#Customer Identification System

[uaeaml]

Financial institutions have specialized processes in place to recognize and confirm the identity of their customers. One of the fundamental procedures that banks, DNFBPs, and other financial organizations must take to confirm the identity of potential clients is customer identification. It makes it easier to find trustworthy organizations, people, and enterprises so that one may do business with them. The customer identification program, to put it simply, illustrates a sequence of actions that establishes the client's identity.

[notmyneighbor]

sway | female doppel reader x francis mosses

rating | explicit

words | 4.2k

alcohol, cigarettes, sexual content

ao3 link

The hotel cocktail lounge is like an open buffet for doppelgangers.

You’d really lucked out cloning that young, attractive, newly hired lounge singer, disposing of the original before she could cause any trouble. While so many of your brethren struggled to get into the heavily guarded, overcrowded apartments for shelter (and food, of course) you had the better fortune of landing a job at the swanky city hotel with the added bonus of a room upstairs to reside in. Working smarter, not harder.

Sure, you might not enjoy the aftertaste of all that alcohol that’s saturated the humans’ systems but hey, it’s still easy pickings for a hungry invader like yourself. You have a set of genuine documents that verify your identity, pilfered from your victim. No one even bothers to screen in the lounge, because if you’ve made it that far inside, it was too late to worry about it. The identification cards are still required, though, ensuring you’re the legal age to drink. Funny, what humans thought important, when their world was being devoured right out from under them.

Perhaps the most impressive feature of your stolen life is the fact that you actually like your new employment.

At first you’d balked at the idea of working for the humans, but you’ve really started to warm to it lately. You enjoy the music. The pretty gowns you get to wear. The admiring stares which you return easily. Meat regarding meat, right? The ones you liked the least became your next meal, lured to the parking lot, the side alley, hell, you’d even snacked on one in a housekeeping closet. You were careful to space feedings apart, though. Discreet. You’re not going to fuck up a good thing like this.

There’s a new customer at the bar tonight. You’ve been here long enough now to recognize who’s a local and who’s passing through, the regulars and the fleeting visitors. Another reason this was such a good place to hunt for prey—so many people coming and going. You tried to leave the locals alone and fix your sights more on the traveling folks instead. Their absences could be more readily explained. No one would notice them missing right away, and by the time they did, well, it was much too late.

In spite of the fact that he’s a newcomer to the establishment, you recognize the milkman that’s seated at the far end of the bar as a local. He looks as if he’s come straight from his job, with undereyes so smudged it seems as if he’s been working in a coal mine, not delivering dairy products. The bowtie around his neck is loosened and draped in careless wrinkles, the top button of his shirt undone. His cap is on the counter, next to a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. After a few rounds the man serving alcohol had finally just left the bottle. You’ve been served free vodka between sets, clear like water but damn, that taste. You’d have to be pretty desperate to force that down straight on the regular.

Still, you nod your thanks and glance at the stranger again. He’s completely focused on the drink. Shame that, because the more you look at him, the more you find yourself appreciating his appearance. As wretchedly exhausted as his features are, there’s still something oddly appealing about his face. You study the way he swirls the liquid in the glass before taking a contemplative sip, the movement of the pronounced arch of his throat as he swallows it down. You’ve never thought of the humans as attractive before, but this one…

It wasn’t completely unheard of for doppels to have some fun with the inhabitants of this planet. It wasn’t always just copying, killing, eating. You yourself have never indulged. No one has captured your attention like this. Maybe it’s because he disregards you so strongly. Immune to the charms you’ve replicated. What was it he liked in a girl? You could make yourself look like anyone he might desire. The ideal lover, really. A new face and body to suit every mood.

There are other customers already gathering at your elbows, praising your singing talents, your beauty. You smile and murmur polite gratitude but you’re not interested in any of them. It’s that milkman you want.

Your target polishes off the last of the glass in front of him, dragging the back of his wrist across his mouth. He reaches for the sealed pack of cigarettes now, tapping the box against his palm to pack the tobacco tighter before peeling off the plastic wrapper and flipping the cardboard top open. He withdraws one of the cylinders inside and tucks it between his lips, next seeking out the book of matches. Red phosphorous struck, you can detect the faintest scent of it as the match is lit, the end of the cigarette now aflame, the match shaken violently until it’s extinguished, then tossed into the ash tray nearby.

Now your eyes follow the path of that lit paper roll, tucked between the middle and index fingers, brought to his mouth, the deep inhale and then exhale, a thin white stream of smoke clouding the air in front of him.

For a moment you allow yourself to indulge in imagining yourself sitting next to him. Lifting that cap off the counter and placing it on your own head, teasing him to retrieve it, staying just out of reach. Getting closer. Walking your fingers up his sleeve. Playfully tugging the cigarette free from his fingers and slotting it into your own mouth. You don’t truly understand the humans’ fondness for the nicotine laced tubes. You’ve never tried one yourself, only in a second hand kind of way after you’ve chomped on someone who indulges in the habit. But this man made it look appealing. You’re wondering at the taste. At the way it feels to breathe those substances inside.

Your name is called—not your real name, of course, but the identity you’d stolen. The manager, reminding you it’s time you retook the stage, break time over. There is some polite clapping, some whistles. The lighting changes as you take up your position behind the microphone on the stand, nodding to the musicians behind you. You have copies of all of the artist’s whose songs you’re covering in your room, an extensive selection of records. You’d learned the lyrics easily, and if you messed up during performance, no one seemed to mind much. The place was more about a feeling. A relaxed, languid kind of atmosphere. Unwinding after a long day of work. Taking a respite during travel. It’s Dean Martin’s sultry crooning you adopt now, your fingers stroking the stand as gently as if you might caress a lover.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

You move your hips gently in time to the music. The light catches on the sequins of your emerald gown, making them sparkle. It’s low cut, molded to the curves of your body. You glance over at the man still seated with his back to you. You’re going to get this man to turn around and pay attention, one way or another.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

You’ve descended the stage, bringing the microphone with you. Each table is draped in a white cloth, with a candle centerpiece. You move around the room, gifting attention to patrons at random, batting your eyelashes or blowing kisses from your painted lips. It’s all for show, all smoke and mirrors, concealing what your true intentions are.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have the magic technique

When we sway I go weak

The range for the wireless mic is limited, so you can only travel so far. Your milkman is frustratingly out of reach, for the moment.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

You return to the stage, and the tired looking human has finally turned on the bar stool to regard your performance. He hadn’t been here during your first set. It seems you’ve finally made him take notice. Your eyes lock with his as you sing the chorus.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have the magic technique

When we sway I go weak

The stage lights snap off in time to the music, your fellow artists pausing for a dramatic effect before resuming playing as you reach the final verse, the lights now focused solely on you.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

Applause. More wolf whistles and cat calls. You smile and thank the patrons, your gaze once again flicking toward the man at the bar. The cigarette in his mouth has been forgotten, the charred end lengthening, threatening to drop off on its own. He hasn’t touched the glass that he’d poured before you began singing.

You’ve got him.

***

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about the males of any species, it’s that the more you ignore them, the more they pursue you.

So you don’t follow up on the progress you’ve made with the milkman that first evening. Truth be told, you’re starting to get hungry, and the sweating man with the shifty eyes at the rear of the lounge looks like he’ll keep you satisfied for a couple of days, at least. It’s all too easy to convince the human male to follow you into the recesses of the alley between the hotel building and the warehouse next door, your actions concealed by the rows of dumpsters when your impromptu ‘date’ turns into a meeting with teeth and claws.

You get a night off from work in between sessions, allowing other acts the chance to perform, but word of mouth is quickly spreading your borrowed name as the favorite. It’s you the customers really want to see.

Wednesday evening arrives and your milkman is back. A beer in front of him now. No cigarettes today. He looks a little less rumpled. Bowtie fastened. His eyes are still bruised looking, though. Did the man ever sleep?

You’ve got a little time before you’re due to begin. You’re not supposed to favor any one particular patron, but you figure you’re a big enough attraction now that you’ve earned a little autonomy. You saunter to the bar—he’s chosen the same seat again—and lean against the counter. Today you’re clad in ebony. Same shape as the dress you’d worn previously, hugging your figure and leaving little to the imagination with its tight fit, the teasing bits of skin exposed through the slit of the skirt, the low dip of the bodice and the narrow straps keeping the sparkling garment hooked on your otherwise bare shoulders daring anyone to resist that offered temptation.

This delivery driver doesn’t look. He’s too polite for that, apparently, even though the way you’re leaning would allow him a great view of your décolletage. Or maybe he’s too shy. There’s a nice bit of color in his cheeks, blossoming after you’d approached, and you don’t think alcohol is solely responsible for that effect.

You reach for the ID card he’s left beside his cap, dropped there after entering the lounge. “Francis Mosses,” you read out loud, thumb smoothing over the DDD logo in the corner, eyes roving over the expiration date. The cards and the entry requests were tricky to get just right, especially if you didn’t know your target well enough or if the doorman was too astute. Or just plain overzealous. You wonder how many innocent humans had been unintentionally eradicated by the very person that was supposed to be screening for invaders and protecting them from harm.

“You go by Frankie? Or Frank?”

“My…my mom used to call me that. Frankie,” he adds for clarification. His cheeks are scarlet now.

You smirk, tapping the card on the counter. “Hmmm. But you’re not a little boy anymore, are you, Francis? All grown up now.” You boldly reach for the beer on the counter, taking a swig directly from the bottle. It tastes as putrid as all the alcohol you’ve sampled thus far, but that’s not why you’re imbibing it. The milkman stares at you, transfixed by your every movement.

“Better keep this somewhere safe. Wouldn’t want this to fall into the wrong hands—or claws—would we?” You rest a hand on one shoulder, tucking the card into the pocket of his work shirt. You see the nervous gulp of his throat, feel the warmth radiating from his body in that brief touch.

You complete your first set—five songs, running your total time performing just under a half hour—and begin making your rounds again, schmoozing with the attendees. Saving Francis for last.

“Wait for me by the elevators after I’m done. You know where they are?” Your lips are close to his ear. You can still smell his aftershave from what must have been early that morning. You hate rising before dawn. You much prefer the nights. Easier to hide. Take what you want. Feast.

“Yes,” he manages to croak out softly.

“Good. See you then, honey,” you purr into his ear, making him shiver.

***

The man sticks out like a sore thumb.

Francis is pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the elevator doors when you arrive later that evening after your last set, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable until you approach and then he freezes, standing rigid. Maybe a little of his natural instincts were kicking in, prey sensing predator. You’re not going to harm him; at least not unless that’s what he wanted. Maybe shy boy liked it rough. You would soon find out.

Wordlessly you push the button for the elevator and step into the carriage, gesturing for him to join you when it seems as if he is truly welded in place, forever stuck to the hotel’s carpets. You reside on the third floor, at the rear of the building. The room is generously sized and nicely furnished. You step out of your high heels gratefully as soon as you’ve cleared the door, one of the nuances of fashion that you don’t appreciate quite as much. They were really quite uncomfortable to walk in.

The human male hovers just inside the doorway, his nervousness radiating from him. You’re starting to wonder how much experience he has with females in general. Maybe you should have waited for a night when he’d been a little more intoxicated, when his inhibitions had been a little lower. But you’d been impatient. Careful about all those other details when it came to consumption, but this type of hunger, this lust, is a demanding mistress you aren’t accustomed to dealing with.

“Have a seat. Get comfortable.” You switch on the living room lamp and gesture towards the plush white couch and he sits stiffly at one end, his cap clutched by the brim in his fidgeting fingers.

You pull the hat away gently and toss it onto the coffee table, then sink down at the opposite end, not wanting to intimidate him too much just yet. You can see the pulse jumping in his neck. Such a lovely throat. You’re willing to bet the blood inside would be sugar sweet.

“You got a girl?”

“Uh…no. I’m single. I live alone. I have a daughter. Her mother and I…we all live in the same apartment building.”

“Hmmm.” Your polished nails drum on the arm rest. “That delivery job of yours stresses you out, huh?”

“It’s just the hours. Longer days. A lot of people don’t want to leave the house anymore, now that…” His voice trails off.

“Now that the doppelgangers have invaded,” you finish for him.

“Right.”

“You ever see one?”

“No. I mean, not that I know of. Kind of seems like the last thing you’d ever see if you did. That’s another part of what makes the job difficult. You don’t really know what’s on the other side of the door. Have you ever…?”

Every day when I look in the mirror, you think. You merely shake your head for his benefit.

“You know how to give a massage? My feet are killing me.”

“I, uh…”

“It doesn’t take much skill. You’re just rubbing.” You lift the train of your dress and shift positions so your nylon clad feet rest on his lap, stretching out across the length of the couch. You see the slightly alarmed look on his features and your voice is soothing, patient. “It’s okay, Francis. You’ve got this.”

His hands reach tentatively for one foot, placing one over the top and the other underneath. His movement are stiff, brisk, awkward, until you begin to hum that Dean Martin song he’d seemed to enjoy, making his hands slacker, softer, caressing the sore areas. You interrupt the melody to groan appreciatively, stretching further, letting your heels grind against his thighs. It’s starting to feel good. He has nice hands. You want them on you in other places.

You slide one foot closer to his crotch, gently stroking. He’s gone immobile again, startled. You drag both feet back and stand, now moving in front of the seated man, lifting your dress so you can straddle his lap. His hands reflexively reach for your waist. You dig your hands into his thick russet hair, tugging his head back slightly.

“You ever have any of those lonely housewives ask you to come in? Make a special delivery?”

“N…no. It’s just business. No one notices…”

“You sure about that? Maybe you’re just too polite to notice when a woman is hungry.” Your free hand tugs on the bow tie, loosening it. You undo the first two buttons of his shirt. You want a taste of that gorgeous throat of his, even if it’s only the top layer and not the succulent fluids below that you’re after.

The pleasant scent of that aftershave assaults you again as soon as your face bends to sample the arch. His skin is slightly rough, the facial hair he’d scraped away reclaiming its territory at this late hour. You lick from the base all the way up to his jaw, and the fingers on your waist tighten.

“You think maybe you’ve got one more batch you need to deliver, honey?” Your hand dives straight for the fly of his pants, pleased to feel he’s already becoming aroused.

A choked sound escapes the man’s lips. Maybe an attempt at a word that becomes garbled with incoherent pleasure. Your impatience is growing. Too many layers. Earthlings insisted on wearing so many. Your species didn’t care about that, in your natural habitat. You could shred them to pieces so easily with your claws, but that would mean revealing what you truly are, and you don’t want to do that just yet. The man is anxious enough as it is.

So you settle for using the human hands you’ve replicated to unfasten the belt and zipper and undo the button, reaching beneath the waistband of his underwear and dragging his cock free. Ample. Leaking. You stroke over it and he hisses, a feral sound not unlike one a male of your species might make. Your teeth nip his earlobe, tease his bottom lip before you finally sink your tongue inside his mouth. There’s the faint, lingering taste of alcohol, but you ignore that and instead concentrate on the feeling of that wet maw, stroking cheeks and tongue and teeth and palate, exploring thoroughly. You don’t even have to guide him to the straps of your dress, feeling them slid over your shoulders, then moving to the front of your dress to knead the further exposed globes of flesh there.

“That’s good, doll. That’s really, really good.” His fingers are beneath the fabric, pinching and rolling your nipples, making them erect. You like it, but it’s not where you need him most. There’s a wet heat between your legs that’s throbbing. A hollow space waiting to be filled, and the prick in your hands is perfect for the job.

You gently push on his forearm and he takes over from there, snaking beneath the slit of your dress, the seam ripping a bit as it’s still partially tucked beneath you. He pauses. “Shit, sorry…”

“I have plenty of other dresses. I don’t care. Touch me, Francis.” The lingerie you’re wearing is skimpy. Nearly indecent. Clinging, and he tears more fabric in his urgency to work beneath the pair of panties. His digits find moisture and you moan into his mouth. That was what you needed. The pads of his fingers rolling across your clit. Parting your lips. Digging into your entrance. He’s becoming bolder now. The desire coded into DNA so long ago to ensure the propagation of the species continues taking over.

Your head tips back as you gently ride a pair of his fingers. You’re still stroking him, keeping him slick and hard. Back at his mouth again. You like kissing him. A lot. It makes your insides flutter. You’re getting even wetter.

Eventually you move away. You have to, if you’re ever going to get what you need. You lift your dress and bend over the armrest of the couch, your panties dragged down just past the lace edge of your thigh high stockings. The milkman’s dick finds your opening and slides in smooth, straight to the hilt, stretching and filling you. Your nails dig into the fabric of the couch. You’re so tempted to let the natural claws peak out, to allow the gentle incisors lining the front of your mouth shift to the genuine, sharper cuspids. It takes tremendous effort to keep the monster within restrained. The bloodlust mingles with the other, surprising you with its intensity. You’d fed so well. You shouldn’t be this hungry again so soon.

The man’s hands grip your hips, aiding him as he thrusts in and out. He’s still holding back, still gentler than what you’d like. “Fuck me harder, Francis. I want that cock in as deep as it can go.”

He grunts, maybe a little surprised with how aggressive your words are. Nice young women didn’t talk like this. Then again, you’re not a nice young woman. Not really. You just look like one, bent over with your ass cheeks spread, letting a virtual stranger violate you. You fucking love it.

His hips slap against you a little faster now, a little rougher. You push back to meet him, matching his rhythm, driving him in even further. So good. He’s hitting a tender spot inside just right. You’re getting close to achieving orgasm.

Francis is, too. You feel it in the tremors that make his hands shake on your body, the breath that stutters in rasping pants.

“Fill me up, honey. I want every drop of that milk.”

Spurred on by this last request, he moans and you feel the wet heat of his release painting your insides. You tip over the edge at that exact moment, the walls of your canal contracting and squeezing his cock, making sure to extract every bit of his seed.

If the man had looked tired before, he looked absolutely exhausted now. Spent. Drained. He flops wearily onto the couch after pulling out. You drag your panties back into place and let your hem fall down, sliding the straps of your gown back over your shoulders as you join him. You’re a little tired yourself, after that brief, intense session.

“What time do you have to get up in the morning?”

“Four.”

You clench your tongue with your teeth, sucking in a sympathetic draft of air. “It’s midnight now.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to stay? I’ll make sure to wake you up on time. Set the alarm.”

“No. It’s too far from work. I still have to load up the truck in the morning. I’m better off going home.”

“Alright.” You’re not particularly upset at him declining your offer. You are curious about something else, though. “Are you coming back to the hotel on Friday? That will be my last performance of the week.”

He looks over at you. “Yes, I will.”

“Maybe you could stay over that night. You don’t work on the weekend, do you?”

“No. Someone else has that shift.” He reaches out tentatively to touch your cheek, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. “I’ll stay that night, if you want.”

“Yes. I want.” You lean over to kiss him, the gesture gentle this time. Soothing, like the song you’d hummed earlier. “Go get some sleep, doll. You’re going to need the energy for Friday night.” For just the briefest, fleeting moment, the glamour shielding your true eyes from view slips, and the milkman’s own flare in alarm. But then you’re disguised again, so swiftly you know he’s questioning if he’d really seen what he thought he’d seen, or if it’s just fatigue that’s making his eyes play tricks on him.

You couldn’t possibly be a doppelganger.

[darkeagleruins]

EXTREMELY SERIOUS The Biden Administration proposed a new national identification card system for undocumented immigrants, “ICE Secure Docket Card program” first reported in 2022

FOX confirms this program is beginning THIS SUMMER JUST IN TIME FOR THE ELECTION

“Taxpayer-funded ID program for illegal immigrants expected to begin this summer” - Fox News “

Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) is eyeing a summer rollout for a controversial ID card pilot program for illegal immigrants being released into the U.S. And the agency hopes it will modernize the documentation process for removal proceedings.”

“The ICE Secure Docket Card program was first reported on in 2022, and Fox Digital obtained images of the card last year. Now, ICE is planning a limited rollout of the program. ICE confirmed to Fox News Digital this week the pilot program is expected to commence this summer with the distribution of approximately 10,000 cards. While the agency stressed that plans are "pre-decisional" and still subject to change, it is expected the cards will be issued in three or four locations in the U.S.”

“Did you know that the Biden Administration proposed National ID Cards for undocumented immigrants? The Biden Administration has proposed a new national identification card system for undocumented immigrants, which is called the I Secure docket card program. This would give migrants who cross the US Mexico border and other immigrants without legal status temporary ID cards.

This can help them navigate their immigration cases or removal court proceedings. Remember this is just a proposal and the details of the pilot program have not been finalized, but the ID cards are likely to include a photo, biographical information, and a QR code that would allow the holder to access their court information and immigration documents online.

This would also help them with their court hearings where they have to physically check-in at government offices. It would likely streamline the current immigration system and increase efficiency and communication. What do you think? Let me know in the comments and follow me for more immigration news.”

Wonder what else these ID cards could be used for??

[agent-calivide]

It is Bitching About Things That Do Not Matter O'Clock, but like. I know poking fun at John Juniper is a delight. I love calling him a bitch and insulting his acting and stealing his masks, but- he's not- he's not completely incompetent, y'all know that, right?

Firstly, Zor would never hire someone they didn't think could do the job, but also a lot of Juniper's fuck-up's are directly tied to either the EOD getting lucky or Zor literally setting him up for failure.

Like, we know he's good at keeping a mask on even in a moment of panic, when the Masque of Red Death blew up the first thing the did was shout "This is not part of the show, everybody run!" to evacuate the theater, something to convince the public he was a Good Man and kept suspicions around him low.

On Jet Set, the only reason Phoenix doesn't die is the EOD getting lucky and happening to have the autonomous jet's instruction manual in their records. Like, he had signal jammers, he left on the DNA Identification security system, and he sabotaged the missile defense system just in case they had to turn to plan B. These are not things left on a jet made as a custom trap for Phoenix, the pieces to save themselves wouldn't be there if it was. This is a normal jet that Juniper uses that he ensured got sabotaged so the Phoenix would be a sitting duck. Even if he didn't personally put out orders to have the jet get sabotaged, he did have the foresight to put a few boons on the jet that could kill Phoenix. Explosive cigars, poisoned food things like that. "Please, enjoy! I picked up a box of those just for you!" So he knows what to supply the agent with to try and cut this little problem short, and even if those don't work there's still the missile and the Zoraxis base they were headed to anyways. Phoenix getting out of that mess was combination of nosiness and pure dumb luck on the EOD's part.

We don't see much of him in Eaves Drop, but we do see that Zor and Fabricator are already planning on disposing of him by using the Mimic Mask and that he is generally doing a damn good job at tricking the heads of state into various traps for the most part, we just saw it with the Prime Minister in Stage Fright and we're going to see it in Party Crashers with the Primere later.

Party Crashers is where I think most of this "Oh, he's just a whiny baby" comes from, and it absolutely is John at his worst, but it get treated like his baseline??? Like, he loses his cool, he screams, he panics, he absolutely freaks out, but he also is throwing a party to kidnap the last head of state, is being chastised by the Fabricator, his friend of multiple decades is backstabbing him actively (as Gibbs should, but it's just another stressor for Juniper), several bombs have dropped or his party got a smoke grenade thrown in it, alarms and sprinklers have both gone off, and nOW SOMEONE'S TOUCHING MY FUCKING COLLECTOR'S ITEMS?! I too would be losing my shit. Add in he is seeming surrounded by people being incompetent (throwing grenades without closing hatches, missing their shots, some reason the tank of lethal gas is empty, the woman who was supposed to be helping is just laughing at you and your entire team of security is dead save for a small handful and it's all because of ONE person???) and I can't blame him for not being chill, suave, or particularly clever in that moment. And to be frank, I think every IEYTD "Final Boss" has a moment of foolishness. Solaris throws you radiation boxes that you use to take down the Death Engine and literally says "Calculating force... aaand CATCH!" and I could make a whole other post on Prism's speech on the mountain side but they're not defined by those "worst" moments. Mostly because they don't last nearly as long as Juniper's, but that doesn't mean it should be his defining moment either.

Then, in Safe and Sound, not only does he successfully trick the agent into thinking he's the Handler in the first place, but he has them drugged, kidnaps them, and then admits that if he had it this way he would have just shot the agent. No fanfare, no crazy traps, if John coulda, he would have shot the agent in the head while they were unconscious and called it a day. But Zor is the one who wants the trap, the footage, the fanfare. Juniper is pissed that the jet didn't work as is, and now he can't even just take care of the agent the easy way and ensure that they're out of the way. He says he expects the agent to find a way out, he know what they're capable of, and he's sure they're gonna find a way out because he's the one that's been dealing with them for the last week! Zor is the one who thinks this trap is gonna work and demanded Juniper put Phoenix in it. Yeah he gives a theatrical monologue, but if he had say in the matter he wouldn't get the chance to in the first place!

Then in Rising Phoenix, HE MAKES GOOD ON THAT THREAT. Try to pick up anything that you dropped on the ground outside of the elevator, tell me how that goes for you. He's got scary good aim, he sees the Phoenix and immediately goes "well, shit, one sec folks, I gotta kill this agent" and then just pulls a gun and starts firing. And rather than focusing on the agent, he does have the foresight to shoot a MOVING, FLOATING TARGET so you can't do anything to him! He is very capable with a gun and likely the only reason Phoenix survives Party Crashers is Juniper doesn't have a firearm. And then, in a moment of panic as he hangs from a catwalk (that absolutely should not have had its powerbox so obviously out in the open if Zor wasn't planning on the agent either killing him or putting him in a position for Zor to pull the trigger) he tries to plead with the agent. He doesn't know the mask is a death trap at this point, and the only choice he has is to hope the person in the room with him can help pull him back up from the pit. He puffs up his chest, acts like he has all of the cards, but that's because that's the only chance he's got of making it out of this thing alive. He doesn't know the mask is what's gonna kill him in the end, he just knows that the Fabricator, the crazy lady who makes death traps for fun, has something in the room with him and that Zor intends on using it to finish John off.

And once John's toast literally Zor just shakes their head and mockingly calls him a disappointment before turning to Phoenix and saying it's in their hands now. But the entire time that Phoenix is working on this briefcase, Zor is teasing them, toying with them, and is audibly disappointed if you fail to disarm the briefcase in time. Phoenix was supposed to get the briefcase, John was supposed to die, and he really was implied to be doomed from the very beginning.

He's not a whining, screaming, incompetent bumbling idiot. He is very capable, he is literally just set up to fail so Zor can see Phoenix perform.

Edit: just for clarification, I do think he’s rather petulant, bitchy, he can be whiny, he’s an absolute douche, and what he did in that cellar is nothing short of a tantrum, my point is just that he isn’t a completely incompetent man baby. He knows what he’s doing and in at least one situation had more sense than Zor (Safe and Sound).

[parasiticstars]

╰┈➤File Retrieved: Servant_Pets.pdf

Type: Servant Pets (also: housemaids, maid pets, housekeeping Pets)

Overview: These Pets work as housekeepers, maids, servants, cleaners, caretakers, groundskeepers, cooks, and whatever other task may be needed of them. They are trained to do any sort of domestic work possible, and therefore vary wildly in training, capability, mental acuity, physique, and personality. While still servile, they may have varying levels of authority over other servants and lapdogs. Ultimately, their purpose is to keep their master's home in pristine condition and the occupants satisfied, no matter what.

Not to be confused with Labor Pets, though laborers can work as servants and vice versa.

Servant Pets are held to high standards in skill, demeanor, and appearance, and must consist of some of the best the system has to offer. Some can fetch hundreds of thousands in auction, and will end up being a staple in their household for as long as they live.

Second-hand servants are inferior product for a reason, and may be retrained in labor.

Needs: Servants should be taken well care of to ensure the best possible work and cooperativeness, but without instilling any ideas of getting close to their masters or being like a lapdog. Indeed, servants may be under the lapdog's orders as well.

Medical care is to be swiftly given as needed. Prioritize getting the Pet back on its feet as soon as possible. Euthanasia is only required if an injury will permanently affect fine motor skills and/or rational decision making.

Servants are shipped with a simple identification collar, though this can be customized if the Pet is pre-ordered. They also come with two cotton trousers, two cotton button-down shirts, rubber gloves, and one set of EVA clogs with thick soles.

Training: Ideally, a servant Pets' training should be focused on total compliance and servility without sacrificing fine motor skills, rational decision making, and practical skills. It should be eager to please yet not be deluded to believing it is a human or a lapdog.

Emphasis must be placed on work ethic, complacency, submissiveness, attention to detail, proactivity, posture, and personal upkeep, in that order.

Servant Pets can come from a variety of sources, though some of the best have come from long-established breeding lines with specialized training. It is rare to have a good servant come from a Pet retaining its memories (such as a labor Pet), but could be possible with enough discipline. However, this may best be left to experienced owners.

While servants should be able to endure harsh work conditions, heavy-handed punishments (amputation, disfiguring) are entirely unnecessary, and will only be a waste of product. Verbal discipline, withholding food and amenities, and flogging with small objects (such as a ruler or a clothes hanger) are recommended.

Medical notes: Unless the Pet is to be used for breeding, both sexes must be sterilized to prevent any distractions from their duties. Females undergo a mandatory type III circumcision as well.

Servant Pets' lifespans are longer than other pets, averaging to 65 (discounting workplace accidents and violence from master to pet). While aging may take away value and capability in the mid thirties, they may continue to work well to 70. Past this age, however, it is in the best interest to both the master and the Pet to euthanize it, as the resource strain to support a geriatric Pet for the sake of an extra set of hands will be much more of a hindrance than it could help.

[scotianostra]

On June 27th 1967 the first cash dispenser was opened by Barclay’s Bank in Enfield by actor Reg Varney.

The idea of an automatic money dispensing machine had been mooted and tried without success in the early 60's but it wasn't until Scotsmen John Shepherd-Barron and James Goodfellow successfully designed the "cash machine" and Personal Identification Number (PIN) technology which is still used over 50 years later.

Goodfellow lodged his patent in May 1966, more than a year before the first cash machine was ceremonially opened in a blaze of publicity. A machine was developed by John Shepherd-Barron, who was born in India, to Scottish parents, and lived much of his later life in Portmahomack in Ross-shire.

Shepherd-Barron's ATM beat Goodfellow's machines, which were installed at branches of Westminster Bank (later to become NatWest), by just a month.

So Shepherd-Barron became known as the "man who invented the cash machine" and not Goodfellow, the man who patented the system we use today.

Shepherd-Barron says he was inspired by chocolate vending machines, he stated "It struck me there must be a way I could get my own money, anywhere in the world or the UK. I hit upon the idea of a chocolate bar dispenser, but replacing chocolate with cash.

The two devices were very different.

Shepherd-Barron's did not use plastic cards, instead it used cheques that were impregnated with carbon 14, a mildly radioactive substance.

The machine detected it, then matched the cheque against a Pin number.

Shepherd-Barron worked for banknote manufacturer De La Rue, which never patented its machine.

Before he died in 2010, he told a documentary that he didn't patent the idea because he did not want fraudsters knowing how the system worked.

He also said that the chief executive of Barclays had been quick to say yes to the idea when they had discussed it after a couple of Martinis.

Shepherd-Barron then had to go back to his team and get them to develop his idea.

In recent years, his claim to have been the real inventor of the cash machine has been recognised more widely.

Mr Goodfellow now does not like to talk about the years in which Mr Shepherd-Barron got all the credit but in a 2009 BBC documentary he said it "really does raise my blood pressure".

The engineer, from Paisley, told BBC Scotland: "My patent was licensed by all the manufacturers. They thought that was the way to go.

"The race to get it on to the street was not as important.

"Getting it right was the answer, not getting it first."

Mr Goodfellow was working as development engineer for Glasgow firm Kelvin Hughes in the mid-1960s when he got involved in a project to design a machine that could dispense money to customers when banks were closed.

He said in an interview that the driving force for the move was unions putting pressure on banks to close on Saturday mornings.

He said most people worked during the week and could not get to the bank, which closed at 3pm on weekdays.

Many people went to the bank on Saturday mornings but the unions were pressing for staff to work a five-day week.

The banks wanted a way to give working people access to their money when they were closed. Goodfellow said "The problem with cash machines was access.

"How would a genuine customer, and only a genuine customer, get money out of it?"

They considered biometrics - fingerprints, voice prints or retinal scans.

"But in the 60s the technology to do this was not there, it was impossible,"

So the next approach was an "exotic token", a piece of paper or plastic with "uncommon characteristics" that a machine would recognise.

His "eureka moment" came when he hit upon the idea of the Personal Identification Number (PIN).

This was the vital security measure that would make the system work, the number would be known to the customer and the bank and could be related to the card but not read by anyone else.

Goodfellow's invention was patented in May 1966, more than a year before his rival unveiled the first ATM in London.

But he still had a battle to make his concept reality.

"We had to meet some of the banks demands which were pretty severe," he said.

"They had a million customers and they wanted 2,000 machines across the UK.

"They wanted any one of the one million customers to be able to access any one of the 2,000 machines.

"You've got to remember there was no IT network in those days. The banks had no IT equipment. The bank's branches had nothing.

"We spent a lot of time developing the code. We had to submit something like 1,000 of these cards to a consultant, who would try to decipher it."

The cards he used were one quarter of a "Hollerith" punch-card, which just happens to be the same size as today's credit card. It contains just 30 bytes of data.

His patent for the card and Pin ATM was licensed for millions but Mr Goodfellow, as a humble technician, did not own the rights and did not get rich from his invention.

He said he signed patents for 15 countries around the world and got a dollar for each - worth about £10.

Mr Goodfellow left the firm in 1967 when it moved its operations to England and he went to work for IBM.

There have been arguments for years over who should officially go down in history as "the inventor of the ATM".

In 2005, Mr Shepherd-Barron received an OBE in the New Year honours list for services to banking as the "inventor of the automatic cash dispenser".

However, since then Mr Goodfellow, the man who patented the invention, has regained his place.

In 2006 Mr Goodfellow received an OBE for services to banking as "patentor of the personal identification number".

He has also been placed in the Scottish engineering hall of fame alongside John Logie Baird, the inventor of the television.

According to the ATM Industry Association (ATMIA), as of 2015, there were close to 3.5 million ATMs installed worldwide. However, the use of ATMs is gradually declining with the increase in cashless payment systems.

[alostwanderernotfound]

Hostile Power Takeover? Learnings on Urban & Domestic Warfare , “PANDEMICS: How We are Spreading Diseases”:

Want to Stop Pandemics?

We Need to Address How Our Systems Contribute to Disease Spread & How It Is Making Pathogens Stronger

1: Understaffing & too much workload

- When it comes to the greatest factor that influences every other issue in preventing the spread of infectious disease in healthcare settings it is workload vs amount of staffing. Overburdening staff results in more medical errors, more issues missed, less time with patients, less time able to be spent per patient, often limited ability to customize treatment plans, less diseases screened for, less infectious control practices used like hand washing, more grouping of sick people in close proximity, using unsafer practices to save time, attempting tasks distracted, & many other sources of both harm & pathogen spread. This issue is inseparable from safety.

2: Need for Universal safety practices in hospital culture

-Often times many hospitals throughout different regions have different training programs with some similar content & some very different content included in their training. There are some safety-related practices that are not taught universally. I think the lack of standardization across the world has really negatively impacted us. As healthcare, healthcare staff, our healthcare buildings change & evolve, these safety practices can get lost along the way.

For example: Pathogens all spread in a certain & defined way based off their characteristics. Some of the more common disease spread through making physical contact with the pathogen (for instance touching something contaminated), touching & inhaling pathogens in droplets, and by breathing in airborne pathogens. BUT, it is important to remember that we often forget that most of the pathogens that make us sick are autonomous & tangible things. They take up space & they move. It is very easy to not see something & not feel it & for it then to be on the bottom list of priorities. Two major examples of often unknown risk are in 2 common practices:

>New Toilets

- A lot of hospitals got rid of toilet lids. Flushing bodily fluids results in those infectious particles going into the air. Disease that weren’t originally airborne would then be airborne. These pathogens can possibly be breathed in. Even if toilets are moved to a different room to protect patients, staff will possibly breathe in these particles.

>Venipuncture?

- You DO NOT need to get a needle stick injury to get a blood borne illness from someone. Drawing blood (specifically winged butterfly sets)produces blood splatter at a significant rate. This means if you were following the disease precautions that we do for everything else, you should be required to wear protective equipment: goggles, disposable gown, & gloves when drawing blood. This is not a standard that is enforced in the culture & many forget or are not aware. (1)

3: Lack of infectious disease teams

- Staff should be dedicated to prevention, control, & monitoring for success in these topics in each hospital. For obvious safety reasons.

4: Disease Screening & Pathogen identification

- Often times screenings are skipped due to patient’s lack of access to healthcare, understaffing, & lack of resources. But there are MANY practices I will continue to advocate for to get funding & to be done around the globe. I’m going to reiterate strongly that not all systems are perfect, but currently the risk for the world is far too high. I’m in favor of universal screening for blood borne disease with at least all inpatient hospital stays and likewise universal testing for respiratory illness is a good approach during “winter seasons”.

- I also think identification of pathogens & their characteristics inside places where healthcare is done is necessary. Reevaluation of cleaning practices is necessary. The level of antibiotic resistance we now see with MRSA or antibiotic resistant staph could happen to ANY other pathogen & we are not taking enough steps to prevent it.

6: Where “Knowledge” Becomes Deadly

- Unfortunately a large proportion of our knowledge comes from observing problems and then frantically attempting to solve them in the middle of a crisis. We have studies on diseases and then we learn & teach everyone based off the most up to date scientific knowledge we have available at that time. I think our understanding of a lot of disease processes & body processes are very incomplete. I also think that people have been steered in a very dangerous direction over the course of history despite ample warning. The specific directions medicine went into for standards of care over history is deeply disturbing & highly suggestive that someone trying to hurt people was attempting to influence the medical sphere by any means necessary including force. Without a full understanding of all the different functions organs do, the standard in medicine many, many years ago became to just start removing things. This became the “gold standard” of care or best practice for a very common problem that can be treated in other & less invasive ways. But since funding, research, & general direction hasn’t been focused on getting more info on specific important topics- these are practices we still do to this day. To reiterate something I said long ago, when someone has a tummy ache, no one actually suggests to take out the stomach. Despite nonstop pushing for more federal regulation, there are still few regulations on supplements. This is dangerous and it’s hard to recommend these type of needed supplements when they are not standardized across the board in regards to their safety. All your organs do multiple things. If you take any out or damage them you will need some type of “replacement therapy” to feel normal again. The issue is that primarily books & research inform healthcare worker education. But if no one will fund the research or investigate specific topics, the interventions & meds that help never get taught. It’s not that the interventions don’t work, it’s just that someone established the norm to be the most painful/hardest on your body type treatment. I reiterate, that seems HIGHLY suspect for something being wrong in multiple domains to get us to this point.

There are forces trying to take us down a dark path & I continually hope it isn’t too late to prevent harm in all domains of our lives. I debate with myself about including links with each post due to how cluttered it gets. But I think it’s incredibly uncomfortable topics like drawing people’s blood has a somewhat unknown & higher risk for pathogen exposure than people say that’s been demonstrated in research & people don’t make a bigger deal about it. It’s hard information to find on google & many hospital cultures do not emphasize its dangers in the same way even that we do towards MRSA. It’s incredibly uncomfortable reality to find ourselves in, but something’s got to change.

(1) https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0196655308005427

[submalevolentgrace]

"A voice identification system used by the Australian government for millions of people has a serious security flaw, a Guardian Australia investigation has found.

Centrelink and the Australian Taxation Office (ATO) both give people the option of using a “voiceprint”, along with other information, to verify their identity over the phone, allowing them to then access sensitive information from their accounts.

But following reports that an AI-generated voice trained to sound like a specific person could be used to access phone-banking services overseas, Guardian Australia has confirmed that the voiceprint system can also be fooled by an AI-generated voice.

Using just four minutes of audio, a Guardian Australia journalist was able to generate a clone of their own voice and was then able to use this, combined with their customer reference number, to gain access to their own Centrelink self-service account.

The voiceprint service, described as the “digital representation of the sound, rhythm, physical characteristics and patterns of your voice”, was used by 3.8 million Centrelink clients as of the end of February, and more than 7.1 million people had verified their voice with the ATO.

Services Australia, the department that oversees Centrelink, says on its website the service is “secure, accurate and reliable”."

"Voice cloning, a relatively new technology using machine learning, is offered by a number of apps and websites either free or for a small fee, and a voice model can be created with only a handful of recordings of a person.

While the voice generated is better with high-quality recordings, anyone with public recordings of themselves on social media, or who has been recorded elsewhere, could be vulnerable to having their voice reproduced."

[jsprnt]

Healing Hearts PT.2 | Virgil van Dijk

Would a fresh start bring you more than just a new job?

WC: 2.892

Summary: Y/N L/N is a very skilled and praised physiotherapist. A certain event pushing her for a fresh start, as a physiotherapist for Liverpool FC. One question always being in the back of her mind: Will she be able to let go of her past and allow herself to experience new things?

I am awoken by the blaring sound of my alarm. Why do I always have to wake up when my bed gets so comfy? I groan, fighting the urge to snooze my alarm, checking the time while at it. It's six now, two hours to make this face look like it has seen more than four hours of sleep.

I check my messages before washing up. Walking out to the bathroom to put on my outfit. Some 90's style jeans and a body hugging cropped shirt. Nothing too much, I'll have to wear my scrubs anyway. I make my bed and do some breathing exercises to calm my nerves, meeting new people was still a big challenge for me. I finish eating breakfast and turn on the coffee machine for a nice frothy cup of coffee. Admiring the view behind my window as I sip the last bit of my coffee. The city is not entirely up yet, people still enjoying their last minutes of sleep before going to work or school.

Walking back to my room for the best part of my morning, doing my make up! I apply my base carefully. First day means first impressions, I can't go overboard, not yet. I curl my long lashes, coating them with mascara. Lining my lips with brown liner, some lip balm on top for a subtle look. I take out my jewelry box, grabbing my usual gold necklace. It was custom made, adorning my name, a graduation gift from my mom. I look into the mirror, humming a song in satisfaction as I do my hair. I grab my bag, stuffing it with things I might need throughout the day. Finally, putting on my Nike dunks and leaving my house.

I walk downstairs to my car. Thankfully my dad had arranged for it to be imported from Spain a couple weeks ago, when I accepted this job. My dad had a thing for paying for my things, maybe it  was to make up for our strained relationship or something. Either way, I wasn't going to refuse his help, it benefited us both anyways. He'd feel like a present father, and I'd feel like he cared.

I jump into my car, the dashboard lighting up. I run my hands around the steering wheel for some comfort before I hit the road. The leather soft as I trace the Mercedes logo, I loved this baby. My G-class never failed to make me feel like the bad bitch I am. I told you working hard and spending hard had its perks. I turn on the navigation system, hoping it would take me straight to the training grounds without any issues.

I turn on some music, trying to drown out my nerves and thoughts. It was never too early for some Drake. I try to pay special attention to my surroundings, since the more I memorize, the faster I can get used to this route. My navigation system pings as it tells me I've arrived. I scan my surroundings, being greeted by a security post. I drive up to it, turning my music off and rolling my window down.

"Good morning, I'm here for the new physiotherapist job." I flash the security guard a smile, he is an older man, his hair graying slightly. I might as well get friendly since I'll be here almost everyday from today onwards. "Morning to you as well. Could you some show me some sort of identification, please?." I can't help but stare at the man, his scoucer accent making it hard for me to understand right away, I should get used to it quickly. I nod quickly pulling my ID from my wallet. He looks at it, scanning through a list, probably a list of staff? His eyes light up as he, I presume sees my name on the list. "Welcome, Dr. l/n, I'll call up the head coach so he can greet you at the door." He gives me a kind smile, handing me my ID back. "Thank you, I appreciate it." I shove my ID back into my wallet, driving into the training center parking lot as the gates open for me. I park, collecting my bag as I jump out of my car. Though, not before fixing my hair and make up.

I take in my surroundings, so this is what I'll be partially calling home now. I notice some other, what I presume to be staff walk into the training center. I walk in as well, immediately being greeted by the huge Liverpool FC emblem. I hold onto my bag tightly, trying to contain my nerves.

I look to my right, the reception. The woman behind the desk looks up, flashing me a smile as I go up to her, sitting down on the chair in front of her desk.

"Hi, I'm y/n l/n. I'm here for the physiotherapist job." She stares at me for a moment, before typing something on the computer. "Nice to meet you! I'm Clara, welcome to our family. I'll call down our head physio, just a second honey.”

Her response warms my heart as I nod. So far, I think I'll feel quite comfortable here. She picks up the phone, though her expression changes into one of surprise as she looks behind me, over my shoulder. "Oh, he is here already."

My eyes follow hers, being greeted by a man, around his 50's. He walks up to me, extending his hand to me. "Welcome Dr. l/n. I've heard a lot about you, nice to finally see the woman being so highly spoken of by my colleagues." I smile and grab his hand in a firm handshake. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Dr. Woods."

He chuckles, before letting go of my hand. "Let's talk more inside, the boss wants to meet you as well." I turn back towards Clara, mumbling a quick thank you to her, before following Dr. Woods inside the training center. I glance around, it’s is even bigger in real life. I had watched some YouTube video's of the club just to prepare and calm my anxiety, but seeing it in real life was very different. We stop in front of an office, the label reading 'Manager'. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I'd already be meeting THE Klopp. I rub my hands together trying to get rid of that anxious feeling.

Dr. Woods knocks on the door loudly, the door is opened a couple of seconds later, revealing Klopp.

"Hey, I'm here to introduce our new physiotherapist." The doctor informs. Klopp looks at me, giving me one of his famous smiles. "Right of course, come in." He opens the door wider, we both walk in. He ushers us to sit down on his red sofa's. He sticks out his hand, we shake hands as he introduces himself, with that all too well known German accent. "It's always nice to greet new members of our big family. Welcome, I'm Jürgen Klopp." I introduce myself as well, his eyes light up in recognition as I tell him my name. "I've heard very great things about you Dr. l/n. I'm very happy to see you here."

"No it's an honor for me, this club is amazing and I'm happy to contribute to the team." I reply, my worries and nerves had been washed away just like- that. I just know that this was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

We start chatting about how I've adjusted to living here, my education and my experience before they start asking different questions.

"So that means you speak how many languages?"

Dr. Woods asks curiously.

"Well my native tongues would be Dutch since I was born and raised in The Netherlands and Turkish, since I'm half Turkish. I'm also fluent in English as you can hear." We chuckle. "Though I do speak some Spanish and Catalan since I worked at FC Barcelona for two years, as you know."

"Great so you'll have no problem with speaking to the players huh? Especially our very loved Dutch players." We laugh at Klopps comment. I secretly hope that too.

Our conversation comes to an end as Klopp suggests I meet the players. He checks his watch, before looking at me. "Players will come in any moment now. They'll start with warming up." Dr. Woods chimes in. "It will be a recovery day since the team played a match yesterday as you may have followed."

Oh yeah I did. I watched it just so I could take notes on the players, the draw at the end was kind of disappointing. Though, it was better than losing.

"Right, I did watch it. Just to study a little before I do see the team play in real life."

"You're impressive Doctor, doing homework before even starting to work." Klopp says. "Oh it's nothing really, just prepares me for what I might encounter as I start working here." I dismiss.

We stand up after a short while, Dr. Woods taking me to put on my scrubs. I mentally pray they have pink ones, both of my former clubs did have them. He walks up to a machine, telling me exactly how the scrub dispenser worked. I nod, pressing some buttons before choosing my size. The scrubs are a- dark red? Well, at least they are part of the club colors. Dr. Woods leads me to the woman's staff changing room. I walk and change quickly putting my hair up in a claw clip.

I walk out of the room after putting my stuff in my locker, and installing a code on it. "I'm ready."

I tell him, he looks at my scrubs for a second. "Red looks great on you Dr. l/n, part of the family already." We chuckle before he leads me to the gym.

A sudden wave of nervousness hits me. I had known that the players were very friendly, still I couldn't help but feel like an unsure inexperienced intern again. We walk into the gym, it's big with plenty of space for calisthenic training like, push-ups and burpees. I look around seeing some the worlds best star players. I've worked some of the best football players like Lewandowski and Frenkie de Jong, but this still felt super insane.

I notice Klopp walking in as he calls for the players to gather around to introduce me. I glance around, they all give me a kind smile as Klopp tells them I'll be their new physiotherapist starting this new season, and of course he couldn't help but mention I'm Dutch. "Nice to meet everyone, I look forward to working with you all." I give them a smile, my dimples on full display. Suddenly, one of the players walks up to me, I immediately recognize him, who wouldn't? It's the caption of the team, well of his national team too. Virgil towers over me, sticking out his hand, his tall frame couldn't be compared to what you see on TV or the pitch. "Welcome to our team y/n, or should I call you doctor." He flashes me a beautiful smile, making me shake his hand and smile in respons. "Hi, y/n is fine, it's good to be here." Other players come to greet me as well, not to forget Robertson, who has to crack a joke about another Dutch person joining the club. "You'd think it was planned huh." We laugh and chat for a bit before Klopp redirects the attention back to him.

"Alright everyone, it's recovery day so take it easy and tell our doctors if something's up as they assist you."

Dr. Woods turns to me, telling me to follow his lead as I slowly start getting the gist of how everything works here. I nod at him, watching as he talks to the players about any soreness they're experiencing.

The day progress quickly as lunch time hits, we walk into the canteen. Seems like players and staff eat at the same time just like in Barcelona.

I walk through the the buffet as I'm greeted by Gakpo.

"Dus je bent echt Nederlands?" (So you're actually Dutch?) he asks in Dutch, full of curiosity. "Natuurlijk, geboren en getogen. Net als jij." (Of course born and raised. Just like you.)

He gives me a cute smile before we continue speaking in Dutch as we fill up our plates with healthy and delicious food.

He invites me to sit with the team. I glance at him wondering if it is a good idea. Well I did sit with the players at Barca too. "Are you sure?" I ask. "Yeah, look around players sit with staff at every table." I take a glance around, he was right staff and players were sitting together at every table. Chatting and laughing together. "Okay then, I'll sit with you guys."

He leads me to a table, already occupied by Trent, Virgil, Joel, Andrew and new star transfer Dominik Szoboszlai. "Doctor, very nice of you to sit with us." Virgil chimes in. "Well I couldn't refuse when Cody offered, we're practically already family based on the fact that we're Dutch hm." The table erupts in laughter, as we glance at Cody. "Of course the Dutch lad steals the doctor before we get to know her." Trent teases, his Scouse accent thick. "Where did you work before joining us?" Robbo asks, shoving a spoonful food into his mouth. Everyone at the table turns to me for my answer.

I clear my throat before answering. "I first interned at Ajax, I got a three year contact there after graduating. Then I got offered a position at Barcelona, worked there for two years." They nod in acknowledgement. Before Cody mentions something. "Oh you're the famous pretty doctor?!" I stare at him confused. "What do you mean?" "Well the national team players used to always talk about a pretty doctor working at Ajax." I raise a brow at his words, glancing at Virgil to confirm, since he also is apart of the national team. "Can't lie Doctor, they did talk about a pretty Doctor." I give them an impressed look. "I guess that would be me?" I chuckle.

We chat some more as everyone chimes in, though some of their faces turning confused. "Wait how old are you then?" One of them asks. "Oh I'm twenty-five." I reply. "Wow, you're pretty impressive for someone so young." Joel says. I thank him as we all continue eating and chatting in between bites.

Recovery training had gone by fast. I had gotten much more familiar with team and how they operate. Klopp dismisses everyone, as we all walk back into our designated changing rooms. Though, I'm quickly stopped by Dr. Woods. He tells me he'll make sure someone adds me to the staff group chat, as well as the group chat the entire club is in. We then bid each other goodbye as I enter the female staff changing room. I take a minute to sit down and to take it all in, that really just happend huh.

I change quickly putting my outfit back on and discarding my scrubs into the laundry basket. I do a quick make up refresh and hair fix before I grab my bag and take out my car keys. I walk through the hallways slowly, looking around for things I might have not seen yet. I’m totally in my own world before I hear my name being called. I turn around, I'm greeted by both Trent and Dominik, seems like they had been getting along nicely since Dominik had transferred here.

"Are you going out?" The new star asks. "Yeah, you guys aren't?" I lift a brow at them. I can see small smirks on their faces, they look like schoolboys hiding something. "Oh yes, we're leaving just now." We chat a little before we walk outside, saying goodbye to Clara at the reception. I notice other cars had parked right next to mine. "Bye doctor, we'll see ya tomorrow, right?" The Scoucer says. I nod "See you guys!" They wave before they both get into their respective cars.

I unlock my car, climbing in before closing the door. I place my bag onto the passengers seat, leaning back for a second. First day: survived.

Sadly, my peace is interrupted by a loud car horn. I raise my head and lower my window, it's the car next to me? I squint, it's an English car so I can see who it is from my seat. The person lowers down his windows as well. It's Virgil?

"What's wrong?" I half shout, so he can hear me through the loud engine of his car. "Nothing just wanted your attention." I chuckle, man these football players never got tired of teasing people. I roll my eyes playfully, before starting my car. I wave at him, before driving my car out of the parking slot.

I get home rather quickly, my speakers playing my favorite songs loudly. I enter my house, feeling fulfilled. I throw myself on my couch after washing up. I reflect on the day, the players and staff were amazingly kind. Though, that small interaction with Trent and Dominik was weird, why were they so smirky?

[girlactionfigure]

🔘 Mon morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

⭕ HEZBOLLAH ROCKETS and SUICIDE DRONES x4 rounds since our last report.

❗️including ROCKETS at Acre (northern city - north of Haifa).

❗️including ROCKETS at Kiryat Biyalik (just north of Haifa - the Krayot).

▪️RESCUED HOSTAGES CONDITION.. nutritional deficiency, emotional and psychological struggles, Stockholm syndrome, harsh treatment - evaluation of medical teams.

▪️ANTI-AIRCRAFT FROM HEZBOLLAH.. yesterday Hezbollah fired Iranian made and provided anti-aircraft missiles (multiple) at an Israel F-15.  The IDF responded by eliminating the anti-air launcher and squad.

▪️FRANCE WARNS LEBANON.. France has informed the government in Lebanon that Israel is preparing to launch a large-scale military operation against Hezbollah, which includes aerial bombing of vital targets throughout Lebanon, and ground entry into the area south of the Litani River.

▪️HAMAS WATCHES ISRAELI POLITICS AND SMILES.. The head of the political department of Hamas abroad, Sami Abu Zahari:  The military and political resignations are endless and prove the collapse of the Israeli political system.

▪️INFILTRATION - SDE EPHRAIM.. two armed terrorists wearing IDF vests infiltrated the Sde Ephraim farm, one lit the mobile home on fire, in which a couple who got married less than a week ago lives. Fortunately the couple was a Sheva Brachot (7 blessings meals with community).  IDF searching.

🔸DEAL NEWS - US SEC STATE BLINKED ARRIVES IN ISRAEL.. will meet with Netanyahu to try to advance the negotiations on the exchange deal before visiting Egypt, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Qatar.

▪️BODIES.. news rumors state 34 bodies were brought from Gaza for identification, checking if they are hostage bodies.  This has happened many times previously with only a few found.

▪️CONSCRIPTION LAW.. The vote on the Law of Continuity for the Recruitment Law (the transfer of the law from the previous Knesset to this Knesset) is expected to take place tonight. For now, the majority seems to be assured.

▪️PROTESTORS ARRESTED - JERUSALEM.. a small group of “Change Direction” protestors attempted to block the entrance to government buildings.  Police quickly arrested them.

▪️ECONOMY - THE MINUS.. (in Israel people have a “line of credit” on their bank accounts, allowing overdraft but at high interest)  Bank Discount exempted interest on the first NIS 2,000 of “minus” starting 2022, to draw new customers. It didn’t draw customers, Discount canceled the exemption - and now is increasing the rates on ‘minus’ - 12.5% for the first NIS 800.  Bank Leumi similarly increased their ‘minus’ interest rates. (Calcalist)

⭕ ANTI-TANK missiles from Hezbollah at Manor.

⭕ HOUTHIS hit a Swiss container ship in the Red Sea.

[raincode-archives]

Chapter 4 Loading Screen Trivia

Note: Currently, I do not know which of these trivia may be general game trivia or Chapter 4 exclusives (if there is any). And there may be trivia I'm currently missing that I will add later on, if I find any more.

World Detective Organization (WDO) An extra-legal, extra-privileged organization devoted to eradicating the world's unsolved mysteries.

Detective Deed An identification card. These are granted by the World Detective Organization.

Master Detective Among the detectives belonging to the World Detective Organization, this is a detective with a specialized power called Forensic Forte that aids in their investigative activities.

Forensic Forte Those exhibiting innate talent for special powers like clairvoyance or mind-reading are trained by the WDO to develop a supernatural investigative ability called Forensic Forte or simply, Forte.

Amaterasu Corporation Many products are in development, some of which cannot be made public.

Amaterasu Peacekeepers A department of Amaterasu Corporation. They serve as a sort of police force within Kanai Ward.

Kamasaki District Crime generally isn't bad here, unless you venture deeper inside, that is.

Riverbank Due to polluted waters, fish are rarely caught.

Kanai Station The only train station in Kanai Ward. It's a magnificent building, but seldom has customers because of the city's isolation.

Kanai Ward Living Condition Perhaps because of the daily rainfall, some people in Kanai Ward don't mind getting wet.

TV Programs Nearly all the TV programs broadcasted in Kanai Ward are sponsored by Amaterasu Corporation.

Popular Sports Parkour is popular among the young men of Kamasaki District. New problems have arisen however, what will all the trespassing and running across the top of food stalls.

Means of Communication Most communications to people outside of Kanai Ward are tapped and monitored by Amaterasu. The phone at the Nocturnal Detective Agency uses a different type of line to prevent eavesdropping.

Pets Because of Kanai Ward's unending rain, indoor pets are popular. At the same time, there is increasing concern of many dogs and cats become feral after being abandoned by irresponsible owners.

Kanai Ward's Electrical Power Because of the perpetual rain, electrical power is derived predominantly from rainwater.

Flavor of Halara's Candy Depends on the mood. The worse the mood, the sweeter the taste; the better the mood, the lighter the taste.

Fubuki's Accessories Fubuki's necklace has a clock motif. The choker is decorated with video playback control symbols.

Vivia's Book Catalog Novels, columns, essays, all sorts of things. There's no particular preference for genre; he reads just to pass time.

Vivia's Garments There are just bandage-like wrappings beneath his coat, so it wouldn't be accurate to call it clothing.

Amaterasu Corporation The megacorporation controlling Kanai Ward. It deals in a wide variety of goods such as industrial products, electronic appliances, as well as pharmaceuticals.

Kanai Ward Currently, Kanai ward is isolated from the rest of the world. Few people enter and leave and very little information goes beyond its walls.

Kanai Tower Lease agreements are available, but the monthly rent costs as much as a luxury car.

Ama-Pal Different versions of Ama-Pal exist, but among the scarce limited edition releases, there is evidently a bear variant with differently colored left and right sides.

Ama-Pay An electronic payment system courtesy of Amaterasu Corporation. It can be used at almost any shop in Kanai Ward, but rumor has it the company collects personal data from each transaction.

Popular Appliances Indoor dryers are very popular in Kanai Ward. Amaterasu Corporation's new "Kagutsuchi" model is quite excellent, capable of drying any type of laundry in just two hours.

Amaterasu's Latest Products A drone car that will autonomously deliver you from departure...to tomorrow. "Amenotorifune." Coming soon from Amaterasu Corporation.

Amaterasu's Latest Products Fall asleep in an instant.... And slumber for eight hours without waking up...no matter what... "Snoozewell," coming soon from Amaterasu Corporation.

Amaterasu Lab Research facilities located in the underground section of the Amaterasu Corporation. Access to the lab is highly restricted, even among Amaterasu personnel.

Amaterasu Security Entry to the premises requires employee IDs, as well as biometric authentication via retinal scans, making it practically impossible for outsiders to infiltrate Amaterasu Corporation.

Blank Week Mystery A phrase considered taboo in Kanai Ward. The meaning of the phrase is unclear

Makoto's Masks The mask is different ever morning, depending on his mood. Sometimes it takes him more than 30 minutes to choose, to the chagrin of the people around him.

About Dr. Huesca He walks around barefoot in the lab. This isn't for anything health-related, he simply feel the time spent putting on shoes and socks is better used on research.

Robot Researcher Akira is his name. He's poured his whole being into Ama-Pal, his life dedicated to its development. His catchphrase: "When my time comes, I want it to be by Ama-Pal's hand."

Fink the Slaughter Artist A hitman predominantly active in Kanai Ward. It's rumored that he'll kill any target, regardless of difficulty, as long as the client can afford it.

Yomi's Cane Yomi's cane transforms into a whip and can be used to strangle people he isn't fond of.

Shinigami's Secret Depending on Shinigami's emotional state, not only can horns and a tail sprout out, but her entire body can take on a fiery form.

Amazing Physique Number One of the WDO may look wizened, but beneath his robe is a muscle-bound body, compared to that of a youth's. It's littered in scars following encounters with a variety of criminals.

Invention Detective A Master Detective whose Forte allows for on-the-spot assembly of inventions useful for an investigation. This detective was not summoned to Kanai Ward.

[identifying-cars-in-posts]

update on asks, submissions, rules, state of the blog, etc

first of all, thank you everyone for the interest in the blog! it’s become significantly more than i expected, and since i’m just one person who works full time and is the process of moving i haven’t had the time to keep up with the influx of attention. i’ve spent the last few days figuring out how to run the blog moving forward to best manage a good balance between it and my actual life

submissions: submissions will re-open wednesday july 26th at 8pm EST. this is where you can send me images or videos you take irl or see outside of tumblr to identify. this includes submitting your own car for me to guess. i won’t give my thoughts or anything in submissions, it’ll be just like the other identification posts. please keep any sort of identification request like this to submissions. asks exclusively requesting identifications, dms, and original posts made for the purpose of tagging me will be ignored and/or deleted after submissions are re-opened. submissions will remain open indefinitely just to see how it goes, but will close if/when they become overwhelming, just to keep up with them all

asks: asks will also re-open wednesday july 26th at 8pm EST, and stay open until thursday july 27th 5pm EST. going forward it’ll essentially open on the evenings before my days off and close the evening of the day off so i have time to give my actual attention to asks instead of rushing responses in between customers at work. i work retail so this won’t be consistent from week to week, but i will announce when asks are opening at least a day or two before they do. asks will be for asking me for opinions, recommendations, questions or suggestions for the blog, etc. identification requests without also adding something should go into submissions

tags: i have been going back through old asks to retroactively tag requests for recommendations as #car recs. going forward any recommendations given will go under that tag as well. i’m working on a permanent pinned post that will have more information on the tagging system going forward

pinned: i’m working on a kind of landing page post. this will have an FAQ, information about the tagging system and links for navigating it, rules for asks and submissions, and most of the information in this update. i may also put the date and time for when asks will be re-opened in that post and keep it updated. if you have any requests for things to put in the FAQ, or any other questions, feel free to reply to this post. it will stay pinned until the big boy pinned post goes up

tagging me in posts: i will continue to try to get to every pre-existing post i’m tagged in, but make no promises about getting to all of them, especially if they have a bunch of cars in them. this goes for submissions and asks as well - as fun as it is to play i spy and try to get them all, i only have so much time. if i can i’ll give it a shot, but the multiple posts and asks i’ve gotten of full yards or highways full of cars will definitely take longer to get to, if i get to them at all. as much as i’d like to do them for the sake of the bit lol

thanks for bearing with me over the last few days!

[contentment-of-cats]

I needed to take the piss out of someone today

Interactive Voice Response: This is Amazon customer service. You have been charged $1,000 to your default card on Amazon.com. If you have made this purchase, say yes or press 1. If you have not made this purchase, say no or press 2. Me: No. Scammer: Hello, I am Steve. Please give me your first and last name so that I may open your account. Me: Sorry, didn't my information transfer from your IVR? Scammer: Pardon? Me: Your Interactive Voice Response system called me and said that there was a charge on my default card. I assume it transferred my name at the very least. I was paying my card bill and there's no charge from Amazon on it. I think you must have the wrong number. Scammer: May I have your name, please? Me: *gives fake name* Scammer: And to verify the account, may I have the last four digits of your social security number? Me: I am a foreign national. I don't have one and looking into my Amazon account I was never asked for one. Scammer: Please hold. *puts me on hold* It is a new requirement. Do you have a ITIN? (individual taxpayer identification number) Me: Since you don't have that information, I can't give it to you. Tell me where it is on my account settings and I will enter it or ask me one of my security questions. Scammer: How about your birth date? Me: *makes one up* Scammer: Very good. Now let me confirm your card number. Me: Okay, go ahead. Scammer: No, you have to read me the card number. Me: Oh, it's okay. I just informed (credit card company) to put a freeze on the card. Scammer: *hangs up*

[gravitywonagain]

Okay, I’ve never seen The Blacklist but the Netflix summary and preview clip looked super interesting so here we go. 

~~

Wei Wuxian finds himself surprisingly calm as he pushes open the plate-glass door beneath the massive Cultivation Bureau of China insignia. Low-level security cultivators watch him as he passes, but no more intently than they watch anyone else. The one closest to the doors even nods to him. Wei Wuxian wonders at how stupid that man is about to feel, and then decides he doesn't care. 

The interior of the building is warm enough to fog up his sunglasses once he’s far enough into the grand, granite foyer. The doors fall shut behind him; the sun shines down through the tall wall of glass like even it wants to watch what happens next. It should feel like the closing of a trap. But there’s a brightness in his chest, a kind of buoyancy that wards off any anxiety that might want to cling to his heartbeats. 

He pushes the fogged sunglasses up his forehead into his hair as he makes his way to the front desk. The woman there — a second-rank cultivator by her uniform, barely a step up from the mall cops guarding the doors — looks at him without a hint of recognition. No fear in her eyes, no tightness in her jaw. 

“Welcome,” she says with the kind of resigned false cheer that all customer service professionals seem to learn as a part of their job training, “to the CBC. How can I assist you today?” Her name tape says Zhang. 

“I’m here to see Director Lan Qiren,” Wei Wuxian replies, similarly cheerful. 

He finds that he is cheerful. He’s been planning this for several weeks now. It’s always nice to finally have a project underway. 

“Yes, sir,” says Cultivator Zhang. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I do not.” 

She nods. Types something into the computer. Looks back at him. 

“Name and identification?”

He braces himself. So it begins. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he says with a smile, and he slides his passport to her over the counter. 

Still no recognition. Which is fair. She’s still in the rote part of doing her job. Plugging names and numbers into the computer. 

But something will ping soon. Her own memory or the system. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t wait for her to return his passport — it will be confiscated soon, anyway. He doesn’t wait for her to dismiss him — the alarm will likely sound before she’s finished entering the appointment request. 

He steps backward, away from the desk and toward the center of the foyer. Slowly, he sets down his black, canvas backpack. Just as slowly, he removes his worn, leather jacket, draping it gently over the backpack. Then, he uses the red scrunchie around his wrist to tie his shoulder length hair up into a quick ponytail, before interlocking his fingers behind his head. 

People have turned to watch him. The first-rank security guards, but also the other people in the foyer -- office workers, civilians. He doesn't look back at them. 

As the alarm sounds, he is already halfway to his knees. And by the time the first-ranks get their swords out of their scabbards, Wei Wuxian — aka Yiling Laozu, the most wanted man in cultivation — has already crossed his ankles with his eyes aimed down at the floor, grinning wildly. 

—

“What the fuck is this?”

A folder, thick with loose papers, slams down onto the metal table in front of Wei Wuxian. Some of the papers begin to slope out of the open side, unsecured as they are. 

“I thought ‘no cursing’ was one of your Bureau rules,” says Wei Wuxian, delightedly amused already. Do they really think a bit of anger is what will break him? He grew up with Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu for fuck's sake. 

The man who yelled and threw the folder stands to the side of the table, closest to the door, and glowers down at Wei Wuxian. He’s a strong enough cultivator to press the room with his spiritual power, lending weight to the air in a way he probably hopes will make Wei Wuxian feel claustrophobic. Unfortunately for him, Wei Wuxian has spent time with far more power than this man can spin out of his golden core. 

The cultivator wears the standard CBC field uniform of durable blue wool trousers, a white linen shirt, and charcoal-grey combat boots. His jacket is of the same cloth and tailoring, but it is clean of any rank or unit insignia. He has no name tape, either. The only identity marker on him is a sect affiliation patch with a silver beast’s head embroidered over a green background. Nie Sect cultivators, because of their unique blend of spiritual and bestial energies, are required to self-identify when inside the building. Wei Wuxian remembers that from his time in Bureau training, too. 

“Answer the question.”

Wei Wuxian lounges as much as he can in the simple plastic and metal chair. His hands are still bound behind him with a thick zip tie, but at least they’re not attached to anything but each other. There's no suppression in the bindings, or in the room, which is curious. A sign of trust, maybe? Or, more likely, they're not entirely sure how to deal with him. Which is kind of why he's here in the first place. 

He looks down at the way the stack of paper still seems to be oozing from between the tabbed manila jacket sides of the folder. None of the individual notes are entirely flat, giving the whole sheaf a disheveled texture. It is decidedly not the lightly-battered red-canvas portfolio he brought in with him, though he does recognize the papers within. 

“Looks like a folder,” he says, a casual smirk curling up one side of his mouth. “I feel like even you field types should be able to figure that one out for yourselves.”

Across the room from where Wei Wuxian is sitting, the wall appears to be a mirror, though nobody in this room would think that’s what it is. Behind that mirror, Wei Wuxian would bet his entire stash of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee that Lan Qiren is rolling his eyes. 

Inside the room, the Nie cultivator pinches the bridge of his nose in a frustrated gesture that looks adorably familiar. “What are your notes supposed to be getting at, Wei Wuxian?” he asks. 

“Oh! These are my notes!” says Wei Wuxian with, he’ll admit, exaggerated surprise and innocence. “Giving you a bit of trouble, are they?”

The Nie cultivator huffs through his nose. 

Because of course they are. Wei Wuxian is not stupid enough to show up to CBC headquarters with decipherable notes. Who the fuck do they think he is that they were even willing to devote the three hours, or however long he's been sitting here, to try. 

“What do you want? Huh?" The cultivator looks like he personally has been attempting to read through Wei Wuxian's notes, which is certainly a choice the Bureau made. A couple of choices. First to have this rando attempt what many of Wei Wuxian's own teachers were never quite able to do, and second to send him and his ratcheted irritation in here to deal with Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian blinks owlishly at him and he can almost see his blood pumping harder across his temple. 

"What’s your purpose here, Yiling Laozu?” the cultivator tries again. 

It's tempting to continue to stonewall him, but Wei Wuxian is actually here for a purpose. “I told that nice cultivator at the front desk," he says, reminding everyone listening that he has, actually, been very cooperative. "I am here to meet with Director Lan Qiren.”

The Nie cultivator shakes his head, almost apologetically. “Director Lan is busy, so you’re stuck with me for now.” He says it like he's just as upset about it as Wei Wuxian is. Like they're somehow in this together and if they can just overcome their differences, they can sing and dance their way to the high school prom. 

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to the side, a curious grin spreading on his lips. It could be fun to indulge this. To play along just enough to see how high he can raise this guy's pulse. His eyes flick over the cultivator. The man isn't unattractive, thick muscles and hair just long enough to pull. He looks easily riled, already primed for it, but not a man who would resist the attention if he thought it was actually getting him somewhere with the notes. 

"Just work with me here," he says, proving Wei Wuxian correct and pressing what he clearly thinks is an advantage. "I'm all you've got right now." 

Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian doesn't actually want to send a Nie sect cultivator into qi deviation for this, entertaining as it might be. 

So Wei Wuxian grins lazily back at him and says, “Oh, I highly doubt that." He directs his attention to the window that isn't a mirror. "What do you say, Old Man Lan?" In his periphery he can see the Nie cultivator splutter at Wei Wuxian's impertinence. And wow, did they just not prepare this guy at all? "Wanna come in here so we can get this party started? Or would you rather I frustrate your subordinate to death first. You know I can do it.” 

It's unclear if it was the familiar title aimed at the Director, or the casual insult to the Nie cultivator's own control, but when Wei Wuxian looks back to him, the man's face is almost purple. 

“Who the fuck do you think y—“

The door swings open, cutting him off, as Lan Qiren, in all his CBC Director glory, walks into the room.

“Language,” he says to the Nie cultivator, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t say anything about it, for which he feels he deserves a medal of some sort. Or at least a pretty color ribbon. 

The Nie cultivator gawps for a moment before he seems to collect himself again. 

"Director Lan," he says with a bow. 

Lan Qiren nods back to him, disappointment radiating, and flicks his hand back toward the open door. 

Dismissed, the Nie cultivator bows to the Director once more and then leaves the room with significantly more control than he had a moment ago, so kudos to him for that. 

Beside Lan Qiren are two other cultivators. Both are as unadorned as the Nie, though these don't even show their sect affiliation. At least not explicitly. The one to Lan Qiren’s left is of a medium build, hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She looks tall for a woman, with the broad shoulders and muscular arms of every Lan sect cultivator. Wei Wuxian imagines he can see the sect necklace sitting beneath her tightly done up band collar. 

The one to Lan Qiren’s right— Well. Wei Wuxian would recognize the director’s youngest nephew with his eyes closed on a moonless night. Lan Wangji, of course, doesn’t even deign to look at Wei Wuxian, those beautiful honey-brown eyes focused somewhere on the wall beyond his shoulder. And fuck if that doesn’t get Wei Wuxian’s blood pumping. 

“Ah, Old Man Lan!" greets Wei Wuxian brightly. "How nice of you to take time out of your busy—“

Lan Qiren cuts him off. “I’m here, Wei Wuxian." He doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing, his exasperation with his former student quickly returning to its home in the deep set of his eyebrows. "Explain to me what you are doing here.”

The Lan cultivator on Lan Qiren's left is watching Wei Wuxian with an intense, assessing kind of gaze. He can almost feel her cataloging the degree to which his shoulders are sloped and the exact shade of his eyes. 

Lan Wangji still isn't looking at him. 

“Well, I found out you’ve been looking for me—“

But Lan Qiren cuts him off again. He looks tired. “Enough with the games, please. Are you here to help us, or are you here to waste our time?”

They know why he’s here, is the thing. They’d have to be very dumb not to have put it together by now. And the CBC is many things — stuffy, uptight, moralistic, understaffed, underpaid — but they aren’t actually incompetent. With murders stacking up left and right, resentful energy found gathering in places and quantities it shouldn't naturally gather in, and Wei Wuxian’s very solid alibi of being not in the country at the time, there can be only one reason he’d so willingly turn himself in like this. And Lan Qiren, in particular, is not stupid. Which means that he wants Wei Wuxian to say it. Which is… a little bit humiliating and a lotta but like eating dirt. 

But, hey. He’s here to get shit done, not to be cowed by an old teacher in an argument that Wei Wuxian has still technically won! Resentful energy can be used just like spiritual energy is! But, sure, it can be… pretty fucked up, too. In the wrong hands. 

Wei Wuxian inhales deeply. It's still not a comfortable thing to admit. 

“Alright, fine," he says, meeting Lan Qiren's narrowed gaze across the table. "You have a demonic cultivator problem. I have a problem with my work being misused for a string of murders. It seems to me we may be able to help each other out on this front.”

CBC Director Lan Qiren would never do anything so crass as openly gloat, but there's a sparkle in the dark brown of his eyes that does it for him. 

"Good," he says, sitting down in the chair that Wei Wuxian is only now noticing exists. Lan Qiren picks up the folder, resettling the loose papers inside, and folds his hands over the top of it. Because, again, he's not an idiot, he doesn't jump right into the good stuff. He simply asks, "What are your conditions, Mr. Wei?"

Wei Wuxian's shoulders are tight after several hours of having his wrists bound behind his back. He squirms around in the chair to relieve the pressure on one, stretching his neck out in the process. 

"Amnesty, obviously," he says. Because it is obvious. Wei Wuxian is not just going to let the CBC throw him in jail after this. And if they try, they'll find it to be a much more difficult task than they're prepared for. 

"Obviously," replies Lan Qiren with a nod. 

"Not," Wei Wuxian clarifies, "that I've actually broken any legal laws. Just your bullshit cultivation laws."

Lan Qiren's eyebrow twitches and Wei Wuxian wonders, briefly, if he'll actually see a full face reaction during this interview. If not, there will be plenty of time as they work the case. Lan Qiren did always hate the way Wei Wuxian briefed a room. 

Now, however, Lan Qiren sounds only mildly annoyed when he says, "Those are, as you put it, 'legal laws.'" 

"Yeah," says Wei Wuxian, slouching further into the uncomfortable chair, "but you know what I mean, and I know you know what I mean." Which is to say that Wei Wuxian is not nearly as much of a reprobate as Lan Qiren wishes he was. Resentful energy corrupts the body and mind and all that turned out to be true... but only if you don't account for it. To date, thirteen years since he started cultivating with resentful energy, Wei Wuxian still has yet to spiral out into degeneracy and moral decay. Much to Lan Qiren's apparent chagrin. 

Lan Qiren huffs shortly through his nose. "Indeed. Anything else?"

"Lan Zhan."

Even at the sound of his own name, Lan Wangji continues to look past Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian can no longer pretend Lan Wangji isn't the immediate focus of any room he happens to be in. 

"What about Special Agent Lan Wangji?" asks Lan Qiren, something perturbed in his voice. 

Wei Wuxian isn't looking at him. He's staring intently at Lan Wangji as he says, "I'll only work with him."

Still nothing. Lan Wangji continues to hold his unnaturally still posture. His eyes boring a hole into the wall behind Wei Wuxian, so focused and so deep that Wei Wuxian imagines the man can see all the way out of the building through it. 

Lan Qiren clears his throat as if trying to get Wei Wuxian's attention back on himself. When it doesn't work, he simply presses on and asks, "And why is it you want to work with my nephew?"

The question sounds surprisingly disingenuous. Like Lan Qiren already knows the answer. Which, maybe he does. 

"Maybe," says Wei Wuxian casually, "I just want something pretty to look at."

A muscle jumps in Lan Wangji's jaw and it takes real, actual effort for Wei Wuxian to not shout his victory. 

"No, Wei Wuxian," says Lan Qiren. "If we’re going to do this, you have to say it."

That does succeed in getting Wei Wuxian's attention back. Lan Qiren's eyes are narrowed, more angry than he's been the entire time he's been in here with Wei Wuxian. He was always protective of his nephews, but the fury in his gaze speaks to something more, something specific. And personal. 

Wei Wuxian meets that anger with a stubbornness that has subdued a mass grave of resentful dead. 

They stare each other down, neither willing to look away. Fire and ice, eating away at each other. 

It surprises Wei Wuxian to find that his ice is what wears down first. But, he realizes quickly, it isn’t all that surprising at all. He supposes that saying out loud why Wei Wuxian wants Lan Wangji around is less painful for him than it is for Lan Qiren to have his nephew insulted in front of him. Not that it was an insult, really; Lan Wangji really is that pretty. But Lan Qiren's ire is fair. Wei Wuxian's stubbornness is... not. 

"Fine," he says, and actually drops his eyes in concession. 

He's not above admitting that that was a weird moment for him, but he takes a few seconds to stretch his shoulders back before continuing. 

"I want Lan Zhan there," he says finally, "because he’s the only one of you fuckers who’s ever been able to keep up with me." Which is both true and gratifying to say. 

He glances up at Lan Wangji, but still cannot seem to read anything on that beautiful, stoic face. Lan Wangji’s breath is steady; the even thrum of his golden core can be felt across stadiums if he so chooses, but now it remains quiet and spinning; his posture could be written about in textbooks, and possibly has been. 

Nothing. 

Wei Wuxian tries not to bristle about it. He’ll have time. 

When he looks back to Lan Qiren, he meets the man’s steely gaze and says, "There. Happy?"

Strangely, Lan Qiren does look pleased. Almost… amused? He has the beginnings of a smile threatening his perpetually dour expression — a softening around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. He strokes his long beard. 

"It’ll do. For now."

[beardedmrbean]

Authorities now say six of the migrants accused of jumping a pair of police officers in Times Square took off for California — and the group involved in the assault is being eyed in a larger conspiracy in which the immigrants use Apple Pay on stolen phones to buy cars and pools, police sources said.

In addition, immigration warrants have now been issued for several of those who fled, a senior law enforcement source said.

The violent group is part of a larger conspiracy involving other new arrivals in the city.

The migrants first steal phones from victims and then use Apple Pay and credit cards to make large purchases back in their home countries, the sources said.

“They’re buying cars back in Ecuador and Venezuela,” the police source said. “They’re putting pools in their homes there. All this money is going back and forth. That’s why the larcenies are going out of control. It’s unbelievable what they’re doing.” 

They believe the activities are organized and gang related, but aren’t sure which gangs or crews are involved at this point, the sources said.

The gang Tren de Aragua from Venezuela is one of those being eyed in the criminal activity, the sources confirmed. Former NYPD Chief of Intelligence John Miller first reported on the link on CNN Friday.  

Police have an idea of where the men are, but can’t pick them up unless they miss their court dates since they were released without bail, the source said.

The fleeing migrants were thought to have gone to a faith-based charity, who provided their bus tickets to the Golden State, but authorities now believe taxpayer money was used instead.

Big Apple migrants are given a special identification known as a “G number” when they arrive and are placed in the shelter system “to track them throughout the shelter system,” a source said.

They can use the numbers to get tickets to travel anywhere else in the US.

Cops are probing whether the Times Square migrants stole “G numbers” from others and used them to obtain the tickets. NYPD officers realized they’d fled when investigators recognized their images.

In all, seven migrants have been arrested so far in the assault, and sources said six more are being sought.

Darwin Andres Gomez, 19, Kelvin Servita Arocha, 19, Wilson Juarez, 21, and Yorman Reveron, 24, were released without bail and fled via bus to California, authorities have said. Three more have also been nabbed: Jhoan Boada, 22, Jandry Barros, 21, and Yohenry Brito, 24.

Brito is being held at Rikers Island on $15,000 cash bail. Boada was released without bail.

Within the last 24 hours, US Customs and Border Patrol have issued warrants for Gomez; Arocha; Juarez; Reveron; and Boada, a source said.

The officers were attacked on 42nd Street near Seventh Avenue around 8:30 p.m. after they were called to the area because of a robbery at an Aldo store there. Migrants hang out outside the nearby Candler Building and are known to rob handbags from the shoe store, the store manager there told The Post.

[thelilywytch]

Free & Paid Readings 🔮🦉📚

Back in the day, my old username was basicwitchythings - then to witchmadre - and I used to offer free tarot readings, and now I'm reopening those slots!

Send your request for a free reading either through DM or Ask Box. I will go through and do a number of readings every Sunday. There is no guarantee that yours will be done. No, Anon, please. Please leave your name and birthday!

I am also posting about my "transaction" based readings;

I practice with Tarot, Oracle, Dream Interpretation, and other forms.

I do 3 systems.

Pay What You're Able

Barter and Trade

My Divination prices vary between $5 to $36.

You Can find me in Etsy

TAROT:

● $5 per custom question - max 10 Qs.

● $16 General Pull

● $25 per 45 min Live Vid Reading - Max 3 Hours

○ Pay What Your Able and Barter & Trade

ORACLE:

● General Pull ~ Threads of Fate - $18

● Deity Identification ~ Wild Unknown Archetypes - $36

○ Pay What You're Able or Barter & Trade

DREAM INTERPRETATION

● $20 Interpretation

○ Pay What You Can or Barter & Trade

COFFEE BEAN THROWING

These are not priced and fall under either PWYA or B&T

TEA LEAF INTERPRETATION

These are not priced and fall under wither PWYA or B&T

LIMPIA READING

These are not priced and fall under PWYA and B&T

More to Be Added 🤙