#Fucking windows and taking all the processing power of the computer for an update just

[random-cattai]

Attempting to patch Baldurs Gate 3,

"Why the fuck is it taking FOREVER?!"

Windows "Hi! I have an update!"

....

[bodycountgame]

Ahead of voting opening on Sunday,  I just wanted to drop a quick FAQ to help answer some of your questions! 

Remind me why we have to vote?

When I started writing Body Count, I didn’t like the idea of deliberately writing filler characters that I didn’t really like and was perfectly happy to kill off. So I thought: “Hey, the beauty of interactive fiction is that it’s interactive! Why not just write only characters that I adore and make my readers decide for me?”

I think it’s kind of a fun idea, and I hope that you guys do too :) 

What are we voting for?

The vote will be between the 9 cast members that you have met so far. You are voting for the character you most want to save; the RO that you most want to keep around and see more of. The top 6 characters in the poll are guaranteed to survive (at least until the next poll).

What are you going to do with the results?

From the results of the poll, the bottom 3 characters will be at risk. I’ll then make the final decision about who actually gets the chop - otherwise it’d be really obvious who is getting murdered from just looking at the poll, and that wouldn’t be very fun at all. Gotta keep some element of surprise, right?

Will all of the votes happen this way?

Not necessarily! I’m trying something new doing this, so I’ll see how it goes. I’m keen to have all of the murder decisions being made by readers, but who appears on the chopping block may vary.

How many times can I vote?

There’s some amount of strawpoll magic stopping you voting more than once, but feel free to get all your friends/family members etc to vote on your behalf. It seems to be more browser based than IP address-y (I don’t know anything about computers - is it obvious?).

When does voting end?

Voting begins on Sunday 30th May and ends at 11:59pm BST on Sunday 13th June (so you’ll have just over two weeks)

More frequently asked questions under the cut!

When will we find out who gets murdered?

When I release a completed Chapter 2! I’d love to be able to put a date on it, but I’m afraid I just don’t know! I’ll still be posting fortnightly updates, so you’ll get a bit of an idea of my progress.

Are the results of the poll going to be visible?

Yep! You’ll be able to keep an eye on how many votes each RO has throughout the voting window. If your fave falls behind and you want to beg your friends to vote on your behalf then power to ya.

The producers aren’t on this poll - that means they’re the murderers!

I’m afraid that you won’t be able to sus out who the murderer is or isn’t based on who appears on polls. The producers aren’t in this one because I think that it makes most sense to have the first murder victim be a cast member - they’ll definitely feature on future polls.

Wait, so the same ROs will die in every game regardless of our MC’s actions?

Yes - at least for the early chapters/deaths. I would love to set it up so each death could be either of two people, but there would be so much coding and work to go into pulling something like that off and I just can’t commit to it.  There are already a lot of variables in Body Count to make the experience as varied as possible for different MCs, so adding this amount of variation would just be really unachievable. 

Ok, but what if all the NB/F/M ROs die?

This isn’t gonna happen! I’m really proud of my diverse cast, and I’ll be making decisions about who is at risk in future polls based on who has already been killed. Basically, there won’t be a situation where only characters of a certain gender/ethnicity are dying, because that would be fucked up.

If my fave dies I’m gonna lose my shit and send you loads of really aggy anon messages.

Ah! How about instead of doing that... you don’t? I realise that some people are going to be disappointed whoever dies, but that’s just the thing - I really can’t please everyone. Even if I just decided for myself who was going to die, it wouldn’t be possible to please everyone. 

If the idea of your RO dying will send you into a frenzy such that you cannot resist sending anon hate, please consider just not playing the WIP and waiting for the final game. I think that this is a really fun idea, but I absolutely accept that it isn’t for everyone.

I hate these mechanics and this game isn’t for me.

Cool, yeah, I totally get that! This game absolutely isn’t for everyone - it’s something that I’m writing for my own amusement more than anything else. If this game isn’t for you, you absolutely don’t have to play it! You could wait for a completed game when you know who is going to die, or you can just peace out altogether. I won’t take it personally and you don’t need to explain to me why you don’t like it.

Will you also give a warning at any point in the full, released game that certain ROs won't make it or will you completely leave it up to surprise?

Yeah, I think so. I plan on including an option to leave it up to surprise or toggle to lock off the romance paths with the ROs that are going to die.

How many murders should we expect to see before the end of the process?

At the moment, I have 3 or 4 murders planned (depending on who they end up being and the direction that I take the plot) plus there isn’t a happy ending with the murderer/s if they are your RO. I’m expecting to lose 4-6 of the original 13 ROs before we finish up. 

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 11

Wordcount: 5,150 Rating: M for strong language, ideologically sensitive and mature themes, gore “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did.” Chapter synopsis: Allen and Arthur race to find you both, but it proves to be harder without knowing your whereabouts. Meanwhile, you've successfully helped Alfred find the chip. Before leaving, you have a long-awaited conversation with your father to realize he's more insane than you thought. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): Cyberninja,  Trouble finds trouble, Tower Lockdown, Me!Me!Me!, Pt. 2, Him & I (with Halsey), Atlantis. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

Cyberninja

Before Arthur could even buckle himself in, Allen rammed his foot into the gas pedal. He was thrown back in a violent manner, and hit his head against the headrest. But the mechanic never complained. He looked stressed enough as is, continually scanning the road while murmuring to himself as if he’d really gone mad. “Hell, that motherfucker could be anywhere in the whole fucking city right now.” He hissed, pulling out of the driveway and into the main road.

“We can’t call him. Track him. Nothing. Same goes for (F/N). They’re off the map.” Turning to his companion numerous times in distress, he sped through the streets, though he had no particular destination in mind.

The indicator clicked. Allen cursed at the car in front of them, but never made a move to overtake. As Arthur became overwhelmed by these stimulants, he opened his mouth, defeated. “If you’re in such a hurry, why--why bother following traffic rules? You never have before, so why now?” He asked with a shake of the head, earning a loud scoff from the other.

The car windows glowed with a flurry of pinks and purples as they moved closer to the commercial district. They were near their first stop.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t give a damn if I didn’t have to.” The whites of his eyes reflected a mosaic of color as he never looked away from the road. “But that was when I was working for my boss. I had protection. I could do a hit and run if I wanted, and without the running part.” The redhead breathed. Then, he stuck his head out of the window with a huff. Immediately, he was choked by the city smog, and deafened by the blaring of car horns.

“Friggen’ prick...” He flipped off the driver in front of him. Sitting back into his seat, he flashed Arthur a grin, though the man couldn’t return the energy.

“Did you get fired? Or did you quit?” This wasn’t the best time to ask about the past, but he had been dying to know why he wound up half-dead on his doorstep. So what better a time to do it than now?

“I quit.” Allen answered point-blank. “Old man didn’t take it well. Decided to kill me. Didn’t.” Slowing the vehicle, they arrived at a parking-lot surrounded by backdoors of multiple piss-poor establishments. One of which was illuminated by a flickering red neon sign that read ‘no-tell motel’.

“He thinks I’m dead, so the rest of the city has to think that too.”

Arthur gawked at him. “That makes you no better than a fugitive! And it’s not just anybody after you--Allen, he’ll kill you when he finds out you’re still alive!”

“And that’s why he won’t find out.” Tapping the side of his neck for a flap to open, the said man slotted a small disk inside. “Disables cybernetic upgrades in a twenty foot radius. Means I can’t use mine, but it stops other people from figuring out who I am.” He dug through one of the compartments for a muffler, which he wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

What he did next was alarming, however. Sticking his hand further in, he pulled out a gun and cocked it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing--!?” Arthur exclaimed, fumbling with a face mask Allen tossed his way. He didn’t see a silencer anywhere either. “If I can call the police without any upgrades, so can everyone else!”

His statement couldn’t ring any truer, and yet, it never slowed down the other’s movements as he climbed out of the car. Unsatisfied by his silence, he wound up getting out to follow him. “Oi, say something! At least let me know you’re not gonna shoot up a restaurant!” Whispering that part out, he had to speed up a few steps to catch up with the man, now marching to the backdoor of a motel.

“Put the mask on.” Allen murmured without sparing him a single glance. But he paused briefly to process what he said. “... A motel, you mean. But I’m hoping we won’t have to resort to that.”

Arthur’s eyes went round. “You were considering--”

He could share the desperation to save Alfred’s life, but he had a hard time following how. Shooting up a motel? What was he thinking?

“Yes.” Attaching his hand to the door, it creaked open. Before Allen took another step, he faced him with a serious glower. “Now when we get inside, I want you to walk up to the receptionist. He’s programmed to greet you. Ask him for a room, and while you do, I’ll approach him from behind and deactivate him. Kapeesh?”

But then again, he was in the dark here. Arthur hadn’t the slightest clue on what Alfred’s circumstances were, as mysterious as the man was, so he had no idea how he was on the verge of dying.

So naturally, he wouldn’t know how to save him either.

But he trusted Allen to know what to do.

“... Alright. You better not make me regret this, you tyke.” 

“You can call me anything you want, just not that. I’m not a kid anymore.” Those words would become apparent as they walked inside, where their plan went by without a hitch. They heard the automated voice of superficial kindness, which stopped abruptly to the sound of an android powering off. Its body fell to the ground to reveal Allen standing behind. Without wasting a second, he leaned over and typed furiously on the keyboard of the computer.

Trouble finds trouble

“Lemme see if this has a log of everybody who came by...” A few moments later, he started nodding at what he saw. “Bingo...” On their private encrypted server, stored the history of all the guests who booked a night. “Well, what do you know... Alfred checked out two days ago. But he’s on the move.” Pulling away to stand up straight, he jogged over to the exit.

“Even if someone tried to look for him in one a’ these places, he’d have to get behind the reception and do exactly what I did.” This someone referred to Matsumoto, but death already followed Alfred wherever he went. Not that Alfred knew that. “The perks of a no-tell motel. Even if they reek of piss, so long as there’s crime, they’ll never go out of business.” He beckoned Arthur to follow him with a tilt of the head. 

“One down, twenty-seven more to go. And that’s only in the direction he’s going... And under the assumption he’s only staying at these motels. So, uh, let’s hope he didn’t try to be too unpredictable.” 

The Brit huffed. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

“I think he’d be predictable to do that if you asked me.” He murmured. “But you call the shots. I’ll just be... Moral support.” 

Allen already disappeared out the door, but his head poked into the doorframe at that. “Nah. You have the most important job outta’ the both of us.” 

That was right. He didn’t tell him yet. He really should’ve a while ago, but he got caught up in the chase. 

“Whether you remove a chip from his head or not will determine if he lives or not.” 

Arthur paled. 

“He’s the guy my boss wanted me to kill. Remember the dude I told you about? The one who tried to steal a prototype chip three years ago?” Now that he mentioned it, he recalled the conversation a few weeks ago. But wait a minute. 

The mechanic felt his face scrunch up as he was hit with a major epiphany. That was Alfred? The terrorist Allen had been updating him about? He was the man who tore up three floors of the headquarters of Matsumoto Optics, and simultaneously, the same customer he had been serving for the last few years.

Before he could even process his shock, he was presented with even more appalling information. 

“He stole it this time. That’s what he and (F/N) disappeared to do. But now that it’s in his head, it’ll overwrite his consciousness until he’s a fucking vegetable.” 

Arthur was horrified. “Then why would he even--” 

“Because he doesn’t know.” Allen cut in with a grim expression. “He thought the chip was supposed to give him immortality, so he wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Like my boss. But no. It’s the opposite. It was all a ploy to kill him.” At this point, the blonde was at loss for words. As a doctor and mechanic, he was quite frankly terrified of how devilishly clever Matsumoto was. But he couldn’t expect any less from him, could he?

They made it back to the car, and he could only stare aimlessly out the windshield, paralyzed. 

“That’s why we need you.” He heard him say. Turning to the man, albeit slowly, he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. Allen gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re the smartest guy I know, second to my boss. You were always great at fixing stuff. Cars, enhancements, people--so what’s a mixture of all three?”

Arthur dug a hand through his hair stressfully. “... You’re kidding.” And yet, he already knew he was on board. “... Are you calling him a car?” 

The other flattened his lips. “... He technically could be.” 

“Just to be clear, I fucking hate you.” 

Allen laughed. “Sure.”

“But otherwise, we’re wasting time.” He couldn’t believe the words falling from his lips. This was really happening, wasn’t it? After taking him in as an apprentice for his auto shop, the roles were finally reversed. He no longer took charge as the teacher. Or rather, he became the student caught up in the most difficult assignment yet. Having a taste of Allen’s work. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” 

***

Tower Lockdown

You had all the reasons in the world to be anxious coming home. 

On top of worrying over Alfred, who had hundreds of trained assassins coming at him all at once, during every minute of the heist, you had to face an aspect of reality you avoided until now. You were in the building, and he had already stolen the chip. It was slotted comfortably in his head, ready to leave the premises.

 How come your father never appeared? Was he really just going to let you go just like that?

But the real question was this--should you stay or leave? 

Yes, you hardly approved of anything he’d done. Done to the world like Alfred always mentioned, and to Alfred himself. But you weren’t prepared to abandon him yet. He was still your father, and the only family you had. If you had to make a decision, you needed some closure. If not, a discussion. 

And you expected him to give it to you as the least he could do. 

As Alfred stood among a pile of dead bodies bathing in red, his mantis blades trembled against a katana blade. Even with his hands full, he made the time to check on you. “(F/N)! Stay away from walls! Just hang on for a second longer!” He shouted, turning to you briefly before diverting his attention back to his opponent. “We’re nearly home free!” 

Pulling away to give him a swift jab in the chest, blood sprayed onto his face, but he wasn’t fazed.

What did, however, was the sight of you being thrown over the shoulder of one of the bodyguards. Color drained from his face and he burst into a sprint. 

“(F/N)! No!” Watching you disappear into an elevator, he slammed right into the closing metal doors. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist against them to hear a loud bang. Before he could linger too long, he hastily made his way to a door adjacent. The emergency stairs would take a hell lot longer, but as if he’d wait for the elevator to come back down. 

Even if he needed to climb up a hundred flights to get to you, he would--all the way to the penthouse where Matsumoto was. 

When those men approached you, there was no struggle on your end. You knew where they were going to take you. And you wanted them to. It could even be said you were relieved, because that meant your father was thinking of you. After a minute or so, the soft whirring fell silent, followed by a soft ‘ding’. 

They moved outside the elevator, and after a few steps, they set you down on your feet. Right in the middle of your father’s office. At the very end behind a desk sat the man himself, and he was eyeing you with an unreadable expression. Upon returning his stare, came an onslaught of emotions. But the most prominent was incapacitating anxiety.

Even as his daughter, you could never see through him. He was impossible to read. So you had no idea what to expect. 

“Dad... We need to talk.” You began, walking up to him warily. This was what you wished for at the start, cried for, even. To return home. And yet, the nervous pounding in your chest seemed to worsen with every step you took. It was jarring to confront how much had changed since then. So while you barely managed any words, you were already overwhelmed, struggling to choke back tears. 

“For once, I need to know what you’re thinking.” 

He inhaled deeply before responding. “I was under the same impression that we’d have this conversation.” Standing up from his chair, he furrowed his brows at the sight of you clenching the fabric of your pants. “Don’t look so nervous, child. You haven’t done anything to anger or disappoint me.” Reaching out to your head, he settled a hand on it. 

“... Really?” You whispered out. Hearing his assurances calmed you down a touch. But when you saw the forlorn gaze he cast down at you, your heart was crushed. “... Dad?”

Me!Me!Me!, Pt.2

Any existing contempt for him melted away just like that, but you weren’t upset at yourself for it. Your father hardly expressed any emotion besides calm indifference. And when he did, it always felt like the world was ending. 

“I’m the one who deserves your anger.” He clarified, lowering his hands to your shoulders. “I’ve left you by yourself for far too long, (F/N). I hope you don’t hold it against me that you had to come home yourself.” You hung your head, unable to meet his saddened gray eyes. If you were to hold a grudge at him for it, you’d start by avoiding his gaze. “And I understand why you would’ve wanted to help him. He has a way with words, and a naïve sense of justice. But it’s a warped perception of reality.”  

You’d hate to admit it, but no matter how cruel he seemed to be, there was a method to his madness. 

And you were perhaps the only person in the world to know it. 

That was why you were so torn. Torn between hating him and understanding him. After all, you couldn’t have both. “You can’t blame him after what you did to him.” Glancing up at that, you felt bile rise in your throat. Then, your vision blurred. “I don’t know what you’re aiming for--for this company, and this world. But you can’t expect him to accept this world you created when you stole him from his. He had a life!” 

Staring at him through hot tears, he breathed out a soft sigh before rubbing them away with a swipe of the thumb. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. And I won’t expect you to forgive me even after telling you the reasons for my actions.”  

He pulled away from you to begin walking back to his desk, but not to sit down. Instead, he stood by the window to watch the blinking lights of skyscrapers and small moving dots of cars on the streets. “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did. So of course, he would reject the idea of immortality. The destruction of the most human quality there is.” 

He paused briefly to scan the landscape.

“Mortality. One’s inevitable end gives everything they do meaning.” 

Wrinkles creased between your brows. It was confusing to hear him speak so highly of death, frustrating, even. Wasn’t he the one investing billions into correcting it like a flaw? “If that’s what you really think, then why? Why would you make something that would take that all away?” 

He held his hands behind his back. “To serve the greater good. A sacrifice, if you will.” The man turned to you, this time with a serious glower. “Alfred thinks I would commercialize it. Sell it to the public. But he’s wrong. Immortality will only be available to the leaders of the world.”

By leaders, you could only assume he meant people like him. Not politicians, but business men and women. Company owners. The most powerful forces of the present. “The inability to die is a curse. You never move on because you’re still breathing. But that may be just what the world needs. Stagnation. An absence of change.” 

It was daunting to know this man was your father. You couldn’t say you were born with half as many of these attributes he had. Intelligence was easily passed down, but there was something else written in his genes you could never dream of having. “With every passing year, decade, and century, humanity frays like a rope. Society continues to deteriorate... All until self-destruction becomes a matter of time.” Facing the window again, he scanned the impressive architecture he was proud to call his own. And it looked as pristine as it did yesterday. 

“The only way to stop this was to take control of it myself. And that’s how I came to found this company. I’ve found a way to govern the people. To invest in science as the world’s last and only hope. But it’s a job that will last eons, so I was prepared to do it until the end of time.” 

He was right in saying that society was inevitably doomed with the direction it was heading. That technology was the only solution, along with a world government. Matsumoto Optics. A cosmocracy with jurisdiction over the whole planet. There would be no wars. No conflict. And with only one state to call the shots, things could be done so much faster on a global scale. 

It was a radical concept to grasp, but you couldn’t say there was no logic to it. “Alfred was meant to do it with me. To reincarnate again and again as my closest aide on my quest to preserve the world. But he ended up being the opposite. My foil.” Matsumoto shook his head. “Alfred is a nostalgic soul. He’s too attached to the past. But the way of the old can never last with how fast it makes the world burn. Even if he realized that, he would want to exact revenge on me after what I’ve done to him.” 

“So before he destroys everything I’ve created, I have to destroy him first.” 

Him & I (with Halsey)

You tensed up all over, but before you could ask him what he meant by destroy, the doors burst open. The very subject of the conversation had appeared, and just in time for the conclusion of it. His arrival caught you completely off guard, successfully derailing your train of thought, but your father merely acknowledged his arrival. “Ah. Speak of the devil.” 

“Speak for yourself, you fucking demon.” He spat, marching over to your side to pull you into his chest. Immediately putting his hands all over your face, he was riddled with concern as he inspected you. “You okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you in time. What are you still doing here? C’mon, let’s go.” While he reached down to your hand to lead you away, you stayed put. 

As relieved as you were to see him here, you couldn’t follow him out yet. You gave his hand a squeeze, then a soft smile of reassurance. Then, you turned to your father. 

This time, you held him in a firm stare. 

“Even if everyone thinks you’re crazy, I always knew you’d have some kind of justification for everything.” You started. Little did you know, you would take back this statement in the very near future. “But I can’t forgive you for what you did to Alfred. He never ended up doing anything you wanted him to, so giving him all those adjustments was pointless for you. But not for him. If you wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be easy.”

Matsumoto closed his eyes as if to agree. That was what you interpreted it as, at least. But unbeknownst to you, he was doing anything but. “I wouldn’t know what’s best for this world.” 

“But what I do know is that I won’t let you hurt him.” 

You spoke those words with a conviction so strong, Alfred’s eyes widened when he heard it. It wasn’t news you cared deeply for him, but to hear you say it to your father like that, and Matsumoto, no less, it made his mechanical heart pound more than he could fathom. You were actively disobeying him, a man you previously revolved your life around, for his sake. To say he was infatuated would be an understatement. 

You felt his grip on you tighten. 

“Say what you will, and I’ll respect your conviction. But I will come for him.” The bearded man murmured in a foreboding tone. A sinister light glinted in his dark gray irises. “And in the most unexpected way he could ever imagine. You will never want to see me again when that happens.” 

“If.” Your voice was a little strained. As much as you wanted to hate him and move on, you couldn’t. Every single fiber of your being was urging you to find a reason, any reason, to not despise the man who raised you. “If, dad. Because if you did, I really will never forgive you. I’ll hate you forever.” 

A grim expression contorted at his face. In his many decades on the planet, he’d never felt more dread. But one had to wonder if that was the right word. The regret had already arrived, because he’d already done something unforgivable. It was only a matter of time before you’d find out. “I’ve already done something to earn your unconditional hatred, child.” 

That was right. He’d killed Allen, your best friend and only other semblance of family in your life. And perhaps, the person you held the closest to your heart. “Soon, you will learn what it is. So I’ll let you leave today because you will never want to come back. I’d imagine that to be more… Convenient for you.” 

It was only your ignorance that blessed him this last moment. The last moment where you’d see him as your father with eyes unclouded by hatred. But it was short-lived. 

It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together, and in your short silence, you came to remember someone that had been gone for a while. Allen. 

Atlantis

You woke up in a cold sweat. For just one measly second as you oriented yourself, you weren’t tortured by a fury. Betrayal. Disgust. But it all came rushing back to you like the memories of that Godforsaken day you met with your father.

Sitting up with a deep frown, you felt heat build up around your face. It would be etched in your mind forever. The memory of Allen laying in the dump. Tossed out like a broken toy. Then, the stench of blood and rust as he was left for dead. 

You always knew your father was mad, but he kept on surprising you with how mad he was. Turning to the figure beside you, tears only overwhelmed your waterline to see his chest rise and fall steadily. 

He was still here. Alive and well. You could only hope the same for Allen.

It had been ten days since the heist. There hadn’t been a single sign of Matsumoto or his men, meaning Alfred really did do his research on the best places to hide. Climbing onto his form, you wound up laying on his chest. Then, you peered down at his sleeping face. 

As you got comfortable, you felt a smile creep onto your lips. If the you from a few months ago saw what you were doing, she’d be flabbergasted. Since when did you like him this much? 

Your cheeks grew a little rosy as you became self-aware of the position you were in. Full-on embarrassment hit you when he began to stir, but before you could get off of him, his eyes fluttered open. Uh oh. Now this warranted an explanation. 

For a second, he was confused, but when he saw that it was just you, he grinned lazily. “Morning, babe. Care to tell me why you’re not sleeping on your side of the bed?” 

He’d totally cornered you. And did he just call you babe? “Um... I, well... I woke up on you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was just about to get off.” Sliding yourself off of him at that, you tried your damndest to simmer down. But he never gave you the chance. Rolling over to face you, he pulled you in around your waist much to your surprise. “Hey!” 

You never got around to pointing out that pet name, either. 

He caught you in a serious stare. “Don’t be so shy. We’re close, aren’t we?” Alfred was never one to beat around the bush. You knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t mean you were used to it. Lowering your head at that, you fixated on his chest. 

“... I guess so. That doesn’t mean I can sleep on you like that, though. And plus, it must’ve been uncomfortable.” 

“Nah. You’re light as hell.” He hummed. Sitting up with you on his lap, his statement became more apparent in how effortless he made it seem. “You’re like a few grapes, really. So don’t worry about it.” 

Why he chose to focus on that part of your argument was beyond you. Did he really not see anything wrong with what you were doing? Or maybe he did, and didn’t want to mention it. He’d been hugging you a lot lately the past week, but that wasn’t as deserving of your attention as spooning you while he slept. 

Wasn’t he pushing the envelope? It would make sense he was just trying to comfort you after your run-in with your father, and your discovery that he was the one who attempted to off your best friend. But wasn’t this a bit much? 

He wrapped his arms around your neck. There was nothing between you both, and yet, he was holding you like there was. Like you were his. 

"...” It was in his smile. It was different to how he always looked at you, as if there was finally something behind those electric blue irises. Something alive. Something hot. As you played around with the idea, you lit up like a Christmas tree and pushed his mouth away. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Almost as if he read your mind, he relented. But only reluctantly. Picking you up from under your arms, he set you onto the mattress so he could get out of bed. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he gave your cheek an affectionate pinch. “Whatever you say. I’ll be back after a piss.” 

When he left the room, you were left to your own devices. As you brought your knees to your chest, you came to realize how tight it was. He’d only left for a few seconds, and you were already waiting for him to return. It was ridiculous to think about, but it was almost as if you missed him. Already.

Did spending all this time with him give you some kind of separation anxiety? 

Or was it something more? 

You couldn’t tell. 

The fact that he mentioned ‘I’ll be back’ suggested he was aware of your attachment to him. You buried your face into your knees. 

Turns out, you weren’t the only one having a hard time processing your feelings. 

When he disappeared into the bathroom, he pressed his back against the wall. Reaching up to his chest, he scrunched up a part of his shirt as the pounding in his heart subsided--his metaphorical one. Alfred didn’t think it was weird to find you on top of him like that, let alone dislike it. In fact, he loved it. It gave him a shred of hope that maybe, you did like him the way he liked you. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be with you. 

This was the fifth motel he’d been to after the heist. There was no saying he’d be dead by the end of the day. Not when your father was after his head. So he wasn’t about to start anything. That would be too selfish, even for him--though one had to wonder if ‘selfish’ could even describe him anymore. He was anything but. At least, for you he wasn’t. 

Alfred would only be proven right when he took a step towards the toilet. His vision started to glitch. Then, he lost his balance, falling over the sink and slamming his head against the mirror. “Fuck--!” Stumbling back onto his feet, he was engulfed in black for a few seconds. What the hell was going on? 

His bout of disorientation lasted for far too long to be normal.

Before he would start accepting the prospect of going blind, his vision returned. He thought he would celebrate that moment, but he forgot what he was even fussing about. What happened? Lowering his gaze to his hands, he stared at them for a while before looking back up. What was he doing here? Where was he? 

That was right. He was in a motel. With you. Running away from uncertain death. It took a minute or so to recall all of these things, and that was what alarmed him. It seemed like his body wasn’t accepting the chip very well. 

Temporary memory loss and blindness was just apart of the transition, right? 

Little did he know, it was anything but. 

Outside that very district sat two men in a car. Bags hung under their dull eyes as they scanned the streets as vigilantly as their sleep deprivation let them. It had been two days since they slept, but they wouldn’t rest until they found him. There were only four days until the damage was done.

If they didn’t get to the man before then, he would be as good as dead. 

[matchasprouts]

Listen Closer - Chapter 15

[ can't wait for Strahm to get pegged <3 we have so much more pining to get through first though ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

It took some doing, but the water box was done by the start of the next month. It was… rough figuring out how he was supposed to get Strahm into the box without needing to weld it back together on his head.

Eventually he just settled for a metal bottom that he would clip back together when it was on him. They were locked, so he couldn’t just undo them and escape. No, if he wanted to live, he would have to get hurt.

Once it was finished, he got the trap set up in one of the rooms of the packing plant, one that wasn’t currently in use. It took some doing to get it hanging and attach the pipes that would fill it with water, but he managed it with a little bit of help from Lawrence.

Next was the trap for one Ivan Landness- and, as excited as he was for it, it was going to be difficult. He couldn’t build it all together, and it had to be made with the bed it was going to be attached to in mind.

Luckily, Garrett loved a challenge.

The only problem was that he was now legally Mark’s specialist, meaning he had to be brought in for every Jigsaw case.

So that’s why he was, very unwillingly, standing over a crispy corpse.

This was one of Amanda’s traps, he remembered seeing her pack up the chains surrounding the body to bring to the room they were standing in. He’d been told that they had to burn the door open, meaning the player had no chance to escape whatsoever.

“Who do you think put this one together?” Strahm asked when he realized Garrett was there, gaining a soft, thoughtful hum from him.

“Looks like Amanda Young,” he replied, lightly kicking one of the scorched chains. “I heard the door was welded shut. He couldn’t have escaped it even if he won. He was always doomed to death.”

Was he lowkey calling Amanda out on her bullshit when she wasn’t around? Yes. He was still pissed about Kerry’s trap.

“How many of her traps have you seen?” Strahm seemed at least a little bit concerned that he could guess who it was almost immediately, but Garrett just shrugged.

He brought a hand up to his face to lightly scratch at his scar before responding. “Not many. This is a new development, to be honest. But any trap put together by Kramer is escapable, if not difficult.”

“There’s also the third unknown apprentice,” Strahm offered, and Garrett genuinely found it funny that he was talking about this mysterious third apprentice to one of the longest standing ones.

Garrett just hummed again, taking another look at the body, before looking up at the ceiling and finding more chains hanging from the ceiling.

He should probably make his sketch so he could get out of there. He found a comfy spot on the floor that gave him a good view of all the chains and got to work in his Official Work sketchbook, vaguely noting that people were staying out of his way whenever he looked up.

Man, being an actual specialist was pretty fucking cool.

“Okay, I’ve gotta head out, but give me a call if you need any clarification,” he said as he finished the sketch, ripping it out of the book and handing it over to Strahm. “Try not to find another- whoa, did this scar?” He had meant to run out of there, but he got distracted by Strahm’s hand when he reached up to grab the sketch,

Garrett immediately grabbed Strahm’s hand to check out the bite scar on it, grinning at the idea that one simple bite from one very feral man was enough to scar him.

Strahm fucking froze at the contact, and Garrett could feel his arm tense up where he was holding it. Of course, this just made him want to fuck with him.

So he put Strahm’s hand in his mouth, perfectly lined up his teeth with the scar, and gently bit down.

It wasn’t enough pressure to pierce the skin, but Garrett could feel Strahm shaking at the feeling. Garrett grinned, pulling back only to bite down on the agent’s exposed forearm, leaving him with another bleeding bite mark as he made his way out of the room, licking his lips clean of the blood.

At this point, the only way Strahm would escape his teeth is by arresting him.

Unfortunately he couldn’t go straight home. Part of being an official specialist meant that after he looked over every trap, he had to go down to the precinct to file his own report about it. Apparently that was the easiest way to ensure that no information was missed in the file.

Luckily, it was only the trap that he had to report on, nothing about the victim or anything that would lead them to Jigsaw. Just the trap. Thank god, because he straight up didn’t pay attention to crime scenes.

He did, however, have his own mini office now! It was small, but that was okay, because it had windows so he could watch everyone passing by. It was a simple and easy way to get to know people without actually talking to them.

Also having an office was fucking banger and anybody who didn’t like him before was now stuck with him.

Upon arriving at his little office (he had his own keycard to get into this part of the building now- a keycard! He was growing too powerful) he immediately tossed his bag onto the ground and started up his computer, as well as grabbing the blank form he had to fill out every time he looked at a trap.

Apparently, they liked to have a physical record as well as a digital one. This was very unfortunate for Garrett, because he hated doing the same thing twice, and he hated waiting for photos of the trap too.

To distract himself from how much he hated paperwork, he got to work on the paperwork. He started with the physical copy first, just because it would be easier to type it word for word and not worry about losing what he’d already written.

He was just about to start on the digital copy when there was a knock on his door. “You better have my photos,” Garrett said when he noticed who it was, and Strahm took that as his invitation to come in.

His arms were completely covered now, probably to hide the fresh mark Garrett left him with. That made him smirk a little, before sticking his hand out and making the grabby hand motion at him so he’d hand over the photos.

Once they were in his grasp, he immediately took out a sharpie and began to label the parts of the trap. He was allowed to do this solely because they made extra copies separate to the ones he used.

“How’s your arm doing?” Garrett asked, keeping his focus on his work but also incredibly aware that Strahm was just standing there. At the promise of conversation, Strahm finally sat down.

“Did you have to do that? Like, really?” Strahm replied, and Garrett could vaguely see him reach up to loosen his tie, even undoing a few of the buttons on his shirt.

“Yes, I did,” Garrett responded without a moment’s hesitation, flipping to the next photo he needed to label. “I’m not sorry for scarring you, by the way. I’d only known you for, like, an hour and it freaked me out.”

Strahm just hummed, a sort of non-verbal way of saying he understood. Garrett flipped to the next, and last, photo and finished up his labelling, moving back to the computer to finish the digital version of the report.

There was an awkward silence- well, awkward on Strahm’s end. He clearly had something he wanted to ask, but was seemingly afraid of doing. Garrett, on the other hand, was just vibing.

And finally, he asked his burning question. “Do you think Hoffman is Jigsaw?”

Holy SHIT.

Garrett almost choked and the suddenness, suddenly very grateful that Strahm couldn’t see him behind his monitor. Did he… really just ask… if he thought his boyfriend was Jigsaw…?

He wasn’t sure whether to tell him straight up that they were both Jigsaw, or fuck him on the spot for being a fucking idiot.

After a moment of deliberation, he decided he was going to give him another gay panic attack. “Why would I think that? I live with him, I think I would have noticed if he was running off to play Jigsaw.”

Strahm tensed up a little at that, apparently not having processed that Garrett and Mark weren’t just… hanging out when he showed up to check on him after he left the hospital.

“I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but there’s just- I don’t know how to describe it, it’s just how he acts with Jigsaw cases and how he’s one of the only members of the task force left-”

He was rambling now, giving Garrett ample time to get up from his desk, walk around it, and plant himself behind Strahm’s chair. When he placed his hands on the back of it, his knuckles brushing against the agent’s back, that was when he shut up, freezing suddenly.

Garrett took his chance, leaning down until he was right next to Strahm’s ear. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with that sort of thing, Special Agent,” he whispered, noticing a minute shiver from Strahm at the feeling of warm breath against his neck. “We know who Jigsaw is. And I would tell you if I suspected Detective Hoffman.”

His hands had moved to Strahm’s shoulders, one toying with the collar of his shirt and the other messing with the top most button.

Strahm was so easy to rile up. Garrett could tell he was trying not to make a sound.

“But… you’ll keep me updated on this theory of yours, yes?” he asked, and Strahm stiffly nodded. Garrett smiled, leaning close enough that his lips brushed against Strahm’s neck. “Good boy.”

He pressed a kiss to Strahm’s neck, trailing his tongue over the spot before biting down gently- still hard enough to leave a mark, but not enough to bleed-, and then pulling away and sitting back down at his desk. “Could you take this up to Mark for me?” he asked, holding the file out to Strahm, who was flushed down to his neck.

The agent stood up quickly, grabbed the file, and left without another word.

Yeah, Garrett could use this attraction. Besides, it made working with him so much more fun.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

UEFI hacking malware

Security researchers are alarmed: the already-notorious Trickbot malware has been spottied probing infected computers to find out which version of UEFI they're running. This is read as evidence that Trickbot has figured out how to pull off a really scary feat.

To understand why, you have to understand UEFI: a fascinating, deep, philosophical change to our view of computers, trust, and the knowability of the universe. It's a tale of hard choices, paternalism, and the race to secure the digital realm as it merges with the physical.

Computers were once standalone: a central processing unit that might be augmented by some co-processors for specialized processes, like a graphics card or even a math co-processor.

These co-pros were subordinate to the CPU though. You'd turn on the computer and it would read a very small set of hardcoded instructions telling it how to access a floppy disk or other storage medium for the rest of the boot sequence, the stuff needed to boot the system.

The hardwired instructions were in a ROM that had one job: wake up and feed some instructions to the "computer" telling it what to do, then go back to sleep. But there's a philosophical conundrum here.

Because the world of computing is adversarial and networked computing is doubly so: there are people who want your computer to do things that are antithetical to your interests, like steal your data or spy on you or encrypt all your files and demand ransom.

To stop this, you need to be able to examine the programs running on your computer and terminate the malicious ones. And therein lies the rub: when you instruct your computer to examine its own workings, how do you know if you can trust it?

In 1983, Ken Thompson (co-creator of C, Unix, etc) was awarded a Turing Award ("computer science's Nobel Prize"). He gave a fucking bombshell of an acceptance speech, called "Reflections on Trusting Trust."

https://www.cs.cmu.edu/~rdriley/487/papers/Thompson_1984_ReflectionsonTrustingTrust.pdf

Thompson revealed that he had created a backdoor for himself that didn't just live in Unix, but in the C compiler that people made to create new Unix systems.

Here's what that means: when you write a program, you produce "high-level code" with instructions like "printf("Hello, World!");". Once your program is done, you turn it into machine code, a series of much shorter instructions that your CPU understands ("mov  dx, msg" etc).

Most programmers can't read this machine code, and even for those who can, it's a hard slog. In general, we write our code, compile it and run it, but we don't examine it. With nontrivial programs, looking at the machine code is very, very hard.

Compilers are treated as intrinsically trustworthy. Give 'em some source, they spit out a binary, you run the binary. Sometimes there are compiler bugs, sure, and compiler improvements can be a big deal. But compilers are infrastructure: inscrutable and forgotten.

Here's what Thompson did: he hid a program in his compiler that would check to see whether you were compiling an operating system or a compiler. If you were compiling an OS, it hid a secret login for him inside of it.

If you were compiling a compiler, it hid the program that looked for compilers or operating systems inside of it.

Think about what this means: every OS you compiled had an intentional security defect that the OS itself couldn't detect.

If you suspected that your compiler was up to no good and wrote your own compiler, it would be compromised as soon as you compiled it. What Thompson did was ask us to contemplate what we meant when we "trusted" something.

It was a move straight out of Rene Descartes, the reasoning that leads up to "I think therefore I am." Descartes' "Discourse on the Method" asks how we can know things about the universe.

He points out that sometimes he thinks he senses something but is wrong - he dreams, he hallucinates, he misapprehends.

If all our reasoning depends on the impressions we get from our senses, and if our senses are sometimes faulty, how can we reason at all?

Descartes wants a point of certainty, one thing he *knows* to be absolutely true. He makes the case that if you can be certain of one thing, you can anchor everything else to this point and build up a massive edifice of trustable knowledge that all hangs off of this anchor.

Thompson is basically saying, "You thought you had descartesed your way into a trustable computing universe because of the axiom that I would never poison your lowest-level, most fundamental tools.

"*Wrong*.

"Bwahahahaha."

(But, you know, in a nice way: an object lesson to serve as a wake-up call before computers fully merged with the physical world to form a global, species-wide digital nervous system whose untrustworthy low-level parts were foolishly, implicitly trusted).

But processors were expensive and computers were exploding. PCs running consumer operating systems like Windows and Mac OS (and more exotic ones like GNU/Linux and various Unices) proliferated, and they all shared this flawed security model.

They all relied on the operating system to be a faithful reporter of the computer's internals, and operated on the assumption that they could use programs supervised by the OS to detect and terminate malicious programs.

But starting in 1999, Ken Thompson's revenge was visited upon the computing world. Greg Hoglund released Ntrootkit, a proof-of-concept malware that attacked Windows itself, so that the operating system would lie to antivirus programs about what it was doing and seeing.

In Decartesspeak, your computer could no longer trust its senses, so it could no longer reason. The nub of trust, the piton driven into the mountainface, was made insecure and the whole thing collapsed. Security researchers at big companies like Microsoft took this to heart.

In 2002, Peter Biddle and his team from Microsoft came to EFF to show us a new model for computing: "Trusted Computing" (codenamed "Palladium").

https://web.archive.org/web/20020805211111/https://www.microsoft.com/presspass/features/2002/jul02/0724palladiumwp.asp

Palladium proposed to give computers back their nub of Descartesian certainty. It would use a co-processor, but unlike a graphics card or a math co-pro, it would run before the CPU woke up and did its thing.

And unlike a ROM, it wouldn't just load up the boot sequence and go back to sleep.

This chip - today called a "Secure Enclave" or a "Trusted Platform Module" (etc) - would have real computing power, and it would remain available to the CPU at all times.

Inside the chip was a bunch of cool cryptographic stuff that provided the nub of certainty. At the start of the boot, the TPM would pull the first stages of the boot-code off of the drive, along with a cryptographic signature.

A quick crypto aside:

Crypto is code that mixes a key (a secret known to the user) with text to produce a scrambled text (a "ciphertext") that can only be descrambled by the key.

Dual-key crypto has two keys. What one scrambles, the other descrambles (and vice-versa).

With dual-key crypto, you keep one key secret (the "private key") and you publish the other one (the "public key"). If you scramble something with a private key, then anyone can descramble it with your public key and know it came from you.

If you scramble it *twice*, first with your private key and then with your friend's public key, then they can tell it came from you (because only your private key's ciphertexts can be descrambled with your public key).

And *you* can be certain that only they can read it (because only their private key can descramble messages that were scrambled with their public key).

Code-signing uses dual-key crypto to validate who published some code.

Microsoft can make a shorter version of its code (like a fingerprint) and then you scramble it with its private key. The OS that came with your computer has a copy of MSFT's public key. When you get an OS update, you can descramble the fingerprint with that built-in key.

If it matches the update, then you know that Microsoft signed it and it hasn't been tampered with on its way to you. If you trust Microsoft, you can run the update.

But...What if a virus replaces Microsoft's public keys with its own?

That's where Palladium's TPM comes in. It's got the keys hardcoded into it. Programs running on the CPU can only ask the TPM to do very limited things like ask it to sign some text, or to check the signature on some text.

It's a kind of god-chip, running below the most privileged level of user-accessible operations. By design, you - the owner of the computer - can demand things of it that it is technically capable of doing, and it can refuse you, and you can't override it.

That way, programs running even in the most privileged mode can't compromise it.

Back to our boot sequence: the TPM fetches some startup code from the disk along with a signature, and checks to see whether the OS has been signed by its manufacturer.

If not, it halts and shows you a scary error message. Game over, Ken Thompson!

It is a very cool idea, but it's also very scary, because the chip doesn't take orders from Descartes' omnibenevolent God.

It takes orders from Microsoft, a rapacious monopolist with a history of complicity with human rights abuses. Right from that very first meeting the brilliant EFF technologist Seth Schoen spotted this (and made the Descartes comparison):

https://web.archive.org/web/20021004125515/http://vitanuova.loyalty.org/2002-07-05.html

Seth identified a way of having your cake and eating it too: he proposed a hypothetical thing called an "owner override" - a physical switch that, when depressed, could be used to change which public keys lived in the chip.

This would allow owners of computers to decide who they trusted and would defend them against malware. But what it *wouldn't* do is defend tech companies shareholders against the owner of the computer - it wouldn't facilitate DRM.

"Owner override" is a litmus test: are you Descartes' God, or Thompson's Satan?

Do you want computers to allow their owners to know the truth? Or do you want computers to bluepill their owners, lock them in a matrix where you get to decide what is true?

A month later, I published a multi-award-winning sf story called "0wnz0red" in Salon that tried to dramatize the stakes here.

https://www.salon.com/2002/08/28/0wnz0red/

Despite Seth's technical clarity and my attempts at dramatization, owner override did not get incorporated into trusted computing architectures.

Trusted computing took years to become commonplace in PCs. In the interim, rootkits proliferated. Three years after the Palladium paper, Sony-BMG deliberately turned 6m audio CDs into rootkit vectors that would silently alter your OS when you played them from a CD drive.

The Sony rootkit broke your OS so that any filename starting with $SYS$ didn't show up in file listings, $SYS$ programs wouldn't show up in the process monitor. Accompanying the rootkit was a startup program (starting with $SYS$) that broke CD ripping.

Sony infected hundreds of thousands of US gov and mil networks. Malware authors - naturally enough - added $SYS$ to the files corresponding with their viruses, so that antivirus software (which depends on the OS for information about files and processes) couldn't detect it.

It was an incredibly reckless, depraved act, and it wasn't the last. Criminals, spies and corporations continued to produce rootkits to attack their adversaries (victims, rival states, customers) and trusted computing came to the rescue.

Today, trusted computing is widely used by the world's largest tech companies to force customers to use their app stores, their OSes, their printer ink, their spare parts. It's in medical implants, cars, tractors and kitchen appliances.

None of this stuff has an owner override. In 2012, I gave a talk to Google, Defcon and the Long Now Foundation about the crisis of owner override, called "The Coming Civil War Over General Purpose Computing."

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/08/23/the-coming-civil-war-over-general-purpose-computing/

It proposed a way that owner override, combined with trusted computing, could allow users to resist both state and corporate power, and it warned that a lack of technological self-determination opened the door to a parade of horribles.

Because once you have a system that is designed to override owners - and not the other way around - then anyone who commands that system can, by design, do things that the user can't discern or prevent.

This is the *real* trolley problem when it comes to autonomous vehicles: not "who should a car sacrifice in a dangerous situation?" but rather, "what happens when a car that is designed to sometimes kill its owner is compromised by Bad Guys?"

https://this.deakin.edu.au/self-improvement/car-wars

The thing is, trusted computing with an owner override is pretty magical. Take the Introspection Engine, a co-processor in a fancy Iphone case designed by Edward Snowden and Bunnie Huang. It's designed to catch otherwise undetectable mobile malware.

https://www.tjoe.org/pub/direct-radio-introspection/release/2

You see, your phone doesn't just run Ios or Android; the part that interfaces with the phone system - be baseband radio - runs an ancient, horribly insecure OS, and if it is infected, it can trick your phone's senses, so that it can no longer reason.

The Introspection Engine is a small circuit board that sandwiches between your phone's mainboard and its case, making electrical contact with all the systems that carry network traffic.

This daughterboard has a ribbon cable that snakes out of the SIM slot and into a slightly chunky phone case that has a little open source hardward chip with fully auditable code and an OLED display.

This second computer monitors the electrical signals traveling on the phone's network buses and tells you what's going on. This is a user-accessible god-chip, a way for you to know whether your phone is hallucinating when it tells you that it isn't leaking your data.

That's why it's called an "Introspection Engine." It lets your phone perch at an objective remove and understand how it is thinking.

(If all this sounds familiar, it's because it plays a major role in ATTACK SURFACE, the third Little Brother book)

https://attacksurface.com

The reason the Introspection Engine is so exciting is that it is exceptional. The standard model for trusted computing is that it treats everyone *except* the manufacturer as its adversary - including you, the owner of the device.

This opens up many different sets of risks, all of which have been obvious since 1999's Ntrootkit, and undeniable since 2005's Sony Rootkit.

I. The manufacturer might not have your interests at heart.

In 2016, HP shipped a fake security update to its printers, tricking users into installing a system that rejected their third-party ink, forcing them to pay monopoly prices for HP products.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

II. An insider at the company may not have your interests at heart.

Multiple "insider threat" attacks have been executed against users. Employees at AT&T, T-Mobile, even Roblox have accepted bribes to attack users on behalf of criminals.

https://www.vice.com/en/article/qj4ddw/hacker-bribed-roblox-insider-accessed-user-data-reset-passwords

III. A government may order the company to attack its users.

In 2017 Apple removed all working VPNs from its Chinese app stores, as part of the Chinese state's mass surveillance program (1m members of religious minorities were subsequently sent to concentration camps).

Apple's trusted computing prevents users from loading apps that aren't in its app stores, meaning that Apple's decisions about which apps you can run on your Iphone are binding on you, even if you disagree.

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-apple-vpn/apple-says-it-is-removing-vpn-services-from-china-app-store-idUSKBN1AE0BQ

IV. Third parties may exploit a defect in the trusted computing system and attack users in undetectable ways that users can't prevent.

By design, TPMs can't be field updated, so if there's a defect in them, it can't be patched.

Checkm8 exploits a defect in eight generations Apple's mobile TPM. It's a proof-of-concept released to demonstrate a vulnerability, not malware (thankfully).

https://checkm8.info/

But there have been scattered, frightening instances of malware that attacks the TPM - that suborns the mind of God so that your computer ceases to be able to reason. To date, these have all been associated with state actors who used them surgicially.

State actors know that the efficacy of their cyberweapons is tied to secrecy: once a rival government knows that a system is vulnerable, they'll fix it or stop using it or put it behind a firewall, so these tools are typically used parsimoniously.

But criminals are a different matter (and now, at long last, we're coming back to Trickbot and UEFI) (thanks for hanging in there).

UEFI ("You-Eff-Ee") is a trusted computing that computer manufacturers use to prevent unauthorized OSes from running on the PCs they sell you.

Mostly, they use this to prevent malicious OSes from running on the hardware they manufacture, but there have been scattered instances of it being used for monopolistic purposes: to prevent you from replacing their OS with another one (usually a flavor of GNU/Linux).

UEFI is god-mode for your computer, and a compromise to it would be a Sony Rootkit event, but 15 years later, in a world where systems are more widespread and used for more critical applications from driving power-plants to handling multimillion-dollar transactions.

Trickbot is very sophisticated malware generally believed to be run by criminals, not a government. Like a lot of modern malware, there's a mechanism for updating it in the field with new capabilities - both attacks and defenses.

And Trickbot has been observed in the wild probing infected systems' UEFI. This leads security researchers to believe that Trickbot's authors have figured out how to compromise UEFI on some systems.

https://www.wired.com/story/trickbot-botnet-uefi-firmware/

Now, no one has actually observed UEFI being compromised, nor has anyone captured any UEFI-compromising Trickbot code. The thinking goes that Trickbot only downloads the UEFI code when it finds a vulnerable system.

Running in UEFI would make Trickbot largely undetectable and undeletable. Even wiping and restoring the OS wouldn't do it. Remember, TPMs are designed to be unpatchable and tamper-resistant. The physical hardware is designed to break forever if you try to swap it out.

If this is indeed what's going on, it's the first instance in which a trusted computing module was used to attack users by criminals (not governments or the manufacturer and its insiders). And Trickbot's owners are really bad people.

They've hired out to the North Korean state to steal from multinationals; they've installed ransomware in big companies, and while their footprint has waned, they once controlled 1,000,000 infected systems.

You can check your UEFI to see if it's vulnerable to tampering:

https://eclypsium.com/2019/10/23/protecting-system-firmware-storage/

and also determine whether it has been compromised:

https://eclypsium.com/2020/10/14/protecting-your-organizations-from-mosaicregressor-and-other-uefi-implants/

But this isn't the end, it's just getting started. As Seth Schoen warned us in 2002, the paternalistic mode of computing has a huge, Ken Thompson-shaped hole in it: it requires you trust the benevolence of a manufacturer, and, crucially, they know you don't have a choice.

If companies knew that you *could* alter whom you trusted, they would have to work to earn and keep your trust. If governments knew that ordering a company to compromise on TPMs, they'd understand that their targets would simply shift tactics if they made that order.

Some users would make foolish decisions about whom to trust, but they would also have recourse when a trusted system was revealed to be defective. This is a fight that's into its third decade, and the stakes have never been higher.

Sadly, we are no closer to owner override than we were in 2002.

[jj-lynn21]

Roman & Princess: Castle in the Desert ch 2

Warnings: angst, smut: oral, Daddy kink, 

ch 1  ch 3  ch 4  ch 5

“All you want is here, Princess,” The voice echoes like its far away but large hands trickle down your arms. The arms then fall around you laying on your lower abdomen. Your skin crawls with goose bumps. “You need to be bound.” Your hands fly up in front of you. Wrists being bound with rope as you gasp.

You scream out waking in a cold sweat on the living room couch. You can hear Roman screaming at people he is video conferencing with in his office up stair. It is a comforting feeling for you just to know he is home, and everything is ok.

“Of course, I still have my fucking secretary,” Roman screams. “She should still have notes on that meeting somewhere.” Roman burst out of the office door. “Hey, Princess you want to come up here to join the meeting?” When he calls on you of course his voice is more respectfully.

You just have a hot pink V-neck t-shirt and dark denim jeans on, “do I look ok for a video meeting?”

“Half those fuckers aren’t even wearing pants,” Roman chuckles. “And Dorothy isn’t wearing a bra. The more I yell the more everyone can see her nipples hardening through her white dress shirt. I knew it always got her off when I went off on the others.”

You smirk while heading up stairs, “You shouldn’t tease the poor girl. She takes fine notes to update me on projects when I work.”

“So, you have the hots for her,” He grins, “and she has the hots for me. Maybe we invite her over to play?”

“You’d give the girl a heart attack,” You laugh as you get to where he is standing. “Now, what actual job do you need help with you horndog?”

“I’ll let Jared explain and you can prove him wrong since he won’t take my word.” Roman leads you into the office sitting down on the chair. Then he pulls you into his lap. “Fucking asshat,” Roman mumbles before turning the speaker back on from mute. “Jared I am sure my secretary can clear up things for you. She is meticulous in everything she does.”

“Of course, I can help with anything you need, Mr. Godfrey,” You are trying to sound more professional to over-compensate for Roman being a little unprofessional.

Roman moves your hair back. His nose nuzzling behind your ear. You do your best to keep a straight face as Jared claims Roman did not approve the distribution of N95 masks from Godfrey industries to the Hemlock Grove children’s hospital.

“Why would I not approve that you, fucktard,” Roman shoots at him. “It is fucking children’s lives at stake with cancer and shit that makes there fucking immunity shut down. I don’t care what you fuckers think about me. I’m not a fucking heartless monster.”

You open another window on the computer as quick as possible. “I got this Mr. Godfrey,” you type in some search terms in the box looking for both the video where to topic was discussed and a paper trail showing Roman signed something and sent it out to everyone who needed to see it. “Jared it looks like one week ago Roman discussed sending the masks out with the whole group. I will send everyone the video. Then he signed paperwork needed to approve the transaction. He sent the paperwork to all of you and the hospital telling them they could expect the masks in the few days. So, I understand why the hospital has messaged Roman with concerns why the much-needed masks are not there. I think you guys better get on that asap.”

“I’m not so sure about the rest of you fucking morons but she knows how to get shit done,” Roman praises you while belittling his staff. “And she gives great head.”

You blush, “Mr. Godfrey do you need me for anything else?”

Roman just nods yes. Snaps his fingers down low for you to kneel before him. You do. Look up at him. And bite your lip. Its not like they could see what you were doing, just see his reaction you supposed. He unzipped his zipper. You went about your other job as he did his best to continue his meeting. He runs his fingers through your hair.

“Dorothy, thank you for starting on the process for this last work.” Roman bites his lip closing his eyes a few seconds. “Just finish that work up fax what needs to be resigned and I will get it back asap. And the rest of you. Do your fucking job. Get those masks to the Doctors and nurses in need. I’m done” He leans back in the seat sucking his breath before letting out a moan. His free hand groping for the power switch on his computer. But they all heard him before the meeting disconnected. They knew or strongly suspected what was happening. And Roman fucking loved that.

“Fuck Princess you’re so powerful,” His hip thrust his cock to the back of your throat. “You showed those fuckers you’re their boss.” You make a choking sound. “Relax, Princess. Daddy’s just going to fuck your throat until he’s ready to cum.” He pulls your hair in his fist keeping you in place. “You know how much the Mr. Godfrey shit turns me on, Princess.”

You try to relax. Breath through your nose. Your arms wrapped around his thighs. Head bobby at his will. You know if its really to much all you need to do is squeeze the skin between his thighs. You are almost there. Your cheeks puffed out. His girth filling your mouth completely. His tip banging the back of your throat. Tears run down your face. Mouth really to full to truly whimper.

Roman has been watching you for the whole time. For those signs you give. The ones you are giving him right now. The tears he loves to see streaking down your face. The only thing that slightly annoys him is the damn water-proof mascara you started wearing so it does flow down your face with your tears, “hang in there, Princess. Fuck your such a good girl. Daddy’s going to get you something nice for this. Oh shit…”

He pulls out. You take a deep breath in and out. Roman cums on your bare chest and down the front of your shirt with a deep loud groan. You sit there catching your breath fully. Chest heaving.

“Fuck, yes yes…” Roman murmurs. His head back looking up at the ceiling. Eye wonky rolling to one side. The other stable.

Roman picks you up. “Let’s get you in the spa tub for a nice soak Princess. You want bubbles?”

You nod yes.

He sits you on the sink and draws your bath with lots of foamy bubbles. Strips your cloths off and tosses them in the sink. Then puts you in the bath. “I’ll rinse these, so they are easier to clean in the laundry. I know this is your favorite shirt. I’ll bring you some blood orange juice after I make that call to Bill. I want to leave for Vegas in a few hours.”

“That sounds good,” eyes closed laying against the tub pillow.

[thebookworm0001]

Words cannot express how much i want either a gaming laptop or a pc

Friend, I understand you completely. It’s why I saved up for a long time to build my own. Did you come here for a how-to on how to build one for yourself? Probably not! But I’m gonna tell you how anyway because it is significantly cheaper to build yourself a pc than to buy one (and laptops are even more expensive).

So! You wanna build a computer? Here’s what you need:

-Motherboard. All the things plug into this. Very Important. Do not break. When handling, touch metal beforehand so you don’t shock it with static and fry it. Comes in 3 sizes aka form factors: ATX (standard). mATX (smaller). itx (holy shit its tiny) smaller=/=cheaper! all pretty much have the same layout and all come with a manual. front panel connectors are a bitch.

-CPU. Your processor! The thing that processes all the ones and zeros into shit you actually understand. Very expensive. Very delicate. Do not drop. Needs something to keep it cool. Lots of cpus will come with a cpu fan in the box but not all. They touch the cpu with a weird paste called thermal paste that helps heat go away. Fans or liquid cooling will screw into the motherboard over the cpu.

-GPU. The most expensive part of your build, probably. If you’re building a gaming pc it’ll probably be ~1/3 of your budget. It’s the thing that makes everything pretty and visible. Gotta have a graphics card to see what the ones and zeros are doing. Two brands rule the GPU market: Nvidia and AMD. Idk if one is better than the other but I went AMD because i could get a better one for cheaper so.

-RAM. Your computer’s short-term memory. Lots of RAM means more tabs of Google Chrome open at a time. 16 gigs will get you through just about anything. 32 is generally overkill. 8 is less than you want for a dedicated gaming pc since most newer games have a higher RAM demand.

-Storage. Comes in two forms: a physical hard drive (reliable but kinda slow at this point when compared to an ssd. definitely your cheapest option) or a solid-state drive (smaller than a HD. much faster. more expensive. generally comes either as a 2.5″ brick-looking thing or a stick called an m.2 which is even more expensive and even faster) You want enough of this to store your operating system and games on. Lots of people go with a base of 1 TB (1000 gigabytes) because games take up a lot of room. 500 can get you through if your library is smaller or you don’t mind rotating games on and off the computer. can get one big storage thing or as many as you want. some people have a smaller ssd to hold the operating system and frequently used games (so they load fast) and store everything else on a much larger hd.

-Power Supply. Pretty self explanatory. The thing that powers all the other things. You want one that gives you enough power for all the parts to work at the same time at max capacity. Don’t cheap out on this they can do weird shit like explode and break all your parts. Come in three types: non-modular, semi-modular, and modular. it just determines how many power cords are permanently attached to the power supply. non-modular are cheaper, but tend to have mustard-and-ketchup colored cords (not pretty) and they can be a pain to manage. you gotta hide those extra cords you aren’t using somewhere (which is why people like cases with a ‘shroud’ or little box that hides the power supply). Modular are more expensive but it’s really nice to only plug in the cables you need. 

-Operating system. Yeah you built the computer but you gotta have a thing that lets you interact with it. Windows is the most common. You can also get it for free. Kinda. Gotta flash drive? Go here and download the windows installer, stick the usb into your new computer and BAM! Windows is installed. You’ll have a nasty watermark and be unable to put your own background on it without an activation key (~$130 for Windows 10) but you can use it.

-Case. The thing you put everything else into. Can be plain black boxes or wierd illuminati pyramid things. Make sure the size matches up with your motherboard form factor. There are these little screws called standoffs in the case that secure the motherboard to it. The standoffs have to match up or the motherboard won’t fit. Power supplies and graphics cards also have to fit inside the case - make sure it’s big enough. Those dimensions will be listed with the info for the case and the individual parts. Case can come with fans or without. (You need fans. They keep your parts from heating up - which kills them. there’s also water cooling but its more expensive and scares the heck out of me. most cases only really need the fans that come with but you can add more.)

That’s it! (well. plus a monitor and keyboard and mouse and speakers/headphones but those aren’t the computer. also optional: rgb - the fun lights that make your case look like a unicorn barfed inside it. can be part of your fans or just strips of lights. lots of gaming motherboards have rgb built in. i like rgb.)

Sites like https://pcpartpicker.com/ will help you figure out the parts you need and if they’re compatible. Because it sucks to buy your parts and realize they don’t go together. The big ones? Motherboard and cpu. CPUs are generally made by either Intel or AMD. Currently, AMD is the best bang for your buck. Motherboards are designed to work with one brand of cpu - and generally specific chipsets. Motherboards will tell you the chipsets or series they work with (eg a 3000 series chipset which means it can work with any ryzen 3000 cpu like a Ryzen 5 3600 or 9 3900x). Motherboards will also only work with specific RAM depending on your CPU. There’s a support page on their sites that gives cpu and ram compatibility. RAM support pages show up like this:

which sucks (this is for the B550M AORUS ELITE (rev. 1.0) board from Gigabyte)

just google that module pin and the right shit will pop up. that first one is the  VENGEANCE® LPX 32GB (4 x 8GB) DDR4 DRAM 4000MHz C19 Memory Kit - Red (aka corsair’s vengence lpx line of ram with 4 8gb sticks of ram that run at 4000 megahertz in a fancy red case - you can see all that info in the pin number if you pay attention but its easier to google. the faster the ram [that MHz number] the more expensive. the more gigabytes the more expensive. ram also comes with rgb options. they are more expensive.)

Always makes sure stuff is compatible. Pcpartpicker will tell you if something isn’t. It’s very helpful. but also check the motherboard support lists. nothing else has compatibility issues generally: manufacturers want you to be able to use whatever parts you can get with their stuff so you keep buying from them.

sites like https://benchmarks.ul.com/ https://www.gpucheck.com/ and https://www.userbenchmark.com/ are great for comparing. wanna know if you can get a cheaper part that works just as well? go to these places. 

benchmarks.ul

gpucheck (RX Vega 56 vs AMD Radeon Rx 5600 xt)

userbenchmark (Jedi: Fallen Order recommended parts vs my own build)

Newegg.com is a really great place to buy your parts and it usually has the cheapest prices. Make sure to shop around though. pcpartspicker is pretty good about telling you where the best prices are, but sometimes amazon or newegg will drop their prices randomly. also with the plague times, prices and availability are fucking weird right now. stuff will be out of stock for weeks. just. pay attention and check frequently.

I really like this video for trying to figure out budgets. Only have $300 to spend? They got you. Have $3000? They’ve got a guide for that as well. There’s a ton of budget build guides out there but this is the most recent one I like. Motherboard prices could be down a bit due to the very recent release of the b550 chipset, but again, plague times are making computer parts more expensive. That channel has a ton of reviews actually (and step-by-step guides for building) and is geared toward the gaming-minded so if they say a laptop or prebuilt computer is good and fits your budget, check it out. Prebuilts make life easier for you, but you can end up getting a less-than-stellar quality with the additional cost of construction. plus building your own means you know exactly what to do when it comes time to upgrade your parts. 

once you put everything where it should go, turn it on! it might not work, that’s okay. you might not have plugged something in all the way! or maybe a part was dead on arrival. get that fixed and install your operating system. once that’s done - get connected to the internets (if you don’t have a wifi card installed you gotta plug that sucker into the wall via an ethernet cable) and start downloading drivers from the motherboard manufacturer’s website and the gpu manufacturer’s website. your motherboard might come with a dvd of them but if you don’t have an optical drive (dvd player) that doesn’t help you. update your operating system. then download your games and play! (you can also do this thing called overclocking where you go into the bios when your computer is loading and max out all your hardware’s settings but that isn’t necessary for casual gameplay and can also void your warranties)

i hope you enjoyed that infodump you didn’t ask for!

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #114

UPDATE 114: Simpler Times

Last time the Undersiders had managed to defeat Coil, and took over Brockton Bay as a result. Dinah is now safe, and all is well...until forty-five minutes later, when they found out Noelle has escaped her vault. Tattletale says that’s very bad. So let’s continue!

Ah, the arc ended, and it seems what follows isn’t an interlude, but a new arc. I’m surprised – while I thought it was possible the arc would continue for maybe one chapter more, I didn’t think this would go straight into the next one. Alright! So, the new arc is called Migration.

Oh, nevermind, this is an interlude, similar to the one with the Wards ages ago, I imagine. There’s a guy called Francis, who is getting scolded for leaving when family is coming over. This Francis person is making money with something his mother doesn’t approve, and he argues they’re on the verge of getting a sponsorship. Oh boy. ‘On the verge’ means it’s not certain. I hope this Francis guy isn’t gambling much on the possibility of a sponsorship. Given how he’s arguing with this as his cornerstone, he’ll be doomed if he doesn’t get the sponsorship.

It’s even worse when it’s revealed this Francis guy isn’t officially in the group yet. Oh dang, he really is gambling a lot. I for one hope it all works well, because otherwise he’s going to get a full serving of ‘I told you so’ from his mother.

That seems to be all. Having placated his mom, Francis walks with his luggage and gets on a bus, giddy he’s possibly annoying other people, and feels smugly superior to other people. Well that’s not an endearing character trait, is it. Still, someone having a bad trait is good, as long as it’s balanced with good traits! But yeah, who is this Francis guy, anyway?

Her face lit up as she saw him. He, in turn, snapped a smart salute. “Captain Noelle, ma’am!”

Oh, I see! I see now! So that’s Noelle...hmm...if Noelle is part of this gaming group, then that’d mean the Travelers are the members of this group. In which case this Francis is either Trickster or Ballistic. Most likely Trickster, I’d say. Alright!

Noelle doesn’t appreciate the playful greetings, coyly telling him to stop, and mentions they’re ‘probationary boyfriend and girlfriend’. So they’re a couple! I see. That’s why Trickster is so invested in Coil helping Noelle. I can sympathize with that, yep. During these outrageously saccharine public displays of affection, Marissa arrives. Mars. Sundancer, no?

I wonder if by now they all had their powers. Maybe they gathered as a gaming group because of their powers. Not that I can think of how they can use their powers. Making miniature suns sure isn’t going to help your gaming skills, unless you use that sun to melt the opponents’ systems, haha

There’s Luke, there’s Jess. Hmmm...by process of elimination, those must be Ballistic and Genesis – supposing Francis really is Trickster. They’re all together. Say, wasn’t there some guy named Oliver, who stayed in the headquarters while everyone else went and fought? I think there was someone with that name. That person hasn’t appeared yet here in this meeting.

Now that they’re all gathered, they can start their discussion for real. Noelle is in charge. Does that mean Trickster – leader of the Travelers – was the second in command, and had to take charge since Noelle can’t?

Apparently they have been discussing about kicking an average player out of the group, because he’s boring and doesn’t have as many fans. Francis, on the other hand, has so many fans – fans I imagine would be upset if he’s kicked out or something. If they’re a new team, then they’ll need as many fans as they can. Pragmatism dictates the person named Cody is kicked out. The emotional factor, though, is what’s giving them trouble. Cody is their friend and this will hurt him a lot.

Noelle nodded.  “Say what you will about Krouse, like how he’s crap when it comes to calling shots-”

“Hey.”

“Or even the fact that he’s prone to ignoring orders if he thinks it’ll help us.  Um, he’s right so long as it’s just him operating solo, but yeah… The thing is, if we’re talking about the big picture, international recognition and going head to head with the best in the world… Krouse has the natural ability to change things up, so we can adapt our strategies to whatever they’re able to pull off.”

Okay, that definitely is Trickster. Trickster’s pretty crap at calling shots, and adapts well enough during the fights. The main character point of view is Trickster’s.

To try to convince them he’s the right person to keep, Francis argues on his behalf, saying this Cody person can’t improve any further, while he can still play better and better. They can’t wait for Cody to improve; they have to act now.

“If you fuck this up for us, you know we’ll never let you live it down,” Luke said.

It’s not like they’ll lose a local tournament. If Francis screws up, they’ll lose boatloads of money and lucrative contracts. Many would think that warrants a little more than ‘never let you live it down’, hah.

Either way, Francis’ arguments were successful. Pretty much everyone agrees to kick Cody out and keep Francis. This can’t be easy to tell Cody, who will do it? Having decided it needed to be done now, they all walk towards the place Cody is at, and it’s decided Francis won’t be right there when Cody is given the boot. Yeah, good idea. It sure would hurt to be replaced and see the guy replacing you sitting right there.

Jess and Francis ride the elevator afterwards, Genesis noting Francis is rather nervous right now.

“The more overconfident you act, the more nervous you are.  And when you’re feeling down, you poke at people, provoke them.  I think you get some validation out of it, like, if you can test people and they’re still your friends after, you can feel confident in that friendship.”

Well, there’s also that Francis enjoys annoying people, apparently. I guess a lot of his behavior is all about needling and annoying other people.

I’m a bit baffled they keep saying Marissa can be a megabitch. She sure seemed like the person least likely to be abrasive towards other people. Maybe she’s the kind who yells into the voice chat.

As expected, Cody didn’t take it very well. They barely got off the elevator when they started hearing the yelling, Cody is accusing Francis of being a conniving prick who started dating Noelle after she was named captain. Hm. I don’t know, I don’t think he’d be that slimy. Francis is a hella unpleasant person, but is he that much of a jerk? I don’t think so.

There’s two people named Oliver and Chris. Ah, there’s Oliver. What’s Oliver’s role in all this? It doesn’t seem like he’s part of the gaming team, so...is he just a friend who tagged along? Is he with them all because he had a power and therefore fit in the Travelers, while Cody and Chris didn’t take part in that villain team because of the lack of powers? Or perhaps...perhaps Cody and Chris are dead? There’s not that many options as to what happened to them. For all I know, they just were left behind while the Travelers...traveled. It doesn’t have to be a sinister deal.

“Cody,” Noelle started, “We talked it over-”

“Without me!”

“Because we knew you’d react like this, and we wanted to be sure we all agreed before we moved ahead.”

“And I bet Krouse was there, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

“Real fair.”

“He kept his mouth shut,” Noelle said.

Not exactly true, Krouse thought.

He’s got a point there, that wasn’t exactly fair. Francis got the chance to argue on his behalf, Cody didn’t get that courtesy. I don’t know, seems to me like they all had already strongly considered accepting Francis into the team, before the meeting started.

As expected, Cody is furious to see Francis here. He really shouldn’t have come. A few lines later, I’m proven wrong, he should be here. So, what’s happening is that they’re going to have one session right now. If Francis does awful, then he’s out and Cody stays. Obviously Cody wants to see Francis crash and burn. I think it’s a given what the result of this all will be.

“Here, Noelle,” Krouse said.  He set his luggage flat on the ground and unzipped it.  There were computers inside, each half the size of a regular desktop, wrapped in layers of towels and plastic sheeting.

“Thanks for the loan.  Don’t trust mine with the sheer amount of crap my cousin downloaded onto it.”

“Actually…” He trailed off, sticking his hands in his pockets.  “I took my old machine, I replaced the power supply, formatted it, installed a clean OS and done all my usual tricks for clearing out the crap that we’ll never use and optimizing it.  You can consider it an early Christmas present.”

Say, doing this right in front of Cody’s not going to make him stop thinking Francis is trying hard to get on Noelle’s good side to get the spot in the team.

What follows is largely paragraphs of stuff I’m not sure what to think about, because it’s them discussing their strategies to play the game. The only thing I can comment about is that Chris and Oliver are like the reserves, although neither of them are very good. Francis used to be one of them.

The strategizing stops when the building rumbles, and a blackout happens. They barely have time to wonder what’s going on and complain about the blackout when there’s a moment of weightlessness.

A heartbeat later, the windows were directly overhead, and he was falling.  He started to scream, but he managed only a monosyllabic, “Ah!” before he fell onto the side of the dining room table, tumbled to one side and slammed into the chairs, the wind knocked out of him.

It sounds like the room turned 90 degrees all of a sudden, fast enough for his body to not even feel how the floor tilts and everything goes topsy-turvy. Perhaps it’s the work of a villain?

Francis was lucky enough to be able to look around and get away from immediate danger, Noelle wasn’t so lucky. She crashed onto a chair, and then the computers fell on her. That’s got to hurt, those aren’t soft objects at all. There’s no word on how the rest are like, but they must currently be being pelted by objects. I hope they’re protecting their heads, but I’m kind of expecting a fracture or two.

Noelle is so hurt she’s bleeding from the nose and mouth, that sounds kind of like a concussion. I wonder if that affected anything in the present. But hey, you know what? All that’s happening right now is a good chance for trigger events, especially because soon it’s revealed Chris is dead. What about Cody, he okay?

Since the apartment has turned ninety degrees, leaving to a safe place is going to be rather difficult. Is this apartment the only thing that rotated? What’ll they see if they manage to get to the entrance door? Hmmm...also, what caused this? There’s a mention of a constant female scream. If it’s not one of the gals who are still awake and conscious, is it the parahuman who caused this to happen?

It takes a few minutes to be able to reunite with the rest, thanks to a knotted sheet. Francis manages to climb it even though he’s carrying Noelle, reaching the place with the rest. Chris had quite the gruesome death, but at least it sounds like it may have been instant. Everyone except Marissa is trying very hard not to look at it.

“We need a way out of here first.” Luke looked up at the windows, ten feet above their heads.  Neither the floor nor the ceiling offered anything to grip.

Since it’s a window that’s on what’s now the ceiling, and it seems like this apartment was on the top floor, it’d give them access to the very top of the building, no? Hm...that’d be almost impossible to go down from, unless what turned ninety degrees was the entire building – which isn’t that unlikely, but I imagine it’d cause quite the commotion outside, enough for them to hear screams and panic.

It takes some effort, but they manage to get up there. It’s pretty cold, which is bad when you’re already injured and in shock. With some luck they’ll find a safe place, but yeah, they have to get help as soon as possible.

He stared out at the city around him. Snow had been stirred into clouds, and half a dozen buildings had obviously been knocked down, judging by the remaining wreckage.  Luke’s apartment building had toppled.  How did it not collapse in on our heads?

Oh! Alright, the entire building did fall down! I know this is a rough situation, but given how suddenly and quickly it happened the people inside didn’t even have time to notice everything was tilting, I keep imagining the building just...turned ninety degrees in the blink of an eye. It’s such a cartoonish mental image.

The state of the building is the least of their concerns, anyway. They have to do something to survive the current problem. The constant scream isn’t helping. Soon they find the source of the song, and here is when I get giddy. There she is!

“The Simurgh,” Jess corrected, her voice small.  “What is she doing here?  Why is she here?”

Oh boy, that makes two Endbringers seen in the story. No, the Simurgh interfering with Dragon’s communications didn’t count, that was too brief. Only one is left! Knowing Mr. Wildbow, it’s bound to happen at some point!

Francis’ suggestion is to run, which although is a sensible reaction and definitely what anyone should do, I don’t think it’ll be of much help. Good thing it’s guaranteed most of the people here will survive to be the Travelers. I suppose the city will be destroyed and, having nothing left and no family to go back to – ouch – they turn into their nomadic lifestyle? Also, Cody is so dead. I suppose something the Simurgh does will lead to his demise.

This is a bit of a short update, but I have to end it here.

Next time: next update

[sunflowerstache]

Not So Bad In L.A

A/N: Hi again guys! I’m so sorry it took so long to update, I was having so many technical problems posting, but I finally made it work! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, it was super fun to write! I love hearing from y'all about what you think of the storyline so far or any questions, comments, suggestions you may have so please let me know! I absolutely adore hearing from you guys! Again, thank you so much for the support, I love you all immensely!

Chapter 2: Take The Time To Waste A Moment      January 28, 2017

Word Count: 4.8k 

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You knew you really had nothing to be complaining about, because in retrospect, you understood your career is relatively laid back compared to many others. But does that stop you from hanging your head and groaning every five minutes? Absolutely not. You and the girls had been in Los Angeles for about a month now, and you all really couldn’t be happier. Bri and Sav were spending every day at their internships at The Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising (FIDM for short) in hopes of being recruited once their six months was finished. Bella, as per Nick’s prediction, had found herself spending many nights with the lucky guys she had deemed worthy of her time. And you? Sure, you’ve gone out and seen some of the beautiful city you moved to, but you had just gotten a new job and were doing everything in your power to make a name for yourself.

“Y/N come on! You’ve been cooped up in your room forever.” Bri walked into your room and flopped down on your bed, “We’ve been in L.A for like a month and you’ve barely left the apartment.”

“IfeellikeImadeamistake.” You mumbled, throwing your head in your hands and she asked, “Huh?”

“I feel like I made a mistake.” Spinning around in your desk chair to face her, you tossed the pile of magazines, that currently lived on your desk, in the trash can, “I thought coming here would help me, ya know, like get into the headspace I need. But I’m just so stuck and I have to submit this by Tuesday. And I can’t be late with it ‘cause it’s my first article and I just got hired and I don’t want them to thin-“

“Hey! Slow down Usain, you’re gonna get hysterical in a minute and you know I can’t handle that.” She smiled, moving to sit up on the bed, “Take a deep breath please.”

Doing as she said, you felt your heart rate slowly being to go down and you rubbed your hands on your jeans. “There ya go. Alright, listen up sister. You’re fucking talented as shit, you got that?” Bri stared at you and waited until you nodded softly, “They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t love your work and think you were talented.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t under as much pressure for any of the work in my portfolio. What if I’m just not good anymore? What if I just can’t write when there’s actual things at stake… like paying bills or like buying food!” It had been quite a while since you had had a breakdown over work. While living at home, you didn’t have to worry as much about how well your writing did when you submitted to local magazines. It was something you did more as a hobby during high school, and then during college you started getting paid for it. But now, everything was riding on it. Yes, you had gotten hired by a great company who obviously thought you would succeed, but this is a whole new ball game for you.

“I mean I’m not gonna tell you that you’re wrong, ‘cause it is gonna be a lot different than when you were writing in high school and college. And yeah, the stakes are a bit higher, but Y/N, come on. You know you’re good. You wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t. You’re such a talented writer and you’re an insane videographer. I mean you have fan accounts for fucks sake.” She laughed, getting up from the bed and walking over to kiss the top of your head

“Thanks B. Always know you can set my head back on right.”

“You know it girlfriend. Also, you better have a great time tonight, it’s the first time you’re actually going out since being here.”

Bri’s comment made your eyes widen, like they were going to pop out of your head, when you realized what day it was, “Shit Bri, I gotta go pick up Nick!” Shooting up from your chair, you ran across your room to throw on your yellow vans and denim jacket to pair with your black leggings and white t shirt. Nick was flying in today and you knew if you were even seconds late, you would never hear the end of it. Mental breakdown forgotten, it was finally time to see your favorite British lad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Look, I’m still not gonna tell you where we’re going tonight.” You had made it in time to pick up Nick, granted he was an hour late which lead to a conversation about timeliness - even though you were aware he had no control over his flight - and now here you were. Sitting on your couch, surrounded by all four of your best friends.

“Yeah, but we at least have to make sure she looks cute. You never know who you’ll run into.” Bella wagged her eyebrows as she lifter her glass of roséup to her lips

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know where we’re going?!” a small gasp slide past your lips as you realized your friends all knew what was happening tonight.

“Well I mean, I had’ta get someone’s opinion.” Nick shrugged, “I just should have assumed that tweedle dee was going to tell tweedle dumb and dumber.”

“Ya know, I just really find it unfair that I’m the one attending whatever the hell is happening tonight and literally everyone but me knows what it is.” You stood up from the couch and pointed in the direction of your bedroom, “But let’s go. Show me what to wear my all-knowing friends.” The five of you made your way out of the living room and towards your bedroom. Your place was quaint. The brightness of it had been what drew the four of you in in the first place. The walls throughout were various shades of white and windows littered the walls, providing much needed natural light. You had the cutest fireplace in your living room, accompanied by your grey couch, gold coffee table, and tons of green plants.

“I’m thinking something super simple but still hot.” Bella walked straight over to your closet and began digging through your items.

“You’ll be on your feet all night, so get cozy.” Nick grinned, leaning back in your desk chair and flipping through one of your magazines, “You in this one?”

“No.” you mumbled, walking to your vanity to grab some hair clips for Sav so she could start your hair. the same time Bri yelled, still picking out your outfit, “She had a breakdown before she picked you up earlier. Doesn’t think she’s good enough to write anymore!”

“Gee thanks B, why don’t you just post about it, so everyone knows.” Dropping down to the floor, you sat criss cross in front of Sav – who was waiting on your bed, so she could start her process

“What d’ya mean you ain’t good enough? You have a degree in this shit Y/N of course you’re good.” Frowning, Nick woke up your computer and began reading the unfinished piece on your desktop, “This is bloody fantastic. They’d be stupid not to love it.”

“I don’t know. Just second guessing myself I guess.” You shrugged

“THIS!” Bella shrieked, running out of the closet holding a black, off the shoulder, long sleeve shirt and black booties, “This is what you’re wearing. With jeans. Super simple but still sexy. Nick what are you doing?”

“None of your business.”

“You know, you’re staying in my home. Maybe I’ll just take all your shit out of the guest room and put it on that couch down on the corner. I’m sure that man would love to have a cuddle buddy tonight.” Sav was easily the wittiest out of the four of us, always coming back with jabs quicker than any of us could think. This is how you imagined your life in Los Angeles. Surrounded by the best people you knew and getting ready to have an amazing night. You just wish you weren’t being kept in the dark. Bella and Bri laid down on your pink duvet, behind Sav, while Nick continued to read some more of your unfinished work on the computer.

“Yeah. Jeans and that shirt are good. Simple is good tonight.” He said, shutting your computer off and standing up from your desk, “Add a cute bag or summat. I’m getting dressed”. The girls helped you finish getting ready, adding “that belt you got from that store in Georgia! Remember that place with the old redneck guy and the weird painting of redneck Elvis!” as per Sav’s request. You let to meet Nick out in your living room and just like your expected, he looked like his usual self. Ripped black skinny jeans, his black and tan striped sweater, and a pair of brown Chelsea boots. “Looking dashing as ever darling.” He peered up from his phone as he heard your heels clicking into the room.

“Don’t butter me up Nicholas. I better have a fan-fucking-tastic time tonight or I’ll take Sav up on her offer.” You threatened, everyone in the room hearing the joking tone behind your empty threat, “Let’s go.”

“No need for the hostility. Just texting my mates to see if we can head over.” The girls, who had perched themselves back on the couch, snickered hearing Nick speak about the friends you would be meeting up with, “Alright, all set. Just gotta take a wee!” He quickly ran back down the hall as Bella grinned, “Have fun tonight.”

“Oh shut up will ya. Shouldn’t you be at what’s his face’s house by now?”

“Ready?” Nick strolled out, placing his hand on your back to lead you towards the door. “Let’s blow this popsicle bar.”

“Stand Nick. It’s popsicle stand.” You chuckled, stepping through the front door and starting your first night out in Los Angeles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Really? This is our exciting night out?” you proclaimed as Nick nodded, “My first real night out since moving to L.A and your big surprise is to take me to the Forum?”

“Hey! If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be sitting at your desk, probably pulling your hair out and talking shit about yourself. So, you should really be thanking me.” The two of you had gotten dropped off at the side entrance of the building, and were now making your way into the venue, maneuvering up staircases and through the crowds. You always loved going out with Nick and looking to see if anyone recognized him. It happened more often when you were in London, but every once and while, he would get spotted instantly in the U.S. Today, however, you didn’t really see anyone noticing him.

“Wait, who are we even seeing?” you questioned but all he did was shake his head, “You’ll see. Come on, gotta find our seats. Making your way up yet another set of stairs, the sound of your heels clicking being drowned out by the opening act, who was finishing their set. “Wow Nicholas, getting a private box for the show, how very posh of you.” You laughed as you both walked up to the man checking tickets.

“Hush with the 20 questions, would you? Just be a normal person and be grateful I brought you here in the first place.”

“I would be grateful if I knew who we were seeing.” You replied, begrudgingly, as the two of you walked down the small hallway where it finally opened up into the small, private seating area. There was a small group of people standing down by the railing, while some were off to either side, pouring drinks and enjoying the end of the opening act.

“You must be daft. We walked by at least five posters. Go down and enjoy, I gotta say hi to some people and grab us drinks.” Nick responded as he slowly left you standing in the middle of the entryway

“Nick!” you whisper shouted, “I have no idea who any of these people are. You can’t just leave me here!” Due to the loud instrumental of the opening act walking off stage, he didn’t hear your complaining and continued to walk away from you. Sighing, you decided to make your way down the small set of steps and join the small group against the railing. Looking at them, you felt your breath freeze in your lungs as you recognized one of the females to be Kendall Jenner. Like THE Kendall Jenner that you were just watching on TV earlier that day. This was already an interesting night. They glanced your way and gave a small smile when they didn’t recognize you, before turning back to face the stage and continue their conversation. You had to give it to Nick, you were happy to be out of your apartment and finally doing something fun. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to experience Los Angeles, you did! You just wanted to perfect your job before getting to wild and screwing anything up. You turned your head quickly when hearing Nick’s very loud laugh coming from behind you.

“Stupid Nick.” You mumbled, quietly to yourself, “’Let’s go out’ he says. ‘You’re gonna have a great time’ he says. Sure, just leave me here to fend for myself why don’t ya dickhead.”

“I hear talkin’ to yourself means you’re actually a genius.” A voice spoke up from behind you, sounding eerily familiar, yet completely unknown. Turning around, you opened your mouth to lay into whoever had snuck up on you, but it was like your body shut down. Your eyes widen quickly, before you regained composure, and turned back around to face the stage.

“I guess just call me Albert Einstein then.” The man laughed at that and you looked down at your hands resting on the railing, now picking the skin on your pointer finger.

“Well, very nice to meet you Mr. Einstein. Very fond of your work.” He replied, moving to stand right up against the rail next to you

“Oh yeah. E=MC2was a real dozy.” You laughed

It was quiet for a minute, well, as quiet as it could get with thousands of talking fans and music playing throughout the venue. You were still trying to wrap your head around who was standing next to you. Who you were speaking with, and quite frankly, how you were able to form coherent sentences. “’M Harry.”

“I know.” You had a small smile on your face as you gently looked up at him, and when you did he was nodding, like he already assumed you knew him, “Y/N.” He looked down at you after that and when your eyes met, you felt your nerves come pouring out. “I – I mean, I’m-. Y/N’s my name. Not yours. Cleary it’s not yours, you just told me yours. And obviously you know that’s not you – your name. I’m Y/N.” you could feel your cheeks getting warm, as they turned a light hue of pink, at your embarrassing rambles.

“Figured that’s what you meant.” He smiled, “So, you’re friends with Nick.”

“Unfortunately.” You chuckled, but instantly regretted your comment as your remembered Nick and Harry were best friends, “He’s great… when he doesn’t take me out for the night and then ditch me.”

“One time, he took me to dinner with some people from BBC and then proceeded to leave without me, forgetting he brought me with him.” Harry recalled, turning fully so that the two of you now faced each other

“I’ll do ya one better. Like a year ago, he begged me for weeks to come out and visit him. So, finally I agree and tell him when my flight lands. Get into Heathrow and call him to come pick me up, only to find out he went to New York with Rita. So, I ended up spending a week in London by myself.” Talking with Harry was surprisingly easier than your initial thought. The nerves had dissipated and now, for some reason, it was like you were talking with someone who you’ve known for years. Maybe it was the bashing of Nick that made you feel more comfortable, or maybe it was because you had wanted this moment to happen for so long. Either way, you were living your fantasy.

“My two favorite people! What’s going on?” Nick grinned, walking away from the bar and towards you and Harry.

“Just discussing all the times you’ve been flaky.” Throwing his arm around Nick’s shoulder, Harry went in for a hug, “Good t’ see you mate. Been a while.” The two of them stood and spoke for a minute, so you decided to walk over and grab a quick drink. After all, you would be spending the night at an event with one of your long-time celebrity crushes. A rum and coke, or two, would definitely be in your cards tonight. All of a sudden, the lights dimmed, and loud cheers were head echoing through the venue, so you quickly finished pouring your drink and made your way back over to Nick, and subsequently, Harry.

“Okay, you gonna tell me now who’s playing?” you asked returning to your place beside Harry, who whipped his head around to Nick so fast you swore he would have whiplash.

“You didn’t even tell her who was playing tonight? Some friend you are.”

“Oi! I was trying to get her out of her house and help her make some friends. She just moved here for fucks sake!” you could see the smile lines start to creep up in the corner or Nicks eyes, indicating that he knew the two of you were just yanking his chain. Harry turned back to talk to you when the sound of drums filled the air, and chills instantly covered your body.

“KINGS OF LEON?! Nick you’re joking!” you screamed leaning over the railing, and around Harry, to look at Nick

“Told you you’d enjoy yourself.” He laughed, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging.

Kings of Lean had been one of your favorite bands for years and always being your go to drunk karaoke band. You had told Nick one night, during your last visit to London, how much you would die to see them live and how much they meant to you. Not only did he come through and hook you up, but he also brought you to a show accompanied by none other than THE Harry Styles - someone he also knew you adored. The talking was kept to a minimum during the first half of the set, everyone thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere. But none the less, you got to have some great conversations with Harry. He was surprisingly laid back for someone of his notoriety. It was interesting to watch Harry be a part of the crowd instead of on stage. During his time in One Direction, he had been notorious for being quite wild on stage, so seeing him on the opposite side was a sight to see. He swayed to the beats, threw his hands in the air every so often, played the air guitar occasionally, and sang his little heart out. Not to mention stole a few quick glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You were. Obviously, you had all lost your shit during “Eyes on You” and “Sex on Fire” – those being some of hypest songs during the first half of the show. The music slowly began to shift from loud and in your face, to quiet and soothing. The band opting for taking a small break from rocking out and providing some acoustic songs.

“So, you just moved here. Where from? If you don’t mind me asking.” Harry asked, noticing your lack of interest in the current song

“Charleston, South Carolina.” You nodded, always loving talking about your home

“Ahh, I love it down there. So beautiful and everyone’s always so kind.”

“Who’ve you been talking to? Definitely only nice to you ‘cause you’re Harry Styles.” You laughed, but then your insecurity came lurching back up and felt horrible for saying that, “Not that there’s anything wrong with you being Harry Styles. ‘Cause there’s not. Ya know, any - anything wrong with that.”

“Cute when yeh ramble.” It sounded so natural coming from his lips, but you could swear your heart rate increased tenfold. Harry Styles just said you were cute. You. “So, why make the move to L.A?”

“Work mostly. My friends also kind of had a hand in the decision, but we’re all just trying to make it in our fields I guess. Just like everyone else.”

“And what field is that?” he scrunched up his nose, “Sorry, ‘M being nosey aren’t I?”

“No, no it’s okay. I adore my job, so I love talking about it. I’m a travel writer for “Travel and Leisure Magazine”. I get to work from home, or wherever I am at the time, and just write about the culture or food or experiences there. And I just submit the work to my boss. Basically, I write to inform the readers about potential vacation spots or locations to move to.” You beamed, loving getting the chance to talk about the one thing that made you the happiest

“That’s amazing. I’ve always loved traveling, one of the greatest parts of my job really. And getting paid to travel and write about it must be thrilling.” He looked so in awe of you and your job that it made your heart tingle.

“It really is. My whole life I was stuck in South Carolina. Grew up there. Went to college there. And I just knew there was so much of the world I wanted to see. So, I declared my major, got a job at a small magazine and was able to start traveling for money. That’s when I met Nick.”

“Good for you. Seriously, that’s fantastic. How’s L.A helping you with all that?”

“It’s good! I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately, just worried I made a mistake coming all the way out here and that – surprise, I’m actually a horrible writer.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back and leaned in closer to speak to you as the music got a bit louder, “I’m sure you’re fantastic. Wouldn’t have made it out here if you weren’t eh?” 

“Thanks.” You blushed, “I don’t really think I would have decided to make the move our here if it wasn’t for my friends. Two of them are trying to break out into the fashion world, so they convinced the rest of us to move with them.”            “Show me some of their stuff sometime, I’d love to take a look.” You always knew he was the most into fashion out of his band, but you never in a million years thought you would be talking to him about it.            

“Sometime huh? Think we’ll be seeing each other again?” you joked, turning back to watch the rest of the show, as the acoustic set had just finished, and the music was picking back up with the song “Find Me”.             

“I hope so.” Your cheeks were in a constant state of warmth the rest of the show. Nick had brought the three of you more drinks, enough to the point where you were feeling pretty loose by the last two songs of the night. You were having the time of your life – watching one of your favorite bands, with one of your best friends, and a man you had only hoped of meeting in your dreams. The notes of “Waste a Moment” began to play and you stopped your jumping around to hold onto the railing tightly with one hand, the other placed over your heart. You could feel your blood pumping through your veins and nothing else existed other than the stage and the four men standing on it.

“You alright?” you heard from your left, but you couldn’t form any words

“Song just means a lot to her. It’s her brother’s favorite.” You heard Nick yell over the sound of Caleb Followill’s voice. All too soon, the guitar and drums faded and the band was screaming their “THANK YOU”s to the crowd, while the lights began to get brighter.

“Y/N.” Nick sounded from right behind you, a hand on your elbow, requesting you turn around to face him, “Come on, let’s go.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry,” you breathed out a laugh, “Just really love them.” Looking to say your goodbye’s to Harry before walking out, you saw him putting on his red coat while saying his own goodbye’s to some friends – Kendall included

“Nice to see you again Ken. I’ll see you soon.” You could hear very quietly fall from his lips, before turning back to face you and Nick, “Mind if I walk out with you?” Stunned that he wanted to spend more time with you tonight, you shook your head and held your hand out towards the stairway. This time, on your way down the stairs, you felt all the eyes on your group. Obviously because of who was walking with you, and you knew you’d be seeing his, and possibly your, figure all over the internet tomorrow, leaving the venue.

“You ever get used to all the staring?” it was something you had always wondered

“It’s always a bit weird to have hundreds of people just staring at you. So, I wouldn’t say it gets any less weird, just get more used to it.” He looked a bit sad by the statement, and you couldn’t blame him. Years of being in the spotlight has to be difficult. “Hey, before we go our separate ways, I just wanted to ask you. Uhm-“ he stopped, hearing a fan scream his name from across the parking lot, “My birthday’s next week. And ‘m having a bit of a gathering at a restaurant with some mates. I know Nick’s coming. Why don’t you tag along with him?”

You stopped in the middle of the walkway, forcing Nick, who was holding your hand to make sure you didn’t get lost, stop in his tracks as well. “What’d ya say to her Styles. Swear, I’m never gonna be able to bring any friends around you anymore.” Nick groaned

“Just invited her to my party next week. Piss off.” He glanced down to you, “Of course if you’re not free, don’t worry about it. I know it’s last minute.”

“She’s coming.”

“She’s right here and can speak for herself, thank you Nicholas.” Rolling your eyes, you looked at Harry, “Yeah. Sure. I’d love to come.”

Nodding to himself, he looked very pleased, “Great. I’ll be sure to brush up on my theory of relativity for you Mr. Einstein.” He smiled and then pointed with his thumb behind him, “Well, I gotta go, so I’ll talk to you both later, yeah? It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N.”

“Yeah, you-you too Harry.” Watching Harry get into his car, Nick’s grip on your hand tightened and he spun you around, “What the bloody hell just happened?!”

“I don’t – I don’t even know bro.” you giggled, not even sure yourself what happened tonight

“Did I just unknowingly play match maker?!”

“No Nick! I was a blubbering, stuttering idiot. You did nothing. Except leave me. I’m still pissed by the way. Who does that?”

“I would say sorry, but it looked like you had a great time tonight, what with your pink cheeks and all.” He chuckled, “Let’s go, before your moms have an aneurism because I kept you out past curfew. I really want them to like me, maybe they’ll let me take you out for a second date.”

“Oh, shut up you idiot.” You laughed, pushing him away from you and off the curb into the parking lot cement. Kings of Leon had a special place in your heart. In your entire family’s heart. And now, they held even more of your love. For they had given you a night you had only ever dreamed about. If this was what living in Los Angeles was going to be, then it really wasn’t so bad in L.A.

TagList: @staceystoleyourheart @faith8993 @theasstour @emotionally-imbruised @isitjamiemoriarty @swayingnoodlelove @hes-a-rainbow @harrygivenchy @customhucci @artdecobae @bridge-to-terabethia @pinkflowerharry @carolinaghosts and also tagging @meetyourmouths @meet-me-in-the-kitchen & @pendantstyles because they’re three of the absolute sweetest most genuine humans I know and also three writers i look up to/admire with my whole entire being and heart and hope to do them justice one day

[konnoutagoewa]

The Big O

Early 2018.

By order of President Trump (aka "Big Orange"), American server owners were allowed to charge money for access to their servers - an action which became famous as "the death of net neutrality". Soon, prices sky-rocketed, making the Web a place exclusively for the richest of the rich. The rest of the population rebelled against the loss of their freedom, but were suppressed by armed forces, resulting in a large-scale rebellion against the government that quickly spread around the globe's World-Wide-Web citizens forced to emigrate to the darker ends of the Internet. "Nerds", previously bullied for their interest in automated technologies, quickly rose as national heroes, being the only ones with the knowledge to oppose the orange forces.

Years later . . .

Trin didn't need her eyes to type. In fact, with the speed her fingers were moving over the keyboard, no eyes could help her do it any better. Thus her eyes were glued to the screen, dashing over the numerous data that flowed over it, with her glasses reflecting it in the otherwise mostly dark room where her keyboard resounded. A faint light seemed to dare that reflection from the other end of the room, flickering brighter from time to time, showing how much data passed the little computer it was attached to. But Trin didn't need to look at it - amongst the tons of information that were on her display, she could fish out the state of the Raspberry Pi in less than a moment. Yet her interest was dedicated to a completely different server - one far away from her, and one that she was not precisely expected to have access to. That surely made it significantly harder for her to access it and get the information she wanted, but ust because she wasn't expected to do so didn't mean she didn't have the right to - or the abilities.

Her fingers stopped moving.

"They are using UNIX?!" she shouted in the small, dark room. "What the hell . . ." she added on to it with a whisper and a grin. The system she turned out to be faced with was a spinoff of her favorite system that used to be made through the efforts of many, many freelancer coders and, with the downfall of internet freedom, went crashing as well - soon becoming illegal and replaced by the much more monolithic and useless Windows system, made off the money they gained from forcing people to use it. Nonetheless, most of her computers ran a very similar Linux system, in its core elements the same as every other Unix - it was flexible, it was fast, it had all the tools she could ever need, and most of all, it allowed her to remain quiet and unnoticed - quite vital traits for someone with her way of life.

Knowing what she was working with, the rest became fairly easy: she knew every bug, every backdoor, every little hole in her favorite system and, with a version of it made specifically for forcing such holes open, she proceeded to force her way into the much wankier distro that ran the server she was attacking. Considering her economical status, she would have needed to wait for 50 years before she could access it, but such numbers meant little if you weren't following the law.

Grinning from the thrill of breaking the law, which Trin did daily anyway, she passed a few more arguments into the black rectangle on her screen. A few moments later, the prompt changed. She snickered and started navigating the server, which was now completely under her control. After going around a bit it occurred to her it might be too bothersome to download data from a server via bash, the default language of both computers, while the server was still running, so with a few keystrokes, she switched to SQL and, now in a fitting environment, needed less than a minute to find the files she was ordered for.

Because yes, despite being a hacker and an anarchist, she still had to work, yet she did so with pleasure. Her current job was to publicly release data on molesters from the old times when there were still poor people on the Web to be molested. She didn't have an account for the social network she was hacking, but she had heard of it - after all, "Tumblr" was one of the social networks most influenced by Big Orange's actions. Yet that didn't matter - she did her job, she got paid, and that's all she needed to know. Not that she didn't keep records of all her jobs - it had saved her life a few times already, and why change a bad habit?

The good thing was that the data she was looking for was stuff like IP addresses, user names, etc - the kind of information saved in metadata, which was pretty much everywhere. And Trin had asked for a sample post when receiving the job, so searching for that and exploiting the return value was such a simple approach that she nearly felt like she had scammed off her customer - not that she would give the money back just because the job was easy . . .

Contemplating on the low security of the server, she piped the data download to multiple dedicated servers (read raspies-in-trash-cans-that-she-connected-to-the-internet-beforehand-just-in-case-you-know). It meant that the data would be downloaded on the raspberries instead of her main computer, which in turn meant she couldn't be tracked that easily. It took a while, during which she stared at the screen blankly - if something was going to fuck up, that was the time for it.

Nothing fucked up.

Proud, she disconnected her main computer she had been using so far from the server, deleting her traces in the process, switched to the raspi that was still blinking shyly in the corner of the room and ran the same process backwards - yet this time, instead of random metadata about assholes from the last age, she made her little minions send little packages of scrambled code - every single one of them completely useless, yet put together they made a powerful killcode for the server. She liked the approach. Code golfing had always been a hobby of hers, and let's just say, she also just enjoyed wrecking servers. She originally set up the raspies for DDOS attacks (every single one of them annoying the server until it can't keep up and crashes), but it turned out these could be easily tracked and her home system could do it better anyway, so she started using scrambled killcodes instead. And she was quite proud of the results.

With the server wrecked, she connected to her raspies instead, downloaded the data for the catalogue from there instead, and disconnected again. Job well done, now she just had to wait a bit and find a place to publish it, then get paid - and hope the little ones weren't discovered beforehand. The police had managed to get a few of her minions in the past, but after running apt update, it became too hard for the rather dumb Informatics Technologies Crime Department to keep up with the rather old updates. Still, as someone living on the edge, she had to consider all possibilities, even if all she could do against them was to pray. Not that she wasn't an atheist . . .

Trin stood up from her chair and stretched. It had been a long day she had spent on her computer, and she hurt all over. "God, I might just go by foot tomorrow . . . " she said to the empty room. Tomorrow was Thursday, her day for making deals in real life. Years ago, when she was still burning with a fire for rebellion, she had bought herself a motorbike and, despite it being quite old and rusty now, it helped her move around from place to place when she had to - for example, on Thursdays.

"Oh. Fuck . . . ", she whispered to herself. Thinking of Thursdays, she remembered she had another job to do. Quickly going through some of the drawers on her table, she found an empty memory card and put it in her computer, turning the chair around so that she could just lean on it instead of sitting down again. This job was much easier - she just had to find some files and deliver them directly, no hacking, no DDOSing, no onion routing. Even better - the "files" were one of her favorite series that she even occasionally rewatched, so she didn't even need to find them - she had already down loaded them years ago. In fact, Trin really wanted to talk about it with the customer - there weren't many people she could relate to and spend time with - but again, work politics were important when living like her. She sighed - being an outlaw hacker was cool and all, but it had some drawbacks. How did she wish that she could one day just meet up with someone for a coffee and chat about books and banned Internet series and politics and Linux kernels and bot networks and homemade ISAs and how often she forgot that memory cards were pretty much instantaneous but she forgets it so she keeps waiting for them and then dozes off thinking about coffee dates. Like now, for example. She ejected the card ("Don't want to ruin the goods now, do we?"), put it in her bag with thingies, and after a moment of contemplation about whether she had forgotten something again, put the computer to sleep again.

Again, she stretched, with a considerably deeper sigh this time. "I need a fucking shower," she decided after a short pause, and proceeded to take her tank top and shorts off. She liked hot showers to relax her muscles after a long sitting in front of her machinery, so we will leave her to relax for the night.

~~~

"Aaargh!", she shouted, first thing in the morning, and punched her alarm clock which had just been "brought to life". She had been considering setting the alarm to something else than Evanescence for quite a while, but had never bothered doing it. Until now. She coded at night, for Turing's sake, she couldn't just wake up at eight o'clo- "Fuck?!", she shouted at the clock, and jumped out of her bed immediately. Changing the song was one thing, forgetting to set the timer a completely different one. She rarely cared about waking up early or other such saintly narcissities, but she had one job this time, and she kinda failed at it.

She pulled up a map on her computer. Another good habit of hers was to never uselessly shut it down completely. "Okay so twenty minutes away, I won't make it, but it'll take about five with Bumbs, so what the FUCK AM I WASTING TIME FOR!", she shouted at her screen before hurrying off into the bathroom. Deciding teethbrushing was for losers who had the time for it, she tied her hair a bit more properly than usual - in other words, she did it - and hurried back to put some proper clothes on. Luckily, she wasn't very creative when it came to outfits, which meant she had been wearing the same outfit on Thursdays for a few years now so she didn't waste much time on that. Ready, she took her bag of thingies, dug out her keys, unlocked the front door, ran out, came back, put her fancy shoes on - a pair of punk army boots -, ran out again, then came back again, turned her computer off since she wouldn't need it all day, then went out for the last and final time that morning, and didn't forget to close and lock the door behind her.

"Bumbs," as she playingly referred to her motorbike, was still chained in the common garage where she had last left it. For an anarchaic district, it was better kept than most people would expect - if only because "anarchaic" had acquired the meaning of "moral". She unchained it, swung the chain around the steering bar, took herself a precious minute to put her headphones and the "N2-BMB" playlist on, then pulled her helmet over her (still surprisingly neatly arranged) hair, swung herself over the relatively thin frame of the bike (even after the death of net neutrality, making stuff from carbon fibers remained popular), pushed the key in and, after turning it with a roar, dusted off down the dark, dirty street in the foggy morning light.

~~~

Eva was getting worried. It was already past the time she had expected to be done by, but her contractor still hadn't shown up. She was planning on going - it would be pretty bad if she was late for work - but on the other hand, she was dealing with an underground business, so she wasn't sure what were the consequences for not keeping her end of the deal. She looked at her watch and decided to wait another five minutes before leaving the old, loud, plastic-smelling room that had once been a university's cantina, but was now used as a meeting place for underground deals. Even with the orange forces doing anything to oppose them, nerds had still managed to secure some places for themselves. This university, for example, had been a meeting place for them back in the times when internet was free, and it had remained one.

From the few noises that came from the neighboring street, one separated itself by getting much louder and then ending in an unpleasant squeaking. Less than a minute later, a very chaotically looking individual came in, with a camouflage jacket and their helm still on. With everyone's eyes on them (except maybe for a pair in the corner that was meant for dealing more erotic material), they took their helmet off to unleash a wild, long, curly hair over their freckled, round face. Some whistles were heard, but she ignored them and headed towards the desk. Since it was an anonymous meeting place, the middleman was important, yet he just looked at the card the wildly haired woman showed him and pointed her in the direction of Eva.

Eva sighed. It was about time. The woman approached her, digging for something in an overly big black bag that seemed to consist of countless belts and pockets and a large flap, seemingly made from an old sail (surprisingly, it actually used to be a sail once), that covered them whenever the owner of the bag wasn't digging in its pockets. As Eva watched it, it was flipped back over the bag, as the owner had found what she had been looking for. The woman stopped in front of Eva, took a second to get used to her client being half a head shorter, and reached out her hand, a small card laying in it.

"The goods. Sorry for being late."

~~~

Ping was from China. Most of his customers often assumed Ping was his real name, yet he had just chosen it because he found the bash command to fit the purpose of a middleman that connected Internet junkies in a dystopian world. He had been working with Trin for years, and had long grown accustomed to her frequent latecomings. Otherwise, he liked working with her - she was one of the best at what she did, and still had a sense of humor that was rarely seen in their world. He might have started hitting on her if he had been straight.

As usual, she came at the latest possible time. She showed him the card that was supposed to tell him who he was supposed to connect her to, and without even looking at it, he pointed at the blonde girl at the end of the hall - the person who had been waiting the longest. Trin looked at her and blushed.

"I ain't arranging dates, you'll have to ask her out yourself."

Trin shushed him and went away from the desk. They had met in a gay bar, shortly after Big Orange's idiotic order and a while before gay clubs ended up being forbidden as well. He knew her well enough to know what was going through her head.

The following was going through her head:

"For Bell's sake, I'm late again. I hope they haven't gone away. So, who am I- fuck is she cute. I wonder if . . . Ah, better concentrate on the job, I'm late enough as it is. She's probably straight anyway. Still, no harm in asking her out on a- wait! The card! Yea, I better find that card. Dear, I really have a lot in my bag. Where did I put it again? I think it was here . . . Yup. Funny how such a small thing was still so easy to find. Anyway, let's just hand it over and be done with- oh dear Torvalds, she's shorter than me. So cute! I'd totally have that coffee date with her . . . But dah, that's not my job. Give her the- wait, I should say something. What should I say? WHAT SHOULD I SAY?!"

"The goods. Sorry for being late."

Hesitantly, the short, fair-skinned woman reached for the little chip in the hacker's hand and picked it up with her pinkishly lacquered nails. "Well, you are pretty late . . . it's very small, are you sure that's all I asked for?"

Trin shrugged with a jolting movement. "It's 32 gigs, you know. You could write the soundtrack once more onto it. And you'll still have space left over." Eva pouted her lips, colored to fit her nails. "I didn't ask for the soundtrack . . ." Trin forced herself to a grin. "There was free space?"

For a few moments, the two women looked at each other, slowly blushing. At about the time most people would start sweating furiously, a small LED started blinking on Eva's slim silver wristband, reminding her that she didn't have much more time left to complain in. She jumped slightly, startled by it, tapped it gently, after which a gentle display lit up in the air above it, which she started manipulating with her thin fingers.

Something in Trin's heart twitched. They might have been around for about as long as her, but holographic displays still fascinated her. Such small things, yet graciously bending both light and matter to create elaborate miniatures that disappeared with a blow of the wind . . . yet slowly and surely, her eyes wandered a bit further up from the tiny wonder of engineering.

"So um . . . sorry, but I'm kinda running late, you know, what with you being late and all . . . we settled for 20 dollars, I'll just add another 10 for the soundtrack . . . then, 30 dollars for the first four seasons and their soundtrack, would that be a deal?" Eva looked up to the much taller freckled girl whose hair kept her shaded. Trin just kept staring into her person of interest, still a bit too oblivious to the question.

"Yes?" Eva bowed a bit and looked into Trin's eyes. Trin jumped back with a shout. "D'AAH!"

The eyes of even the shadier corners of the hall were now on them. Trin hid her face behind her hands out of habit, then played it off by combing them through her still wild hair.

"Um. 20 dollars, was it? The soundtrack is on me . . ." she left one hand on her head, just for reassurance. "As I was just saying . . . whatever, twenty be it." With another few quick movements, Eva once more corrected the value on her dial, then reached it out to Trin, who blinked at it, confused.

The hacker knew what a wireless check was, of course. She had had the opportunity to hack them many times, and didn't even really need to be in its proximity to make it work. The hand that the device was on was a different matter, though. Despite her job, she still had trouble with people, and even as a child of the "introverted millennial generation", she was still exceptionally shy when it came to physical contact. She preferred to perform transactions in BitCoin, and to let Ping handle whatever required physical contact. Yet even with modern technology, transferring 20 gigs of data was a bit hard to do, at least if she wished to remain unnoticed. So despite her deepest instincts, she had forced herself to come over physically - and was now faced with an even deeper instinct of hers that got significantly less chances to shine.

"I uh . . . I think I'd prefer it to . . . um . . ."

Eva raised an eyebrow, thinking of the steadily increasing number on the silver ring. "Yes?" She observed as her partner slowly reached a hand out for hers and, impatiently, grabbed it herself- "Aah!" - causing a shreak of surprise in the still unsure hacker. "Look, I don't have all day to loose. Cool, you don't like me, you're weird, I get it, now just take my money because I really have to go!" With each word, the shorter girl's voice had become louder, until she was nearly screaming at her provider. With trembling hands, the hacker was thus forced to face her anxiety and put the lightsaber-like rod she had had in her back pocket for a while on the thin bracelet's dial. If her mind wasn't getting overstressed with anxiety, it might have occurred to her that Eva couldn't possibly know what a lightsaber was.

"Some other weird hacker stuff? "

"Um, yea . . . third party routing . . . otherwise, it can be tracked with much more ease . . . "

"Isn't blockchain based on the idea that everyone can route it?"

"Kinda . . . "

Trin couldn't bring it over herself to tell the girl she found it hard to talk without crying. At least her hacker's reputation gave others the impression that she knew what she was doing (more often than not, she was just winging it while jamming to "Three Days Grace"/"Hollywood Undead"), and thus Eva didn't ask her again what she was doing. The actual reason why Trin was using third party routing was that, while blockchain was indeed the main transaction method nowadays, all state-issued "SilverChain" devices were carefully tracked by that same state. And since Eva was using precisely one of these, Trin knew she could get in a lot of trouble if she didn't go the extra few moments to route it properly. Eva seemed to mind.

"Did I mention I don't have time?"

"I'm . . . it just finished anyway. So um, have fun watching it? Hope you come again . . ."

"Aha." sighed Eva. Without long goodbyes, she nodded at Trin and went away. "And be careful with it!" shouted Trin after her, not receiving a reaction.

~~~

"I mean, you were quite late again . . . maybe actually set your clock next time?"

Trin took another sip from her coffee. She had a Thursday ahead of her, and if she wanted a job, she had to stay away from alcohol. Thanks to Ping's subtle interventions, she hated drinking it anyway, yet he still proved to be a good drinking buddy, even if only for coffee.

"That aside, can I borrow your bots sometime soon?"

"What for?"

"This guy said he needed some routing for some large files, and I thought we could distribute it over your net . . . "

"What files?"

"You know I can't ask for that."

"Can't he just encrypt then and ssh them over?"

"You could try doing that, you know. I'd give you his contacts, but he wanted to remain anonymous, so I'll have to ask before that."

"And gender somehow doesn't count as personal data?"

"I never said he's a guy?" Trin raised an eyebrow. "Fine, you got me. Ain't telling you anything else, though."

"I can hack it myself if I cared."

"And get yourself blacklisted from my bar?"

" . . . eye for an eye, I guess. Assume I take the job - how much would I get?"

"A twentieth, risk factors and transport included." Trin considered it. A tenth of a bitcoin could allow her to renew all her electronics, state-of-the-art computer with at least basic quantum support and hydrogen cooling included, and maybe finally buy herself a bed. She was getting bored of her hammock anyway, she told herself, and assembling a bed would be fun . . .

"I refuse. Too risky."

"Said the girl who times how long she needs to hack the discontinued Oath Inc FreeBSD mainframe in Linkin Park songs?"

"Hey, hey, hey! Keep my gender out of this!"

"Sorry, sorry . . . "

Another hacker, recognizable by his large headphones covering the sides of his head, entered the bar and exchanged a few cards with Ping, who sent him to a nearby table. The "bartender" then spent a few moments on the console hidden behind the plot that had been locked until now.

"There's this girl who's looking for her . . . brother of a kind?"

"DNA sampling?"

"No, just IP7 address . . . "

"His?"

"Have a guess."

"Oh dear . . . "

"Should I tell her?"

"Don't bother, she'll figure it out herself soon enough . . . I kinda feel sorry for her, though."

"If it's important, she'll manage."

"I certainly hope so."

Ping wondered whether there was anything else to say.

"I guess you won't hack my servers to get the girl's data, right?"

"Why would I? It'll only give me her IP, but I could get that otherwise as well . . . "

" . . . I meant today's client."

"Oh."

"I shoudln't be telling you, but she seemed pretty straight."

"Are you telling me that based on her looks or her search history?"

"The latter, plus tests from her job application."

"Oh right, they reintroduced that shit . . . when was it made again? 1950?"

"Well they got the pupil cameras fixed . . . took them long enough . . . "

Another few moments spent looking at a screen and mourning the victims of heteronormative societies..

"Aah. Here's one for you."

"Lemme hear."

"Recovering WhatsApp conversations with ex."

"No way. I hate Erlang."

"Oh come on, it's just a language!"

"So is Malborge . . . "

Trin had long suspected Ping of having tried to learn "that one language" that had been specifically designed to be impossible to use, and his suppressed, choked laughter confirmed her suspicion.

"You gotta admit, though, it makes for completely foolproof programs!"

"Yeah, and I've never used nmap before."

A ping from Ping's computer pinged his attention, interrupting their line of puns. He glanced at it.

"Oh snap."

"What?"

"It's your customer from today, and she's not asking for a date."

"That sounds . . . bad?"

~~~

Eva came in right in time, which was bad. She technically had enough time to dress up and start work in the time given in the job description she signed three months ago, yet with a boss like hers, she had to be ready to start serving at least half an hour before. It wasn't legal to make her work with such a schedule, yes - but "legal" was a very varying term, set according to charisma of the workgiver, his (there were few hers in power) wealth, and last but not least, whose contacts he had on his bracelet. Her boss happened to have the contacts of a few of the more important inspectors at the constitution that was responsible for making sure politicians still had a "law" to refer to.

Long story short, she had to use the back door and dress in the toilets. At least she knew her boss wouldn't look for her there. He had installed cameras there and often misused them, which was the reason her female colleagues and her used the bathroom of the neighboring hotel whenever possible, but she took the risk - the consequences for directly disobeying his tyrant order were worse than having him see her undress. It wasn't right, but "righteousness" and "justice" were things that few believed still applied to women after Big O's rise to power.

Her bobbish haircut held back by a yellow hair band, a thick, uncomfortably sticky lipstick and makeup on her face, and such a revealing outfit that it didn't matter much whether she changed into it in the bathroom or not were the quick changes she had to adjust before going back out into the uncomfortably cold and gray corridors of the fast food building she worked at. She remained silent for a moment, listening for someone who might run into her and tell her boss and, after not hearing anyone close, tiptoed to her locker further down the corridor. Luckily, her boss was too greedy to pay for proper lockers, so there was no pad to register when she came in to work - a useful detail she and her colleagues had learned soon after applying.

Still on tiptoes, she ran past the "meeting room", mainly used by their boss to shout commands and molest his female subordinates, and stopped in front of the kitchen door. Beyond that point, anyone would be able to see her, and she would most certainly get noticed by the cook. So the question was, which cook was on duty? It didn't matter much, since she couldn't change much about it anyway, yet Eva tried to use every chance to calm her throbbing heart.

Leaning against the cold metal door, she was assaulted by all the noise going on early in the morning. Since the shift had already started, the kitchen was already working, and she could barely distinguish a silent whistle, accompanied by a deep hum and roughly following the melody of "Heartbreak Hotel". Eva sighed happily, creaked the door open and entered.

The slightly overweight, balding white man behind the grill who nonetheless still looked like in his thirties stopped turning the steaks and turned to her instead.

"Hi, Elvis." she whispered. Nodding with a smile, he beckoned her closer and whispered in return, "Irene is on the counter, so serve the back for a while first. Table 21 ordered a big coke less than a minute ago, bring that and check it with her. I'll be a witness if she asks when you came."

She gave him a quick hug and dashed off to the drink machine while he continued whistling where he had left off, quickly turning half a dozen steaks that threatened to start burning soon.

~~~

Eva had lost count on how many times she had convinced herself of Elvis' kindness. Most of the tables in the back had to be served, some more than just a coke. Yet from the Neo-nazis that shouted slurs left and right, and the businessmen discussing how to drench their employees of even more money, he had managed to send her to the only table that didn't pose any potential danger to her physical or mental health. Table 21 was occupied by a rather decent looking guy who seemed to be doing something very uncommon for his times - studying. Eva placed his coke down next to him, distracting him from the thick white book he had been engulfed in. "Oh, thanks," he mumbled, taking a sip from it. "Haven't seen you around?" he asked her, making her exchange her anxiety for confusion.

"Wha-, um, do you come here often?"

"Yeah, I study here a lot. I don't live far, but there aren't many fast food places near me, so I come here. The staff is nice."

Eva tried to pull her skirt further down, remembering that she tried that every day and still forgot how futile it was. The only place 'near by' that didn't have fast food restaurants and where you would expect to meet someone wealthy enough to study was the Manhattan - a walled-off downtown district, soaring to the skies where the rich bureaucrats and businessmen lingered in pleasures while the rest of the population had to find their place in the communistically designed slums that composed the rest of the city. While he seemed nice, Eva knew the boy could probably buy her as a dog and treat her as such, and get away with it without anyone batting an eye.

Yet again, her knees were trembling. She didn't have much of a life, yet for someone to be able to change hers at will frightened her. And she had good reason to be frightened, for very few with that ability cared to use it for the good of those whose lives were influenced.

Having noticed her lack of response, the boy turns to her, making it even worse. Threatening to fall, she grabs the table, supporting herself.

"Miss, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just had a little trouble this morning, and it still seems to weaken me . . ."

Politely declining his outstretched hands, she turns to go back to the kitchen, only to see yet another horror. Having been distracted by her contemplation on modern society, she had not noticed the flashing blue and red lights, and only noticed the policeman when he was almost in front of her.

"Where is Brian Naille?"

"Whu, what?" she asked with a trembling voice, too distracted to understand his otherwise rather simple question. The officer, on the other hand, wasn't that understanding, and decided to shout in case it helped her - which it didn't.

"You useless slut, didn't you hear me?! Where! Is! Brian! Naille?!"

Eva had raised her hands over her head. Officially, the police was meant to protect the people, but everyone knew better than to pointlessly trust them and get killed in their own homes. And this specific example didn't seem to think much of her anyway.

She glanced to the kitchen. Elvis had that ability to him to calm people, yet behind the thick glass panels, he hadn't noticed anything yet. Which got Eva thinking: what was his real name again? The officer followed her line of sight and didn't need to think long. He went away from Eva, yet her knees didn't stop trembling. Waving his badge around, he entered the kitchen. Elvis finally saw him, and his peaceful expression was replaced by one of bitterness and hate, one no one knew he knew how to make. With a speed Eva didn't think he was capable of having, he lashed himself towards the officer who, also having not expected such agility or speed, didn't even move when the hot and oil-dripping spatula dug into the flesh of his face. Even behind the isolating glass, his shout was still well audible. Having scarred him for life, Elvis reached for the backdoor that Eva had come in through, yet the officer, having been frequently beaten at his training camp and unusually furious, grabbed for him and lashed him back, bringing him to the floor.

Despite her best attempt, Eva couldn't tear her eyes from the brutal beating that followed. A few lower policemen joined their boss on kicking down on the now defenseless cook, yet still restraining themselves enough to leave him alive - they'd need him alive in order to torture him in prison, they knew in their rather primitive brains. Nonetheless, they kicked for a while. Eventually, he had stopped moving, so they dragged his lump, bloody and disformed body through the corridor and out of the building.

Eva had fallen to her knees, unable to look away. Aside for her little purchase this morning, she had expected to have a normal day - getting shouted at by Irene, spilling a drink or two, getting slapped on her butt by clients who she had never spoken to, the usual abuse. But actually seeing someone getting beaten was too much for her. Sure, it was daily news to hear that someone close got beaten and imprisoned, yet seeing it happen right in front of her was a completely different story.

She looked around. Did it even happen? Or was it just another fantasy of her tortured mind? The clients had been excited, and now seemed content of the little show. Most of them had already gone back to their useless talks. She looked at the now empty grill. Blood still covered the marble white floor panels in front of it. The steaks on it were beginning to raise a cloud of black smoke, yet no one seemed to care much. It was not their job.

"Are you okay?" The boy reached a hand out for her again. "Did you know him?"

"I- . . ." her own voice choked her. She coughed it away, and started again. "I have to go."

~~~

Not bothering to give the employees a proper explanation, the police department had sent their boss the report. Brian Jackson Naille, or Elvis, as they called him, was fired on the spot, his records sent to the police for analysis and then deleted. His drawer was emptied - there were some clothes that got thrown away, and a few electronics got discovered that were also sent to the police. Apparently, he had trafficked illegal data about the new trackers that were soon to be made public, earning him a life sentence in jail - if he managed to even get there. He had earned himself a respectable loan, which ended in their boss' pocket.

Eva was given a half-hour 'break' - after cleaning whatever remained of him, she was free to spend the rest of the time as she pleased. She spent most of it puking in the toilet. She went back to pack the cleaning utensils, and involuntarily eavesdropped as Irene chattered to one of her vultures about why they got him. She went back to the staff room to pack said utensils, and remained in the toilet, playing with her bracelet. If they had caught him for smuggling such data, it would surely be easy to also track her conversation with Ping. The SD card that was still in her bra - she wasn't allowed much privacy - happily glinted when she took it out, innocent of the trouble it could cause her. She stared at it for a while before raising her hand again, activating the display. She had to warn them.

She didn't know anything about RSA - the unbreakable algorithm that her device was supposed to use instead of its way too simple substitution algorithm -, nor did she know much about routing. Yet she had already managed to get in touch with them once and, despite the insecurity of using the same route again, she opened up the chatbox from last time.

"A much needed plea from a silenced drudgess. In the dread of blood, a fleeting hope is all I beg."

She wanted to come up with something smarter, she knew she had to, but her overstressed brain failed to think with something aside for her addiction to poetry from when she was eight. Hoping that it won't be intercepted by the router that her boss was very keen on observing closely for precisely such complaints, she raised her hand again, breathed in, hoping to make it stop trembling, and pressed 'Send'.

~~~

Eva's eyes were closing. It had been at least an hour after her break was over, yet no one had come in to look for her. She had cried, she had crawled herself into a ball on the floor, she had almost started lashing out on the door, but held back, knowing that then someone would have come for sure. Now, she was just lying on the floor in her small gray cabin, not moving, not expecting anyone, just listening to the noises from the corridor - often steps, the occasional trolley, sometimes shouts for oil or another ingredient.

Certain steps grew louder. She could make the difference between most of her colleagues, but she didn't recognize those. They were heavier, sharper. Angry. Unlike the others, they were looking for something, and quickly rushed to the toilets after entering the corridor. The steps threw the door open, confirming her fears, and rushed to her cabin - the only closed one during work time. Eva was trembling again. If her message was intercepted, then even the stupid boss would have guessed why she had sent it, and would have called the police back to get her as well. Her life hadn't been that bad, after all - sure, she didn't go to university and was ditched at a roadside fast food place by her parents, but all things considered, it could have been much worse-

"Your name was Eva, right?"

She jumped up. The voice was slightly hoarse, but she was sure she knew it.

"We um, we have a policy to not look into our clients' personal data, but I kinda had to in your case . . ."

Eva unlocked the door and opened it wide. With the same old army jacket and an even wilder haircut that aerodynamically went down to her shoulders, Trin stood there and was still trying to catch her breath.

"Ping caught your signal, and I rushed here on Bum- uh, my motorbike," she explained briefly. "Get out before they notice-" she began again, but was interrupting by the auburn waitress hanging herself on her neck and starting to cry. "Um." was all she managed to add to it, reddening up again.

"Oh god bless you're here, I was so worried, they got Elvis for some data traffic and I knew they had tracked me too, god I was so worried but you came please please help me, help me . . ." she kept on, but soon her pleas were drowned in tears and snot and she had to sob silently, curled up on Trin's chest while Trin herself was busy caressing her hair and blushing heavily. "I um . . . I jammed the cameras, so we should have a bit of time to get out. I'll let you stay at my place, okay? You'll be save there. I promise."

Eva dragged herself up on her, holding her for another while before standing on her own. "Th- thank you," she managed to mumble. "No problem. We help whomever we can." Nonetheless, she leaned closer. "Honestly though, think before you contact us. You put yourself and all of us in great danger, you know."

"I know . . ."

To her response, Trin covered her face with her hands and thus muffed her shout that she gave off out of nowhere. It was Eva's turn to put on a worried face. "Is everything okay?"

"Stop being so fucking cute, I can't think properly!"

A couple of seconds of silence followed, disturbed only by the steps coming from outside. Trin took her hands off her face and pointed to the door with a serious face, yet her blush betrayed her. "I never said that. Now go pack your things and let's get out of here."

~~~

Eva didn't need much time to get ready. She took her jeans from her locker, pulled them on under the shirt without bothering to go back to the bathroom, took the rest - a jacket that she threw over herself, a notebook, a few cards that she used whenever her wristband couldn't fit, and a shirt that she wrapped them in before stuffing them in the jacket - and turned to the hacker. Trin had politely waited and after she was done, guided the way through the slowly thickening crowd of employees in the corridor towards the exit that Eva had come in through before what seemed like an eternity. The door was open - it had to be left so for "security reasons", yet no one dared to use it during work time. Bumbs was parked a bit further off in the parking slot of the building. Trin took a helm from the baggage compartment and handed it to Eva. "Give me your stuff and put it on." Eva did as told, letting Trin lace her shirtbag over her own portable computer in the box at the back end of the bike. Then Trin put on her own helm that had rested on the driver's seat, swung herself over it, and beckoned Eva to do the same. She had trouble doing so, having never even ridden a bike, but managed with a bit of help. "Name's Trin," her savior remembered to inform her. "Hold tight."

"Hold tight where?"

"Hug me from behind."

Even under her helm and the serious voice, Eva could still tell she was blushing. What an interesting woman, she thought. Not only an outlaw of such degree, but savvy enough with electronics to remain an outlaw for long. And she rode a motorbike. Eva didn't know what it was about motorbikes - they were loud, they were much more polluting than, say, public transport, and they were prone to breaking. But she had somehow always imagined being swept up by a guy with one of those bikes with the high steering bars and the many leather straps and belts. It didn't turn out as she imagined - and to be honest to herself, she had always known that she didn't really like such guys anyway - but having an outlaw friend that rode a motorbike sure looked like an interesting idea.

Her subconsciousness would have had something to say about that vision too, had it not been busy accommodating itself to the fact that Eva just used the word "savvy". It needed a while to process it. Had the day been calmer, it might have brought up a little detail about the outlaw's behavior that Eva had remained oblivious to.

She wrapped her hands around Trin and laid her helm on her army jacket. Seeing as her passenger was secured, Trin turned on the for Eva surprisingly silent engine, pushed the holder aside, and gently steered her bike to the main road. The jammer in the baggage compartment lost contact at about that distance, and Eva's boss was granted a pericular view over the ladies' dressing room and lockers, with no auburn Eva to be found.

~~~

Despite the clouded gray sky, it didn't rain. Trin drove into what was once a parking school lot and shut down the engine. "We're there." she said to her passenger. Eva took her hands off her and let herself be helped down from the machine. Ping had seen them coming, and was jogging towards them from the cantina building, looking mad. He didn't even bother looking at Trin when he reached them, instead he just grabbed Eva by the shoulders and shook her roughly.

"What happened to Brian?!" he shouted without warning. Trin threw her helm aside and grabbed him, pulling him away from the panicking Eva. "What happened, god damn it?!" he shouted again before Trin ripped him off her recently saved friend. "For Snowden's sake, Ping, she's under shock! Think a bit and leave her to calm!"

For a moment, she thought he was going to jump at her dear waitress again, but he bit his teeth together and held back.

"Apparently, the police caught word of Brian's dealings and went to arrest him. He was beat up pretty bad," she rewarded him for his consideration. He didn't like his reward. Instead, he started trembling just like Eva, shaking from anger and helplessness. Trin ignored him again and hugged her auburn companion, holding her tight to stop her shaking. "I know it hurts, and I know you don't want to remember it, but we have to know what happened, or it might get much worse." The now stable girl nodded guiltily and turned to Ping. Her lips trembled, but holding her savior's hand, she managed to speak.

"The . . . A cab had parked outside the door, but I was busy with a customer, so I didn't pay it much attention. The police officer came in and shouted at me, and I thought he would beat me or kidnap me, but he left me alone and went after the cook- "

"What was his name?"

"I, I don't- "

"God damn it, Evelyn, I have customers there!" He pointed at his bar. "And if you don't tell me what those damn officers know, they might die just like your cook! So who was he?!"

The now again shaking waitress looked up at Trin with a worried, questioning look. "He had to get your personal data so I could come to save you," she explained. Eva nodded, even more worried about how much they knew.

Yet one important thing they didn't know. Ping came closer and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt - he had tears in his eyes.

"Overweight white man with balding hair?"

"Yes, exactly. We, we used to call him Elvis, he always listened to those old songs . . ."

Ping had feared it and had held back his tears, but now that he knew, he had no reason to. Being the strong and serious man that he was, he didn't have much experience in crying, and it looked sobbier than usual. Nonetheless, he remained silent. Howling wouldn't help anymore.

"What . . . what happened?" asked Eva. "I . . . I will have to evacuate the bar," he managed to mutter. Trin stepped forward from behind Eva, still holding her arm for support - whose she didn't know.

"I'll take care of her."

"First, you will wait. Then you can do what you want."

As he had said it, he turned around and went to the bar. His feet were shaking and he nearly fell down a couple of times, yet he ran - he had to.

Eva wasn't trembling anymore. She had had enough of being worried, and found it increasingly hard to be worried, so she stopped. "How do you intend to take care of me, actually?" Trin was experiencing a similar emotional deficiency and failed to blush. "If you don't mind sleeping in a hammock, I could take you home with me . . ."

Eva raised an eyebrow. She had never been good at raising her eyebrows in any other emotion but fear, but she somehow managed. "You sleep in a hammock?"

"It's comfortable and easy to maintain. I have an extra sleeping mat, so I'll be on the floor." Eva considered the suggestion. Trin was an interesting woman indeed. Leaving aside the issue with loosing her hard-earned flat and earnings, Eva didn't regret having to live with her. "Well, you've read my records, so you know I have anxiety . . ."

"I kinda had to. Sorry."

". . . I don't know if I can do it."

The brunette with the messy hair turned back to face the somewhat shorter auburn. "You can. You've come this far, there's nothing to hold you back anymore." Lowering her head, Eva covered her chests with her hands. It was cold, and her outfit wasn't made for that weather. "That's . . . that's not true. You saved me."

Despite not being good at guessing other's emotions, a stroke of genius lit up Trin's mind. She took off her leather jacket, leaving herself in a pullover over a short-sleeved shirt, and draped her jacket over Eva, hugging her to compensate for what it didn't cover. It was Eva's turn to blush. "I couldn't have done anything if you hadn't called me. I may have a motorbike and sick nerd skills, but the bravery was on your side."

After a short contemplation, Eva decided she really liked that woman. She hugged her closer. "Trin, was it . . . for how long can I stay?"

"Uuummm . . . I lived alone, so I guess for a while . . ."

~~~

The two remained hugging each other for a while. Trin's ever-logical brain wanted to leave, but it knew Ping was coming, so it waited, leaving the emotional part of it to cuddle with her crush. Unsurprisingly, people started pouring out from the cantina and dashed to the parking lot, ignoring the two women and rushing to their vans, cars, motorcycles, bikes - one person even left on roller skaters. Eva had trouble guessing what gender that person was, but Trin knew it was neither of the ones she was thinking of. When everyone was gone, Ping came out as well, carrying a largish black bag towards them. Even from a distance, it was obvious he had cried. He seemed to be done with it, though, having regained his serious composure. He put the bag down next to them and started digging in the surprisingly low-tech tools that it contained. Eventually, he pulled out a largeish wire cutter and pointed it to Eva.

"Hold your hand out."

Eva was, for reasons obvious to everyone but Ping himself, very reluctant to obey. Trin grasped her wrist and pulled her closer to herself. "Your bracelet. I once had the honor to set up quite a complex jammer for Ping, but once we're out of reach, they can track you again."

With a proper explanation, she trusted Trin and let her hold her hand out while Ping cut the thin but surprisingly resilient band of silver away from her wrist. Once the heavy cutter was through, Trin gently peeled it from Eva's wrist, letting her examine the newly acquired blankness on her hand.

"It's so . . . empty? It feels weird."

Ping snorted, taking out a funny-looking baggie from his bag. Trin just grinned. "Kinda ironic how people find freedom weird . . ." Ping handed her the wire-coated baggie, and she put the silver band in it before closing it tightly and stuffing it in her bag. "It's a Faraday bag," she explained for Eva. "It's a small, handy version of my jammer. If we turn your bracelet off, we will loose data we might need later, so instead we'll isolate it until I can hack it safely at home." Then she turned to Ping and switched to a somewhat nerdier English. "You 'dd'ing your servers?"

"I have the data on a HDD stack. I'll have to shut it down and then I can pack it on the van. Can I ask you for a favor?"

"I'll inform the others, don't worry about that. Though to be honest, I think they know already."

"Can't hurt to be save. I'll go finish the setup, you have fun with the lady. I'd stay wary of the Paper Doll if I were you."

Trin gave him an odd, cold look, but still laughs at what seems to be a private joke to the unknowing Eva. After another moment, she lets go of her female friend and gives him a hug instead. "For Neumann's sake, Ping, don't die," she said, choking on tears. "I wouldn't be so worried about that, I know every hideout in this city."

"You know that's not what I meant."

After another moment of silence, he tapped her back. "Take care of her."

"I will."

Turning around and not looking back, he let go of her, took his bag, and went away again. Trin didn't wait either, picking up her helm from where she had thrown it earlier and handing Eva's to her new roommate who had silently waited out the confrontation. "Brian was Ping's boyfriend," she began explaining without being asked, "He was a data trafficker - he was also the one that sent you to us. If-, no, when the police finds the location of this place, they will come to ransack it just like they did your place, and we won't get to save innocents like you."

"What will happen to him?"

Trin seemed to choke. Her voice was certainly hoarser when she whispered "Don't ask."

Skillfully, she swung herself on her motorbike and helped Eva to climb on again. She even put her helmet on for her. "Keep my jacket on."

"Isn't it colder for the driver?"

"Keep it on."

Trin locked her own helmet below her chin and swung her bag in front of her - it was less comfortable for her, but more so for Eva. Having been beckoned, she hugged her driver from behind again. cuddling against her almost bare back.

"Eva . . . is it just me, or are you hugging me a bit more persistently this time?"

"Well you need a bit of warmth, don't you?"

Trin smiled and fired up the engine. Thinking back about it, she had indeed wished to be hugged like that when she first saw her. Sure, a few things turned out different than she had anticipated, but otherwise, she was quite happy with this Thursday.

~~~

Years later . . .

Gentle chants filled the room. Trin would have played something more norsic - there was a half-ancient band she had had in mind - but it wasn't her who chose what got played this time, so instead of her treasured Manowar, she was listening to the soft notes of the sharp Digital Daggers. Not that she didn't like them - as long as she could concentrate, all was fine with her. Her concentration currently had some trouble revealing a hidden solution to the gibberish that was displayed on her screen and that her eyes were captivated by. She had written it herself, and wasn't exceptionally happy with the result.

With a wisdom that had taken her a while to acquire, she leaned back. Straining herself wouldn't help, that she knew well. She stood up, stretched her tired back, and went to the kitchen. Despite what people often thought when seeing her going around with her shaggy clothes and haircut, she loved plants. Every window had at least one vase or can or anything that could hold water sitting in front of it, with plants ranging from bean sprouts to peace lilies to even a cactus that she picked up one winter out of fear it might freeze to death. Leaning herself on the window frame, she enjoyed the sun that came through and gazed on her little assortment of plants in front of it. Besides computers and books, she cared a lot for them.

Oh, and for another thing.

The circle plate in the middle of the iron apartment door turned, gliding the locking bar together and unlocking the door. With a bit of effort, the woman behind it managed to pull it open, bringing in the two bags of supplies she had brought. Trin took them from her and carried them in the kitchen while she was busy closing the door behind her.

"Oh, you brought asperges?"

"You said you liked them?"

With a smile, Trin started putting the food in their fridge. She hadn't been very concerned with eating habits until Eva came, and she could definitely tell her health improved altogether once the food got better.

"I think about boiling them with some potatoes on the side. It would probably be hard to boil them on a grill, but you have nice pots . . ."

While Trin enjoyed the voice, she wasn't precisely listening, so she didn't notice when Eva stopped talking and went over to Trin's computer. Just like Trin, she glanced at the screen for a while, and then started typing. She was still on it when Trin put the empty bags aside and went over to her side.

"What are you . . . doing?"

She stared while Eva finished typing and then proudly put her hands on her hips. "You have never been good with binary trees, were you?" Eva pouted, commenting on the somewhat recursive structure that Trin indeed never managed to use properly. The nerdier of them scratched her head. "I'm more impressed that you are . . ."

"I've practiced. Anyway, now that you're done . . ." She swung her arms around Trin, who lost her balance and started falling, and with Eva's help, the two ended up in the narrow hammock. " . . . we can cuddle, right?"

Trin was red again. "You little rat, abusing my computer like that!" She started tickling Eva, who twisted around in laughter. For yet another time, Trin convinced herself that she couldn't be mad at her auburn roommate for long, even if she tried.

They cuddled for a while. After moving in with her, Eva had had much trouble with panic attacks, and the closeness the hammock created helped her. Eventually, she just decided she liked to be packed close with Trin, and thus they didn't have to buy a proper bed, continuing to sleep in the somewhat overcrowded hammock that Trin had creatively hung on the thin walls with the help of Ping and a few thick logs. Surprisingly, it managed to hold the weight of the two women, in addition to the occasional swings and pulls that occurred whenever Eva played around in it or got tickled. All in all, it was a design worthy of respect that Ping had come up with.

Out of nowhere, Eva squeezed her roommate tighter. "Um . . . Trin?" The hacker patted her head. "What is it, sweetie?"

The auburn girl turned her face, rubbing it against Trin's chest and hiding in from her. "Have you ever . . . you know . . . wanted to . . . "

Her voice, quiet since she began speaking, shrank to a whisper. "Hey, I can't hear you when you speak like that. You can tell me anything, I won't mind."

Eva took a deep breath and started again.

"Do you want to adopt a child?"

~~~

A long silence followed. It was the kind of uncomfortable silence that you could feel sticking to you and choking you. Eva had feared it for a while.

"You know, I've . . . been thinking . . . because you know, I always thought that once I earned enough money to live properly, I'd find a boyfriend and have a family and the such, and . . . well, you aren't a guy, but I won't mind founding a family with you . . . and um . . . you know, I was thinking that, well, since there's no guy, we can't get pregnant, so we could, you know, adopt a kid, since there are many that need a family either way, and we don't necessarily need a child to be, like, biologically ours . . . "

She was interrupted by her friend's hand that she raised to her face. Scared, Eva looked up at her, to see that she was trying to wash away her tears. Still scared, she tried to continue, with even more confusion in her voice.

"I uh . . . I . . . I'm sorry if I brought up something bad . . . it's just that . . . you know, we've been living together for two years now, and I thought we could, like . . . "

Trin put her hand on her partner's shoulder, and she stopped talking. Despite crying, she managed to smile.

"It- it's okay. Sorry."

Eva hugged her girlfriend tightly again. "Don't be sorry, Trin, you did nothing wrong. I . . . kinda thought you've had trouble with your family, so I should have worded it differently-"

"No, Eva. It- it's okay. Really. I've . . . well yeah, they abandoned me when I was very little so I never knew them, but I don't regret it. After all, I got to be with you . . ."

Eva giggled. They were having a nice time indeed. Sure, most of it was spent working on computers and Eva had to use a raspie for a long time before Trin bought her a laptop - a slim white thing with hearts on the cover -, but most of all, they were together.

"So, my little romantic. Wanna go visit my old place tomorrow?"

"To- tomorrow?!"

"Why not? It's a Thursday, we have time, and if I heard right, you've wanted to do it for a while, right?"

Eva buried her head in her partner's chest. When she looked up at her again, she was red with smiling, and Trin went blushing as well.

"We are gonna need a bigger apartment."

"And a bed."

"Right, a hammock is a bad idea . . ." Trin commented through a yawn. As the two drifted asleep and had sweet dreams of each other, the computer kept gently lulling in the back.

" " "

When the moon is in the seventh hour, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets, and love will stir the stars . . .

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius, the age of Aquarius . . .

" " "

[mayor-crumblepot]

moving in

hey, friends! if y’all could take time to read this, i’d really appreciate it!

as some of you may know, back in august of 2017, my house flooded in hurricane harvey. (i’m giving the short version of this story— beneath the cut, i’ll give more details if you’re interested.) we got roughly a foot of water in our house in less than an hour, and we had to make a lot of executive decisions about what was and wasn’t worth saving. 

since then, we’ve been living in a trailer in our driveway while the landlord has the house fixed. now, we’re finally able to move air mattresses into the house, and we’re coming to realize just how much we’ve lost. 

basically; we’re in a really shit place, and we’re missing some of the things that make a house feel like a home. 

so i’ve put together a move-in list on amazon. it’s not complete, and i’ll be updating it as we look through our boxes, and find out what we managed to save and what we didn’t. some of it is housewares, some of it is stuff we used to have, but have found out is ruined upon looking through our boxes. 

by no means are you required to buy anything. but if you enjoy my content that i produce, and wanna show your appreciation in a more concrete way; this would be a neat way to do so! or, just reblog this so somebody else might see it and consider buying something we need/could use/want!

or, if you’re feeling more generous/wanting to treat me specifically, instead of my family in general, this is my personal wishlist.

thanks for your consideration and time, and as soon as my family has everything back to normal, i’ll be out here writing tons again! i have plenty of ideas i wanna share with you guys, so i can’t wait! nothing makes me happier than writing fan content, and that’s honestly what i’d rather be doing right now, and all the time. 

longer story/more details under the cut!

okay, so.

on august 27, 2017, it started to rain. and by that i mean rain a fuck ton. it started around midnight and didn’t stop for nearly 24 hours. i watched my street fill up with water, which has happened before— my family wasn’t too worried. i watched my yard fill up with water too, which was a surprise, but still, didn’t worry us too much. 

then, around eleven in the morning, water started bubbling up in my parents’ room, from beneath the floorboards. we thought that it was maybe just because the backyard was full of water, but then it just started happening all through the house. from their bedroom, to the hallway, to my bedroom, water just started coming up and didn’t stop. it kept rising, and soon we could hear it bubbling up from cracks in the grout of the kitchen tile— the power went out before the water could get to the electrical outlets.

i helped my parents crack apart bricks in the backyard, with water up to my shins, and bring them into the house to put our furniture up on. my father, my mother, and i lifted our piano up over and over, putting more and more bricks beneath it, in hopes that we wouldn’t lose it. we lifted up antique furniture, the last of the things from my late grandfather’s house, but most of it didn’t survive.

we had to put all of our pets into travel crates, lifting them up off of the ground so that they wouldn’t lay in the water— our cats, our dogs, our bird, everyone was miserable. there was no way for us to let the dogs out to use the bathroom, one of them is afraid of water and the other isn’t strong enough to walk through it. the cats were trapped in their crates, there was nothing we could do; litter boxes were floating through the house. the bird was chill, though, little dude didn’t even know anything was wrong. fucker was signing for us. it was sweet. 

our house had never flooded before. we’ve lived at this same address for nearly ten years, now; since i was in middle school! before that, we only lived two streets away. my neighborhood has never flooded like this, ever in my life. i’m turning twenty-one this summer. 

ultimately, the water came up roughly a foot inside of my house, and stayed there for almost twelve hours. 

this was my front porch, once the rain had stopped. my parents and i had foregone our rain boots, because there was no point. water would get into your boots, into your shoes; we all got a few bug bites, but thankfully nothing strange was in the water. 

my neighborhood wasn’t hit the worst, nowhere near. hurricane harvey caused extreme damage to the homes of my friends, of my family members. there’s a neighborhood near mine, only about ten minutes away by car, where our nearest shopping complex is, and everything was underwater. 

this is that shopping complex. i’ve driven this intersection hundreds of times, maybe thousands. never ever in my life had it ever looked this bad. the gas station pumps were entirely submerged, and people were surveying the damage by going through on their kayaks and boats. 

my point is: there is no way we could have prepared for this. 

our entire street suffered, and once the water had gone down and the sun had come back out, we were faced with cleaning out our homes. before this, i had never known my neighbors very well. in that first week, i saw more of my neighbors than i did of my own family in a year. every single day, from sunrise to sunset, we were outside and working. 

everything in our home had to be thrown away. unfortunately, our landlord didn’t show up for several days, and there was nothing we could do. we weren’t allowed to cut into the walls and tear them out until she was present, which caused mold to grow in nearly every soggy or humid surface in my home. my mattress, which had never seen water, started to grow mold simply because of the humidity. the pages of my books started to warp, and my entire family started to take on a very strange cough because of what was likely in the air. 

for the next week and a half, my family hauled out water-logged rugs, furniture, and electronics. we dragged boxes full of records, full of books, full of clothes, full of photographs to the curb. there were people who came to help us, and in cleaning out our garage indiscriminately, we lost plenty of my childhood memories, of which there were few to begin with (simply because i wasn’t very fond of being photographed— not for some more sinister or unfortunate reason). 

this is the only shot of the pile in my yard that i have, and it doesn’t show the full extent of the pile itself. this pile went all the way to our door, nearly, and went all the way to the driveway on the other side of the yard. 

as soon as we put these things in our yard, there were people coming through and picking through our pile, taking things. i’m sure that they were well-intentioned, i’m sure they meant no harm, but there was a very upsetting aspect to seeing someone take from a pile of things that i have no means to keep. 

my prom dress was put on this pile. 

my first writing drafts were put on this pile.

my parents’ wedding photos were put on this pile. 

every single notebook i had saved, from the first one i kept in middle school, to the last one i turned in during high school, were put on this pile. 

there was nothing cathartic about this. but we did it, and we made it, and we survived. 

unfortunately, our storage unit also flooded. when we first moved into this house, we put our furniture and belongings in a storage unit to look through when we got the chance. everything i had as a child, things that i wanted to keep and put into my own home once i had one, things i wanted to give to my friends’ children when they had them— all of that was ruined. water came nearly five feet up in our storage unit. 

we have nearly no furniture remaining, but we’re lucky enough that plenty of people want to give us some! we’ve gotten some pretty cool things from some very charitable people. 

we’re still in the process of going through boxes. some things that we thought were safe from the water have turned out to be ruined. some books have grown mold, some blankets have as well. it’s just a matter of looking— things need to come out of boxes as soon as possible, and we’re trying to do that.

the type of things that are more difficult to handle not having, are the things that you think you’ll never have to buy again, or at least not for a very long time. we lost all of our towels, all of our bath mats, our shower curtains, our window treatments, our interior rugs, our wall art, and most of our lighting fixtures; our electronics have suffered as well, my computer especially. 

the red cross and fema only helped us so much; we filed everything the way we were supposed to, we were model caseholders— we only received four hundred dollars from the red cross (and a very cool bucket of clean up materials), and we only got around four thousand from fema. 

i don’t want to come off as though i expect anything from anyone, and we aren’t going to die if you don’t buy us something. we have enough money to manage, but just not enough money to buy back the things that we lost. i figured this was the best avenue to take, because you guys have been able to see that i’m a real person, and that less of you are likely to have been affected, versus the people i’m friends with on facebook. 

if you guys like my content, though, and want to see more, this would be a very helpful way to facilitate that! and, if you guys want to buy me or my family something, and you want a fic or something in return, i’d be happy to do that! 

we’re just interested in living the life that we used to before the flood. and of course, i’ll be keeping you guys updated along the way about that. i’m super excited about my house, about the new tile in the bathroom and about the new color i’m going to be painting my room; there’s so much to be excited about, right now, but until we have everything organized in a way that makes it effectively livable, there’s not very much i can do about sharing it. soon, hopefully, i’ll be able to!

thank you for reading this. i really, really appreciate it. i love y’all a ton, and i can’t wait to start sharing work with you guys again.

[zane-rapha-the-mun]

Shadows on the Wall: Ch-2, By Zane Rapha

Chapter 2: The road blocks ahead

                             ~3 weeks later~

    "Please don't do this Sara, you know he loves her too much to not only take her away but to do so without warning," Dr.Marcus begged, trying to reason with his fellow colleague.     "I take no pleasure in doing this, but we need to move forward with the SR-197 project and teach him this so his AI can be used for interactive medical drones. We need those kickbacks." She said as she made her coffee in the break room.      "I understand but how you go about doing this can have vastly different results, and I'm looking to get the better result out of this ordeal." He explained.     "And you think I have no clue what I'm doing?" She snapped.     "No, no, no. That is not what I'm saying I'm-" He was soon cut off.     "Then we are done talking about this! We are doing it my way. Now, let's watch the show." She stated before storming off to the observation deck. "You ready Sam?" She asked the man wearing the pink scrubs. "Remember now, stick to the script, or you get kicked." She hissed.     "Yes, ma'am!" Sam replied before going through the door down to the chamber.     "Damn you have a mean streak!" Remarked Markov.     "Shut it Dev." Miss McAlister sneered.

    The man entered the testing chamber with a saddened look on his face. SR7 looked at the man with concern.     "Why are you sad, mister?" SR7 asked.     "I have some sad news to tell you. Miss Amanda will not be joining you anymore for your daily talks." He said with sincerity.     "Why? Did something happen?" SR7 asked with worry.     "She is gone and will not be coming back." He stated.     "Where has she gone?" SR7 questioned.     "We don't know, and she will not be coming back." He said bluntly.     "Why are you doing this to me? I want to talk to her." SR7 Stated with Anger. He turned to the window and looked right at Sara. "Why do you hate her so much? Does it make you happy to hurt me?" He asked her directly.

    "The FUCK!!! How?" Miss McAlister gulped before covering her face with her hands. Soon a giggle came from the programmer who saw it coming as she processed the new info.     "I told you it wasn't 'that' soundproof and that you can't yell in here." Miss Markov said.

    "Yes and No. I can anticipate your responses without hearing you. I can also hear Miss McAlister yelling at Amanda. Her yelling is what bad people do. She is a bad person, and she likes to hurt me with her words." SR7 added. The guy then ran out of the room in fear yelling "Kill it!"     "He's right, terminate the program will start fresh tomorrow." Miss McAlister commanded Markov.     "Are you sure?" Miss Markov asked with a sad tone.     "Yes, do it." She hissed making the programmer uneasy.     "Okay boss." She then forced him into sleep mode so she could remove the uplink. As soon as McAlister left Marcus gave her a smile and a reassuring nod.     "Go ahead Dev. I know you." He said before following Miss McAlister. Dev then reactivated him and went down to the testing chamber.      She slowly peeked her head in to talk to SR7. She was amazed to see the android herself as she had never been allowed to enter. Only the robotics and instruction teams were allowed down here. He was an albino white, humanoid, with silver segments, his form reminded her of a manakin with no close, and large cables running out of his back. He sat in a white chair that was attached to the floor.     "Hey, look I don't have much time, so I'll make this short. I'm one of your programmers, and I think you're amazing. I'm not the one who made your AI, but I read your code every day to see how much you have learned. I, um.... I know you better than anyone. You scared Sara McAlister, but you're in the right, and it makes me sad that I have to shut you down. Just Tell me. Do you know what it means to die?" She asked him with a look of worry.     "No, what does it mean?" SR7 Asked with a frown.     "It means to go to sleep and never wake up again. You have to die. She wants you to die, and I have to do what she tells me."     "But I don't want to die. I have so much to learn." SR7 Said.     "You will, in your next iteration, but I need to know you are okay with this. I need to know, I can't do this in good conscience without you being okay with it." She started to cry. "I thought I could, but in the past, it made me feel really sad to wonder if it hurts. I know you're able to feel pain."     "I see." SR7 looked down for a moment and then looked up and smiled. "Can Amanda have her job back when I'm asleep?" He asked.     She looked at him with a saddened look as she answered. "I'm so sorry. We didn't plan on removing her so soon, but she died in a car accident. She's not ever coming back."    He started to frown and turned away from her. "I see. What about her son?" He asked.    "He's going to go to a foster family. He's too young to work." She spoke.     "I know. I was asking if her son was okay." He clarified.     "I don't know. I think he's sad, maybe lonely and most likely scared without his mom." She explained to him.     "Then-No. I do not want to Die. I want to care for him!" He stated bluntly. She then looked at him with surprise. The fact he came to this thought was not something she expected.     "I would need to build you a body for you to do that." She replied.     "I'm fine with that. I can tell you how too." He added.     'This is probably a bad idea, but I have to do something.' She thought to herself. "Okay, fine. But I'll have to be sneaky about this. I'm going to rip a copy, and when you wake up, I'll have you on my CPU so you can tell me what I need to do. Please be good and work with me on this. My Computer is not as powerful as what you're used to so you may have to make due with limited function." She said before hooking up a computer to the uplink center. Okay, I'm copying your AI." She reported.     "He looked at her for a moment. Do you have a plan?" He asked.     "Yes, this is something I wanted to do for months. I wish I could save you all." She said. "I'm going to quit, so no one asks who is taking care of the kid. We will work together on this. Okay, Avian?" She told him before giving him a soft smile. He smiled back at her.

                             ~9 Months later~

    Marcus sat in the observation deck alone. Sara and Dev both resigned, leaving Marcus as the only lead scientist to work on the SR-197 project, which allowed him to make moves that the others would have disagreed with Including inviting outsiders to help. He walked out and down the vast halls to the front door where he greeted his old friends.     "It's so nice to see you three here today. I want to start fresh with SR-17 and make sure this is done right. Avian this is going to be the most ambitious project I have ever undertook and It would mean a lot if you would help in building him a body." Avian gave a small nod to his creator. "And Dev, I would be so happy if you would help me once more for old times sake." He said giving them a soft smile.     "Sure, I miss seeing that excellent AI work of yours come to life. It was the most remarkable thing to see his thinking. But I do have to ask why you wanted me to bring Wade." The small child looked up at them shyly hiding behind Avian.     "I want SR-17 to start out as a small child, and I thought this way both of you can be here, and he can serve as an example." He explained to the others.     "Oh... I guess that works." Devin replied. She then picked up the kid and asked him if he wanted to help her build a robot. Wade smiled and whispered in her ear. She then giggled and nodded to him and let him down to see him bolt down the hall to explore. "He wants to look around, and since no one is here, I told him it was okay." She explained to Avian who looked at her with concern.     "Now I need to finish this project before I lose funds. I have received a notice today we have 6 months to show them something, or we get shut down. I can't very well leave this project with nothing to show for it." He said only to get a grunt from Avian. "Oh Right, 'Almost' nothing." He clarified.     "Alright kids, that's enough." Dev butted in jokingly only to receive a smile from Avian.     "Wait, are you too?" Marcus had asked before Dev gave him a stare that said don't ask.     They soon headed down the hall to start work on SR17 and began work on the new body.

                             ~3 Months later~

    "All systems ready, updating the new Uplink. Vital systems online. No errors so far. I think we are ready to go. Go ahead Dr.Marcus, he will be awake soon." Dev said through the mic up in the observation deck. Dr.Marcus soon entered with excitement. The small android opened his eyes and looked around before sitting up. He looked over at Dr.Marcus.     "Hello, I'm Dr. Lang Howard Marcus. I'm your creator, and I want to help you to understand the world around you. It's okay if you are uncertain about what is happening, you have as much time as you will need to learn. There are videos about different emotions, and after you finish watching them, I need you to tell me about them. Is that okay?" He asked the little android. The android gave him a short nod before the videos started. The videos on happiness had limited responses, but as the videos went into Anger and sadness, the little android reacted negatively even more so than was expected. Dr.Marcus ran over to the android to comfort him and to reassure him everything was going to be okay. Dev soon came down with the computer.     "He's a little scaredy cat." She stated only to get a look from Avian.     "No, he's not, Dev. It's just so new to him, he doesn't understand what he is feeling. 16 did the same thing. 16 knew how to emulate emotions to the point that he reacted to them, he can feel them. It's not just simple protocol." Dr.Marcus explained. Dev rolled her eyes before shoving the computer in Avian's face.     "Tell him!" She demanded. Avian took a moment to look at the code before sighing and nodding to her.     "She's right." He said, making Dr.Marcus run over to read the code himself.     "Well, what do you know... I um.. May have made an error in my calculations." He said before scratching the back of his head and laughing nervously. "Whoops!" He exclaimed only for the other two to share a look of discontent.     They went back up to the observation deck, and Dev whispered to Avian while Avian nodded in agreement. When Dr.Marcus joined them, they stopped then gave one another a short nod.     "Okay, Listen, Doc, we um... we might not be staying like we wanted. It turns out Wade is starting school soon, and we don't want him telling people about your work here. I mean he thinks Avian is human, and we kinda want to keep it that way. If he finds out about SR17, it could be a problem, and we don't want him connecting the dots. You know?" Dev explained.     "I understand, and it's fine. You do what you need to do. It's just teaching him what his emotions mean and working on improving my work where I can." He stated as he went over to the computer watching SR17's anxiety climb from being alone. SR17 stumbled around the room looking for a way out.     "Are you sure Doc? We can try to come by now and again if you need us to." She said with a sad look as she felt bad about leaving him alone here to do the research with no one to help.     "It's fine Dev. I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing, this isn't my first time working alone.

[andrewdburton]

Three Months of Slacking

Unsuccessfully but Refreshingly trying to climb the local waterfall

“MMM, are you still alive?” – somebody on Twitter

Holy Shit! I just realized that the last time I wrote a blog post for you was on April 18th, and now it’s late July. That’s an entire quarter of a year that I have let this wonderful, golden field of interesting opportunities and people sit untended.

 How could Mr. Money Mustache, a reliable stalwart of bossy financial advice since 2011 and usually good for at least one post per month, have drifted so far from his original dedication? It’s a question that earnest fans have been asking, and that I have even started asking myself.

When you break out of any habit, it can be hard to get back into it: the psychological barriers start to stack up and the pressure rises and you find yourself waiting for more and more unattainably perfect conditions that, surprise surprise, never really come.

If it’s a workout habit that you have broken, you might tell yourself,

“Oh, I just need to get over this injury or this cold.. And then my Mom is visiting next week but after that I’ll be ready to get back to the gym.“

With my blog-writing hobby I make excuses like,

“Oh, now that it has been so long, I have to wait until I have something really interesting or worthwhile to say. And yeah okay, maybe I have a few articles like that in the drafts folder, but those ones take a lot of thinking and focus to write, so I’d better wait until I am feeling really smart and focused to crack into that subject.”

But in both cases, the correct solution is just to say,

“Fuck it. I am going to just do something towards my goal, no matter how tiny.”

To get back in shape, you just need to start with at least a few pushups, which you can do right now on the floor of your office or kitchen. To resurrect the MMM Blog, Mustache just has to type some shit into the computer, and heck, why not just an easy breezy article telling you about some of the interesting things I’ve been doing in lieu of blogging?

Some stories from a real life of early retirement, which may be more relevant than plain old financial analysis and reader case studies anyway. And once we’re all caught up in life, maybe it’ll be easier to keep in touch on a more regular basis henceforth.

So in fairly rapidfire format, here’s what I’ve been up to this spring and summer:

1) Renovating The Shit Out of Our New Two-House Compound

We found the previous shower had been leaking for years and creating the most interesting scene of decay. We tore out and rebuilt the whole area, and cut in a nice window for good measure.

You may recall that back in January, I teamed up with a friend to buy the house next door, with cash, at a below-market price. Once she moved in, we realized that it needed even more renovations than we originally planned. So I’ve had a joyful time tearing down walls, framing in new windows and doors, reworking the floorplan and changing the wall surfaces, as well as fixing the shoddy plumbing and electrical work that was found along the way.

On my own house right next door, I’ve been going just a bit wild with metalworking, making all sorts of fences and decks and even a “Juliet Balcony” which features a fireman pole allowing me to slide quickly down from my master bedroom to the ground where we have a shared hot tub between our properties – in case of Hot Tub Emergencies, of course.

Cutting a giant hole in the back of my house (in February!), adding a sliding door where there was previously only a silly little shitty window, then many fun, casual days of metalworking. The last pic is my side deck, which I built mostly out of wood but also features lots of metal and a fun little outdoor kitchen including coffee machine and induction cooktop!

2) Working on a Pretty Big Documentary Project

Hmmm.. something seems different about the HQ kitchen.

I have said for years that I would never do it, but somehow a very persuasive filmmaker who has made some documentaries that I really respect, roped me into helping out with a probably-pretty-big documentary.

I did a casting call in March and found a couple that I am now coaching and working with throughout 2021. The film company doesn’t want me to talk about it much until they are ready to announce it, but suffice it to say that it is taking a lot of my time and energy, which comes out of what would otherwise be my blog-writing time budget.

However, this is the good kind of hardship – forcing me to experience things I wouldn’t otherwise get to do, and the end result will be reaching a lot more people than I could by just writing on this website alone. My fingers are crossed that it will come out the way I hope!

3) Switching 120,000 Underserved MMM Email Subscribers over for Better Newsletters

Easier signups, and better eventual emails.

Since the beginning, I’ve mostly ignored the fact that I sorta have a list of email subscribers, with predictable lackluster results. People were able to subscribe and unsubscribe themselves automatically, and the only thing it got them was an automated mailing of any new blog articles on the day that I posted them. The emails were poorly formatted, people who had non-gmail addresses often had trouble subscribing, and many probably wondered why I couldn’t make it work better.

Thankfully, a mini-crisis happened that has forced me to do the work to solve this problem, at last: Google announced that they were shutting down the aging Feedburner email service, so all of the old-school bloggers like me who were still using it were forced to migrate to a more modern platform.

I did some research, and in the end I decided to go with a higher-end option called ConvertKit, which is one of the most popular email services. It can do a lot more cool stuff, and I have taken advantage of this to create an automated (and free of course) “MMM Boot Camp” email series that people can sign up for. 

It’s just a curated feed of some of my most useful articles (about 35 out of the 500), which automatically go out to people once per week until they have graduated, so you’d think it would be pretty easy for me to create this.

But as I read through my old stuff, of course I realized that much of it was crappy and outdated so I ended up partially rewriting every one of those 35 posts as I went through, which took some time. The good news is, the updated versions are here on the website as well, so the work should benefit anyone who happens to read them in the future.

4) Having lots of Fun Times (and Hard Times) In Real Life

Just another cool sunset/storm in my back yard, taken during the traditional Evening Walk.

I’ve had a series of wonderful visitors who came and stayed at my house, sometimes for a week or more. Friends and I have hosted some big events at the HQ Coworking space, which left me both energized and drained at the same time. Then I got Strep Throat in mid-July, which knocked me out for the count for a full week or more – even well after the antibiotics worked their magic, I have still been having some ups and downs with energy. 

And then of course there’s the heat – I am always more energetic in cool weather (The typical 50 degree sunny days of a Colorado winter are some of my favorite for outdoor work in t-shirt and jeans). So the summer season here is always a challenge for me, with an endless procession of cloudless 95 degree desert days making me resent the very Sun I normally worship so much. I’ve been taking refuge indoor more than I should, hiding in my air conditioned house and making excuses and accomplishing less because of it. At least this has led me to the keyboard today, to write this blog post.

5) “Cutting the Pipe” at HQ and Installing a Giant Fancy Heat Pump system.

I had fun working alongside my co-owner Mr. 1500 for this work. Everything was easy about this install … except rebuilding some of the filthy century-old ductwork we found once we took out the old furnace.

Since I first bought the building in 2017, the MMM-HQ coworking space has been limping along with a clunky decades-old gas furnace, a gas water heater that was about 20 years overdue to spring a leak, no central air conditioning at all, and very high utility bills due to the way our local gas company charges commercial customers.

When you combine these irritants and contrast them with the fact that we happen to have a glorious solar electric array on the rooftop that makes a surplus of power, you can see why I would be itching to tear out all the gas appliances, cancel the service account permanently, and install all-electric replacements that are more efficient and will also save an estimated shit-ton of money each year.

I’ll save the full details of this for my very next blog article, but as a spoiler: we found and successfully installed a unit that should be able to cool and heat our building year-round, is very DIY-friendly, and cost only about $4000 to buy. It should prove to be a great annual return on investment, and I am excited to start installing these things on all of my properties and those of any friends who are doing upgrades.

And with that, I’d say we are all caught up.

In the comments: what have YOU been up to these past 3 months? And what subjects do you think we should be covering here on MMM in the next three?

from Finance https://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2021/07/25/three-months-of-slacking/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[iphoenixrising]

Future!au continued

It’s been a hard few weeks, but I’m still alive. Please forgive the mistakes.

Dammit. He can see your boots, Dick.

Seriously.

**

Talking Bruce down out of riding to the Perch, tout-fucking-sweet takes an intense amount of effort. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

From his place on the ledge outside the window, Dick is watching to make sure nothing opens and no hint of past-Tim slips by while he adds his two cents when needed. He takes a stroll down once and a while, checking for a mop of hair peeking over the curtain rod.

“I disagree.” Is definitely echoing, so B’s moved down to the Cave, “the more we have on our side to keep him in one location—”

“I do not believe more is better in this instance, Father,” Dami counters tiredly, swaying slightly on his feet. He feels somewhat better after a fast shower, but the weight of the last two nights is starting to wear on Baby Bat.

“Lookit, Bruce. When we say he ain’t in a good place, that’s not any kind of exaggeratin’,” Jason fills in.

“My point exactly, Jay, even more of a reason—“

“Think about it. If we give ‘im better toys n’ intel, then he’s gonna stay in the Perch with moderate bitching. So’s we need you ta work on gettin’ something that ain’t gonna give Timmers more about the future than he needs ta know, yeah?”

The obvious pause is B starting to reason through it all.

“Besides, once we ‘re sure Timmy’s run factor has decreased, you’ll have everything we need ready,” Dick placates on the way back to the window, waving a voila hand as he crouches down again, arms akimbo on the sill.

It takes Bruce a minute to think through his usual amount of contingencies. He already has access to all the security camera in the Perch (you know, Ra’s and such) on the back-up system he’s accessing via Tim’s laptop, conveniently open and ready, at his workstation in the Cave, which is probably the only reason B is any kind of okay without how this is going to go and not already knocking on their front door.

(Because of course their Tim knew. He’s already here as living proof.)

Apparently stuck in the BatCave, he feels slightly better pacing between Tim’s workstation and the big computer booting up after everything hit. Clark is forlornly floating by the big screen, laptop on his knees to log into the JLA archive listing.

“The only problem is I’m going to need time to fix the BatComputer before I can get you anything good. The power surge last night killed my system, and I didn’t get any alerts until a few minutes ago when the usual scans didn’t run on time. The back-up for the main body of BI and Security are running through O, but still, the sooner I’m back online, the better.” At least he can calm down slightly because if they’re Tim knew he’d be thrown into time, he would already have plans on how to be stuck in the past. Nothing immediately comes to mind, so it’s possible the time stream hasn’t caught up yet to cause any noteable differences (but, like Barry had told him once years ago, every foray into time has a consequence).

The Red Robin laptop has the permissions he needs to access some of the older data concerning their own universe and how the time streams can be manipulated without breaking anything (Barry). He can get to exactly what folders and files he needs, but it doesn’t escape B’s notice the permissions are keeping him off one virtual server, the one usually housing certain ghost drives. So, any plans concerning said time travel tech is going to be annoyingly absent

(Well played, Tim. You want this to take some time in the past, do you?)

In mid-town, it’s Damian swearing hotly. (Tim and Father together would never allow the BatComputer to be vulnerable from any external sources—)

Which is very large indicator for sabotage and hints how obviously their Tim knew about the event and apparently made contingencies for it.

The three Bats exchange a knowing look.

“We still have plenty of resources even if the BatComputer is down,” B placates, and diverts the path slightly to rise up on his bare toes and look over Clark’s shoulder at the current listing the reporter is scrolling through. “But this is going to take me hours once I start, so it’ll have to wait until we have something useful to get Tim back to his correct time.”

Another exchange because the BatComputer being down only means B is vulnerable without the usual scans and alarms. No one is comfortable with that possibility (not taking into account the absurd amount of people that know where it is anyway). Dick sighs from his spot because one of them is going to have to go down and lend a hand. He’s thinking they should rock-paper-scissors for it.

“J’onn is in the WatchTower if we need to get into the JL’s locked vaults,” Is Clark from the background, “three of us have to be there to open it, and who knows? We might have something in the archive that won’t give Tim too many ideas about the future.”

“True. All right then you three, I need a time frame,” and B still sounds a little less like the night, meaning he’s concerned (because, you know, BatDad). “Get me his year, and I’ll have something in a few hours, regardless.”

“There, that’s going to be more helpful than throwing things at him faster than he can process,” Dick is already making plans before he stands back up on the ledge, makes his way back down to the bathroom again so he can make sure Tim hasn’t used the vents to his advantage.

Jay leans over the table, closer to the system, stretching out the tight muscles in his back. “‘Sides, we ain’t been able ta pin our Timmy down yet, B. No comm, phone, the works. Mighta gone ta the past, but we need some confirmation, you feel me?”

“Titans Tower also picked up preliminary data on the surge, which is my theory for the record.” Dami checks his phone again, but no updates from Garfield or Rachel (they are, however, invested in seeing their time-traveler. They may or may not take his firm no).

“Good, we can use the intel.” B takes a second to lay his forehead on the nape of Clark’s neck, close his eyes, get a breath.

Dammit, Tim. Trying to keep the temptation at a minimum. Because the World’s Greatest Detective could save the family, all of his boys, so much pain just with a few careful words—

Maybe he had known from the start.

Juggling his significant other and his laptop, Clark isn’t even a little surprised how easy Bruce makes it to lay a palm down and work some of the tension out of tight tendons. He’s scanning everything from confiscated possessed roller skates to some magical cat statue Constantine swears is legit. He is going to talk with their tech people about more…organized filtering because categories like we’re not sure what this does shouldn’t be used in their archives.

When Bruce raises his head enough to press his mouth gently over Clark’s pulse, it makes a shiver roll up his spine, but B is already off to start jumping into Tim’s system while long lines of code run on the big screen.

“Any footage could tell us if Tim got switched with his younger counterpart, so let me know when you’ve got something. In the meantime, send me the month and year. I’ll find something Tim can use.” He takes a second and looks over at the speakerphone, his sigh soft and fond. “I’m here if you need anything. All of you know that, right?”

“I am fairly certain we do, Father, as it is immensely convenient to have Batman on speed-dial. A few hours at best is all we are asking. Allow us time to get him acclimated.”

“I understand, Son. No hovering.” Yet.

It makes Jason bark out a laugh and go stir his soup. It’s a natural thing to slide a chair out with his ankle on the way, get a hand hold of Baby Bat’s worn t-shirt, and slide his tired ass down where he can lay himself on the table and doze if need be.

“No lecturing either, B,” is called from over a shoulder, “we’ll catch ya up in a few hours.”

“Eat something. Try to sleep in shifts if you can,” is completely serious and very not asking. “Love you, boys.”

“We love you as well, Father.”

“Ditto, B.”

The dial tone sounds for less than a second and Jason sighs, running a hand down his face, his muscles tight with everything, with Tim, a Tim they can’t touch enough, a Tim they can’t help put back together, a Tim they can’t try to save.

And it fucking guts him.

Dami does the only thing he can. He slides silently to his feet, moves swift and silent to wrap his arms around Jason’s hips to lay his forehead between the tight muscles of those shoulders, gives them both a minute to breathe.

“Go and shower,” Dami tells him softly. “No masks, no suits. We make Tim comfortable as we are able.”

He puts the spoon down and covers the lightly simmering soup, turns the fire off. All mundane until he turns abruptly, reaches out an arm, and pulls Dami hard against him, holds on tight. And the current Robin merely allows it, allows his boyfriend to do what he must, what will make him feel in control when they are essentially—

Powerless.

When he sees Dick peek back in, brows drawn in concern, Dami’s eyes slide to Jason and back to Dick. One eyebrow arches high, giving Dick all he needs to know in just one move.

Dami gets a half-grin and a nod in reply, a little message received.

While they could all do with a distraction in light of the visitor in their Perch, Damian merely sends Jason off to the shower, watches Dick strafe down the side of their building to meet him in the guest bathroom. He does so with complete confidence they will take care of each other, regain their strength, then return to help him deal with this Tim Drake, and he knows with an easy, small smile while he stirs the soup again and checks his data, washes out mugs and blatantly moves a photo of the four of them from the front of the refrigerator to the side, that when he is able to finally collapse, his tethers will keep him from falling too far.

**

He makes himself throw up the pill he’d taken in front of the versions of Robin, N, and Hood before he climbs out of the shower. He chooses a dark towel to dry off in case he gets things like, you know, blood on them or anything. Luckily, the cabinets are still stocked with supplies so he counts on his future self taking care of his own injuries.

(Natch)

Putting gauze pads back on the sore, cracked skin is just another type of contortion, getting enough covered to be on the train to just fine.

(The sensors in his suits Jason mentioned bother the fuck out of him.)

He gives his Red Robin tunic a longing look, but picks up everything to go back downstairs, use the facilities to fix his busted utility belt and throw the specialty cloth in a washing machine.

He has a moment.

A long moment.

The vent right by the dresser goes downstairs, bypasses the kitchen and living room completely so he wouldn’t even have to—

The knock on the window by the bed answers that question before he can even squat down to get the vent cover off. Dick is bending over to look at him through the glass like he knows exactly where Tim’s brain is. The masked vigilante holds up one finger, wags it side-to-side in an ah-ah-ah, then points to the closed door.

A muscle in Red’s jaw jumps, his eyes narrow on the vigilante.

Dick’s mouth quirks up to one side in a try me smirk.

It’s so familiar, a vestige from those good times sparring, solving cases, watching stupid movie, saving each other’s asses, and all of the in-between (the guy who was once his friend, his mentor, someone who would fucking catch him). It’s Dick that chose Damian as his Robin over him. An old ache that still hits him at odd moments when the idea of going back is a muscle memory of better fucking times. Things that aren’t there anymore.

The utility belt hanging from one hand gives a sharp noise, startling him out of his revere, making him get the fuck with it. He turns away from Dick and the vent, looking at the compartment he’d just busted and the inconsequential slice in his palm from clenching down too hard, pissed at himself and the situation he really doesn’t want any part of.

(At least he’s not a gun-toting Batman, right? Always a bright side.)

He doesn’t turn at the second, more rapid knock, doesn’t see concern drawing Dick’s brows in, just goes to the damn door with bare feet and clothes slightly too big for his frame, totally not focusing on how the Bats have taken something that’s (used to be? Time fuckery and such) his, his Perch, and commandeered it for their own purposes (no problem, didn’t need that cape anyway, right?).

Nope.

All good, nothing to see here.

When he opens the door, the boots outside the window walk off.

Damian is at the table in a pair of dark shorts and a Henley, hair still wet; he’s intent on the tablet he’s holding while Jason is nowhere to be seen.

The youngest Robin looks up immediately, those green eyes and stark Bruce characteristics in his older face still a jarring thing settling in, but Tim’s eyes look away before Damian’s expression gets softer, his eyes missing nothing.

“Bel— ah, Drake,” the youngest is on his feet, pushing the chair out.

“It’s fine,” he holds up the good hand, already on his way to the door downstairs, “I’ve got to get some maintenance done and start looking for a way back. Don’t let me—” keep you.

But it’s a crazy thing when Damian is just right there so fast, his eyes wide, and a hand so much bigger than Red remembers wrapped around his bicep, stopping him before he gets halfway across the room.

“But a moment, Tim—“

Is completely lost because the instincts don’t fail him, still read watch your ass when his suit and sundries drop, his body moving to grip the wrist and prep for a nerve-strike of epic proportions.

(Because he and Dami? Not good. Even if this one doesn’t seem eager to watch him fall to his death or stab him with pointy things, he still has to go with what he knows.)

He’s only stopped by the fact Damian just goes with it, lets him trap the arm with an expression so full of calm and something like trust, Tim’s arm halts mid-strike and he literally can’t go through with it.

“I am sorry,” Damian immediately placates, down on his knees with an arm twisted in Red’s grip, “I should not have surprised you, and I am sorry, Tim. Please forgive me in this.”

Fucking what now?

He drops Damian’s wrist like it fucking burns, steps back with wide eyes, and a surprising urge to throw up (again). The small shot of adrenaline hits his system without an outlet, making his hands shake just a little—

(just enough for Dami to notice)

—because everyone has limitations, and he? Is no exception to that rule.

But he’ll be damned if he lets the demon of all people know that.

(Maybe that whole ‘eight hours of sleep before dabbling in time travel’ would be a good idea.)

“It’s…” he glances away, teeth bared at himself, “it’s my bad. I shouldn’t have jumped you.”

Damian doesn’t move as Red gathers up the pieces of his suit again, but those eyes miss nothing.

“I’m going down—”

“You are injured,” smoothly interrupting, Damian holds up his wrist to show the smear of blood left on his forearm and rises to his feet slowly to give Timothy every indication of his movements, “something easily fixed, Tim—ah, Drake.”

“It’s fine,” he starts out, his too-long hair covering his eyes. “I mean it’s just a scratch—”

Hands gently take the balled-up uniform out of his grip, “and yet, your immune system is still compromised and overworked. It would be appropriate to make certain it has no other obstacles affecting your health. I am certain you would rather be at peak than fighting off infection.”

It’s not snarky and demeaning like he expects, but an easy observation, one that makes him finally look over at the bigger, broader Robin and something else that makes his chest a little tight and his skin warm. It’s something that might set off a few receptors in his brain because the danger warnings might go down. Or not. It’s 50/50 really.

Easy, like he’s being absurdly careful, Damian takes his wrist in a light grip, and holds up the hand for inspection.

(If he even knew what was going on under the t-shirt, he’d know why the immunities are fucked.)

“This will take only a moment. Indulge me?”

And with Damian asking, being really nice by, you know, not trying to kill him or anything, Red can’t find it in him to say get fucked. Instead, he breathes slowly and assesses, trying to keep the irritation down to a minimum. His silent is taken as concession.

He sits down at the table gingerly, ready to jump at the next second, watching Damian move around the kitchen with a disturbing familiarity. His eyes flicker over to the tablet still moving with updating numbers, but forces his eyes away, keeping back from anything he might learn that could possibly collapse the universe or something.

He stares down at the table instead, hand palm-up while the big first aid kit he keeps under the sink in his own time seems to have grown into a tackle box full of fast and furious fix-it.

He doesn’t watch the antiseptic wipe swiping over his heartline or the gauze pad against the small slice, reaches for tape only to have Damian get to it first, those eyes intent on the barely noticeable injury.

“This isn’t necessary, you know,” he tries hesitantly, the calm concern on Damian’s face making him slightly...uncomfortable.

The current Robin hums back at him, unconcerned.

And that’s where they’re at when noise down the hall is the return of Jason and Dick from the Guest Room, the latter with a towel over his damp hair, the two of them talking quietly before they reach their visitor.

“Fuck that was good,” Jason gives a watered-down version of his usual sly smirk to the older vigilante, “blew my mind, Baby Boy.”

“You’re not the only one with a dirty mouth, Jay Bird,” Dick smirks back from under the towel, his bare upper body moving smoothly while he dries his hair, shirt over one shoulder. Getting in the guest bathroom window and naked had been something more primal than Dick wants to admit since suprise sex really isn’t par for the course when things like time/space visitors are on their proverbial doorstep, but Dick had felt so fucking raw when he got a load of that old version of Tim, something he missed during his time getting back to his Nightwing days, and Jay seemed to understand the need for intimacy, not even questioning it while the water washed over them both.

And the fact Dami asked without asking, knew both of them needed the distraction to stay ahead of the emotions, to try keeping some kind of distance is just another quirk they need to keep Tim from noticing.

(Because they’ve got a broken bird in their house, one they can’t fucking fix since that would potentially change the future. It’s helplessness and the drive to want do something that makes all the frustration need to be...handled before they can face him again. In some ways, it helps them to put back on the neutral faces, to keep them from reaching out too far.)

“Gotta keep provin’ it, yeah? Got me right where ya wanted, Dickie.”

“I know your weaknesses, and a good blow job is just one of the many.” Dick comes back smartly, but it’s lacking some of his usual panache.

“Don’tcha evah let Mask know that shit. Don’t wanna have baddies lining up ta suck me off.” Jason tries to keep up the banter, even when his battered hands work at his sides, flexing, clenching, keeping himself from reaching.

A slight laugh, still a little off his game, “You know, that might be a better weapon in your extensive arsenal of crime fighting, Little Wing.”

“That’s fuckin’ sick shit, Dick.”

“Wow, really? With a mouth like yours, I’m going to take that as an achievement.”

The two pause at the scene across the room. Even though they’d been preparing for it, knew what was waiting for them to face without a cowl and multiple options, it still tugs at them, this reminder of where they all used to be.

(Giving Dami a few extra minutes to ease Timmy down had been a good idea after all.)

A younger, more worn Tim Drake with hand extended sits on the edge of his seat, a cold example of fight or flight. His suit is lying out on the back of a kitchen chair with the usual sundries (and a compartment in the utility belt is busted, gleaming in the overhead light), but the two of them stop because they get a real look under the mask.

He’s not filling out the clothes of his older self, thinner and worn, the bones in his face sharp and cutting, framed by too-long hair. The tight flex of his muscles give an idea of how tense he holds himself, a trap ready to spring.

Dick breathes in slowly through his nose, a hand worming around to pat Jay on the wrist.

The two move again just as Tim’s head snaps over, eyes already narrowed, ready for the next fight to come his way.

(The comparison is unconscious, thinking about their Tim and how he has laugh lines, how his muscles go pliant in their hands, how the calculating look melts away when it’s time to let go of the mask.)

He’s half-risen out of his chair on instinct, sinking back down when he realizes he’s not going to have to defend himself in the immediate future. (Maybe.)

Damian finishes up and closes the kit. He might squeeze Tim’s fingers unconsciously before he releases the hand completely.

“Feel better, Timmy?” Dick asks cheerfully, dropping his towel on top the washing machine as they make themselves at home in the kitchen.

Red notices it all, his mind filling in how comfortable they are here as Jason pointedly grins at him and walks around the table to the food he has ready and warming so he doesn’t walk behind the skittish former Robin.

“Fine,” he remarks while Damian moves to put the first aid kit back. “Thanks for letting me use this as a temporary nest.” A glance down at his wrist computer and he’s still got—

Fucking nothing.

Dammit. The coordinates aren’t plotting correctly, and without that little factor, he’s pretty well fucked. The amount of re-coding and configuring the computer for the future is going to be hours’ worth of work and fuck he’s just...tired.

But most times, there’s no rest for the weary. “I should get back to it. Time isn’t going to open up and just, you know, let me go back. There’s still a lot I have to do.”

He doesn’t need to say, the less time here the better, but well, that should be pretty obvious at this juncture.

Jason surprises him by sliding a warm plate right under his nose, letting the panini take up his vision, and his stomach, the traitor, rolls with hunger.

“Ain’t gonna matter if ya take a minute n’ eat something, you feel me?”

Dick slides into his seat across the table, giving the illusion of space while not really giving any, “besides, you have to get some sleep first, remember?” And apparently Dick isn’t going to let that go of that any time soon. “If you want to finally tell me what time you’re from, B and Clark are going to hit the JL archives while you’re napping and try to find something about the device that brought you here. Schematics would make it a lot easier on you, right, Timmy?”

He blinks at the plate in front of his nose, his gaze automatically following it down to where Jason puts it on the table for him. His mouth waters a little and he really has no idea how long it’s been since he’s eaten anything (So...maybe they have a point).

Hesitantly, he looks up at the future Dick’s softly smiling face and haltingly gives the date in his own time, shoulders drawn up tight because it had been such a long fucking year.

Dick pauses, and the mental calculations are pretty obvious. What Red doesn’t expect, however, is Damian’s head to perk up or Jason to noticeably pause with a bowl of incredible smelling soup ready to put in front of him, too.

“Oh,” Dick’s voice is only a puff of air.

His head tilts quizzically because what? (It’s not like they would know the whole story. He hadn’t even told Kon and Bart all of it, fuck he’d never do that to them, never put that on anyone. Cassie got less than an hour span of time, and it did a number on her. Besides, it’s fine, really. It’s. Fucking. Fine. His fuck-up started it all, his mess, his fault because he’d thought he was so smart. Thought he had them when it was really the other way around…)

Jason swallows hard, eyes fluttering closed for just a second when he gets the year (Christ Timmy, Jesus H. Christ). Damian’s face falls in neutral lines, calm, cool, and collected.

“The Insurgent Crisis, right?” is all Dick has to say, drawing his eyes (well, he was Batman at one time, so he’d probably get some fucking memos about pain-in-the-ass alien invaders). “Tim, how long… how long has it been since you and the Titans came out of that fight?”

And no. No he doesn’t want to throw this down, doesn’t want them to know why he’s starting to feel like a heaping pile of sick sucks. Let him eat this tasty-looking (yes, he can fucking admit it even if Jason could have poisoned the fuck out of it) food and go the fuck downstairs where he doesn’t have to stare at their faces.

“Everyone hates alien dick bags,” he comes back lightly even though the bruises on his sides, the scars to his fucking brain from that whole debacle still make him want to scream just a little.

“S’at why yer feverin’?” Jason makes it a question because even though his mind is slightly still hazy going back that far and about some of the shit going down back then, he can remember Di talking ‘bout the aftermath and how fucked it was for alla ‘em, just trying ta keep standin’. ‘Course, his Timmy had talked about it through the years, only once and a while when he was pushing the edges of his endurance.  The set to this Timmy’s jaw, the twitch of his fingers, all of it like a roadmap, giving him more deets than Baby Bird probably wants them to have.

(Fine line yer walking, Timmers. The gun-totin’ Bats makes a helluva lot more sense, yeah?)

Keeping it calm, Jay finally puts the bowl down, makes himself keep moving to feed his other boys.

“It’s been a few days,” Tim admits grudgingly. “It’s…fucked-up timing, that’s all. I handled it—”

“We know you did, Hab—Tim,” Damian’s hand moves out of Tim’s sight, grips the back of Jason’s thigh when he puts plates down in front of him. “In time...you do tell us some details of that fight, so do not feel you must hold back. You may share whatever details you would like.”

“Excuse me, I what now?” And the horror, the utter fuckery that is the Mind Trap makes his hands clench with the memory, with the damage done to the Titans, with the possibility they might have to face those fuckers again in some unknown time period. “Do they hit Earth again?”

(He shouldn’t have even asked because he really shouldn’t get details of his future. That’s a bad time-travelling vigilante, bad. Still, the please, please, no is forefront in his brain pan.)

“That ain’t why,” Jason counters softly, letting his sweetheart do what he needed. “Timmers, we ain’t…good in yer time. We getcha, but it does get better, you feel me? We get better. So’s it was just the right time when ya finally did lay it out.”

He can suck in a breath, but just barely, and the world tilts just slightly, just a enough for him to see something else has been building here, the evidence in almost everything he notices pointing him to a completely different headspace in how he should be dealing with the future Batclan.

He’ll try to wrap his stunned brain around the entirety of the situation when the panic in his chest calms it the fuck down.

The next words out of Dick’s mouth, however, aren’t going to let that happen anytime soon.

“You weren’t even healed up from the fight before that,” is Dick’s half-exasperation.  “You had a bad few months moving from—”

Shit, shit.

They knew about the Triad.

His stomach rolls with nausea strong enough to trigger his gag reflex, makes him shove back in his chair with a hand over his mouth.

(The ‘fight before that,’ just a little vacay off the coast of Peru with some terrible bad guys that tortured him for his tech.)

And the three future Bats have an abrupt, sickening ah-ha moment in the memory of their Tim’s voice when he admitted he hadn’t taken time to really heal much before mind-controlling invaders thought Earth looked like it was on point.

Words like compromised and post-traumatic stress were a huge part of that.

Or, well, this apparently.

Red pauses because the food in his stomach rolls uncomfortably and he takes his own moment to close his eyes try to fucking breathe, half-meditate, anything to keep him from jumping into another remix from the part of his brain that has a technicolor rewind.

(They knew. They knew and he fucking told them about what happened on that ship.)

Dick abruptly leans over the table, snapping his fingers close to Red’s face, making those eyes blink, the body jerk, and attention focus.

“Stay right here with us, Tim,” because Dick remembers the flashbacks, remembers it with crystal clarity, and by the time he’d been back far enough into Tim’s life, the third Robin had been going through them for almost a year by himself.  “Focus on my voice. You’re in Gotham City, USA. It’s Wednesday morning. It’s ten years away from all of that.”

“Baby Bird,” is low and subtle, almost hypnotic, and his eyes slide over to Jason standing between Dami and Dick still with both hands flat on the table, “s’all right. I fucking promise, s’all right.” Slowly, one of the hands lifts, turns, reaches out.

It’s insane enough that he stares down at that offered hand, eyes going back to Dick’s earnest gaze, when he looks further at Damian who is holding both palms up just slightly in the universal not dangerous, nothing to see here.

Instead, he shifts mental gears, tries to pull out the second most effective weapon in his arsenal, deflection.

“I don’t even know why would I tell you that shit. I…I handled it. It’s done.”

The sad smile on Dick’s face tells him more than he realistically can believe at this juncture (and dammit, he used to be so good lying to Batman).

“Just like Jay said, Timmy. Eventually…eventually, we do everything we can to get you back.”

He blinks noncomprehendingly, gripping the seat of his chair in tight enough for his knuckles to go white.

“It,” Dami eases in, not moving but subtly sliding the water glass closer, “it was a… process, you understand. However, Richard and Jason do not lie.” And it’s a smile for him again, one that has it’s own tinges of old hurts and struggles, one that makes Damian Wayne more human than the kid that desperately wanted him gone. “The four of us, the Robins. We have come to be family, Tim. We are…closer now.”

And like he can’t help himself, his eyes go to Jason Todd (how he knew, how they all knew).

“It ain’t easy ta find anyone what can understand how we live, Timmers. Was only a matter of time ‘til we stopped tryin’ ta kill the one what could have our backs, you feel me?” Jason shrugs a shoulder casually, looking at Dick and Baby Bat before he comes back to Tim, “wouldn’t trade none a’ it. Bet dime ‘gainst a dozen, the you that likes being a pain in the fucking ass would say the same shit.”

His brain blinks off and on, all the evidence sliding into place.

Communal drawers, familiarity with his systems, being able to override the lab, checking on the future him, sensors in the suit because they knew he was abducted off the street, Hood gets he fucking loves paninis with the crusts cut off, all of it supports what the three are telling him.

At some point, he must have made his way back into Gotham, back into the nest of crazy crime fighters. He works with them (they have access in his database, have log ins, have pieces of him he usually hides), maybe even deals with their various and sundry issues because it’s all too obvious how they’ve earned a place through his security and protocols, how they’ve carved out places in his life.

This time, this time, when Jason Todd lays a gentle hand over his clenched fist on the table, for the first time since he’s known the guy—

Tim Drake doesn’t flinch.

**

With hands a little steadier than before, shoving shit like trauma and immediate escape plans to the back of his brain pan, Tim picks up the sandwich and takes a trusting bite.

Fuck, it’s awesome.

The future Bats are right there with him, probably riding the dredges of their own patrols and crime fighting for the night, giving an uneasy silence the background for the meal while everything just…processes.

(The soup is also awesome, and he’s mentally filing away the fact Jason Todd can cook without it tasting like Bruce’s lame attempt at sandwiches. Thank-you, Alfred, for teaching at least one Robin how not to poison himself.)

He starts in hesitantly around a mouthful of fucking delicious, “I’m not...exactly sure what device brought me here. It could have been a few different things.”

Dick’s attention is slightly sharp, the oldest palming a sleek cell phone that looks miles ahead of the antiquated piece of crap iPhone Tim is used to seeing. He types out one handed while eating,

“Can you start from the beginning, Tim? Try to give me whatever you remember, any detail could help narrow down the possibilities.”

“I had some left-over Insurgent systems in the Tower, running analysis on them,” he admits, taking another bite so he doesn’t give away too much. “I think something might have reacted badly to the scans, triggered… I don’t know, something, and whoosh. Here I am.”

Dick looks up from his phone, shaking Tim just slightly when it’s undivided attention, “that’s a good place to start. Bruce is in the middle of a tech refresh,” stretching the truth, but Tim doesn’t need to know that, “and he needs help, even if he won’t ask for it.”

All of them, even Tim, roll their eyes at the Dark Knight’s antics.

“So I’m going to the Cave for a few hours while you get some sleep. While I’m there, we’ll start looking at the inventory and old records. We’ll find you what you need, Timmy.”

Tim looks back down at his food, jaw working slowly as he chews, shifting in his chair because he’s not the intel guy or the extra soldier here, and he can’t jump the fuck in and have some answers waiting. It’s such a strange thing to just be sitting. He needs things to occupy his brain. “The scans were probably running when the portal opened up, so any results would be good.”

Damian likewise takes out his cell phone, taps a few things easily, “I will give Garfield and Rachel the time frame as well. Perhaps they may be able to find the correct configurations.”

He almost opens his mouth to tell them anything about the tech is probably on his ghost drive, but saves that little bit of information for when he’s got a few minutes alone to try hacking into it himself. Instead, he stuffs his mouth full and lets the detectives work the case around him. He doesn’t realize his shoulders are sagging, eyes falling half-mast, his body running down with a few minutes of chill time.

“Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it, Timmers. ‘Tween alla us, we’ll getcha what cha need,” Jason waves his spoon, talking around the bite of sandwich.

It’s so casual and careless, something that might have fallen out of Jason Todd’s mouth a hundred times, something that jars him right down to the bone. And Tim stutters on it for a second, lets it sink in instead of deflecting it. “...I...appreciate the help, thanks.”

And something, something in the way Dami’s eyes get soft when he smiles again, when Dick reaches out, reaches over and squeezes his hand tightly for longer than just a second before drawing away, in the way Jason seemed to know his quirks, all of it, fucking all of it—

Makes him utterly fucking terrified.

Because once he was on his own, after the R was taken, he figured all those years of bleeding and broken, of fighting the good fight as a Bat, of being welcome in the Cave, in the Manor, in their lives, of being one of them—

Was just…over.

It was a searing, painful thing, a burn in a place nothing else could touch, a stab so sharp and biting it left him weak even when he had to keep moving.

Even when his friends died around him, even when he was the only one left fucking standing to fight—

Losing his place as Robin broke something integral, something he could never fix. A wound that couldn’t be stitched or bandages, something the bled like a motherfucker until he had to fight just to fucking breathe sometimes.

And in a crazy turn of events, he’s staring down at the mostly eaten food, taking in this new world, and those wounds are still there, bleeding sluggishly, still killing him in degrees. His brain isn’t numb to it all, the smallest actions and reactions, the exchanged looks and easy comfort, all of them looking to him like it should be totally natural. It’s fucking with them, not getting it back from him. That’s what all the looks being thrown around means, the aborted movements, the calm and careful way they’re treating him.

He really is…one of them.

(Mental note: trading gun-toting Batman future in exchange for BatClan is more of a win than he could have ever hoped for. Next steps once he gets back to his own time—find the correct series of events for this future. Execute.)

**

Dick smiles down at him with such a fond expression, and all that sudden attention is…well, he’s not sure yet. There’s a lot of land between the two of them in his time, as little interaction as possible. It’s not fine, not what he ever wanted to happen, it just… was.

(So that look might just make his shoulders relax, his chest lift a little easier)

The ruffle to his hair, the sudden yet inevitable octopus hold engaged (and wow, it never gets any easier to tolerate, especially when his fucking back is a raw mess and his joints are starting to get fucking achy). It’s a whirlwind of motion and he’s just suddenly left with the two Robins that literally wanted him dead at one point or another.

That are now being stupidly careful with him.

Which is still a double-take for his brain, just not one that makes him want to deliver things like nerve strikes.

Sneaking away from the table to head downstairs while Dami and Jay finish clean-up is absolutely a waste of time because Jason Todd manages to play the movie he set up earlier and paused on the TV, blocking the door downstairs with his big body.

When the opening plays, he doesn’t even have to guess. It’s Thor: Ragnarok.

Slowly, slowly, his narrowed gaze goes back to the smirking vigilante. The one that easily offers him the remote.

“How did you know—?”

A shrug and that smirk,

“This isn’t out in theaters yet in my time.” And he just shouldn’t even though a shiver goes up his spine and the couch kind of looks inviting.

“It’ll be soon, Timmers. Yer just gettin’ a first lookit, yeah?” Jay drawls it out because that asshole knows about his nerd obsessions.

Shit is starting to get real.

“The temptation is strong with this one,” he deadpans tiredly because really.

Damian however tuts at him, drying his hands and flipping the towel over one shoulder. It’s an easy thing when the two herd him over to the said overstuffed couch with hot chocolate instead of coffee.

“Richard has a point,” Dami chides gently, tucking an awesome fleece Flash blanket (…yup, that’s never going to change) around him, “we shall give you entertainment and allow you to rest while we gather supplies.” And the ghost of fingers, something he wasn’t apparently supposed to catch, as the back of his neck, sliding over the tips of his too-long hair. “It would be beneficial if you could manage a few hours of sleep. However, I understand your reluctance to do so.”

But, well, Tim’s a detective, Demon.

“You have dark circles under your eyes,” he starts off the list, “a tremor in your left hand, and your muscles are drooping. You’ve probably been awake over 48 hours straight.”

“It seems more than just your humor has rubbed off on me,” the youngest admits to cover the fact he’d been discreetly checking on how warm this past-Tim has become. Even with the antibiotics they witnessed him take earlier, he still looks too pale, more than just exhaustion creeping up on him.

A second mug of hot chocolate appears over Robin’s shoulder because some people make pretty good plans when his boys needed someone else to be just a mite more stubborn, “very funny, Baby Bat. Still, Timmers called ya out, yeah? Half-dead and still on his motherfuckin’ game.”

Jay steers Dami with familiarity, prodding his mid-back until he’s on the other end of the couch. And because the Hood is a man what knows his boys, he lets the movie play, moves to put the discarded tablet in Dami’s hands, taps a few things out on Timmy’s wrist computer to show him the place for a few more deets on the time travel algorithm. There’s another blanket to lay over Baby Bat, and he moves away, fakes being busy in the kitchen, giving the two exhausted birds a little time—

To drift off and finally sleep.

When he comes back in twenty minutes to the movie still playing, he smiles softly when he takes the tablet and wrist computer from lax hands, uses all his Bat-talent to test the heat on Timmy’s forehead and lean down to press his mouth to Dami’s.

He’s going to hold down the fort while Dickie works the Manor side of things. He’s going to be easy-like with Timmers, banter and cajole him outta the snap when he needs to because Bats? Well, they don’t give in. Maybe they oughta just give Timmy a little reminder.

[divine-ruin]

Quick Update

Hey guys, so my kids went back to school today as all the Catholic schools in Corpus have reopened their doors.  Public school will not start back up again until after Labor Day.  My power is still out, but AEP was literally backing their big ass truck into my backyard to fix my downed power line as soon as we pulled into my driveway this morning.  We had to run home and get the kids’ Mass uniforms since today is their school Mass day.  Bless AEP.  They were in the process of cleaning up broken branch limbs and stuff in my backyard because “we’re not going to work in a mess, and we’re also not going to leave a mess”.  That brought me to tears today.  What also brought me to tears today was watching my kiddos act so brave and start right back on their routine today like they weren’t even phased.  My daughter Addie, who’s 3, was so excited to be back at school today, as was my son Sammy, who’s 5 and just started Kindergarten a few weeks ago.

We will be at home tonight; AEP promised that they would have everything up and running by this afternoon.  I actually had electricity when I came home, but it was very intermittent due to the downed line in my yard.  My fence is a total loss, but we’re going to be working to get it back up tonight so that way my poor dogs Cleo and Echo have a place to run while we take inspection of the house.  We have an insurance adjuster coming next Wednesday, and while we’re missing over a layer of shingles on my roof, we were way more lucky than my family in Rockport.

With that being said, my mom’s house is only a partial loss, but they’re able to run a generator at this point at night to close off the bedrooms and run a window unit as well as charge their cell phones.  Anyone that has donated money to the relief in my hometown of Rockport-Fulton, TX, and lemme say it loud enough for the people in the back:

BLESS YOU.  THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP AND ASSISTANCE.  YOU ARE APPRECIATED.

Thank you all for your support, love, mantras, good vibes, prayers, thoughts for my family, and constant communication over the past week.  I can’t tell you how much that uplifted me. 

My schedule is finally getting back to normal. For everyone on Discord and here that have been messaging me, I’ll be on my actual computer tonight so I’ll be able to actually sit down and respond to you all.  I was able to get in game periodically over the past few days, but that was more or less to test the strength of internet signal in the two places we evacuated to as well as test my laptop battery since power was very intermittent.

I will be back at work tomorrow, hopefully with clean clothes for my kiddos, a clean fridge (as I’m having to toss over $200 worth of groceries), and a livable house.

PS - FUCK YOU, HARVEY.  YOU NEED TO DIE ALREADY.  You’ve affected this family in more ways than one.  You trapped my mom, left me without power, and are now trapping my family members in Houston.  Imma pop some fucking bottles when it’s gone.

[evilroda]

The Art of Losing and Regaining Privileges

So on Thursday, I ended up losing my sudo privileges. Friday night, I gained them back. What am I talking about? Welll...

Okay, so Thursday morning, I looked at my Pocket CHIP and realized I hadn’t used it in a while. Looking to change that I turned it on and tried to run an update. It was then that I realized I had forgotten the root password, so I thought I would just reflash it and start over.  Now, to reflash your CHIP, you use a piece of software called CHIP Flasher, which is a Chrome app. On Linux, use of this software requires a one-time setup process involving a change in your permissions, outlined here. First mistake was assuming the instructions were just generically for Linux. They were not. They were actually specifically for Ubuntu; I am running Solus.

So I run the first command. That works. Then I run the next command. It says that the plugdev group is not available. At this point, I am listening to music on my headphones, connected to my laptop via a USB headphone adapter because my headphone jack on my laptop broke. So I realize the commands are for Ubuntu, and decide that I finally should get around to reinstalling Linux Lite on my netbook. I unplug my adapter because it’s so bulky, I can’t plug anything else in (my mouse is occupying the port on the other side), and try to plug in a thumb drive to make it a Linux Lite live CD. Computer doesn’t recognize it. I try again with a different thumb drive. Nothing. I plug it into my netbook with Solus booted up. Works on that one. What? I try my headphone adapter in my big latop. Doesn’t work. Shit.

At that point, I realized I was pretty fucked. After trying the complete instructions in a desperate attempt to see if that would fix the issue (it didn’t), I hopped on the unofficial Solus Discord and got help from a South African dude. We started troubleshooting, and apparently I had fucked with the groups? I’m actually still not entirely sure what the initial issue was. For future reference, to see what groups you’re in, you type in groups, and the output should look like: 

evilroda@hpav ~ $ groups  evilroda dialout audio video cdrom lpadmin sudo fuse

Basically, you need to be in the dialout group to use USB devices. Now, I was still in dialout, in fact, what you’re seeing there is the exact output I pasted into the Discord chat, so I have no idea what the issue actually was. However, after a while trying to troubleshoot this, I looked at the man page for the usermod command and found this little gem:

-G, --groups GROUP1[,GROUP2,...[,GROUPN]]]           A list of supplementary groups which the user is also a member of.           Each group is separated from the next by a comma, with no           intervening whitespace. The groups are subject to the same           restrictions as the group given with the -g option.           If the user is currently a member of a group which is not listed,           the user will be removed from the group. This behaviour can be           changed via the -a option, which appends the user to the current           supplementary group list.

I thought, hey, maybe if I just did the same command, but without -a, once to take me out and once to put me back in the group, it might work! And to my surprise, after logging out and back in, it did! Unfortunately, there was another issue. I’ll let what I posted in the Discord chat explain it for you...

So I fixed the USB problem. We may have another issue, though. evilroda@hpav ~ $ groups evilroda dialout Kill me. evilroda@hpav ~ $ sudo nautilus Password: evilroda is not in the sudoers file.  This incident will be reported. PLEASE KILL ME

Yes, that’s right. I revoked my own damned sudo privileges. As the man page posted above explains, when you use -G without -a to put yourself in a group, it takes you out of every other group. I was even more fucked than when I started.

For those of you who don’t know, the command sudo stands for “super user do,” and allows you to do administrative level tasks, like installing software, or running updates, or accidentally wiping your hard drive. Note that even if you use a program like the Solus Software Center, if you do not have sudo privileges, then you can not install software, as it still uses those privileges to bar access from people who shouldn’t have access to your system. So basically, I could still use my computer, I just couldn’t administrate it. This is a pretty big issue.

Funny enough, this is actually an easy fix, as there’s loads of guides on how to do this! Just reboot, and on the GRUB screen, hit shift and... Stop. I’m not using GRUB. Much to my dismay, after looking up how to fix it and rebooting, I saw not the GRUB bootloader screen, but a UEFI bootloader screen. Basically, GRUB loads your operating system, and, if you’re running multiple operating systems, lets you choose which one you want to load into. Most Linux operating systems have a recovery mode in GRUB that will let you fix your lack of sudo privileges. However, there is no UEFI bootloader that everybody uses, as far as I know, whereas everybody not on UEFI uses GRUB (or LILO, but usually GRUB). Now, Ubuntu’s UEFI bootloader has a recovery mode, I know this because I looked it up and saw how to get into it (you press escape). I don’t even know if Solus’s UEFI bootloader has a recovery mode; if it does, I can’t find it.

So at this point, I went out with some friends to hang out and play Magic at our local gaming store. Before I did, I post on the Solus forum about the issue, After I got back, I went through some troubleshooting with a Norwegian on the Solus Discord, nobody had posted on the forum thread as of yet. His solution involved booting into a live CD and chrooting and stuff I didn’t really understand, and, long story short, didn’t work. I was thinking about just reinstalling the whole damned OS, which, while I could do it, and do it without data loss, would be a pain in the ass.

However! Friday night, I got back home from work and saw there was a reply from someone on the forum thread! All I needed to do was boot into a live CD, mount my hard drive, find the group file, and edit myself into the sudo group! After looking up some instructions on going about all that, it worked! You can find a complete walkthrough of what I did on the thread here, but I’ll just leave it at the fact that it worked and I can administrate my system again.

Now, I’m sure some people are going to point to this and say, “Hah! You see? Linux IS hard! You don’t have these issues on WINDOWS! OR MAC!” And to that I say, you’re full of shit. I’m just some average guy. When I first started using Linux, I didn’t know a thing about it, and now people look at me like I’m a computer wizard when I talk about this stuff (I actually am a computer wizard, an evil one, but that’s beside the point). My point is, all I did was read up on this stuff. Everything you do wrong on Linux, you can recover from, even if it involves reinstalling the system. Depending on the distro, I can install it in a snap, and I can definitely install Solus with no issue at all. Hell, I can even back up my data right before I reinstall using the live CD. I don’t know what the process is for reinstalling OSX, but Windows is hard to install. I mean, it’s easy initially, but it takes a long time, and then you have to hunt down drivers and do all this setup, it’s just a pain, and for a system that doesn’t tell you everything. Linux does. Even if you don’t understand it, somebody else does and can help you. So if you read this and got scared of using Linux, don’t be. I can assure you that, while I have had problems with Linux, I’m not going back to Windows, and I’m definitely not buying a Mac. In fact, let me put it this way. Windows (and, for the short time I used it, OSX) made me feel powerless. Linux makes me feel powerful.