room, off the metal doors of rusty lockers. Soul glanced up from underneath his shaggy hair. The man was his age, but shorter and bulkier. His neon blue hair, which he insisted was a trend, appeared washed out and faded in the blinking light of the shitty locker room. "They're waiting."

"Of course," Soul stood up, flexing his hands in the wraps, testing to make sure they were tight enough to protect his knuckles as best as they could, but loose enough not to turn his fingers a shade of purple.

(Sometimes he wrapped them just a little too tight to watch the tan skin of his fingers turn a slight shade cooler. Just to make sure.)

"He's good," Blake said as the two men walked out of the locker room and into a loud, crowded basement. He raised his already booming voice. "He focuses mostly on offense, but that doesn't mean his defense is weak. I know he's been out of the game for a while, but he's a legend, so I doubt he's going into this blind. I suggest waiting it out a bit, make sure you study his moves a little before doing anything big. He's taller than you, but about the same weight, light on his feet. He did break his knee a few years back, though, which was why he had to pull out. His left one, so maybe hone in on that."

"I'm not breaking an old man's knee," Soul scoffed, nodding to a few people as he walked through the crowd towards the center of the basement where the ring was.

"I'm just saying, if worse come to worse."

"I'll be fine."

Blake gave Soul a hard look before nodding and clasping a hand roughing on the other man's shoulder. He wished him good luck, told him not to die, and then disappeared into the crowd. He may be Soul's best friend, but Blake had a bar to look after, which was located above the underground ring.

Soul made his way through the crowd once more,stopping at the edge of the makeshift fighting ring. It was sad, something they had found on Craigslist. It was being sold after a close-by after-school program was closing up, and the ring was used for their boxing program. It was made for kids, not full grown men and women, so it was smaller, a tighter area, which meant more intense fights. And the people loved that.

The bands which fenced the ring in were dirty, some were snapped in half, laying limply on the ground. Soul lifted one and entered the ring, ears pounding to the sound of the small audience roaring with excitement. His opponent had yet to enter, but Soul knew he wouldn't back down, not after the way Soul challenged him.

"Hey kid," a voice snapped Soul back to reality.

Soul's opponent stood across the ring, ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, blue eyes piercing, and his fists wrapped in red. There was a cut on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes had bags, but there was no denying that there was a fierceness in the man's eyes that only came from years of experience in the ring.

"Three rounds," a voice rang out, but Soul was trained on his opponent. "First one down for ten is out. At the end of three rounds, it's a tie. Are the fighters ready?"

"Aye," Soul said, clenching his fists. The other man spat.

"Begin!"

Soul stepped forward, bouncing on his heels as he watched the older man move, the two circling each other. The sounds of the crowd died out and all Soul heard was a pounding in his ears. The opponent had a straight face, eyes tracking Soul's every move, and then there was a flash of movement.

His fist connected with Soul's shoulder, but that was better than his face. It hurt like hell, and packed power, but Soul took the chance and grabbed the man's arm, tugging him forwards and rammed his shoulder into the man's chest. He heard a gasp and then felt a punch on his back followed by a knee to the stomach. Soul clenched his teeth at the impact, but moved his hands to the man's neck, pulling him over his back and slamming the man into the pad of the mat.

"God dammit," he heard the older man grumble, and Soul turned around swiftly, taking a few steps back so his opponent could stand up. "What? Too scared to kick someone who's down?"

"I like my fights fair," Soul countered, "something that you wouldn't understand from what I've heard, Spirit."

"Rumors are rumors, kid," the man spat, blood covering the front of his teeth, "back in my day, fights were done with bare knuckles in backyards."

"Back in your day you had to fight dirty to win because you something to fight for," Soul smirked at the way Spirit's eye twitched, "from what I heard, you're an empty nester now. No wife. No kid. Sounds like you've got fighters rush to block that shit out."

"You white-haired, mother-,"

Spirit launched himself at Soul and the younger man dodged it, landing a good punch on Spirits ribs, but he ended up standing in a corner. Spirit turned around quickly and smirked, seeing the opportunity to trap the other fighter. Soul tighten his fists, taking a deep breath and trying hard not to wince at the pain that blossomed in his stomach.

As Spirit moved, Soul dodged, his face close to the edge of the ring. He tried to focus on Spirit, his fists and his moves, tried to study the way he fought, but a flash of green caught the corner of his eye and he looked away for a moment.

Green eyes.

That's all he remembered seeing before blacking out.

---

He woke up to a coolness on his eyes, someone touching his torso, and the sound of an angry girl.

When he cracked his eyes open, Soul saw green eyes framed by long, blonde lashes, and white teeth pinching an ace bandage. The girl blinked and he realized it was her hand that was on him because she moved it to push the fringe of bangs on her forehead back, and he missed the warmth.

"You've got a black eye, a split brow and lip, and some nasty bruises on your lower ribs, but you'll be fine," She said after removing the bandage from her mouth and pressing a bit of it to his brow, "I'm Maka by the way."

"Why are you even helping this punk, sweetheart," Soul heard the voice of Spirit as he closed his eyes, head pounding and stomach churning, "I'm sure Blake can fix him up just fine."

"Maybe because you're the asshole who knocked him out and I always have to clean up after you," the girl, Maka, spat back with venom, "God, is like you're trying to fuck everything up to get me back into your life, Papa. For once can't you just figure your own shit out? No wonder Mama left."

"E-excuse me?"

"Wait, did you just say Papa?" Soul grimace, voice raspy.

"Yeah, sadly," Maka huffed, peeling the bandage away as Soul opened his eyes again, "that's my dick of a dad who beat you up. But, you held your ground for a good bit until …," she trailed off and Soul watched her cheeks go pink.

"Until what?" He smirked, finally getting to look her up and down.

"Hey, watch where you're looking," she hissed, slapping him in the ribs with the back of hand, making him hiss in pain, "I'm not sorry about that."

She stood up, tossing the ace bandage into a small messenger bag by her feet. She glanced over to her dad before leaning down to gather the bag and hoist it onto her shoulder. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, a few tendrils framing her face and a fringe of bangs. Her eyes were green, but they looked dark from the distance even though Soul has seen flecks of blue around her iris when she was closer to him. He noted she had long, fit legs and her arms seemed to be tight with muscle, but he snapped his eyes back to her face after her words repeated in his head.

"I'm getting a drink," she huffed, rolling her eyes and she spun on a heel, "try not to beat each other up again, I'm a history student, not med."

She disappeared from the locker room, the door slamming behind her.

Soul touched the ice pack he assumed she had place on his head, and sat up on the bench, his muscles pulling and begging him to lay back down. Spirit was across the room, leaning on the rusty, old lockers. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt now, but Soul could tell he had left some bruises on the man by the way Spirit pushed off the lockers and winced.

"You, ah, put up a pretty good fight out there," Soul offered, trying to ease the tension in the room, "I know I said some shit out there in the ring, and I want to apologize. It was unprofessional and -,"

"This is fighting," Spirit cut him off, "not an office job. There's no such thing as unprofessional."

"Right, got it," Soul swallowed hard, fingers dancing atop the ice pack in his hand.

"Listen kid," Spirit walked over toward Soul and took a seat next to him on the bench, "I may have been out of the ring for a while, but I still know what I'm doing. You've got some good fight in you, some good moves. Reminds me a bit of myself when I first got into the scene."

"Really?"

Spirit hummed and fished into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, took a big puff, and blew the smoke from his nose. He was quiet for a moment.

"It was true what you said in the ring though," he said, eyes going distant, "my wife and daughter hate me because of what I do, where I go at night. My wife left me and Maka … I can tell she's getting there. I'm only telling you this because you're a lot like me when I was younger. I've seen you fight, I've been watching you for a while. When word got out that were was a new guy, someone following in my footsteps, I needed to met him and put him in place."

Soul was quiet, the ice pack now beginning to numb his palm.

"Not to be rude," Soul said, "but you don't know me. We're different, you and I. I didn't start fighting because I had a family to support. I started for myself and I fight for myself. I don't have, and won't have, what you did."

"That's what you think," Spirit huffed, putting his cigarette out on the bench before he stood, "If you're going down this path, do it right. If you're gonna be following after me, than I want a good-ass trainee."

Soul's eyes widened as he looked up to Spirit who stood there, hands in pockets, eyes hard.

"You're pulling out after just coming back?"

"I'm too old for this shit, and my daughter was right. I bring her my bullshit all the time. She always comes to my fights, cleans me up after, swears me out, and then ignores me until the next time I need help. I can't keep doing that to her, not when she's about to start her own life."

Spirit made his way towards the door of the locker room. He stopped before leaving.

"I'm leaving my number with Blake. I expect to hear from you by the end of the week if you want to train. But, my first advice for you, don't apologize for anything that happened in the ring. That will just piss off your opponent more, and beef's outside of the ring can get bad."

---

The bar was usually filled at two in the morning, but on a Tuesday night, Soul should have expected it to be empty. There were a few people, an older man passed out at one of the tables, a couple in the back making out, and Maka sitting at the bar, beer in hand, head thrown back as she laughed at something Blake had said.

Soul made his way over, Maka catching his eye, her own eyes narrowing suspiciously as he sat on the stool next to her. Blake had already filled a glass with beer and had it on the bar ready for him. Soul took a sip, the alcohol burning the cut on his lip.

"It was really stupid of you to say that stuff to my dad in the ring," Maka said suddenly, making Soul cock an eyebrow, "that shit really riles him up."

"That was the plan."

"For you to get your ass kicked?"

"If I remember, I was doing the ass kicking before you got involved."

"Oh, and how did I get involved, per say?"

Soul turned his body towards her a bit, taking her in again and he watched as her cheeks turned pink. Blake had left by this point, mumbled something about getting the last customer's out so he could close.

"Listen here, blondie," Soul said, leaning forward a little, "I appreciate you fixing me up, and I understand that you think your dad is a good fighter, whether you like him or not, and that I need to watch my mouth, but if you don't stop looking at me with those eyes, and getting pink in the face every time I so much as glance at you, something is gonna be done about it."

"I prefer it if my suitor's take me on at least two dates before they talk about ravishing me," Maka scoffed, rolling her eyes as she took another sip of her beer, "and if I recall correctly, it was you who froze up like a statue when you saw me."

"And you were the one who fixed me up up-close-and-personal. I believe I recall some wandering hands on my chest and stomach."

"To feel for broken bones," she hissed, her face blossoming in color again, "perv."

"Tiny-tits."

"Asshole!"

Soul smirked as Maka crossed her arms, her neck and chest now flush with either anger or embarrassment. Soul couldn't tell which, but he liked to color on her.

"Sorry," he chuckled, leaning back and holding his hands up in surrender, "it's too easy to tease you with your reaction. Let's go back to introductions because I think we started on the wrong foot. I'm Soul, twenty-four year old male. I love open-mics and long walks on the beach. My favorite kind of movies are rom-coms and I love puppies."

That got a snicker out of Maka and Soul wondered if he could make her laugh like he had seen her do with Blake.

"Maka. Twenty-one year old female. I love the night time and silent movies, but only if they are black-and-white. My favorite kind of books are cheesy romance and I love cats."

"Ouch," Soul said, putting his hand over his chest, "I thought you'd be more of a dog person."

"Don't think too much about me, Soul, I'm not what I seem."

"Mmm," Soul hummed, taking another sip of his beer, "and what if I want to think more about you?"

"Dear god," Maka rolled her eyes as she finished the last of her beer, "is this how you pick up girls?"

"Only one's named Maka."

"That's my cue to leave," she laughed, grabbing her bag from the other stool, "listen, I'm sorry my dad is an asshat and gave you a black eye. Even though you push my buttons, you seem like a cool guy."

"I am the epitome of cool, blondie."

"Alright, cool guy, than an acquaintanceship it is."

"Not even friends?" he smirked.

"I actually like my friends," she smirked back, "see you around Soul. Try not to get killed in those idiotic fights."

"Whatever you say," he watched as she left and wondered if this, two A.M. in a shitty bar after getting beat up by her dad, was the last time he would see Maka Albarn.

[enginerumors]

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[truck-runningboards]

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[smalltowndimwits]

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[lawrencedienerthings]

Triggered: How one of Colorado’s smallest Black Lives Matter protests became its most violent

#georgefloyd👩‍⚖️ 🚨 🔆 👥

more news https://northdenvernews.com

ALAMOSA — The protesters, about a dozen in all, gathered on June 4 in the intersection of State Avenue and Main Street. Like protesters across the country in the aftermath of George Floyd’s killing by police, they were demanding police accountability and racial justice.

The group occupied the crosswalk during red lights, then stepped to the curb on green. Letting traffic pass, they figured, would help keep things peaceful.

Some drivers raised their fists and honked in solidarity. Others, cranky that skinny-jeaned millennials were chanting “Whose streets? Our streets” in their city’s main intersection, flipped them the bird.

In the days before the protest, warnings of outside agitators coming in to make trouble prompted a posse of armed businessmen to stand post. People were on edge.

Just before 6 p.m., a man driving a Dodge Ram pickup pulled up to the red light, then accelerated into the crosswalk.

A video of the scene shows protesters lurch out of the way. It also shows one protester, a man dressed in a black T-shirt, pull a gun from his waistband and shoot the driver in the head.

Their June 4 run-in lasted five seconds, less than an average yawn. That’s all it took for one of Colorado’s sleepy protests to become its most violent.

Surveillance video provided by Narrow Gauge Book Co-op.

Marshall law

James Edward Marshall IV, the 27-year-old shooter, is facing a slew of charges, including attempted murder. He knows a thing or two about what he’s up against because he is a defense lawyer.

Marshall grew up in Cincinnati’s suburbs and studied political science at Ohio State University where, as he still touts years later, he was the president of the rifle and “cigar culture” clubs. He graduated in 2018 from the University of Colorado Law School. A former classmate in the student law clinic there says he would bemoan police and prosecutors’ treatment of his clients more loudly and bitterly than others.

He went to work at the public defender’s office in Durango, a job he kept for only 10 months. In June 2019, he married CU grad Mariah Loraine and moved to Alamosa. She took a job as a child welfare caseworker for the county’s Department of Human Services and he opened a law office at the corner where he would shoot Pruitt a year later.

He called his practice “Marshall Law.”

His goal, he told people here, was to represent clients at fees they wouldn’t need to sell their homes to afford.

“He thought there was a niche in this area that he could fulfill. He seemed to have the mindset of being of service and wanting to really establish himself,” said Christine Canaly, director of the San Luis Valley Ecosystem Council whose office is next to the one Marshall rented.

Canaly has seen tenants come and go in her two decades working in the building. He was the first to tidy up the joint restroom. He even brought a “little wicker basket to make it homey,” she said. “I thought, ‘Wow, this is great!’”

She found him friendly when he would pop in to say hi, but also says he seemed “stressed out” and has a “nervous temperament.”

Marshall played a lot of trivia at Square Peg, a downtown brewery. He also frequented Milagros Café, the popular coffee spot below his office. He sometimes met clients there, though usually grabbed a cup to go while on his cell phone. Customers say he is a loud talker. Some also say his tailored suits and matching dress shoes and belts stood out in a town more accustomed to jeans and work boots.

Over the past year, he struck up several conversations with Aaron Miltenberger, executive director of Boys & Girls Clubs of the San Luis Valley. They would chat while waiting for their coffee orders.

“We’d run into each other and talk about news, politics, whatever. The conversation would often be around the current political state. He’d say ‘I f—ing hate Trump,’ or something like that,” he said.

“James is pretty tightly wound. There’s an intensity you don’t always see around here.”

Your typical Texan

Danny Pruitt, the 49-year-old gunshot victim, spent most of the past three weeks in a coma, the bullet still lodged in his brain.

Named after his dad, he grew up in Maypearl, a town of 1,000 in Texas’s cow country. He served as an electronics tech in the Army after Operation Desert Storm and fell 15 feet on the job, hurting his shoulder and back, before being discharged for disability. He has not worked since, says Tom Metier, his lawyer.

Pruitt’s friends and family say he is fiercely private, unwilling to talk much about his life.

“I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell,” said Brent Thompson, the neighbor he was with in the hours before the shooting.

Records show Pruitt made a long string of moves within Texas before heading to Colorado in 2018. He stayed for a while in a small home near a cemetery in Cañon City, then moved to an RV Park in Blanca with a view of the snow-capped fourteener of the same name. The mountain, he apparently told people, reminded him there is a God.

About a year ago, he bought seven acres of cheap land at the far eastern edge of the San Luis Valley. The off-grid community called Sangre de Cristo Ranches has drawn many Texans and Oklahomans, off-roaders and gun people, and at least two residents who recently were using Confederate flags as window coverings.

Pruitt spent much of the past year preparing to build a small cabin on the property where he could live with his 5-year-old daughter, Melody. He also was battling for custody with her mother in Texas until being granted primary custody in the winter.

Danny Pruitt moved to Colorado in 2018 and was recently granted custody of his daughter. (Provided by the Pruitt family)

“All he wanted was to get away and build a better life for that girl,” his sister, Candace said.

Thompson, a preacher who lives down the hill from Pruitt, counseled his new friend through the rough patch. Both are veterans who share a similar “appreciation of this land, of this country,” he said.

He describes Pruitt as “your typical Texan — a cowboy-hat-wearing, pickup truck-driving, downhome, morally sound kind of person” committed, above all else, to his daughter. “The very first thing he built up there is a room for her to be in, a safe place for her while he’s working.”

“All I know is he and the mom of his daughter got into some bad stuff and he seems to have some hard times in the past down (in) Texas. He’s like a lot of people who’ve had bad marriages, bad lives, done things they’re not necessarily proud of.”

Pruitt posted a selfie on Facebook in mid-May. In it, he wore the white cowboy hat Thompson says he saves for trips into town. He was standing next to his pickup on what looks like his property, layers of foothills and the valley behind him. He looked proud. And he was smiling.

“Been here with god (a) while now. Ain’t no way I’m leaving,” he wrote. “I’ll raise my daughter and build things back in my life. Home this is home!”

Stoking fear

The May 25 killing of George Floyd, who was Black, by a white Minneapolis police officer set off a national soul-searching, and public officials across Colorado responded. Leaders of dozens of cities, both big and small, recognized widespread frustrations about police brutality and institutional racism. They acknowledged people’s pain. They promised to look at their own communities’ policies and practices, and make changes, if needed.

City brass in Alamosa said nothing.

“We do not have the big city issues with law enforcement officers. Our law enforcement officers care and I care about them. We know how to get along with each other here,” Mayor Ty Coleman said as an explanation for his silence.

Coleman is Black, a demographic that makes up less than 1% of a city population that is about 41% white and 51% Latino. His election as mayor and the fact that city police have avoided significant civil rights controversies speak to a local comfort with racial diversity, at least to a certain extent.

Zahra Dilley, 37, is a Black call center worker who moved with her six children from Chicago five years ago. She feels her family is safer here, but not free from racism. She says locals sometimes stare at her with an expression she interprets to mean, “Of all the places you could have went, why here?”

“I don’t think they, including the mayor, want to admit we have the same problems that go on like everywhere else,” she said.

Alamosa may be more comfortable with its ideological differences. Some 40% of voters here are Democrat, 37% unaffiliated and 21% Republican. Adams State University professors, local business owners, federal employees, Russian pot growers, good-old-boy ranchers and the immigrants who tend their stock, big city transplants and sixth-generation oldtimers have learned to coexist here. In years of 4th of July and Pride parades, climate action and anti-abortion marches, there has been little turmoil.

A sign near the Alamosa intersection where James Marshall allegedly shot Danny Pruitt on June 4. (Susan Greene, Colorado News Collaborative)

But this spring was different. Alamosans, like all Americans, followed how protests in Minneapolis triggered others in Atlanta, Washington, DC and Los Angeles. They tracked the protests in Denver, Colorado Springs, Pueblo. They saw the grief and fury on marchers’ faces and watched footage of fires and looting.

Alamosa Economic Development Director Kathy Rogers Woods, in an email she marked as “IMPORTANT and TIME SENSITIVE information — PLEASE READ,” wrote “There have been reports that a group is planning to gather on Main Street at 11 PM TONIGHT – Monday, June 1, for what is thought to be similar activity we’ve been seeing in cities across the nation, of late.” That group turned out to be a gaggle of high-schoolers whose plans to go downtown to spray paint buildings police easily thwarted.

But three minutes after Woods sent her email, Cathy Garcia, U.S. Sen. Cory Gardner’s southern regional office director, replied all with a message reading: “Group will be in Pueblo at 6 pm tonight. Heard from Trinidad that a group will be there sometime soon and that buses would be coming from Colorado Springs.”

Some in the email chain read Garcia’s message to mean buses of protesters could be heading to Alamosa. And so, within a few hours, phones here were buzzing with anxious text messages about a purported caravan of radical agitators headed to bust up the town. Managers at the Alamosa Walmart closed early that evening, barricading the doors and windows.

That night, a posse of civic leaders and other volunteers showed up downtown carrying sidearms and semi-automatic rifles to protect businesses from the would-be band of looters. A contingent of city police officers joined them.

“Several of my friends and I, we open carry and we heard that supposably that they were sending antifa down here to paint our town and terrorize our streets and we weren’t going to let that happen,” said Larry Jack, one of the locals who stood guard.

“We had quite a big turnout, at least 80 of us downtown. … There was really a buzz going on,” added Eric Gile, owner of a roofing company in town.

Buzz was all there was. That night and the other three first nights of protest here went peacefully, with little more friction than a Black man calling a gaggle of armed posse members some names and a white man mooning protesters with “All Lives Matter” written on his butt.

Wanting something better

Marshall and his wife, Mariah Loraine showed up for one of those first protests. They seemed to have come directly from work – he wearing a business suit and she in office attire. She was openly carrying a pistol.

“That seemed really odd,” said protester Jesse Marchildron. “I was like why are you carrying a gun at a peaceful protest?”

He and others say the couple protested with an intensity, even rage that stood out in the crowd of about 30. Husband and wife would lead chants, including one in Spanish. They would shake their signs and scream profanities whenever police would drive by. And they would urge fellow marchers to protect themselves against “the pigs.”

One of them, Elizabeth Oxer, says Marshall was the loudest in the crowd: “But, like, not in a good way.”

Miltenberger had run into Marshall at the café in the weeks and days prior. They talked longer than usual, at first about COVID, then about Floyd’s killing, Black Lives Matter and police violence. He says Marshall vented about a criminal justice system he saw as broken, violent and corrupt.

“I remember feeling like whoa, James is really on edge.”

Screenshots of Marshall’s private Facebook page provided to the Valley Courier show him advising his Facebook friends on May 29 “How not to die while protesting.” “ 1. Be white. 2. Carry a freedom stick,” – slang for firearm – he wrote. He posted an article the next day about the National Guard and Minneapolis police forcing residents into their homes at curfew. “This isn’t policing anymore. It is a hostile occupation,” he wrote.

He elaborated on his views June 1.

“Since being anti-fascist is about to be labeled as terrorism, I’m going to make a record: 75 years ago, our nation finished a brutal World War against fascism. 400,000 American Patriots died to protect the free world from fascism. Millions of Europeans were murdered by fascists. Millions more gave their lives to protect others from fascism’s insidious ideas. Being anti-fascist is the default stance in a democracy.”

“I am not an anarchist. I am not a liberal. I am not a conservative. I am not a Democrat. I am not a Republican,” he wrote. “I am a human being and I want something better than this.”

The morning of the shooting, he posted a section of the U.S. Code about war crimes, implying National Guard members broke the law when tear-gassing and otherwise hurting protesters on U.S. soil. That afternoon, he posted a response to the argument that “Not all cops are bad.” “Well, not all Germans were Nazis, but enough were,” he wrote.

Four and a half hours before the shooting, he posted: “It’s really hard to go to school for over 20 years, pay $200,000, pass the bar exam and swear an oath to defend the Constitution to then watch high school bullies with badges and guns trample on civil liberties in the name of ‘law and order.’”

If you can’t dodge it, ram it

Pruitt spent most of June 4 helping Thompson clear trees in Forbes Park, an area near their properties.

Thompson offered him $150 for his time, but he wouldn’t take it. “He said, ‘No, that’s just what people do for people.’ He’s done that for me more than once, helped me out and never asked for anything.”

He says Pruitt asked if he would drive to Alamosa with him that evening for a hamburger. Thompson couldn’t go because he had a 6 p.m. meeting.

“I don’t think he would have gone to town if he knew people were protesting. He doesn’t want nothing to do with it,” Thompson said, adding that Pruitt doesn’t have a TV or follow current events. “He don’t care. He don’t care who the president is. He wouldn’t even listen if you talked about it.”

But Pruitt’s Facebook page shows he was following the news closely.

On May 28, he posted an article about a soldier credited with saving lives in Kansas by ramming a shooting suspect with his pickup truck. He previously had posted a picture of his own Dodge Ram 4×4, writing, “How does it go if you can’t Dodge it ram it if you can’t see it well hit it.”

On June 1, he shared five Facebook posts related to the protests.

One was a meme picturing Black looters that read, “I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t look like they’re grieving to me.” One defended police officers, à la “not all cops are bad.” One sought prayers for President Donald Trump: “He’s fighting an evil we can’t even imagine.” One showed a T-shirt printed with an American flag and the words “You don’t have to love it, but you don’t have to live here either.” And one was a photo of Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry with his gun drawn, and a reference to the line, “Go ahead, make my day.”

Those posts since have been scrubbed from his Facebook page.

Flashpoint

Several protesters showed up to the intersection after work. One carried a cardboard sign she had Sharpied on her lunch break. Another brought a sandwich for the intervals between red lights. They were mostly women, mostly young, and mostly white, though led by a Latina organizer.

They knew full well that their neighbors and coworkers weren’t clamoring for national police reform and racial reconciliation. But they hoped that waving a sign in the middle of Main Street would make people think. They also felt like standing for something at a time when they felt powerless.

Marshall came with his wife. He wore a black T-shirt, black gloves, his signature aviator glasses and a military cap that covered his blond hair. His black face mask concealed the beard he had grown during lockdown.

He carried a sign reading “Murder is murder no matter BLUE did it.” And, as he had several nights prior, he was yelling louder than the others.

Fellow protesters say he was interrupting the organizer and other young women as they led chants, recited names of Black victims of police brutality, and at one point kneeled silently on the pavement. In the video, captured by a nearby bookstore surveillance camera, you can see him marching with an exaggerated, almost militaristic gait in and out of the intersection.

The video shows a dark gray pickup approach the protesters, slow down to a near stop, then accelerate toward them. Loraine, among others, jumps out of the way.

Oxer — a 23-year-old Americorps volunteer from Iowa who identifies by the pronoun “they” — remembers thinking someone had been hit. They yelled “What the f—?” and flipped off the driver.

“Then there was the gunshot. Which was not great,” they said. “At first I thought it was the guy in the truck that had done it. That was my first time ever being near a gunshot. I think I was maybe 10 feet away.”

Chris Canaly heard the gunfire from up in her office. She looked down and saw women running. She said she could hear them “screaming ‘Oh my god, oh my god,’ at the top of their lungs.”

Pruitt had been hit in the back of his head by the 9mm bullet Marshall had shot through his back window. He managed to stop his truck in the middle of the intersection. Oxer says a protester tried persuading him to get out and sit down. He said something, but they can’t remember what. “And then he drove off.”

Thompson was just about to start his meeting when he heard his phone ring. It rang again two more times. It was Pruitt, just shot, calling for help, he says. With each call, Thompson kept pressing the button to say he’d call back.

Pruitt drove 12 blocks toward the Adams State campus before passing out.

Marshall, in the meantime, ran from the scene with his Glock 43, phoned Randy Canney, a prominent defense lawyer in Salida, drove home to East Alamosa separately from his wife, changed his clothes and shaved off his beard, according to his arrest report. Police arrived two hours and 40 minutes after the shooting.

He told Detective John Vasquez he acted instantaneously and admitted shooting Pruitt after “he observed the truck come into contact with” his wife and feared for her safety, the report shows. The detective wrote, “As the conversation continued I told James the video footage does not show his wife as he explained and he responded the video would be wrong.”

Marshall’s booking shot shows him clean-shaven in a lawyerly dress shirt, head cocked back and grinning. He was facing charges of attempted 2nd-degree murder, 1st-degree assault, reckless endangerment, felony menacing, criminal mischief, illegal discharge of a firearm and prohibited use of a weapon.

Loraine bailed him out the next day on a $60,000 bond and quit her job at the county. Canney says the couple left town almost immediately:

“They don’t feel safe there.”

Aftermath

Pruitt came out of his coma over the past week and was released Wednesday from UCHealth Memorial Hospital in Colorado Springs. He is recovering at his sister’s home in Alamosa, the bullet still lodged in his head.

He has spoken with District Attorney Robert Willett and with Alamosa police, who are still investigating the case. They took over the intersection last week to reenact the shooting. A source advising the probe says detectives have been looking into whether the traffic light was red or green when Pruitt accelerated toward the protesters, and whether any were hit. None of those we interviewed said they were.

Tom Metier, Pruitt’s personal injury lawyer, says his client remembers coming to a stop at the intersection and getting shot. “He has other memories, but not that I can share right now,” he said.

The city’s response to the shoot has been to launch what City Manager Heather Brooks calls a “public education campaign” to keep protesters out of Alamosa’s crosswalks.

Alamosa residents left tokens of the concern for Danny Pruitt following his shooting, uncertain if he would survive. (Susan Greene, Colorado News Collaborative)

In the meantime, about 3,500 people have over the past three weeks donated $149,000 for Pruitt’s and his daughter’s care. “Please pray for Danny and his family, help him to keep fighting. So his little girl might, one day, have her daddy back,” wrote the niece who organized the Gofundme page.

Conservative, alt-right and fake news outlets have been playing up the story, some going so far as to report that Pruitt died of his gunshot wound. Pundits cite the shooting as proof of a national antifa uprising. Local law-and-order types speak of Pruitt as a heroic patriot with an inalienable right to drive unobstructed on his way to grab a burger.

“He has a right to get there without interference … and defend himself in the process,” said Eric Gile, who was among the locals who stood downtown earlier that week locked and loaded.

“When people are hindering (people) from getting where they need to go and blocking traffic, basically that’s a small riot. … It’s destructive and, yes, a line needs to be drawn,” added Larry Jack, another resident who joined the armed posse.

Whether the traffic light was red or green, Jack says he would have felt threatened by protesters standing in the intersection, even if only a dozen. He figures that he, too, would have tried to drive through them.

“It could have been me. It could have been any of us. I probably would have done the same thing,” he said. “I think the country in general is sick of this, the violence, the hatred, the racism from all sides.”

It is language like Jack’s, implications that white folks are victimized by racism – and by protests against it– that galvanized many protesters here in the first place. But that point, several say, was lost the moment Marshall pulled the trigger.

Oxer wrote in their diary the night of the shooting, “This whole thing just reinforces what detractors believe: That we all secretly just wanna set s%#@ on fire and s%#@.”

They noted that Pruitt made the first provocation by driving into the protesters, and that “while he was the victim, he was also the instigator.

“But it’s hard to say (that) about someone on life support.”

Marshall, Oxer says, betrayed their movement, at least in Alamosa where some locals believe protesters ambushed Pruitt’s truck and many more now associate them with violence.

“It sucks that someone on our side would make things a thousand times worse for us,” they said.

Oxer hopes Marshall gets the “maximum punishment,” and notes that the Alamosa police who questioned them did a good job. They are fully aware of that irony.

Mayor Coleman understands that “protesters didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But sometimes the reality and the perception are different in people’s mind,” he said. “And sometimes people forget what the original purposes of the marches were all about.”

This story is powered by COLab, the Colorado News Collaborative — a nonprofit formed to strengthen local public-service journalism in Colorado. More than 40 news organizations share in-depth local reporting to better serve Coloradans.

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[chryslercardealershiptexas]

2020 Chrysler Pacifica- A Blend Of Convenience And Power!!

At the top of the minivan, the heap is the 2020 Chrysler Pacifica, who performed superbly and is competitive with its competitors in other tests. With standard second- and third-row stowable seats, infotainment systems, the Pacifica is the best minivan you can purchase.

Upgrades for 2020 Chrysler Pacifica

Following on the heels of the black-out look of the S, look for 2019 is the new Red S look package, which is offered on the Limited trim versions of the gas-powered and hybrid models.

The package features a distinctive interior, 20-inch wheels -19s on the combinations.

Advanced SafetyTech driver-assistance technologies- a 20-speaker Harman/Kardon audio system with a Uconnect theater setup, eight also gets a tri-pane panoramic sunroof attribute.

All-wheel drive-AWD will be offered on a limited number of 2020 models but will be more widely available on the re-skinned 2021 Pacifica.

Pricing and Trims

2020 Chrysler Pacifica Touring: $34,990

2020 Chrysler Pacifica Touring L: $38,240

2020 Chrysler Pacifica Touring L Plus: $41,040

2020 Chrysler Pacifica Hybrid Touring: $41,490

2020 Chrysler Pacifica Limited: $45,940

Engine, Performance, and Transmission

Though it's not the quickest minivan, but the Pacifica is far from sluggish- in 7.3 seconds it reaches 60mph about mid-pack and feels plenty peppy around town paths.

Non-hybrid variant packs a 287-hp 3.6-liter V-6 and a nine-speed automatic transmission. The Pacifica hybrid makes total horsepower of 260 ponies between its 3.6-liter V-6 and two electric motors are equipped by a 16-kWh lithium-ion battery. However, it trailed the gas-powered model to 60 mph by 0.5 seconds.

Connectivity and Infotainment

Chrysler's Uconnect infotainment mechanism remains one of our favorites, with buttons and knobs for audio controls rather than touch-sensitive functions. 

In addition to the Uconnect system's brilliant software and standard excellence in utilization, it is highly responsive to inputs and commands.

It provides Android Auto and Apple CarPlay integration, a quick processor, and a Wi-Fi hotspot with 4G LTE.

Driver-Assistance Features and Safety

Acing its crashworthiness testing would be adequate, but the Pacifica adds to its safety standing by rendering all conceivable driver-assistance features available. 

Key safety features consist of:

Blind-spot monitor

Rear automated emergency braking

Sensors for Rear Parking

Maintenance Coverage and Warranty

Chrysler provides a warranty package that is standard for the segment and allows for longer use of the roadside-assistance strategy. The Pacifica hybrid trim has a 10-year/100,000-mile warranty on hybrid components.

The limited warranty covers three years or 36,000 miles

Powertrain warranty covers five years or 60,000 miles

Hybrid components are covered for ten years or 100,000 miles

No complimentary scheduled maintenance

One of Pacifica's outstanding assets is its class-brilliance second- and third-row seats that fold flat into the floor with relative ease and access. That allows you to tailor the cabin to your specific needs in an instant.

There are a plethora of advanced safety and entertainment aspects to keep everyone in the family secure and occupied.

If the above write-up has convinced you to have one the 2020 Chrysler Pacifica for your parking lot, drive-in at Reliance Chrysler Dodge Jeep Ram updated inventory!

[miu-paras]

Lvl. 5 ⋮ Red // Chapter 5

September 20th, 2019. 3:30 AM. ♪ - Notaker / Infinite (Part 1) | HEALTH / CRUSHER (Part 2)

I was never much of a fighter. In fact, I always avoided confrontation as much as I could. My mom tried to get me into martial arts as a kid, and I was always apprehensive about it. Always finding excuses, like I wouldn’t be good at it, I was too short, too clumsy, too weak. When I was being antagonized at school, I’d simply ignore them, walk away and try to forget their words. I never took to violence. It was only my games that were ever the exception, and knowing it was fiction made it easier to dissociate myself from it entirely.

But this wasn’t fiction. The looming figure above me wasn’t a product of pixels and polygons. The four massive fingers curled around my throat weren’t simple pictures. And the barriers in my mind protecting me from their control were no illusion.

No… none of this was fake.

Neither was the power that surged through me once more, building in my chest and extending through my leg, lightning surging and blasting forward from my feet as I kicked the Makalden through the ceiling.

The room fell quiet, lights flickering from the immense release of power. But I could still feel their heavy, shocked stares burning holes into my skin, skin already hot from the aura of electrical energy that engulfed every inch of my body. But I couldn’t see their faces, or even hear their voices, my senses far too hazy as I slowly began to regain control.

{ You… }

[ Perhaps I enjoyed your spar with the Vanossi a little too much. ]

{ I thought I needed to prove myself, though… }

[ Prove yourself by getting us the hell out of here. ]

Fair enough.

I rolled off the table, heaving and coughing from the pain of being strangled, rubbing the bruises on my neck from the hunter’s grip. My haziness was beginning to wear off, and I could see the many faces that surrounded me. Some were laced with fear, others with anger. And Pixul’s was covered with pure, unbridled rage. There was one, however, who seemed unphased by anything that had transpired. The one with blue hair and gaudy attire, who merely watched with an amused quirk of his brow.

After seeming as though everything was moving in slow motion, the atmosphere quickly shifted. Everyone reacted at once. Pixul brandished two handguns. Vex called for his men to cease me, two of the taller, rugged men surging forward. I quickly expanded Red across my entire body, effectively ricocheting the bullets that fired from Pixul’s barrel. The impenetrable metal of my tsanista protected me again as a two long, narrow blades extended from each of the henchman’s bionic arms, making a loud screech against my armor as it sliced downwards. I ducked and dodged the following attacks before being tackled by the other lackey and slammed against the wall. Their large hand roughly pinned my head against the wall, my arms and legs grappling the burly forearm, fighting against their hold. Their hand squeezed down on my head harder and harder, until—

BANG.

A loud noise reverberates through the building, loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in the room, heads veering towards the door and the grip on me loosening. The shouts and screams of partygoers could be heard from all the way downstairs as the entire club erupted into chaos. And Pixul looked even more alarmed than before.

Taz’s eyes suddenly went completely black, staring blankly into nothing until their vision returned, their face matching Pixul’s intensity as they turned to her.

“The Vaanen…”

As if Pixul wasn’t pissed off enough, the anger now practically radiated off her skin in waves.

“HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY HERE?!”

I smirked. Now’s my chance…

Tightening my grip around the henchman’s arm, the stronger man instantly went still under my grasp. They shivered violently, fighting against the control I had over their prosthetics. Their arms and legs whizzed and muttered, sparks fluttering out from every limb as they lost all matter of function. Then suddenly, they went limp, falling to the floor with a loud thud. Lightning enveloped my form again as I raced towards the door, making it there too fast for Vex, Pixul, or the rest of their cohorts to react. I shot a confident look in Pixul’s direction, brandishing a smile wide enough o drive her even more insane.

“Deadzoners… such faulty technology, don’t you think?”

If Pixul could breathe fire, they would be right now. Fire coming out of her mouth, ears, eyes, and nose in a fit of fury.

I darted out of the room, zooming past the guards at the door and every other armed individual in a ball of light. Pixul and Vex shouted at others to stop me, but they’d be too slow. I was already dashing down every hallway, turning every corner until I reached a balcony overlooking the entire dancefloor, and the chaos that inhabited it. People were screaming, pushing past each other and breaking out into fights. All while a team of black-cladded individuals in dark, metal helmets tried to put a stop the madness, shouting at the frenzy to stop. If they didn’t comply, they were either detained and dragged away, or shot down with little hesitation.

{ Those Daft Punk looking guys… are those…? }

[ The Vaanen. Nuva’s android police force. ] Red answered. [ I have no doubt you could take them, but it would probably be best to simply avoid them. They could serve as a distraction against— ]

Before Red could even finish their thought, a stampede of footsteps began moving towards us from either side, getting louder and louder. With no other choice, I leapt from the balcony and into the fray of chaos. Flying helped to slow my landing, but it didn’t stop me from landing right in the middle of the frantic mob and determined Vaanen operatives attempting to quell the chaos.

One of which stood above me with uncanny stillness.

[ Oh dear… ]

“Uh… hi?”

“Scanning…” the disembodied voice left the android, images flashing on their helmet as they held their steady gaze. In one of their four arms, the Vaanen tightly clutched the collar of a clubber, who struggled against their hold but was too high to fight back properly. The other three hands brandished weapons: two handguns, and a rifle that emitted a soft, neon glow from every ornate indentation and carving.

“Race: Camerian. Terran. Toxin levels: Medium. Heart rate: Elevated.”

The officer read off a number of stats, yellow Talurian text streaming across the helmet. I used the perceived distraction as an opportunity to start slowly backing away.

But before I could make my furtive escape, the text flashed bright red, and they slowly began standing taller. And I was frozen in place from the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Nuvassi citizenship: Not recorded.”

They released the clubber in their grasp before quickly stomping their heavy foot on their chest. Gripping the rifle with both of their lower hands while the other two raised the pair of handguns.

“Protocol: Arrest.”

Shit.

Before the officer even had a chance to subdue me in whatever fashion they were imagining, I raised my hand towards them, freezing them in their tracks. Controlling an android is harder than it would seem. They have more agency than the average machine. But even in their attempts to struggle against my influence, my power persisted. I extended my arm away, and in tangent with that motion the Vaanen was sent flying across the room, back slamming hard enough against the pillar to leave a large dent. Their helmet was cracked, flickering several times before the lights going out.

Part of me wanted that to be the end, but I knew it wouldn’t be. Especially since there were dozens—maybe hundreds—more Vaanen on that dancefloor with me, all of which I’d caught the attention of with my display. Their heads whipped away from the scene and in my direction, all their masks covered in bold, neon red lettering. If I wasn’t fucked before, I sure as hell was now.

“Assault of a Vaanen officer: Observed.” They all spoke in unison, turning their attention away from the running mob as their weapons were raised in my direction. I immediately expanded Red around my form again, ready for the fight I was now faced with.

“Protocol: Extermin—”

“YAAL KHR’ESSHI ULMVEK X’HIMIAL, YOU FUCKING CUNTS!!!!”

Their heads snapped towards the source of the outburst all at once. My head whirled around as well, looking up to take in the sight of Pixul at the balcony with her gun in hand, Taz and her men rushing from behind her and leaping over the rails to join the fray. They all wielded a weapon of some kind. Guns, blades, bludgeoning weapons. Some extending from their limbs, others pulled from the backs or belts. Taz’s arms were completely transformed, one forming a broad, heavy sword with an edge made of bright, hardened light, and the other a massive shotgun. They and the rest of the gang began fighting Vaanen and frantic clubbers alike, shooting and cutting down whoever challenged them. The Vaanen were an effective force themselves, however, taking out equally as many pawns as Pixul’s cohorts had. And unfortunately for me, I was caught in the middle of all of it, fighting both gang members and Vaanen alike. Thugs were easier to disable, having to only focus on specific areas and avoid being shot or stabbed myself, which my armor aided in. Vaanen took more concentration and even more skill to dodge and guard myself from their attacks. But over time the extension of my powers began to feel more natural, and I could more easily send them flying, or ramming into each other, or turning their weapons against them, or disabling their stupid looking helmets.

Pixul, however, was the true star of the violent clash. Seconds after her men hit the ground, her weapon to shift, as if made up of multiple, tiny components that churned and twisted like gears, multiplying and expanding until her mere handgun had become a state-of-the-art rifle. A wicked grin crossed her lips as she peered through the scope to take aim, a grin that grew wider and wider as she shot down each Vaanen that came into sight, expert precision put into each shot, every bullet landing in the exact same place, making headshot after headshot. Not a single fire was wasted. It was like she was some kind of sniper god, raining death and destruction down from her heavenly throne.

More Vaanen began to rush the building, and I used their entrance as an opportunity to slither my way out of the madness. With everyone distracted by the fight on the dancefloor, I hoped my escape would go unnoticed, and I could focus on quickly finding Iannis and getting the fuck out of here.

Wishful thinking, I know.

The moment I pushed my way out of the mob, I was confronted immediately by a Vaanen officer, who held their hands out towards me. Suddenly, I rushed forward, my armor pulled in by a magnetic force emanating from their palms. They held me roughly, and I readied myself to retaliate. But before I could even react, another shot rang out, and suddenly the officer went still. I looked up to see sparks sputtering from a hole in the center of their helmet, torn wire and metal entangled together as blackened oil leaking from their form. The Vaanen’s grip faltered, releasing me as they fell limp to the floor. My head whirled around to spot the sharpshooter grinning down at me from her perch, finger trembling against the trigger as she held her steady aim on me.

Time to move.

I extended to armor to cover my head as soon as another shot rang out. The bullet ricocheted against the impenetrable metal, my face going wide realizing how lucky I’d been when the shot struck the center of my shielded forehead. Immediately I went into hyperspeed again, running through every floor of the club, peering into every room, searching every corner for that familiar face. The pure white hair, the deep brown complexion, the scarring against their skin. But nothing. They were nowhere. Perhaps they’d escaped the club before the violence broke out. Perhaps they’d escaped Gan’em altogether. Maybe even Nuva. Maybe my appearance spooked them somehow, and they didn’t want to risk seeing me again.

Maybe this was all my fault.

My last stop was the bathroom, the one I’d met them in before. They were, of course, still nowhere to be found. No one was here except a dazed, drunken clubber in a complete stupor.

No one. Nothing… this was all for nothing.

“Goddammit!” I yelled, kicking one of the stall doors hard enough that it fell off its hinges. I was more than a little angry. My whole reason for being here wasn’t here, and there was no way of knowing where the hell they were.

{ I failed… }

[ No. Iannis is still out there. We simply need to search harder now. ]

{ But I don’t have time for that! We won’t be able to find them now… not without asking the right people the right questions. And the only person I could think of that would have any idea of where they are is— }

“H-hhheyyyy… heeeeyyy!”

My head turned around to see the clubber waving a limp hand towards the entrance, a lazy smile spread across their lips. They stumbled forward and wrapped their hands around the figure that entered, attempting to embrace them as tightly as their Tears-induced stupor would allow.

The figure—now revealing themselves to be Pixul the further she stepped in—shoved the happy clubber hard enough that they’re sent crashing into the stall across from them. Pixul, with ice cold fury embedded deeply in their eyes, lifted her handgun and fired several shots into their frail form.

I jump at the sound of the shots, hand clasped over my mouth as I watched their body go limp and violet blood pool and spread out of the stall. Pixul, their rage subsiding some, merely watched me with a quirked brow, almost amused by my reaction.

“The Vaanen would’ve killed ‘em anyway,” she said simply with a shrug, taking steps towards me now, “It would’ve been your fault, y’know… you called those fuckers here. Jeopardizing my business… destroying my club… Your fault. All. You.”

I acted fast, hand reached out as I yanked the gun from her hands, aiming it at her with my finger on the trigger the second the weapon entered my grasp.

“Where’s Iannis?” I asked sternly, my expression harder than before. Pixul’s face was a mixture of shock and anger once the gun left her hands, but it quickly twisted into a vicious smile. And before I knew it she was… laughing? Cackling. Hard enough that she had to grip her sides. I stared at her, confusion and anger etched in my expression as I lowered the gun slightly. Either Pixul was slowly starting to lose her mind, or she truly found the entire situation humorous. Whatever it was, it irked me, and I felt my brow twitch slightly as my face went hard again and I steadied my aim once more.

“This isn’t a game!” I shouted, “Where are they? The server! The one from the other night! With braids and—”

“I know who the fuck you’re talking about, love.” Pixul answered finally after collecting herself from her fit. “And they’re gone. After hearing about the… ‘connection’ you two had in here, I had the bitch sent away.”

I felt a pang of sadness shoot through me, my hand trembling as the gun was starting to feel too heavy for me to carry. Heavier than the guilt that hanged heavy on my heart, knowing I was the cause for all this strife. Realizing that I’d probably never see Iannis again. That my chance for more answers was probably gone. That my mother… my mother…

I’m so sorry, Ima…

 “W-where did you send them?” My voice faltered, tears stinging the corner of my eyes and threatening to breach past my lids. Pixul only smiled wider at this.

“Wouldn’t you like to know~.” She sang, continuing to step closer yet again. I took a step back in response to each advancement from her, still holding the gun high. She paid it no mind, continuing forward until my back was against the wall and the barrel was pressed against her chest. I could tell she liked toying with me, even more so now with the state of clear distress I was in. Her smile was sinister, laden with as much desire to put a swift end to the standoff and any future ones as I was. With a bullet to the heart.

But the gun was in my hands, and as much as my finger twitched over the trigger, I still hesitated to pull it.

After everything… the death, the manipulation, the violence, the lies… I still hesitated.

“With powers like yours, it would be easy for someone to think themselves a god… and yet, you stand here… with a gun in my chest… and you’re trembling.” She frowned, the tone in her voice sounding almost… disappointed.

“Perhaps the weak-hearted Terrans have filled your mind with that same softness.” Pixul taunted, her voice low as suddenly her hand was around my neck, lifting me from the floor enough that I was eye-level, and slamming me into the wall again. She was a strong as Xhen. Maybe even stronger. I had since lost my grip on the weapon in my hand, the gun hitting the ground as I clawed at the hand around my throat, her fingers squeezing more and more around my larynx. Any attempt at resistance, the kicking of my legs or fingers tugging at her grip, was met with even more constriction. I felt the spark inside me fade, my powers betraying me in the moment of desperation. Too encumbered by my own sadness at my failures for any rage to resurface. Too preoccupied by the lack of air in my lungs to focus my energy properly.

Why did I hesitate… I shouldn’t have hesitated…

 “You should’ve just said yes.” She growled, anger returning to her glare. “It would’ve been easier on you if you di—"

There is a swift, sharp sound, one that makes Pixul’s eyes go wide as they suddenly shoot down to her side, where a thin blade punctured through her stomach. Blood oozes from the wound, and Pixul is too in shock to even make a sound. To distracted to notice that her assailant was her own cohort. One of Vex’s own men. The ostentatiously dressed figure with hair a more electric blue than hers.

Even I was shocked, but rather than let it show, I acted quickly. Fashioning Red into a heavy blade, my tsanista swiped wide and cut clear through the arm that held me in place.

I fell to the floor, gasping for the breath I was robbed of. Pixul fell to the floor too, crying out loudly the second her arm was severed. I stood from the blood-coated floor and backed away from her, watching as she writhed in pain, wailing and clutching the gory stump, then crawling on her remaining three limbs towards the gun, which her dissenter—whom I’ve nicknamed “Spike”—kicked away from her reach. Pixul was down. More than that—she was bleeding profusely, shivering and glaring up at the two of us with an insane look in her eyes.

“We need to get out of here.” Spike said. I look away from the scene to meet his eyes, nodding only once. I didn’t know if I could trust him, or anyone for that matter. But there was little time to dwell on a better solution. Not only had they literally and figuratively stabbed their partner in the back, they were offering to help me. That alone was more than enough.

He took my hand, and we ran out of the bathroom, Pixul glaring at us as we left, drenched in a pool of her own blood. I didn’t linger on the sight, merely looking ahead at the challenges that faced us. It was back to disabling the many Vaanen that swarmed us. Me, by pushing them away, shutting them down, or disarming them whenever I could. Spike took a more direct approach, swiftly jumping from one place to another, too fast for the Vaanen to target. He wielded a blade in each hand, and daggers in the two on his sides, freeing them of limbs and weapons as he cut through them with proficiency and ease. I hardly needed to do anything following closely behind them. Regardless, I offered my support where I could, shielding his side and taking out any that came behind us. Over time, our pace quickened, and my confidence returned, enough that I felt that spark building inside me once more.

We were ascending now, going from floor to floor until we reached the top. The further we got, the less Vaanen there were. And outside the windows that lined every wall of every level were cars that circled around the building.

“We can use one of these,” Spike said, grabbing my arm once more. I froze immediately, yanking away from his grasp.

“Where are we going?” I asked, eyeing in incredulously. It was a fair question. I was willing to follow him this far, sure, but now was the time for answers. Before I hopped in a vehicle and hauled ass with him, at least.

“I… I can’t explain right now. But I can when we get there.” He held out his hand towards me again, searching my expression for an ounce of faith. “You’ve trusted me so far… trust me now.”

I sighed deeply, shaking my head in uncertainty. I could run off on my own, yes. But where would I go? Was it better to go alone at all? I find that it’s better to have allies when in unknown places. Zhu’drek would have been more of a nightmare if not for Xhen. And even in a place as chaotic as this… I wasn’t opposed to having allies. Neither I nor Red had no reason to distrust him yet, after all.

Reluctantly, I reached for his hand. The second my palm clasped with his, the ceiling fell in on us. I was quick to pull him in, using Red to shield us from the glass and debris that rained from above. A giant thud shook the ground, and I thought it may have been a large chunk of the roof. Or at least, that’s what I’d hoped for. Instead, before us stood the hulking Makalden, surrounded by their shrouds of darkness, twisted vermillion eye glaring at me with furious intent.

They charged, and I immediately shielded us in a ball. The walls around us vibrated and tremored with each massive slam to the tsanista’s shell.

“What will it fucking take to kill this thing?”

[ More than electricity, it would seem. ] Red said, sounding more amused by the situation than alarmed.

{ Well, any advice? Suggestions, maybe?! }

[ I have dispatched many of their kind in my time with Kalar. They are very few means of resistance against them, one of which you have now, luckily. Even fewer weaknesses. Redirecting their mental attacks was one, though you have no access to such abilities yet… ] Red paused. They were thinking, searching their memories for a solution.

[ Rael, however, found that it was easier—and quicker—to simply… go for the eye. ]

I blinked. { The eye…? Just… stab it in the eye…? The weird, spirally one? }

[ It couldn’t hurt. ]

I turned to Spike, only to see that his eyes were shut tight. He was murmuring something unintelligible, arms trembling. The Makalden must’ve affected him, and he was shaking off the control. Or attempting to, at least.

“Keep it together…” I spoke softly, gently resting a hand on their shoulder. “Now listen to me… I’m gonna drop this shield, and when I do, I need you to stab that thing right in its eye. You’re fast… more accurate than I’ll ever be too.” I shook his shoulder, urging him to look towards me as I gave him a reassuring nod. “I’m putting all my trust in you… I need you to trust me too.”

He went still, very silent for a moment before finally answering with a small nod of his own. He turned his stern gaze forward again, and we both took one last breath. We needed to be fast, in sync. Otherwise, I was on my own should he succumb to the Makalden’s control… the last thing I wanted to be right now.

I dropped the shield, and Spike leapt forward, too fast for even the Makalden to react properly. He was quick to latch himself onto the hulking figure, arms and legs wrapped around his massive head and neck. I formed cuffs around the figure’s wrists with my tsanista, hindering any sort of retaliation while Spike sank his blade deep into the twisted, vermillion eye. Suddenly, the Makalden went as still as a statue, their arms going limp, the shadows around them dissipating. And then…

Poof.

They exploded into a cloud of black smoke and dark, viscous fluid sputtered across the walls and floor. Nothing was left of them but a billowing cloak floating gently to the ground.

I was grossed out at first. Spike, too. Then we flashed each other a wide grin, shaking off the gooey tar that coated our faces and clothes. Our celebration didn’t last long, however. More Vaanen still swarmed the building, both from the front entrance and around the building itself, circling the many floors in hovering SWAT vans. One of which shined their blinding headlights on the two of us.

I turned to Spike. “You still trust me?”

He quirked his brow, but nodded nonetheless.

I took his hand and ran forward, running towards the flying cars and away from the Vaanen that pursued us. I didn’t second-guess my actions, nor did I hesitate or question where I was going. I was unequivocally myself in this decision. As brazen, bold, and impulsive as always. I hurled us both through the window, tsanista protecting us from the shards of glass that flew around us, as we freefell from the building and towards the traffic, the bystanders, and the cold, hard ground that greeted us hundreds of feet below.

I tried flying to slow our descent, but it didn’t do much; Spike was too heavy for my delicate arms. But it wouldn’t matter; I had other means of transportation in store. A pair of Spike’s arms were wrapped firmly around my sides. I held onto his jacket, and with my free hand I tossed my tsanista forward. Immediately, it began to unfold itself, morphing and shifting until its shape was no longer a pendant, but a vehicle as large as the ones above and below us, complete with the same hovering capabilities I’d come to be familiar with in my time on this planet.

The roof of the car opened up, and we fell inside, quickly shuffling into our cold, metal seats. It closed above us, and without wasting another second I zoomed us forward, Vaanen leaping from the windows and into their own cars to chase us down with fervor.

I moved fast, weaving Red through the aerial traffic and being careful to dodge whatever cars tried to run us off our course or into the buildings surrounding us. Spike was in a state of shock, gaze shifting between the Vaanen trailing us, the bullets that ricocheted off our transport’s Ulterian steel shell, and me, the reckless driver of a vehicle that seemingly appeared out of thin air.

“How did y—”

“Not gonna lie to you? This is probably the biggest thing I’ve ever made,” I glanced at him then back at the traffic ahead with a nervous smile. “But listen… I need you to tell me where we’re going? This is kind of only my second time here, and last time wasn’t exactly a grand tour, so…”

“Oh—right.” He straightened and nodded, sitting properly in his seat now. “Several buildings down, there’s an alleyway… I’ll tell you when, but first…” His head turned to the Vaanen behind us, glaring at the sirens and shooters that tailed us so intently. “We need to lose these guys…”

“That’s what I’m trying to d—”

“Open up the top. I’m going out there.”

My head whipped towards him. “What?!”

“Just do it! Keep your eyes ahead, and keep them going in circles. I got this.”

My stare lingered. I was reluctant at first, but his determination was too unwavering to argue against. I opened the roof again, and he hopped out. The stare-down between him and the police didn’t last long. As soon as a shot rang out, he leapt forward. I could only see so much from my driver seat, but even my limited view was enough to paint a picture. Spike moved unbelievably fast. Like a cricket, he leapt from car to car, cutting through bullets, dodging them, disarming Vaanen and disassembling their weapons, dismembering them and throwing them from their vehicles and various perches with ease. He cut through some of the vehicles as well, a testament to just how sharp and sturdy those blades were. With quick, agile use of his swords, Turrets were sliced in half, and vehicle parts rained down from the sky in pieces.

Even though I did my part, swerving every which way and circling around the various skyscrapers and keeping the Vaanen confused on their chase, I still felt useless from where I sat. As the Vaanen increased in number, and their behavior became more unpredictable, it wouldn’t be long until Spike was overwhelmed.

“Red… how do you feel about being bait?”

[ …I think you should stay in the car. Your track record with combat so far has been… less than favorable. ]

“He needs help!”

[ Maybe you should reconsider your approach a bit more before flying into danger with reckless abandon? ]

I wanted to take in their words a bit more. I wanted to be as cunning and strategic as Red wanted me to be. Less rash in my decision-making. Less naïve. Less… me. It is what got us in the situation, after all.

But it’s also what would get us out.

“No time to think! Head empty! Gotta go!”

I took a deep breath, exhaled, then jettisoned myself from the vehicle, still keeping Red on their course. I could hear their curses in my head, but I ignored them, flying towards the swarming Vaanen cars as fast as I possibly could.

The energy within me swelled again, filling up my chest before flowing outwards, blanketing me in blinding, electrical power. One Vaanen had turrets aimed at Spike’s back. They had no chance to fire, however, because I’d shot myself through the bottom of their car. It practically exploded upon contact, splintering in various directions.

Spike, along with several of the Vaanen officers, veered their heads towards me. I winked in their direction before descending onto another approaching vehicle. I could hear one surging towards me from behind. I was quick to turn around, holding my hand out and freezing the car in place. With both hands, I made tugging motions in the air, as if to pull open a heavy door. The vehicle began to split, metal, wire, and glass breaking, snapping, and tearing apart until I flung my arms outward, both halves flying with them in either direction.

My new comrade offered a snide grin in return, using the opportune distraction as a chance to strike while their guards were down. And just like that, the fight had picked up again.

It went on like that for a while. Spike tearing through Vaanen, me tearing through hovering cars, motorcycles, and turrets. All until there were barely any officers left, only a few in a battered van tailing behind us. Spike leapt back to Red, landing on the roof before turning to give me a bright smile and a thumbs-up. I only laughed at the sudden dorkiness and returned one as well.

[ Congratulations on you both not being dead. ]

{ Thanks! …I guess. }

[ Don’t mention it. ]

Our celebration didn’t last nearly as long as I would’ve liked. Sirens rang through the air, and many of the neon signs that decorated every building suddenly flashed red. An image of a woman appeared on every screen, Talurian characters scrolling beneath her moving lips.

“VHESK’TEKK VALLUTHI. SIANANSIS KH’OMMIAR XH’ENTESH. PERSONS OF INTEREST IDENTIFIED.”

Our faces were what flashed next.

Oh. Shit.

“We’ve gotta move!” Spike shouted from below me, and before the words even left his lips I was already rushing towards Red. I opened the roof and the both of us hopped in immediately, racing away from the many neon signs changing bright red in our wake.

“Where do we go?” I turned to Spike. His eyes scanned every edge of the city in rapid motion. He looked almost frazzled. Completely caugh off guard by what had transpired.

“I… that way!” He pointed to an alleyway several buildings ahead. I nodded once and instantly began directing Red towards the desired location, bobbing through the now clustered traffic that surrounded us. It was a rough descent, managing to clip the side of a blinking neon billboard and nearly crashing into a car passing by, but we came out of it unscathed. We drifted straight into the alleyway, right through an invisible barrier that only made itself known as we crossed through its threshold, colors dancing around our vision for a split second. And rather than the alleyway I’d pictured before, we were parked in front of a shed, plain but big, with no windows and a single brown door.

[ Photomazers… hiding a rundown shack. Not sketchy at all. ]

I was quiet, watching Spike closely as he hopped out and began approaching the door.  I shifted my tsanista back to its original form, taking trepidatious steps towards Spike, who held the door open with one set of hands and urged me forward with the other.

Inside was a tight corridor of metal walls, with another door at the other end. We walked in a straight line, the dimly lit lights flickering as we inched closer. Opening the second entrance revealed a staircase, leading steeply in one direction. The more nervous I became with each step, the more the lights above us sputtered in rapid intonation.

I expected another long corridor, maybe more confusing than the last, when the final door swung open. Instead, I was greeted to a room full of… guns.

A vast, immeasurable number of guns.

There were aisles upon aisles filled with shelves of weapon parts, bolts, machinery, and gadgets I’d never seen until now. The walls were decorated with them, from rifles to pistols, to the shifting kind that Pixul had. Workbenches were situated between the many shelves, decorated themselves with blueprints and incomplete projects. I imagined myself seated at one of them, too high to remember my own name but still working away. That’s what Pixul had in store for me, I supposed. All of this was her plan, with me at the helm of it all.

“A weapons factory… or a small one at least,” I murmured. “But if Pixul had all of this, why did she need me?”

My head whirled around to find Spike, who’d shuffled back and forth across the room. He’d begun packing as many weapons and parts into a box as he could. I watched him—glared at him—more perplexed than ever.

“And I’m guessing your plan was to steal it all? And use me to do it?” I snapped at him, my accusatory gaze fixated on him. He practically froze in place.

“Wh—no! No, that’s no what—… Listen…” He sighed, dropping the few things he  had in hand as he approached me, trying to ease the anger that was building. “There’s more to this… and I need your help to do it. I promise I’ll explain everything, I just need—”

A loud, heavy thud could be heard levels above us. Loud enough that it reverberated throughout the entire room. Could be the Vaanen. Or perhaps Pixul’s men finally making their advance. It was too hard to tell from here, but either way the threat was all the same. One thing was for sure though: whatever qualms or distrust I had for Spike in that moment would have to wait. We needed to get out of here. And quickly, too.

Spike was frantic now, trying to cram as much as he can in that box, with no idea or plans of how to smuggle it out. Meanwhile, I was searching the room. Mostly for a way out, but also for a means of getting myself home.

Which, thanks to my own keen survey of the room, didn’t take long at all.

The transporter wasn’t like the others I’d encountered. Unlike Xhen’s and Pixul’s, this one lacked the small, rounded shape that was compact enough to fit in your pocket. Rather, this one was more of a tablet, complete with a holographic screen and more complex controls. Regardless, it worked in much of the same way, albeit with easier input of coordinates, and more… customizable features. I could transport just myself, transport another target, or… transport anything within a given radius.

The wheels in my mind began to turn.

This place was an artillery, undoubtedly belonging to Pixul. Spike was here to steal from it, and if coupled with everything else that transpired tonight, one could assume he was no more a friend of Pixul than I was. If anything, he’s most likely been acting as a double agent—or… whatever it is he is—for a while in an effort to enact this plan.

Maybe we should help him with it.

Frankly, I was fed up. I was tricked, drugged, strangled, nearly mind-controlled, shot at, and forced to run for my life, all while running on zero sleep. And what’s worse, I was now Nuva’s most wanted alongside a man who’s name I didn’t know, and who’s background I knew nothing about. Yet he’s the only one on this fucked up planet that wasn’t trying to kill me.

Circumstance fueled anger, and anger fed a desire for more revenge.

I entered the coordinates and set the transportation radius to cover the entire room. A blue, holographic grid pattern covered every inch of the room’s contents, including me and Spike, who’d stopped in his tracks once they realized what I was doing.

[ You cannot be serious… ] Red dissented.

“I’m so serious.” I mumbled back, finger hovering over the command button.

I could hear the Vaanen at the door, breaking through and shuffling down the narrow staircase. Spike’s gaze switched between me and the door before finally fixating on the danger that approached us, brandishing a blade in each of his four arms. Soon, those doors would swing open, and he alone would cut down the threat. But I wouldn’t let him.

Silently, I made a prayer that I’d never have to set foot in this place ever again. Then I pressed the command button on the transporter.

In an instant, I felt my body swell with that familiar energy, that push and pull of the universe as we’re thrown across galaxies. It’s only a second later that I feel myself falling against the cold, hard floor of the shooting range. The weapons that threaten to hail down on us were instead frozen in mid air, my hands held above my head as I slowed their descent to the ground.

I take in the sight of my surroundings once more. The targets lined against the wall. The bows hanging from racks, arrows docked in quivers that hung alongside them. Hundreds of guns and parts that littered the floor. And Spike, staring at me with a face riddled with both shock and confusion.

Welcome back to Earth, Miu.

You’re fucked.

19th hour of Sandis Vaak. At the border of the southern faction of Seris. The skies are blanketed in gray, and the ground soaked in violet.

Kalar and their forces have arrived. A final answer to the southern rebellions.

The Morassi Resistance have spread their ideology further into the heart of the continent than before, which in turn has led to more outbreaks and riots by small indigenous groups, fishers, farmers, the working class. Those tired of the elite of Camer’s central factions, and the lack of protection and acknowledgement of the Ministry. Centuries of preaching about the greatness of Camer. Centuries of never being included in that narrative. It all came to a boil at once.

To answer with violence was a swift decision for the rest of the Ministry. They had since grown tired of Minister Ghivussi and Minister Gimli’s more passive approach, attempting to appease the protestors by bringing their queiries to the light of those in power. But nothing ever came of it. Radical visionaries want nothing more than to completely dismantle the system that disenfranchises them, and the Camerian elite were far too apprehensive of change. Even the slightest threat to their dominance had to be snuffed out.

Kalar had no problem answering their selfish grievances in this manner, but they cared very little for their own motivations. The Grand Minister had over time become less concerned with the state of politics. Class tensions, riots, and civil war were all things that seemed diminutive in their eyes. Too world-bound. Too tied to the present. Kalar had their eyes on what was to come. On prophecy, fate, and their own intuition.

Kalar was different now. Ever since Eshta brought the [ MEMORY REDACTED ] to their feet. Ever since Umvis’ passing. They were not themselves. Obsessive and quick to snap. Impulsive. Dangerous.

Kalar was spiraling. And Seris would be the first to feel the brunt of it.

I was pushed to my limit that day. I remember at one point becoming massive wheels lined with serrated blades, carving through the very earth beneath their running feet. At another point, I splintered into a million daggers that rained down from the skies above their head, whistling through the air until I pierced through flesh so quickly it could barely be heard. Massive structures, buildings, homes formed of metal were bent, crushed, and toppled to the ground. The very gravity beneath them shifted, pulling them down to their hands and knees as a pitch so high in frequency rang through the air until they bled from their ears. It was a bloodbath. A massacre, one of which Kalar was the sole culprit. Very few rebels survived that day, and even fewer civilians looked upon their Grand Minister with kind eyes from then on.

Rael was also there, watching as their ima carved through swaths of fighters with vigor. It was nothing to them. An effortless flick of their wrist, extension of their will. Rael’s approach to the violence was on a much narrower scale. They focused on enemy at a time, cutting them down with as much speed and efficiency as the Minister leading the charge. They never reveled in their suffering, however. Never once found enjoyment in taking a life. Though they never empathized either. Their heart was completely closed to it. Detached from the violence. There was no sorrow, nor was there any hint of sadism.

This was Rael’s duty. Their sole objective. Yet another weapon for Kalar to extend their will upon. Another cog in the wheel of their grand scheme. And Rael was so passive, so eager to please, so desperate to find purpose in this life, that they allowed their ima complete control.

Hours into the violence. Barely any were left standing. Those that did surrendered their arms, and their lives, to serve the Grand Minister in any way they deemed appropriate. Anything to avoid imprisonment. Or worse, torture. Or death.

Kalar merely waved them off, as if this were beneath them. They would deal with them later. The Minister’s mind was preoccupied, their attention fixated on the next goal. The second cog on her wheel.

The estate of the Minister of Seris. Ghivussi was waiting for them, down on hands and knees. Their face weary and ridden with grief, whilst Kalar wore a smile. The battle was over, and now Minister Ghivussi knelt at the feet of their victor. Rael kept some distance, lurking around the vast space of the Minister’s living quarters as they observed the scene with curiosity that was almost cat-like.

“Oh, Ghivussi…” Kalar began, twirling my bladed form between their fingertips with deft precision. “If you had only done your job. Think of all the lives you could’ve saved.”

“This… this was an unnecessary display of your power. This could’ve all been avoided had you and the rest of the Ministry simply… simply listened to the people! What their needs were… I could not enact change alone…” Ghivussi coughed, old bones trembling as they straightened from their kneeling position, staring up into Kalar’s eyes with all the determination they could muster. “I’ve done all I could. While you all did nothing. The blood is on your hands.”

Kalar huffed a dry laugh, rolling their eyes as they glanced down at Ghivussi. They seemed unimpressed by their tenacity, and even less moved by their words. Instead, their eyes wandered around the chamber, across the elaborate tapestries and the ornate carvings in the ceiling, down to the wide entrance that led to the bleak devastation Kalar left behind.

“All of this… none of it matters, does it?” Kalar stated, eyes still fixated on the ash gray clouds that rolled over the decimated landscape. “In the end, it’s all meaningless.”

“I-in the end…?” Ghivussi asked, seeming more unnerved by the Grand Minister with every passing second.

Kalar’s eyes flickered towards them again, their smile stretching across their once vacant expression, “Oh, yes. The ending… I’ve seen it.” Kalar crouched down to their level, roughly taking their face in their hand. “There are many worlds to visit… but this one ends. That ending approaches... getting closer and closer every day.”

Their smile is sanguine now, more genuine. As if they were attempting to quell their greatest fears. To comfort them…

“It all starts with you.”

Kalar released their face, standing and turning to their child, who was now standing frozen in place, awaiting a command.

“Kill them. Remove the head.”

Tension rose in Rael, who hesitated to step forward, to even utter the defiance that later left their lips.

“Ima… they’re a Minister. I can’t—”

“They will soon be replaced. It is of no consequence, child.” Kalar answered plainly, pointing their blade toward Ghivussi’s throat. “I will not repeat myself.”

Rael is quiet now, jaw tightened as they inched forward. Their eyes flickered between Ghivussi, who quivered in fear and begged helplessly for their life, and their ima, who merely stared at the frightened Minister with complete disregard, with unwavering apathy. Kalar was unhinged, and with every step forward, Rael saw it more clearly.

Despite their unease, there was no falter in their stride. No trembling in their stance as they held their tsanista—Galagar, it was named—extended in its blade form to the Minister’s neck. They fell quiet, shaking even more under Rael’s solemn stare, and Kalar’s intense glower.

Rael would do it. They had no choice. It was either kill the Minister and return home, or face Kalar. The largest threat. The worst threat.

Rael’s arm shot out, and the Minister’s head toppled to the floor, coating the smooth crystal surface in a pool of fresh blood.

Kalar looked pleased. Rael looked ill.

It was the first time I’d ever seen them disturbed by a kill. Usually, they were as unfeeling in their actions as their ima. But this time was different. They just killed a member of the Ministry. And Kalar carried their head around as if it were a trophy.

Rael felt sick.

“The rebels did this.” Kalar held the head high, staring into its lifeless eyes. “They murdered their own Minister. Began an uprising. They needed to be stopped… and we did that today.” Their eyes flickered towards their child, the smile returning to their face. “You did that.”

Galagar dropped to the floor with a loud clang. Rael’s fists tightened, trembling as they glared at their ima with rage. With disgust.

“You call this… justice? You think this is right?!” Their voice was raised now, their gait quickened as they approached Kalar. “None of this… none of this was for Camer. It was for you. You and that… that fucking—”

“Mind your tongue.” Kalar snapped, their lips suddenly shifted into a frown. They were more than displeased with the sudden display. They tossed the head across the room, moving close enough that they were glaring down at them, that their breath could be felt on them.

“And if you are going to get brave with me, make sure you have your weapon in hand.”

There was stillness between the both of them, eyes locked in silence, yet the tension could be felt in the air. Neither moved. Not even so much as a flinch could be seen.

Until…

Galagar leapt from the floor and snapped back into Rael’s hand. Once the tsanista touched their palm, they were sent flying back as gravity betrayed them. They recovered, landing against the wall in a crouched position, one they only held for a second as Kalar stretched my form into a giant pillar, shooting out towards Rael. They leaped out of harm’s way, leaving a massive crater in their wave as they ran across the walls and ceiling searching for an opening. Kalar would not make it easy for them, pulling me back and splitting me several ways to form large rings, each getting larger than the other as they revolved around Kalar’s now levitating form. The rings were wide and heavy, each one shooting out pillar after pillar in an effort to cease their opponent’s quick evasions. But Rael was too fast, too cunning, too well-trained to fall prey to such simple tricks. They dodged, weaved, and ran quickly across the walls, ceiling, even leaping from ring to ring until they found their opening. They formed thin daggers from their tsanista, shooting them towards the Minister with great precision. Most were deflected by the inner ring, but one found it way in, scratching them across the cheek.

Rael found their opening. Like a fly lured into a spider’s web.

The scar healed immediately, and Kalar grinned viciously as the younger one leapt towards them in one instantaneous motion, blinking closer once a ring threatened their path. They were inches away from Kalar’s face, inches away from dealing any sort of blow with real weight to it.

Then time stopped around them. And Rael was frozen in mid-air.

Kalar smiled, my rings reduced in size and forming cuffs around both of my tsanagar’s arms. They stare at their child curiously for a while, until their fingers wrapped slowly around their neck. Time started again, and Rael, as quickly as they charged forward, was slammed against the ground with enough force that several large cracks split through the floor in several directions.

Rael strained against their grip for a while, legs kicking as much as they could under Kalar’s weight, light gasps escaping as fingers tensed around their throat. After some time however, they ceased in their struggling, not even bothering to retaliate in any form knowing Kalar would have a response of their own. The young tsanagar merely laid there, tapered breaths leaving them as they stared deeply into Kalar’s eyes, full of intent, of a rage that slowly became subdued as their wicked smile returned once more.

“You don’t see it yet… do you?” Kalar’s fingers tightened slightly, their other hand pinning Rael’s wrist harshly against the floor to halt the clawing at their arm. “You can’t feel it… but you will. Destiny finds us all.”

Kalar released Rael and stood, yanking the younger one from the ground by their shoulders, holding them tightly in place as they whispered against their ear.

“I still have need of you, Exiled.”

[ MEMORY REDACTED ]

Rael stayed behind for a while, rubbing the finger-shaped bruises around their neck, and staring hard at the severed head at their feet. Kalar re-entered the bleakness of the outside world with a smile, perhaps proud of themselves for fulfilling whatever task they set out to achieve with all of this madness. I remember their elation quite clearly. I remember my own unease.

[ Am I still yours? ]

The question left me on impulse. It caused Kalar to pause, the joy wiped from their features and replaced with… uncertainty. Discomfort.

They clasped their hand over my medallion form, squeezing gently in an act of intimacy. The one moment of silence, of peace, we had in a long time.

“Always.”

Always…

[ Feels like a lie. ]

[marksugar306]

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[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/venomrex-announces-the-launch-of-its-all-new-604-wheel/

VENOMREX Announces the Launch of its All-New 604 Wheel

VENOMREX was created by VORSTEINER, one of the world’s leading performance wheel and aerodynamic manufacturing brands with over 150 years of experience. VENOMREX’s mission is to transform the aftermarket truck wheel industry by utilizing cutting-edge techniques and innovative designs, setting a new standard in the quality and performance of off-road wheels. VENOMREX wheels are specifically made for truck and off-road applications to give you the best all-terrain performance. 

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VENOMREX wheels are specifically made for truck and off-road applications to give you the best all-terrain performance. That said, VENOMREX is pleased to introduce the launch of its all-new 604 wheel. The VR-604 wheel combines the brand’s distinct and unique design methods with the robust and rugged styling of traditional truck wheels. Built with VENOMREX’s flow-forged technology, the 604 combines head-turning styling with maximum strength. 

VENOMREX’s Flow Forging technology produces wheels that are much lighter than the conventional cast construction, yet substantially stronger.  The majority of the surplus weight is saved from using less aluminum while still improving the durability of the wheel. What’s more, VENOMREX meticulously reduces the weight of the wheel by utilizing back-pad pocketing as well as front and rear spoke pocketing to create a wheel that is more capable than the traditional cast construction.

The VENOMREX engineers take pride in having utilized specific design elements to produce one of the lightest 20-inch Flow Forged wheels available on the market today. Being as lightweight as it is, the VR-604 also reduces unsprung weight to improve your truck’s performance and overall driving experience. Apart from its functionality and durability, the VR-604 boasts devilishly good looks. It spotlights six open-mag style spokes which feature a tapered angular design to give your truck an even more aggressive and sportier appearance. Shown in Mystic Black, the 604 will be available in several colors and sizes. 

The VR-604 is designed for both on- and off-road use for a variety of applications. These include the Ford F150 (2009+), the Ford Raptor, the Toyota Tacoma, the Toyota 4Runner, the Toyota FJ Cruiser, the Chevrolet Silverado, and the GMC Sierra 1500.

Vehicle Applications:

2009+ F150

2009-2014 Raptor

2017 Raptor

2019+ Dodge Ram 1500

2007+ Chevrolet Silverado 1500

2007+ GMC Sierra 1500

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Size: 20X9.0

PCD: 6X135 (Ford)

PCD: 6X139 (Chevy/GMC/Dodge)

Offset: 12 (Ford)

Offset: 0 (Chevy/GMC/Dodge)

Backspacing: 5.5″ (Ford)

Backspacing: 5.0″ (Chevy/GMC/Dodge)

Bore: 87

Bore: 106 (Chevy/GMC/Dodge)

Load Rating: 2,600 lbs

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U.K.’s Nigel Farage Calls Trump Genius

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), Aug. 2, 2019.--Praising 73-year-old President Donald Trump for his July 14 “go back” comments to Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.), Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-.N.Y.), Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.), and Ayanna Pressley (D-Mass.), Brexit founder Nigel Frage called Trump a “genius.” Vilified in the U.S. press as “racist,” Trump’s comments were taken out of context, when the president was saying if the four freshman Congresswoman are so unhappy in the U.S., they should go back to their countries of origin and do something constructive.  What the press doesn’t say is that all three Congresswoman call for Trump’s impeachment, believing, without a shred of proof, that he committed high-rimes-and-misdemeanors.  “Why don’t they go back and help fix the totally broken and crime-infested places from which they came,” Trump.  Trump’s remarks sparked outrage in the U.S. press.

            Trump knew that three-of-the-four Congresswomen were born in the United States, despite having family ties in Somalia, Puerto Rico, and Palestine.  Pressley is a black citizen hailing from Massachusetts. No one in the press talks about the fact that all four Congresswomen call for Trump’s impeachment without evidence of high-crimes-and-misdemeanors.  When Special Counsel Robert Mueller said in his March 22 final report that neither Trump nor anyone in his campaign conspired with Russia to win the 2016 presidential election, Democrats doubled down making up their own charges without evidence.  Democrats held onto Mueller’s statement that he could not “exonerate” Trump, despite the fact that it’s not the role of the Special Counsel to exonerate anyone.  Proper Department of Justice Protocol requires federal prosecutors to make “declination” decisions when there’s no evidence.

            Omar, Ocasio-Cortez, Tlaib and Pressley insist Trump committed obstruction of justice because there were rumors that he asked his legal counsel Don McGahan to fire Mueller.  “I thought, ‘Dear, oh dear.’  You realize , 48 hours on, it was genius because what’s happened is the Democrats gather round the Squad, which him to say,’ Oh look, the Squad are the center of the Democratic Party,” Farage said.  Farage credits Trump’s strong backing in 2016 for the Brexit voter where 52% of the British public voted June 23, 2916 to exit the European Union. Farage—who has his detractors—sees Trump at masterfully playing the U.S. media, leaving most journalists bullied into accepting the Brexit deal.  Former Prime Minister Theresa May lost her job over getting a satisfactory Brexit deal from the EU.  Replaces by former U.K. Foreign Minister Boris Johnson, Farage has more power than ever.

            Farage called Trump a genius because he thinks he shifted the media to the “Quad-Squad” calling the shots in the Democrat Party.  While House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) believe impeachment would backfire on Democrats, the “Quad-Squad” think s only good for the Democrat Party would happen.  “He’s remarkably good at what he does,” Farage said, speaking about Trump.  “He [Trump] does things his way. But he is a remarkably effective operator,” Farage said, encouraging Johnson to follow in Trump’s footsteps.  Trump’s “go back” remarks gave Democrats their talking points heading into the 2020 presidential election, saying Trump was a racist. But if you put Trump’s comments in context, knowing the Quad-Squad wants Trump impeached, you’d realize his remarks were much less about racism and much more payback for pushing impeachment.

            Labor Party Leader Jeremy Corbyn said Trump’s remarks were “racist,” pointing fingers at Farage and newly minted Prime Minister Boris Johnson.  Corbyn would like nothing more than to see Johnson fail so that the Parliament could call new elections to offer himself as Prime Minister.  Corbyn’s so reviled in the Tory Party, they’d paralyze government rather that accept the Labor Party leader.  Ukip [Britain’s Independent Party] Party Leader Nigel Farage has many common ties to Johnson and the Tory Party, opposes any attempt by Corbyn to become Prime Minister.  Back in 2016, Farage tapped in to British resentment of Arab and North African immigrants, especially in the years after the 2005 London Underground bombing July 7, 2005.  After the June 3, 2017 London Bridge truck-ramming terror attack, Londoners were less tolerant of Mideast and North African f refugees.

               Trump’s “go back” remarks sparks the same kind of outrage in London.  Recent terror attacks on the London Bridge June 7, 2017 reminded voters that foreigners have caused more problems in the U.K. much like the United States. Farage is one of Trump’s biggest fans in the U.K., having played a role in Trump’s 2016 election.  When the Brexit frenzy was in full swing in 2016, Farage rose in his stature in U.K. politics.  Democrats were up in arms, asking for Trump’s impeachment after his “go back” remarks.  Trump wanted to get back at the Quad-Squad backing Trump’s impeachment, regardless of the facts.  When Trump calls on the Quad-Squad to “go back,” Trump’s really saying he wants the Congresswomen to stop calling for his impeachment.  There’s nothing racist about Trump calling out vociferous Congresswomen calling for his impeachment without evidence of high-crimes-and-misdemeanors.

About the Author

 John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.          

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New Post has been published on http://fastmusclecar.com/best-muscle-cars/rapid-transit-caravan-muscle-car-collection-heads-for-auction/

Rapid Transit Caravan Muscle Car Collection Heads For Auction

By Dave Ashton

Mecum will be hosting a rather special auction this May in Indianapolis featuring the Juliano collection. The Plymouths in question are custom show cars from the Rapid Transit Caravan which were used as part of the marketing for the Rapid Transit System. The collection also includes 4 original Shelby Cobras, a Cheetah race car, a Plymouth Barracuda and a Dodge Dart Swinger concept car.

Juliano amassed the collection over 30 years, which also includes plenty of automotive art. Although a modified ‘Cuda was eventually out of reach to complete the collection and with Steven Juliano battling pancreatic cancer through the 2000s, the vehicles going to auction are still amazingly creative examples of their time.

The Rapid Transit Caravan was conceived to promote the Rapid Transit System at Plymouth, who hired Harry Bradley(GM and Hot Wheels designer) and Bob Larivee to hook up customizers to make the cars more youth inspired. The Rapid Transit Caravan travelled the US visiting Plymouth dealers and car shows, showing the complete package of the Rapid Transit System from high-performance parts, racing information, the cars and accessories.

Once the promotional tour of the caravan had ended, the vehicles used fell into obscurity, mainly because they were not factory correct. However, Juliano after a meeting with Ed Meyer, started to track down and collect these obscure vehicles and slowly over time started to bring back interest into these custom cars. The car is also rarely been shown in public with two out of the three been shown at Carlisle a few years ago and all three at Muscle Cars and Corvette Nationals last year for the first time in public.

The other vehicles in the auction consist of a 1964 Shelby 289 Cobra Roadster CSX2416, a 1967 Shelby 427 S/C Cobra Roadster CSX3042, a 1966 Shelby 427 Cobra Roadster CSX3173, 1965 Shelby Factory Stage III 289 Cobra Dragonsnake CSX2427, a 1963 Cheetah Race Car No. 4 of 11 built, 1969 Plymouth Barracuda Mod Top 340 CI, 1 of 937 produced and a 1969 Dodge Dart Swinger Concept Car.

1971 Plymouth Road Runner Rapid Transit, LOT R254 Job 169 and Serial No. 100016 pilot plant construction Engine: 383 CI Transmission: Automatic Color: Orange Candy-over-Pearl with White Pearl break-line Built by Chuck Miller of Styline Custom Known as the as the ‘Chicken Head’ for the Road Runner side marker lights Front end molded and extended over six inches Hand-formed rear roll pan with concealed Red, Green and amber tail lenses Ram Air induction scoops Molded aerodynamic rear spoiler Deck lid recessed over 4 inches Bucket seats and center console Custom Black pan wheel covers OEM Interior Miles: 1,300

1971 Plymouth Hemi Road Runner Rapid Transit, LOT R255 Engine: 426 CI. /425 HP Transmission: Torqueflite Automatic Color: Candy Gold with Pearl White roof Dana 60 4.10 rear axle 150 MPH speedometer Road Runner horn button on 3-spoke steering wheel Enlarged air scoops Flat Black deck lid and hood Oversized Road Runner birds painted into the body Rear wheel wells enlarged and flared out 4 inches Molded rear spoiler Bucket seats and center console 9 inch square Cibie headlights and plastic honeycomb grille One-piece tail lens Shaved handles Ansen Sprint wheels Bodywork by Roman’s Chariot Shop in Cleveland, Ohio Restored by Ken Heckett in 2000 Miles: 1,700

1970 Plymouth Duster Rapid Transit Engine: LA-series 340 CI. small block/275 HP, 4-barrel carburetor Transmission: 4-Speed Color: Green Interior: White and Black bucket seat interior Built by Byron Grenfel twice in 1970 and restyled in 1971 Dual exhaust with custom through-bumper exit Functional brake air intakes 3.90 rear axle Power brakes with front discs Stewart Warner tachometer and auxiliary gauges Solid State radio Color-keyed mirrors Dual fuel fillers American Racing slotted Dragmaster wheels Upper front-grille Duster psychedelic lettering Custom headlamp enclosers Custom OE-lensed tail lamps green and yellow custom striping Signed glovebox by Grenfel and RTS Show Promotions Manager Bob Larivee

Find out more here https://www.mecum.com/auctions/indianapolis-2019/collections/steven-juliano-estate-collection/