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alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

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Experimental Design Chapter 4: Actions have consequences

Synopsis: Stone reminisces on his past, and how he came to become Agent Stone. Robotnik gets the bright idea to get handsy with a collar. Feelings ensue.

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Actions have consequences. That was the first thing Stone was taught back in school, long before he was given the identity of Stone. As a child, Stone wasn't too different from his adult self, with a few exceptions. The most blatant one of all was his utter disregard for any and all authority figures. But in his defense, it was utterly hilarious to see Teacher Deidre try and wobble over to chase him, her big gangly arms wafting with the breeze. Teachers had words to describe people like him. He was too nice to be a bully but too much of a nuisance to be a good kid. He was kind and friendly to his peers and his family, but showed absolutely no consideration for his teachers.

Thus, he was labelled a 'troublemaker'. For a boy with no future goals in mind, it suited him well enough.

There was one victim above all else that young Stone liked to tease. Mr Khoury was a new science teacher in his school, with slicked back hair and a wide grin and a crazed look in his eyes. As a teacher he was OK—this was his first job as a teacher and so he was still a little wet behind the ears—but it was the experiments he did during break time that awarded him his reputation amongst the students. As a son of a chemical manufacturing giant, he was able to get easy access to all sorts of chemicals and materials for his experiments, and then some. He'd mess with chemicals in bunsen burners. He'd steal compost and seeds from the school garden to experiment on the plants. More often than not, he'd make sculptures and robots from scrap metal that he fished from the school's recycle bin.

He may not have been the best teacher, but there was no denying that he was incredibly and devoutly passionate about science. That made him the best target for pranks, Stone thought.

It started small. Stone would steal little things from Mr. Khoury when he wasn't looking. A piece of scrap for his experiments, the fancy gold pen on his desk. But of course, it quickly escalated into hiding all the valves for the bunsen burners and locking the room and drawing silly stuff on his classroom's whiteboard. The best moments were when Mr. Khoury caught him in the act and tried to chase after him. He'd laugh, just a silly little kid enjoying the moment as he ran and ran, glancing behind his back to stare at his teacher's flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. Mr. Khoury was slow compared to Stone, so sometimes he’d let himself get caught. And then he let himself get caught more often. One time, instead of taking him to time out or detention, Mr Khoury forced the young child to help him with his experiments. And then he became an active participant. He claimed it was just to observe his teacher, and in a sense he was. He remembered Mr. Khoury's quiet look of concentration, the glitter in his eyes and the fire that burned deep in his soul. He remembered it so well that those looks stained his dreams, making him feel fuzzy and warm and happy.

It all seemed so fun and idyllic. Until one day, when Stone found Mr Khoury clearing out his desk.

“But I don’t understand,” the young Stone said. It was another lunch break, and he was expecting another experiment. Instead, Mr. Khoury was packing up his stuff, his normally calm face twisted into a scowl. “You didn’t do anything. You can't be fired.”

“It’s that incompetent headmistress," Mr Khoury said. "Her and her backwards views of the world, of progress. It’s only because of her that I have to go.”

“But why?”

“I’m…” Mr Khoury pouted, then turned to young Stone. Behind his glasses, his eyes were dark but focused, a swirling and shimmering vortex. “Will you keep this a secret between you and me?”

He nodded obediently. His chest felt light, knowing that his teacher trusted him so much with such an important secret.

“I’m married.”

Stone frowned. He wasn’t surprised, Mr Khoury was very good looking for an adult. Or at least, he thought he was. His friends didn’t agree. Then again, most of his friends were boys like him. “Is that a bad thing?"

“To another man. I'm married to a man," Mr Khoury replied.

Stone tilted his head in confusion. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing."

"It's not, but of course your headmistress seems to think otherwise, the troglodyte," Mr. Khoury spat. "Not all love is equal in this society. People of walks of life are expected to fit into society's expectations of love, and when you defy it, you’re punished.”

"I love someone," Stone blabbed. His small eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching up to cover his lips. He didn't mean to say that. Not to Mr Khoury of all people.

"Oh? Who?"

Young Stone looked away shyly. A small chuckle escaped Mr Khoury's lips, gracing his sharp features with a rare softness.

"I'm flattered, but I'm afraid you're a bit too late. Five years too late, to be specific," Mr Khoury said.

"Most people say it's just a childhood crush," he quietly admitted. "They don't think it's real."

"All love is real, to some extent. It's the same neurotransmitters firing in our brains whether it's a fictional entity or a real person, someone close to you or someone that's completely and utterly unattainable." Mr Khoury smiled. "Perhaps you do have a childhood crush, but if you learn from who you love, and why you love them, maybe you'll learn a little bit about yourself from these experiences."

He nodded slowly, a frown playing on his young and childish face. He knew nothing would ever happen between them, even if Mr. Khoury stayed at school forever. In the presence of someone greater and better than him, why would they ever fall in love with someone so weak and dumb?

Mr. Khoury's face sharpened. "You've learned something from this experience, have you?"

He nodded. "I did."

"Perhaps not everybody in this school is a complete idiot," Mr. Khoury said, rubbing his hand through the kid's short hair.

He stared up at his teacher's face. He did not know how or why, but something in his gut told him that this would be their last conversation ever. "I'll be smarter," the young boy continued. "I-I'll be better than smart. I'll be strong and cool and smart, and I won't let bullies tell me off."

In all his life, he'd never seen Mr. Khoury smile like this, soft and gentle like his favourite teddy bear. It shouldn't suit his face, and yet it did, this rare moment of softness transforming him into another person, a better person. In the reflection of Mr Khoury's eyes he saw his own expressive face, wide and beautiful. A selfish thought popped into his head, of someone looking at him with the same adoration that he looked at Mr Khoury. It couldn't be anyone. It had to be someone great. Someone brilliant and smart, who saw the world in a way no one else did, who'd grant him the kindness of letting him be by their side.

It didn't have to be Mr Khoury, but someone like him. Someone just as great and brilliant.

"Tariq?" Mr Khoury asked.

"Stone!!" Robotnik yelled.

Stone jolted in surprise, turning his head to the source of the sound. In the present, Dr. Robotnik was glaring at him from his usual spot behind his desk, his stubble peeking out a little bit more than usual.

Stone put on a smile. "Sorry, sir?"

"I was going to ask you to do something, but it seems your mind is filled with ridiculous nonsense. What is it? Did you suddenly remember that red and blue paint combine to create purple?"

"It's nothing," Stone handwaved. "Just remembered something. Nothing important though."

But Robotnik didn't seem convinced. "You've been staring into space a lot lately. Do I have to get your brain checked?"

Stone blinked rapidly. From anyone else it was an insult, but from Robotnik it sounded almost like concern. "If you're talking about the nightclub incident, I'm fine. What about you, though?"

"Obviously I'm fine," Robotnik scoffed. "Unlike you, I haven't been affected whatsoever. My superior intellect means I do not get inundated by such insignificant things like death, and dildos, and other miscellaneous things in that category."

Except that was an obvious lie. Since the nightclub incident a few days ago, a few things had changed between them. For one, Senator Willingham didn't take too kindly to being tortured, so they needed to keep a low profile for now, which meant more hours being by Robotnik's side. Robotnik in turn had devoted more time to his research, working late into the night to work on a mysterious new project he'd concocted. Normally the doctor was eager to talk about his experiments, but when Stone tried to ask this time, Robotnik would stiffen and clamp up, pretending not to hear him.

And then there were those...other moments.

They were insignificant in the grand scheme of things but Stone took care to notice the insignificant things, because in his line of work nothing was ever insignificant. The twirl of a moustache, the way the doctor chewed on the very tip of his gloves, the snap of leather gloves to the doctor's pale but firm wrists, the way he licked his bottom lip all too slowly when he was deep in thought.

It was earlier that day, as Robotnik scratched and itched at a red rash growing at the base of his stubble-lined jaw that Stone realised he had been staring at his boss for a whole ten minutes.

It wasn't polite to stare. He was sure if Robotnik actually paid attention and caught him, he might have been given some form of punishment. But then that only made Stone think about his punishment, and what Robotnik would do to him. If Robotnik made a threat, he always followed through on it. It could be any day now, perhaps even today, that he'd be punished. But usually Robotnik was rather swift with his threats, claiming that it took precious time away from his experiments. So why was Robotnik delaying it? Did he forget, or was he planning something big? If it was something big, why was it big? Would it be painful or humiliating, mild or serious?

Would Dr. Robotnik glance down at Stone with that heated gaze once again, ready to take whatever he wanted from him? Was Stone willing to give his boss whatever he wanted?

Stone glanced at his reflection, only to see a wide, excited smile grace his features. He clamped it down, trying to relax his face into a more normal smile. He was not getting excited about getting punished. This was just the adrenaline talking, or maybe that newly-discovered kink of his. This had nothing to do with his boss.

Robotnik waved his hand frantically in front of Stone's face, making him blink.

"You're doing it again, Stone," Robotnik said.

"I-I'm sorry, sir."

Robotnik stood up from his chair and dramatically took a step forward, closing the distance between their bodies. With his gloved hand, he pulled Stone's face up, forcing him to look into Robotnik's cold, dark eyes. "What's going on in your mind?"

"Nothing," Stone said quickly, even as his eyes glanced down to Robotnik's salt and pepper stubble. He always wondered what that'd feel like on his hand. Would it feel different on his lips?

"It shouldn't be nothing. There should be something to fill that enormous head of yours," Robotnik cradled Stone's head roughly, as if looking through his eyes to see his dark, festering mind. "Perhaps there's something wrong with your head after all. The neurons aren't firing, or perhaps your frontal lobe just isn't responding to stimulus."

A strange thrill grew in Stone's chest as a smile grew on his lips. "Wouldn't it be the parietal lobe that's not working? If I'm not paying attention?"

Robotnik's eyes widened for a second, blinking rapidly as crimson fury crept up his face. Stone was correct, and they both knew it. In an instant, calm and logical Robotnik was unraveling at the seams. It always entertained Stone, seeing his boss lose that carefully crafted veneer of his and the madness and the brilliance peek through.

"You know, I never got to punish you for your insubordination the other day," Robotnik purred, a predator sizing up its prey. "Perhaps I've been a bit too lax with you recently. You should be taught more...discipline."

Stone couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to. Something about that crazed look in Robotnik's eyes made him feel bold and cocky, as if he was the one in charge and not the man with the army of robots at his disposal. But that was silly to entertain, especially given how tightly Robotnik was holding his face. "How would teaching me discipline help me with my head?"

Robotnik chuckled darkly, exposing a bit more of his throat. They were almost nose to nose, so close he could almost taste the doctor's sweat. This was the moment Stone was all too familiar with, the charged energy building between their bodies, rising and rising, only striking when Robotnik so commanded. This was the moment when Robotnik's breathing increased and his pupils dilated and his cheeks went a gorgeous rosy pink. It made him look ridiculous. Human.

Gorgeous.

Stone sharply inhaled. Oh god, he didn't think that, did he? Not about his boss. Not about Ivo Robotnik.

"Stone," Robotnik said.

He couldn't stop staring at Robotnik's pink lips. Were they always so kissable?

"Get down on your hands and knees," Robotnik ordered.

To his credit, Stone did it all without shaking. Whether he would hypothetically shake from fear or excitement, Stone didn't know anymore.

"Stay there, and don't move an inch.," Robotnik said, disappearing for a short while to grab something from his desk. That act alone limited the possible punishments he might be given. What did Robotnik have planned?

He heard Robotnik's steps approach him. "You can move your head up now."

Stone did, taking his time to let his eyes trail up Robotnik's legs, torso, neck,before finally resting on Robotnik’s devilish face. In his hand was something circular but thick, wires and electronics sticking out of the fabric interior. It resembled a dog collar, but it was much thicker and wider than a normal one, with strange wires surrounding it. But Stone didn’t remember Robotnik owning a dog.

Stone gulped. It couldn’t be…that wasn’t for him?

“Don’t move a muscle,” Robotnik commanded.

“Sir, this is unconventional.”

“Oh, but you’re an unconventional man, Agent. I thought I was dealing with a government lapdog with a modicum of intelligence. But you’re so much more than that, aren’t you?”

Stone went silent, keeping his face neutral. Robotnik chuckled darkly as he undid Stone's tie, letting it drop to the floor. His lithe, leather-bound fingers traced the sensitive skin of his neck before clamping the collar on. It wasn't tight, but it wasn't loose, as if it was made for him.

"I must admit, you keep stumping me. There's no records about you. Nothing about the man you were before you became Agent Stone, what school you went to, your parents' names, whether your mommy tucked you into bed or not. Even I couldn't find anything." Robotnik leaned forward. "I find that very strange, Stone. Or whatever your real name is."

"Ben," Stone said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Ben Stone. My name," Stone swallowed tightly. "And as for everything else, I graduated the academy top of my class, I kept getting transferred to too many schools when I was a kid, my parents' names are Ali and Mary, and my mom tucked me into bed every night until I was 12."

"I've read your file—or should I say, I've read Stone's file. I know all about your cover identity. You're supposed to be an obedient little dog with a gun. And you know what happens to dogs that don't do what they're supposed to do?"

Robotnik pressed his thumb to a button on his gloves.

"They get a little shock."

An electric current rippled through Stone's neck, making him gasp, more in surprise than actual pain. It only lasted a second, but it was enough for all the muscles on his back to firm up in attention.

"Does it hurt?" Robotnik grinned.

Stone let out a chuckle. "You'll never hurt me, doctor. We both know you can't."

"Wrong answer," Robotnik said.

An another electrical current at a slightly higher voltage. Enough to make Stone wince, but still far from painful. It all but proved Stone's point. The doctor could take the air out of his lungs, but he was always careful never to harm him.

Robotnik crouched down so he was face to face with Stone. His smile was condescending, but not completely malicious. The doctor was far too excited to be that cruel. "You're going to be wearing this collar all day. If you slip up even a little bit, I press a little button on my glove and you'll get shocked. The more times you slip up, the longer the electric shock lasts. I'll take it off when the shift ends. No earlier, no later. Understand?"

Stone stared at Robotnik for a few seconds, taking in those flushed cheeks and eager grin. This was a test, Stone realised, and he was the sole participant. Was the doctor's plan to reduce his will? To make him beg? Robotnik would love to see that, it'd stroke his massive ego even more, but Stone would never give him that satisfaction. He'd do many things, but not everything. It'd take away the fun.

Another chuckle escaped from Stone. Robotnik's lips thinned into a line. "What are you laughing about?"

"Don't I get a reward for this?" Stone smiled devilishly. "If I'm a dog, I deserve a treat for behaving, don't I?"

Robotnik smirked. "And why should I give you anything?"

"To reinforce behaviour. After all, isn't that why you put a collar on me?"

Instead of laughing, Robotnik scoffed sharply, the corner of his lips pulling up against his will. "Perhaps." He stood up suddenly and went to his chair. It spun approximately 70 degrees before Robotnik placed his feet down, grinding to a halt. "You know, Stone, all this talking and moving has made me thoroughly parched. A nice latte with steamed Austrian goat milk sounds like it'll do just the trick."

They both knew that the coffee machine was in the breakroom for the other guards, on the opposite side of the compound where the mobile lab sat. The chances that Stone would be seen wearing what was very clearly a BDSM collar were fairly high, but there was just as high a chance that the person who caught him would report it to both their superiors, and Robotnik wouldn't have that. This was just another one of those games of 'Simon says' that they played. A dare to see how far Stone could be pushed.

Stone slowly stood up, stuffed his tie into his suit pocket, and gave his most award-winning smile. He always liked a challenge. "Of course, sir," he purred.

Robotnik's cheeks seemed to get redder, but if he had something to say Stone didn't hear it as he opened the door and strolled outside.

Whether it was Stone's luck or some other supernatural force, the base was surprisingly empty given the time of day. Not that there weren't people, but the few he did pass seemed far too engrossed in conversation to notice him walking past. All the better for him. Less questions asked, less answers he needed to give.

In the breakroom were two coffee machines: one that was used fairly often and one that wasn't. Stone went to the latter, preparing the coffee beans (a special blend of his own creation based on a South American recipe) and steaming the goat milk and making the foam. The resulting latte is rather sweet, with a chocolate-y aftertaste. Not everyone's cup of coffee, but Stone liked it, and Robotnik loved it. It definitely earned him a few brownie points when he first came into the doctor's services.

Stone had just finished making a latte for the doctor (and of course one for himself because why not?) when he heard someone call out his name. "Stone?"

He turned his head, letting out a breath when he realised it was Agent Jared Aird: low-level government agent and high-level weirdo. In other words, the closest thing to a friend Stone had outside of Robotnik.

"What's up?" Stone asked.

"Someone's looking for y—" Stone winced suddenly as an electric shock hit him. Aird's eyes flickered between the collar and Stone’s expression, the dots connecting slowly but surely in his mind. "I, uh…OK then. I'll just talk to you later."

Stone stifled the need to explain himself. He didn't need to make this more embarrassing. “You said someone's looking for me. Not the doctor?"

"No, they're looking for you specifically. Or at least…it sounded like they were talking about you. Described you to a T."

"Name?"

"Called themselves Lara Stein." Before Stone could comment, Aird said, "Obviously a pseudonym. We’re pulling ID checks on her though. Should take at least an hour." Aird glanced at the collar and coughed loudly into his fist. "I'll just…tell her to come back later."

Stone didn’t know a Lara, or anyone that could be looking for him specifically. Not many people knew of Agent Stone, as part of the whole cover identity business. He shook his head. "Tell her to come after my shift's done, please. And, uh…don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t, I won’t, we all know the doctor is a freak. But a shock collar? Bit kinky for his tastes.”

Stone let a frown slip. The doctor was strange, but certainly not a freak. He was a genius with limitless knowledge, unburdened by the expectations of society, but no one else saw him like that. Everybody thought he was dangerous. Everybody thought he was crazy. Not Stone though. Stone knew the doctor was just a drama kid with a need to please. Dangerous men weren’t capable of such innocent, child-like smiles when they tinkered away with their machines. Crazy men didn’t see the world with such fascination and awe.

Times like these reminded Stone that he might literally be the only person in the world who liked Robotnik, let alone tolerated him.

Stone forced a chuckle. “He’s certainly gotten some weird ideas lately. But I’ll manage.”

“I hope so,” Aird muttered with concern.

The trip back was equally uneventful, with even fewer potential witnesses. By the time he got back to the mobile lab, Robotnik was sneering at him, stamping his foot for dramatic effect.

"You're seven minutes late." Robotnik snatched the latte out of Stone's hand and took a sip. His face, as it often did when he drank Stone's coffee, softened considerably. "At least the coffee is the correct temperature this time. Nearly scalded my tongue yesterday."

Stone smiled warmly. The only compliments he ever got from Robotnik was for his coffee. Not that he minded. He made some damn good coffee, and any compliment from Robotnik was worth its weight in gold. "You're welcome, sir."

The rest of the day went surprisingly normally, give or take a few electric shocks here and there when Stone looked like he was daydreaming again. Robotnik did little to hide how much he enjoyed the way Stone twitched in surprise, catching him off guard. Even when Robotnik left to get a quick snack, his presence could still be felt on Stone' throat. The collar tethered him to the doctor, a physical mark of his servitude. It was sobering, realising how far he let himself get subjugated by Robotnik's whims, to the point of humiliation and shame. This was just the start, and if Robotnik got any more crazy ideas from BDSM, this might not be the last time he'd be punished like this. No more 'pin yourself to the wall'. It'd be 'get down on all fours and bark like a dog' or 'lick my shoes'.

He saw his wide grin in the reflective walls and forced himself to stop smiling.

When Robotnik came back, he continued his usual work on his computer, stopping every now and then to quiz Stone on the collar and how it was working. After Stone answered, he would then ask him to write it down anyway. The first two times, Stone did it without question. The third time, Stone felt brave enough to ask Robotnik why he wasn’t taking the notes himself if he was so much smarter. He glanced over his shoulder, ready to ask, only to realise that the doctor was already behind him.

"Sir?"

Robotnik was silent as he turned Stone's chair to face him, his normally expressive face toned down into something that almost looked soft. He clicked a few buttons on his gloves, and then fiddled with a strap on the collar. It opened up easily, sliding down and off of Stone's neck, before gently being dropped on the nearby table.

Stone rolled his head slowly, frowning at the stiffness. The cool air felt so much colder on his now-sensitive neck, which was in stark contrast to the hungry flames in Robotnik's eyes. He felt like those women in those B-tier horror films, waiting on bated breath for the vampire to sink their teeth into his neck and make him feel the most writhing ecstasy.

"Does it hurt now?" Robotnik asked, his voice suddenly quiet. Unsure.

Stone glanced at the clock. "Is it time already?"

"Clearly you need to get your eyes checked as well," Robotnik huffed. He grabbed Stone by the jaw, twisting and turning his head to observe his neck. He let out a small tut. "There's a few spots of redness on your neck. Was it from the collar?"

"It didn't hurt," Stone said. Which was partially true. He was aware of a faint itchiness but they weren't painful. He got shot with a blank to the stomach once. No pain could compare to that.

"You should have told me. Or written it in your report. You have seen me work, you should know by now the importance of writing down every single observable detail for data collection."

Robotnik slowly tugged at the tips of his gloves, pulling them off his hand one by one. It was a simple act, done without show or boast, and yet somehow it was the most erotic thing Stone's ever seen Robotnik do. Stripping away his gloves felt no different from watching him strip away his clothes. The way he folded up his gloves so neatly, those dexterous yet thick fingers moving so freely now that they weren't bound to their cloth prisons. And the way they moved, gently tucking the folded gloves into one pocket before retrieving a small jar from another, was an act that was far too intimate for a scientist and his agent. And yet Stone stared at Robotnik, his neck exposed and his cheeks flushed, wondering if this was a dream.

The cool sensation of Robotnik's lotion-covered fingers on his neck quickly told him it was very much real.

"Doctor?" Stone breathed.

"Let me work," Robotnik replied, sounding out of breath himself.

"What is this?"

"It's just lotion from the supermarket. Won't cure the redness right away, but at least it shouldn't distract you any more than you've already distracted yourself."

This felt wrong, just as much as it felt right. There had to be a reason Robotnik was being so nice as to rub lotion on his neck. There had to be a reason why those dark eyes seemed so warm and brilliant. There had to be a reason why he was leaning in, drawn in to the dark fire.

"I'll ask this for the final time. Is there anything else about the collar that was uncomfortable? The fabric, the voltage, the tightness. Anything at all?" Robotnik dabbed his fingers and let his fingers dip lower, near Stone's nape.

It took all his willpower not to sigh or gasp. This didn't just feel good. It felt great. It felt amazing. How could one man's touch feel so amazing? "Why are you so concerned about whether the collar hurts or not?" Stone asked quietly.

"I'm going to be making improvements for next time. Obviously, I don't want it to harm my best agent."

Stone chuckled, if only to disguise the warmth creeping up his chest and dipping to his limbs. His smile must have been big and wide, but Robotnik was still applying the lotion with the kind of careful touch he usually only reserved for his robots. Best agent. The doctor thought he was the best. He was getting excessively giddy from those two words alone.

"Everything's good, doctor. Perfect as always." He smiled. "Have I been a good boy then?"

The question didn't register for Robotnik for several seconds, applying the lotion before stopping, his fingers paused near the tight ball of Stone's throat. He blinked rapidly, glanced up into Stone's eyes, then turned his head away abruptly. "You have, for once." He cleared his throat loudly. "You're lucky I didn't punish you firmer. I was hoping the collar would have more…observable results."

What was this energy floating between them? What was this urge to get closer? Their noses were almost touching and their breaths were fusing and it was making Stone dizzy. Despite his position, despite the creative punishments Robotnik could dole, he felt powerful. Like he could lean in and purse his lips and do whatever he wanted without consequence.

"So does that mean I get a reward?" Stone breathed.

Robotnik smirked. "You're not getting any more sick days from me."

"I wasn't thinking sick days, doctor."

"Oh? So what were you thinking? What's going on in that microscopic mind of yours?"

Stone pretend to think before grinning. "I'll let you decide, doctor. You're the genius."

Robotnik had stopped massaging the lotion, putting it back in his pocket and wiping his hands on Stone's jacket. His eyes were unfocused as he continued to stare at Stone's neck, as if scanning him for his blueprints, looking for weaknesses. It was so uncharacteristic and so firm that Stone wasn't sure he'd refuse any command Robotnik would give him. If he was asked to strip, he'd do it. If Robotnik bit his neck like a vampire, he wouldn't refuse. He'd do anything if it meant Robotnik stared at him like this, like he mattered, like only he mattered.

Was this really a punishment kink, or was there something more to what he felt? Did his feelings for the doctor perhaps run deeper?

Did Robotnik perhaps feel the same?

A knock on the door took both of them by surprise. Robotnik had stood up, quickly snapped his gloves back on, and pressed a couple of buttons. The security feed for outside flickered on, the edge of a white skirt flapping in the wind near the entrance. A woman in a white business jacket and skirt came in holding a file. Her eyes flickered around the room before narrowing on Stone.

"You must be Tariq," she said. "My employer has been looking for you."

For a second, time stopped, a bevy of uncomfortable, horrific memories surfacing. Then, in a flash, Stone had rushed forward with superhuman speed and punched her square in the face. She went out cold in an instant, her nose ruined and bloody, bruises already forming near her cheek where his knuckles had connected with the facial bone.

"Stone?!" Robotnik yelled. "What in tarnation is going on?"

He didn't react, instead searching the woman's jacket for something, anything. A file, a USB, an incriminating something or other. But nothing. Just her ID, and a card at maximum clearance level, the same level as Robotnik's and Stone's. The mysterious Lara Stein. Robotnik's legs seemed like jelly as he wobbled over to his desk and hurriedly typed away. Lara Stein's name was compared through hundreds of databases, but there was no one high enough to have maximum clearance. He tried to go through every filter, every database, too fast for Stone to comprehend, but even he knew that there'd be nothing.

There was another knock on the door. Robotnik grabbed Stone by the shoulder and said, "Don't do it," but Stone shrugged it off and readied his handgun. The door opened, and Stone pointed his gun at the person who opened the door.

Behind that person was a swarm of G.U.N agents, all pointing their weapons at Stone. He recognised a few of them. Sarah, Flores, Jacobs, they were all here, and they were all blank and emotionless like dolls, or mannequins. A pity he couldn't reacquaint with them under better circumstances.

The person at the door shook his head casually. His military-buzz cut had now gotten a bit longer, and his face was sagging, but Stone knew this man all too well.

"Still shoot first, ask questions later, huh, Tariq? Or should I say, Agent Ben Stone?"

Stone flicked his gun off safety. "My primary job is to protect my current charge, Commander. If you do anything to him—"

"Didn't you hear? We want to talk to you. Or, well…you would've heard it if you haven't bashed that poor girl's head in." He glared at Robotnik. "We only want to talk to Tariq."

Robotnik's eye twitched. "I am Dr. Ivo Robotnik. I've caused more wars than you’ve sired fatherless children. If you think I will—"

"Who do you think has been giving you those orders?" The Commander interrupted.

Robotnik's eyes widened. "You can't be…b-but the Commander is just some stupid character from a John Wick movie. "

"Doctor…" Stone warned.

"You are not touching my agent without my express permission,” Robitnik continued. “And since you've been so nice as to introduce me to your inferior weaponry, I shall introduce you to my means of destruction."

Stone grabbed Robotnik by the wrist, just as the turrets and sentires activated. He squeezed hard, hoping to the heavens themselves that Robotnik realised how serious this was. The Commander wasn't just any man. The Commander was a dangerous man who knew thousands of ways to kill and torture people. The Commander had a hand in every major war operation from the US since 9-11. The Commander had informants all over the globe, and was considered utterly untouchable.

The Commander was the man who taught everything Stone knew. And if someone was on his bad side, hell hath no fury.

Stone pressed a few buttons on Robotnik's gloves and the turrets and sentries deactivated. "I'll be back shortly," Stone said as he flipped the safety of his gun back on and holstered it.

"Stone?"

"Wait for me," he said.

"Don't you dare go," Robotnik's voice warbled. "T-that is an order, Stone. You won't like me when you disobey me, so don't—"

But Stone stepped out of the mobile lab and toward the Commander. Neither of them said a word, because there was no need for them. Stone knew the Commander too well to not know what he wanted to do, and he was not going to disobey the Commander. As he followed the Commander and the G.U.N agents out of the compound, the man known as Agent Stone disappeared, and a different man emerged—identical and yet different—to take his place.

Actions have consequences. That was the first thing Stone was taught back in school, long before he was given the identity of Stone. When the headmistress initiated a slam campaign after Mr Khoury left, slandering him as a pedophile who liked young boys, nobody expected it to go viral on the internet and get him taken to court on criminal charges. She was a white lady with a respectable career and numerous connections, whereas Mr Khoury was a relatively young teacher who had yet to make his mark on the world. His family wanted nothing to do with him. His husband could only provide moral support. Legally, he was on his own.

No one would imagine a little kid like him to have that much pure anger and rage, to punch and kick and win in a fight against an adult. It didn't matter that she had started the fight by slapping him on the face for providing evidence to refute her lies. It didn't matter that he was trying to protect himself. It didn't matter that his parents whole-heartedly supported him, and even helped him retrieve the evidence. In the end, he was expelled, and his school record was completely tarnished. Mr Khoury was declared innocent solely due to lack of evidence, but no one would ever hire him again.

It'd be many years before people took interest in Stone. Until then, Stone kept his head down and his ears peeled, learning as much as he could about the world and the evil that festered within it.

#Stobotnik #Ivo Robotnik #Dr Robotnik #Agent Stone #Sonic movie #sonic 2020 #Well he's not exactly 'agent stone' in this fic is he? XD #Any support you guys can give me will really help me out in these trying times

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arabellaflynn · 5 years ago

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Advent Calendar: "The Rabbi's Game of Cards"

From From The Heart of Israel: Jewish Tales And Types, collected by Bernard Drachman. James Pott & Co., New York, 1905. At the time this book was published, "Israel" was more a concept than an official place; the independent state of Israel wasn't established until after WWII, in 1948. Most collections of "Jewish folklore" are comparatively modern stories from the Jewish populations of Europe. (I'm pretty sure the 'province of Posen' referenced here is present day Poznań, which sets this story in then-Prussia, now-Poland.) I tried finding something older, but there's almost nothing out there from the Middle East between the Bible and the printing press in age. I would be very surprised if there weren't Jewish variations of the tales of Nasruddin, a figure in Arabic-language lore that spreads from North Africa all the way into Turkey, who is alternately portrayed as a very wise man and a complete wiseguy. A lot of the same clever "well, technically..." reasoning appears in modern Jewish folklore, as it does here. “Rabbi, why do you not come to supper? Everything is getting spoiled; and if you do not come soon, your meal will not be fit to eat.” It was the voice of Rebecca the rebbetzin, or wife of the rabbi of Galoschin, in the province of Posen; and she was endeavoring to induce her lord and master, Rabbi Akiba Erter, to leave his sanctum, where he had been busy all afternoon solving profound intellectual problems, and to turn his attention to the less ideal but equally necessary task of eating his evening meal. It was nothing unusual for the good rabbi to be so absorbed in his studies as to be utterly oblivious to all other matters, and to disregard utterly such insignificant trifles as a call to a meal. Rabbi Akiba was a noble specimen of the old-time rabbi. He was a Talmudic scholar of extraordinary erudition and dialectic keenness, a pietist of rigidly scrupulous observance, and charitable in the extreme. Of the three elements which go to make up the ideal man, the head, the heart, and the soul, it was hard to say with which he was more liberally endowed. Whatever he did, he did with all his power. When engaged in study, his absorption was absolute and his concentration complete; when worshipping, his whole being poured itself out before his Maker; and, when engaged in performing an act of benevolence, he had no other thought in his mind until it was accomplished. The problem which had engaged his attention on this particular occasion belonged to the last-mentioned category, and was knottier far than the most abstruse ceremonial, legal, or theological riddle he had ever been called upon to solve. So troublesome was it, and so greatly did it worry the good rabbi, that he presented quite a picture of despair as he sat before his study-table, upon which were heaped in picturesque confusion huge rabbinical tomes, some open and some closed, his black skull cup pushed far back upon his head, and his hair and long venerable beard sadly tousled and frowsed from the constant pulling he had given it during the past three hours, while his long peoth were from the same cause all limp and out of curl. Supper-time had come, but the problem was apparently as far from solution as ever, for the servant maid of the household had summoned him four and five times to the evening meal and he had not answered or even seemed aware of the summons; and it was only when the rebbetzin herself appeared that he seemed conscious that he had been called, and answered abstractedly, “Yes, wife, I am coming at once, at once.” Impatiently muttering and grumbling to herself, the rebbetzin returned to the dining-room; and the rabbi, rising from his seat, directed his steps to the same place, his face clearly showing by its abstracted and absorbed expression that the same problem which had worried him all afternoon still engaged his thoughts. Rabbi Akiba was usually a very pleasant companion at table. He was in the habit of telling amusing anecdotes and making witty remarks in the course of the meal, and it was his invariable custom to discourse learnedly on some theme of the law before the blessing of the food was pronounced, in order to fulfil the rabbinical precept, “a man shall always speak words of the law over his table”; but to-night he was very poor company indeed. He ate his food mechanically, taking everything that came along without examination, although his usual practice was to eat quite sparingly, and only such dishes as were favorites of his. He put snuff into his milk-soup and salt to his nose, and would have eaten the soup with its snuffy admixture had not Rebecca pointed out the error. To the remarks addressed to him by his better half he returned only incoherent answers. In a word, he was in a state of abstraction and perplexity which was plainly visible to all, so that not only his spouse and his three pretty black-eyed daughters, Leah, Miriam, and Taube, noticed it, but even the Russian Bochur Hayim, whom the rabbi kept in his house out of admiration for the latter’s profound erudition and who was three-fourths blind, and as a rule totally oblivious to everything that went on in the world outside of the Beth Hammidrash, dimly perceived that his master was not the same as at other times. Suddenly the rabbi paused while drinking a cup of tea, with such a suddenness, indeed, as to make half of the hot fluid go down “the wrong throat”; and though sputtering and coughing, and with face fiery red from the resulting tracheal disturbance, managed to exclaim in triumphant gasps: “I have it, I have it.” “What have you?” inquired Rebecca with some acerbity. “As far as any one can notice, all you have is a fit of coughing which cannot do you any good. I hope what you have is worth having.” “Never mind, wife,” said the rabbi with a pleasant smile. “What I have is indeed worth the while. When all is accomplished you shall know what it is. And now let us finish our meal, for I am in haste.” The rabbi then briefly discoursed on a religious theme in order not to deviate from his custom, and pronounced the blessing of the food, in which all joined. “Now, my good Rebecca,” said the rabbi, when these ceremonies were concluded, “bring me my great coat, my Sabbath hat, and my cane, for I have a certain visit to make.” “Why, what possesses you?” said Rebecca in wonderment. “Why do you want to go out at night, although you have often told me that the disciples of the learned should not go out alone at night, and why do you wish to dress in your Sabbath state? Are you making a visit at court or the palace of a noble? I am afraid all is not right with you.” “Do not be afraid, wife,” said the rabbi, who was now in excellent spirits. “Everything is all right. Now, quickly get me my things, for, as I said, I am in haste.” The rebbetzin was fain to be content with this not very satisfactory answer, and brought her husband his finest official robes, the great, heavy satin jubitza and his broad velvet streimel or Sabbath hat. Having arrayed himself in these, and taken in addition a stout stick, the rabbi ventured forth into the night, which, although the hour was not late, was already, as usual in those northern regions, intensely dark and quite cold. While he is on his way to his destination, whatever that may be, let us see what was the matter which had so greatly troubled the holy man all day, and which had driven him forth into the darkness and rigor of a northern winter night. That morning there had come to him Mosheh Labishiner, one of the constant worshippers in the synagogue and an unfailing attendant at the rabbi’s Talmudic lectures in the house of learning, and had poured into his ears a pitiful tale of woe. It was not exactly a story of destitution, but it was one which touched the rabbi’s naturally soft heart, always open to every plea of distress and ever ready to sympathize with all that suffered and sorrowed, in a particularly tender and sensitive spot. Mosheh told Rabbi Akiba that his daughter Deborah (whom Rabbi Akiba knew as a dutiful and God-fearing maiden and pretty withal) had been betrothed to a poor but very worthy youth, Samuel of Kempen, for more than two years; that the two young people were ardently devoted to each other, and desirous, as were also the parents on both sides, of sealing their love by the sacred bond of wedlock, but that prudence forbade the union until the youth would be the possessor of a business of his own, and able properly to maintain a wife and family. He, Mosheh, in accordance with the invariable custom in all good Jewish families, had promised his prospective son-in-law a dowry of a thousand gulden, which would be amply sufficient to establish a modest business; but that owing to various misfortunes and losses he had been unable to accumulate more than two hundred gulden, which would barely suffice for the expenses of the wedding, but would leave nothing for the dowry. The young people were to have been married a year previously; but as Mosheh did not possess the requisite amount of the dowry, he had continually deferred the marriage, on various pretexts, until now it was impossible to defer it any more. His poor wife and his daughter, the Kallah, were in the utmost distress and wept unceasingly, while his intended son-in-law and Mehuttanim, who knew nothing of his financial embarrassments, were beginning to grow suspicious and to think that he was opposed to the marriage, and did not really intend to permit it to be consummated. “And now, dear rabbi,” Mosheh had said, “help me, I implore thee. Unless I can procure a thousand gulden within a day or two I do not know what misfortune will happen. My poor wife and daughter will surely die of broken hearts and my name will be blackened forever.” Rabbi Akiba was not intimately acquainted with Mosheh. All he knew of him was that he was an “honest Jew,” a good, straightforward, religious man; but that was sufficient to gain his sympathy, and especially the sorrows of his wife and daughter touched him to the quick. He at once offered to go and collect the money for the dowry among the wealthy members of his flock; and he added that he was sure there would be no difficulty in obtaining the required amount for a young woman of such excellent repute, who was a daughter of such eminently respectable and pious parents. But here he struck an unexpected difficulty. Mosheh objected strenuously to any public collection in his behalf. “You must not breathe a syllable of all this to any living creature, dear rabbi,” he begged. “I could never endure the thought that all the Kehillah should know that I had been obliged to depend upon the charitable gifts of kind-hearted people in order to obtain a dowry for my daughter. I have always been an independent, self-respecting merchant, and have myself provided for all the needs of my family. I could not endure the thought of appearing as a Schnorrer for any reason. And then my wife and daughter, do you think that they would ever accept a dowry which had been thus gathered together from the offerings of pity? They would sooner die. They do not even know that my circumstances are so straitened. The mere report that contributions were being solicited in our behalf would destroy whatever happiness they have. No, rabbi, you must get the amount needed in some other way, in some way which will not even raise a suspicion that we are being helped, or else I shall have to ask you rather to do nothing and to leave it to the All-Merciful One to deal with us as He sees fit.” These words, while they greatly increased the respect which the rabbi felt for Mosheh, also added immensely to his perplexity. They seemed utterly to shut the door in the face of any attempt to obtain the required sum. Rabbi Akiba himself was not the possessor of any considerable amount of money. His income was not large and he never had any difficulty in disposing of it, there being plenty of claimants on his bounty outside of his own family. If, therefore, he could not go to the wealthy householders in the Kehillah and openly ask them for donations, he knew of no source whence he could derive the assistance needed. It would not do to request of them the gift of such a large amount without stating the purpose for which it was to be used. They might give it to him, such was their respect for his character and their trust in the purity of his motives, but they would be apt to speculate on the use to which he intended to devote it, and very likely they would find it out, too, and that would be directly contrary to the explicit desire and request of Mosheh, Hence the perplexity and the mental struggles by which the poor rabbi had been tortured all day until at supper he had found, as he thought, the solution of the vexatious problem. The simpler solution which would have suggested itself to many a modern cleric, to shrug the shoulders deprecatingly and politely to inform the suppliant that he regretted extremely that under the circumstances it was impossible to do anything for him, did not occur to Rabbi Akiba. He was narrow in many ways, limited both in views and experience to that which could be acquired in the secluded recesses of the Beth Hammidrash, simpler, indeed, than many a modern child in worldly ways; but on that very account his moral fibre possessed the old, unspoiled Jewish sturdiness. He knew that Mosheh was deserving of sympathy and help, and he determined to help him if there were any possibility of doing so; and believed he had now found a way to attain that wished-for end. Rabbi Akiba hurried through the streets of Galoschin, brilliantly lighted with the bright illumination of early evening, presenting a singular enough figure, as he hastened along, to be the object of the wondering stares of many a passer-by. Galoschin was a city originally Polish, but which under the influence of Prussian culture and discipline had become thoroughly Germanized, and which strove to reproduce the manners and the external characteristics of the German metropolis. The Jewish inhabitants in particular had, as a rule, dropped all the old-time Polish characteristics. Jubitzas and peoth in particular were utterly banned, and were conceded only to the rabbi to whom, as an example of rigid conservatism and unswerving piety, they were deemed appropriate. As Rabbi Akiba hastened through the streets he presented, therefore, a most extraordinary contrast in his long, girdled robe, his strange broad-brimmed hat, with long, dangling ear-curls and the stout cane in his hands, to the ladies and gentlemen, attired in the height of modern fashion, who sauntered along the elegant thoroughfare, stopping before the brilliantly lighted windows of the shops or entering the theatres, concert halls, cafés, and other places of amusement which abounded in this vicinity. In front of a large and splendid edifice, through whose windows and great portal floods of light poured and loud strains of gay dance music were heard, the rabbi paused. Over the gateway was a huge sign, which bore, in letters composed of shining gas flames, the legend, “Galoschiner Casino und Vereinshaus.” Rabbi Akiba glanced at this sign a moment and then boldly entered. His entrance was the signal for great excitement among the persons standing in the hall and among the visitors who were entering at the same time, and who had come to attend the annual ball and reunion of the Galoschiner Gesellige Verein, the fashionable club par excellence of the town, to which belonged all those who could lay claim to wealth and social station. It was an unheard-of thing that an old-fashioned, conservative Jew, who clung to Polish costume, beard and ear-locks, should set his foot within a place dedicated to the dance and the new social practices which had come from the West. To such a one they were all un-Jewish abominations; and the sight of swallow-tailed, bareheaded men and half-clothed women, shamelessly exposing their naked bosoms and arms to the gaze of strange men, was hateful and loathsome. That Rabbi Akiba, the holy man, whose name was a synonym for all that was pious and austere, who stood for rigid and unswerving adherence to the olden Jewish life and stern religious discipline, and for uncompromising opposition to all new-fashioned vanities and worldliness, that he should actually in propria persona enter into precincts given over to empty gayety and folly, “the abode of scoffers,” was more than surprising; it was bewildering, stupefying, paralyzing. Rabbi Akiba did not seem to notice the excitement created by his entrance, but walked ahead to the door of the main salon. Here stood several gentlemen in evening dress. They were the reception committee, appointed to welcome the arriving guests. They gazed with amazement at the venerable figure approaching, and bade him good-evening in subdued voices. He answered their greeting and strode into the salon. The dance had just begun, and the floor was crowded with gentlemen in evening dress and ladies in handsome décolleté gowns and elegant coiffures. The appearance of the rabbi gave rise to a scene of extraordinary excitement and confusion. Both men and women had no other thought but that their venerable spiritual chief had come there to rebuke them for their pursuit of unseemly and impious fashions; that he would denounce them in fiery words as recreants to the faith, as sinners in Israel. In those days men and women still trembled when the rabbi uttered bitter words of reproof; and it was, therefore, only natural that a sort of panic seized those who knew that they had transgressed against the strict rules of propriety of their faith, and saw before them one who could call them to account. Some of the women fled to the other end of the room, followed by their escorts; others endeavored hastily to cover up their bare breasts and arms; others again stood as if rooted to the spot and unable to move. But Rabbi Akiba uttered no word of rebuke. He stood still, gazing with a benevolent smile at the scene of confusion which his advent had caused. Several moments of embarrassment and constraint passed before a few of the gentlemen present plucked up courage to approach the rabbi, bid him welcome, and inquire the reason of his visit to the ball. At their head was Herr Pringsheim, the banker and president of the community, who, by reason of his prominent station, acted as spokesman. “Peace be unto thee, honored rabbi,” he said, with a low and reverential bow. “We welcome thee to our festivity. But may I inquire what has brought us the honor of thy presence this evening? We had hardly thought that festivities such as this met with thy approval.” “Curiosity, merely curiosity, friend Pringsheim,” answered the rabbi, with a reassuring smile. “I wanted to know what our Jews are doing in these new-fashioned days. One must know everything. Our sages, of blessed memory, tell us: ‘Know what thou shouldst answer to the Epicurean.’ But how can one know what to say to the Epicureans unless one knows what they do? Just think: I have grown so old and have never seen a ball and know nothing, except by hearsay, of what is done in a casino or clubhouse. Now, let the dance go on. Do not interrupt your proceedings on my account. I shall not scold you to-night, although what I may do some other time I shall not say.” A gasp, indicating wonderment and only partial reassurance, escaped from the breasts of the rabbi’s hearers at these words. There was nothing to do, however, except to follow his suggestion. Herr Pringsheim signalled to the musicians, who had ceased playing, to resume, and most of the dancers also resumed their places, showing, however, by their embarrassed air that they were ill at ease and not at all comfortable under the rabbi’s gaze. It was a singular sight, the venerable rabbi whose whole appearance bespoke the house of worship and the study chamber, and recalled memories of centuries long past, standing in a modern ball-room, critically inspecting the motions of the gayly clad crowd, who bowed and chasséed and changed partners and swung around in the most approved style, but who could not help showing by their sheepish looks how keenly they felt the absurdity of their position. The dance over, Herr Pringsheim asked the rabbi if he had now satisfied his curiosity. “Oh, no,” answered Rabbi Akiba, “unless this is all that takes place here. But there must surely be more going on in a casino than merely dancing, or you could not use so many rooms.” “But there is really nothing else,” answered Pringsheim, “except the card-playing. Those gentlemen who do not dance play various games of cards until supper-time, which comes at midnight. But I hardly suppose, worthy rabbi, that you take any interest in games of chance?” “Ah, but I do,” answered the rabbi, with sudden animation. “That is just what I want to see. I want to know what there is about games of chance which so fascinates men that they will stake their money, their health, the happiness of their families, even their lives, upon the issue of a game of cards. By all means bring me where they play cards.” With a gesture of despair and an illy suppressed groan, Herr Pringsheim led the way to the card-room. The entrance of the rabbi into the elegantly furnished card-room produced a sensation similar to that which had been caused by his appearance in the ball-room. A number of gentlemen were sitting around the green-covered tables, deeply engrossed in their hazardous and exciting pastime; but no sooner did the tall, venerable figure of the aged ecclesiastic appear amid the thick clouds of tobacco smoke which filled the atmosphere of the room than all paused in astonishment and rose to their feet in varying attitudes and aspects of amazement and consternation. Like their companions of the ball-room they were apprehensive of a fierce denunciation of their ungodly doings, and half expected to be peremptorily ordered home. Herr Pringsheim hastened to relieve their apprehensions. “Retain your seats, gentlemen,” he said, “and do not interrupt your game. Our honored rabbi has come here this evening impelled by a desire to see for himself how modern society amuses itself. He does not wish to disturb or interfere with you in any way. Resume your playing, therefore, and we shall remain here as mere spectators.” The effect of these words was that the players resumed their seats and began again their interrupted games. The ban of the rabbi’s presence rested, however, heavily on all, and the playing, like the dancing in the ball-room under the same influence, became spiritless and perfunctory in the extreme. The players removed their cigars from their mouths, the erstwhile boisterous voices became subdued, and all animation departed from the scene. After silently watching the proceedings for a few moments the rabbi said to Herr Pringsheim: “Do you know, friend Pringsheim, I do not seem to gain any insight into a gambler’s feelings from merely looking on. To me the whole thing seems a merely mechanical proceeding. One makes one move and the other another move. I cannot make out what it is all about, and I believe that I shall never have any conception of what card-playing is, or wherein the fascination lies unless I play a game or two myself. Would you mind playing with me?” “Not at all, rabbi,” said Pringsheim, highly amused at the request. “What game shall it be?” “That is all the same to me,” answered the rabbi. “I do not know one from the other. You choose any one you please and you will be kind enough to teach it me. I think I shall be able to learn it.” “Very well,” said Pringsheim, laughing heartily. “I don’t doubt but you will make a famous card-player. Where there is Torah there is Chochmah.” “But one thing I must tell you,” said the rabbi. “We must play for money. I could never get the real feeling of the gambler, the thrill and the tension which he feels, unless there was the hope of gain and the risk of loss. So we must not play a mere formal game, but there must be a real stake involved.” “Very well, rabbi,” said Pringsheim, still smiling. “How large shall the stake be, a gulden or five gulden?” “Oh, that would never do,” said the rabbi. “I could not get the right idea with such a trifling sum, which is of no consequence whether won or lost. Let us play for a thousand gulden. I shall put my five hundred gulden on the game and you put in five hundred gulden also.” The effect of this proposition was naturally startling. Pringsheim stared at the rabbi for a moment as though he could not trust his ears. But he was, to put it in modern parlance, game. “As you wish, rabbi,” he said, quietly. “We shall play for a stake of a thousand gulden.” The game which ensued was highly interesting. Writer deponeth not, nor is it essential to the purposes of this veracious history to state whether the game was klabberyas, pinocle, skat, euchre, or poker. Pringsheim taught Rabbi Akiba its rules and the game began. With one accord all the other players suspended their games to contemplate the spectacle of a rabbi in jubitza, streimel, and peoth engaged in a game of cards with a society gentleman in swallow-tail and bare head. Of the result there could be no doubt. Pringsheim, of course, had no intention of either defeating the rabbi or taking his money. After various more or less intricate manœuverings Rabbi Akiba won. “Well, rabbi, you have won. Here are your winnings,” said Pringsheim; and he took out his wallet, and extracting therefrom five hundred gulden notes, handed them to the rabbi, who took them with great complacency and stowed them carefully away in his purse. “I think you must understand now a gambler’s feelings, at all events when he wins.” “So far, so good, friend Pringsheim,” answered the rabbi; “but this is not quite experience enough for me. I want to know how a gambler feels when he risks the possessions he has gained so easily. If you do not mind, therefore, I should like to play one more game, staking the amount I have just won.” “I shall have to beg to be excused this time, worthy rabbi,” said Herr Pringsheim, with an amused chuckle. “You are too good a player for me. Let some one else take my place. Herr Commerzienrath Hamburger, perhaps you will oblige our honored Rav and play a game with him on the same terms as the first one.” Herr Commerzienrath Hamburger, a stout man with a bald head and a smooth face, who, like Pringsheim, was one of the Vorstand or trustees of the community, came forward, somewhat reluctantly, at these words and signified his willingness to do as requested. The issue of the second game was the same as that of the first. The rabbi’s good luck did not desert him, and a few moments later he rose from the table with the handsome sum of a thousand gulden in his purse. He thanked Messrs. Pringsheim and Hamburger for the instructive experience which they had been the means of affording him, bade the other gentlemen good-night, and turned to depart. He was escorted to a private exit by Herr Pringsheim, who had him placed in a carriage, and the rabbi was whirled to his home, leaving behind him a much puzzled and mystified company of his congregants. On the following day Mosheh Labishiner called on Rabbi Akiba. He was in a state of wretchedness bordering on utter despair. He had been forced to yield to the repeated entreaties of his wife and daughter, and had permitted the date of the wedding to be set, and had assured his intended son-in-law that the dowry would be ready a few days before the marriage. But he had not the faintest idea whence he could derive the needed funds; and he did not believe that Rabbi Akiba, in view of the restriction he had placed upon him, would be able to assist him. His visit to the rabbi was more with a vague idea of obtaining some comfort from the rabbi’s friendly words than of anything more material. As soon as the rabbi caught sight of Mosheh’s distressed countenance he cried out: “Mosheh, don’t look so black. A man who is going to marry his daughter to a fine young bochur must look happy. Have you set the date of the wedding yet?” “Yes, rabbi, but the Neduniah?” “Oh, don’t let that worry you. Here it is.” And the rabbi drew forth his purse, and taking therefrom ten hundred gulden notes, placed them in the hands of the bewildered Mosheh. “O rabbi, a thousand thanks! But how in the world did you get it, since you had not the money and I had insisted that you must not collect for us?” “Oh, that was easy. I won it at cards.” “At cards!” and Mosheh stared at the rabbi with a look of blank amazement and non-comprehension. “Yes, at cards,” said the rabbi. “I am a famous card-player. Whenever any of my good friends cannot find the dowry of his daughter, I go and win it at cards. Why not? Do I not cause the card-players to do a Mitzvah? And is that not in itself a Mitzvah?” And the rabbi laughed long and heartily. “Rabbi, I do not understand thy words,” said Mosheh; “but I know thou hast been my saviour, and the saviour of my family. I would fain show my gratitude. How can I thank thee?” “I want no thanks,” said the rabbi. “All I want is that thou shouldst respect my ability as card-player and give me the privilege of a Mitzvah dance at the wedding.” And the rabbi laughed again. from Blogger https://ift.tt/2sSUwPS via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

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romancatholicreflections · 7 years ago

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6th June >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflection for Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time (Mark 12:13-17): ‘To God what belongs to God’.

Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time Gospel (Europe, New Zealand, Australia, Canada & Southern Africa) Mark 12:13-17 The chief priests and the scribes and the elders sent to Jesus some Pharisees and some Herodians to catch him out in what he said. These came and said to him, ‘Master, we know you are an honest man, that you are not afraid of anyone, because a man’s rank means nothing to you, and that you teach the way of God in all honesty. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay, yes or no?’ Seeing through their hypocrisy he said to them, ‘Why do you set this trap for me? Hand me a denarius and let me see it.’ They handed him one and he said, ‘Whose head is this? Whose name?’ ‘Caesar’s’ they told him. Jesus said to them, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar – and to God what belongs to God.’ This reply took them completely by surprise. Gospel (USA) Mark 12:13-17 Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God. Some Pharisees and Herodians were sent to Jesus to ensnare him in his speech. They came and said to him, “Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you are not concerned with anyone’s opinion. You do not regard a person’s status but teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not? Should we pay or should we not pay?” Knowing their hypocrisy he said to them, “Why are you testing me? Bring me a denarius to look at.” They brought one to him and he said to them, “Whose image and inscription is this?” They replied to him, “Caesar’s.” So Jesus said to them, “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.” They were utterly amazed at him. Reflections (6) (i) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time Tobit was a very good and generous man who had a reputation for looking after those in need. He was suddenly struck blind, as we read about in today’s gospel reading. His wife asked a very understandable question, ‘What about your own alms? What about your own good works? Everyone knows what return you have had for them’. She was saying, in other words, ‘you have been doing all these good deeds and look at what has happened to you?’ It is a question that people of faith continue to ask today. ‘He was such a good person. What did this happen to him?’ Yet, Tobias remained faithful to God, even after his personal tragedy. He didn’t cease relating to God and living out of that relationship, in spite of his misfortune. In the gospel reading, Jesus gives a thought provoking response to a trick question intending to trap him about paying taxes to Caesar, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give back to God what belongs to God’. The coin his questioners were carrying, with Caesar’s head on it, belongs to Caesar and should be given back to him. What is it that belongs to God? For Jesus, everything belongs to God. All of our being belongs to God, our heart, soul, strength and mind. Even when life goes against us, we still belong to God. Tobit displays this giving of one’s whole self to God, even in times of great personal distress. We don’t relate to God for what God can give us, but because of who God is. He alone is worthy of all our reverence and devotion, regardless of the circumstances in which we find ourselves. And/Or (ii) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time Jesus is asked many questions in the course of the gospels. Many of them are sincere questions expressing a longing for truth. There are some who question Jesus out of much less noble motives, such as in this morning’s gospel reading. Jesus is questioned by an unusual alliance of Pharisees and Herodians. The Pharisees were very committed to the Jewish Law and were wary of the foreign rulers and their representatives. The Herodians were supporters of Herod Antipas who was a client ruler of Rome. The question they ask is not a sincere question; it is an attempt to trap Jesus, ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ If Jesus answered ‘no’, an answer pleasing to the Pharisees, the Herodians could report him to Herod as a subversive. If he answered ‘yes’, an answer pleasing to the Herodians, he would have lost popular support because the people experienced the various Roman taxes as an unjust burden. The answer Jesus gives to the question is somewhat elusive and thought-provoking, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God’. The coin his questioners had in their pocket had Caesar’s image on it; it belongs to him; it can be given back to him. What is it that belongs to God? Jesus will go on to say that God is to be loved with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. Our whole being belongs to God in love. Whatever is owed to Caesar, to the political power of the day, is miniscule compared to what is owed to God. Jesus seems to be saying that our duty to the political powers must be lived in a way that is consistent with the much greater duty that we owe to God. And/Or (iii) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time The payment of taxes is often a contentious issue. It was especially contentious in the time and in the land of Jesus because the taxes were paid to the Romans, an occupying power. An unusual coalition of Pharisees and Herodians approached Jesus to ask him if it is permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not. The Pharisees would have opposed the paying of such taxes whereas the Herodians would have favoured it. It seems that no matter how Jesus answered, he couldn’t win. It was a trick question that was intended to set a trap for Jesus. His eventual answer took his questioners by surprise; he escaped their trap. His reply recognizes the legitimacy of the governing authorities, ‘give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar’, but it sets that within the larger context of what we owe to God, ‘and to God what belongs to God’. What belongs to Caesar, namely the coins with his image on them, is much less than what belongs to God. Caesar’s image may be on his coins but God’s image is on all of us. Jesus seems to be saying that if our coins belong to Caesar, we ourselves belong to God. God’s ultimate authority makes relative all human authority. We have only one Lord and that is God and for us Christians it is Jesus the revelation of God. Our ultimate loyalty is to the Lord and his values, and that primary loyalty is to shape all our human loyalties. And/Or (iv) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time The question that is put to Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading is not a sincere question. It is an effort to trap him. If he were to say, ‘Yes, pay your taxes to Caesar’, he would lose the esteem of most of the Jewish people who resented the Roman presence; if he says, ‘No, do not pay your taxes to Caesar’ he would be liable to arrest and trial by the Romans. Jesus was asked many questions in the course of his public ministry and when the question came from a heart that was genuinely searching he took it very seriously. On this occasion, however, Jesus’ questioners were simply out to get him. Yet, Jesus did not stay silent before this question, insincere as it was. In a very succinct and somewhat enigmatic fashion he declared that people should give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and give back to God what belongs to God. The coin can be given to Caesar because it belongs to him, but what is to be given to God is something much more fundamental. A little later in that same chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus will spell out what is due to God – God is to be loved with all our heart, soul and mind. God is to be our first and greatest love, our primary commitment. That certainly can never be said of any human authority, be it political or otherwise. Jesus is saying that no Caesar, no political institution, no human institution can ever take the place of God in our lives. And/Or (v) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time Some questions people ask spring from a genuine desire to know. Other questions people ask can be more in the way of trick questions; their purpose is to embarrass or to catch out the person being questioned. The question that representatives of the religious and political establishment asked Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading comes into that second category. ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ Jesus’ reply ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God’ indicates, at the very least, that Caesar is not God, and that what belongs to God is of a different order to what belongs to Caesar. If Jesus were to be asked, ‘What is it that belongs to God?’ he would no doubt answer, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength’. Caesar, no political authority, no religious authority, is to be loved in that way. For us as Christians to love God in this wholehearted way is to love Jesus, God’s beloved Son, in this wholehearted way. He alone is worthy of our total allegiance, and all other allegiances have to be shaped by that fundamental allegiance in our lives. And/Or (vi) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time Jesus was asked many questions in the course of his public ministry and when the question came from a heart that was genuinely searching he took it very seriously. The question that is put to Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading, ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ is not a sincere question. It is an effort to trap Jesus. If he were to say, ‘Yes, pay your taxes to Caesar’, he would lose the esteem of many of the Jewish people who resented the Roman presence; if he were to say, ‘No, do not pay your taxes to Caesar’ he would be liable to arrest and trial by the Romans. Yet, Jesus did not stay silent before this question, insincere as it was. In a succinct and somewhat enigmatic answer he declared that people should give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and give back to God what belongs to God. Jesus seems to be saying that a certain loyalty is due to the political authorities but an even greater loyalty is due to God. A little later in that same chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus will spell out what is due to God – God is to be loved with all our heart, soul and mind. God is to be our first and greatest love. That certainly can never be said of any human authority, be it political or otherwise. Our primary loyalty is to the God whom Jesus reveals to us by his life, death and resurrection; all other loyalties are shaped by that primary loyalty. Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland. Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ieJoinus via our webcam. Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC. Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf. Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 7 years ago

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6th June >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflection for Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time (Mark 12:13-17): ‘To God what belongs to God’.

Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Europe, New Zealand, Australia, Canada & Southern Africa)

Mark 12:13-17

The chief priests and the scribes and the elders sent to Jesus some Pharisees and some Herodians to catch him out in what he said. These came and said to him, ‘Master, we know you are an honest man, that you are not afraid of anyone, because a man’s rank means nothing to you, and that you teach the way of God in all honesty. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay, yes or no?’ Seeing through their hypocrisy he said to them, ‘Why do you set this trap for me? Hand me a denarius and let me see it.’ They handed him one and he said, ‘Whose head is this? Whose name?’ ‘Caesar’s’ they told him. Jesus said to them, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar – and to God what belongs to God.’ This reply took them completely by surprise.

Gospel (USA)

Mark 12:13-17

Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.

Some Pharisees and Herodians were sent to Jesus to ensnare him in his speech. They came and said to him, “Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you are not concerned with anyone’s opinion. You do not regard a person’s status but teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not? Should we pay or should we not pay?” Knowing their hypocrisy he said to them, “Why are you testing me? Bring me a denarius to look at.” They brought one to him and he said to them, “Whose image and inscription is this?” They replied to him, “Caesar’s.” So Jesus said to them, “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.” They were utterly amazed at him.

Reflections (6)

(i) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Tobit was a very good and generous man who had a reputation for looking after those in need. He was suddenly struck blind, as we read about in today’s gospel reading. His wife asked a very understandable question, ‘What about your own alms? What about your own good works? Everyone knows what return you have had for them’. She was saying, in other words, ‘you have been doing all these good deeds and look at what has happened to you?’ It is a question that people of faith continue to ask today. ‘He was such a good person. What did this happen to him?’ Yet, Tobias remained faithful to God, even after his personal tragedy. He didn’t cease relating to God and living out of that relationship, in spite of his misfortune. In the gospel reading, Jesus gives a thought provoking response to a trick question intending to trap him about paying taxes to Caesar, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give back to God what belongs to God’. The coin his questioners were carrying, with Caesar’s head on it, belongs to Caesar and should be given back to him. What is it that belongs to God? For Jesus, everything belongs to God. All of our being belongs to God, our heart, soul, strength and mind. Even when life goes against us, we still belong to God. Tobit displays this giving of one’s whole self to God, even in times of great personal distress. We don’t relate to God for what God can give us, but because of who God is. He alone is worthy of all our reverence and devotion, regardless of the circumstances in which we find ourselves.

And/Or

(ii) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus is asked many questions in the course of the gospels. Many of them are sincere questions expressing a longing for truth. There are some who question Jesus out of much less noble motives, such as in this morning’s gospel reading. Jesus is questioned by an unusual alliance of Pharisees and Herodians. The Pharisees were very committed to the Jewish Law and were wary of the foreign rulers and their representatives. The Herodians were supporters of Herod Antipas who was a client ruler of Rome. The question they ask is not a sincere question; it is an attempt to trap Jesus, ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ If Jesus answered ‘no’, an answer pleasing to the Pharisees, the Herodians could report him to Herod as a subversive. If he answered ‘yes’, an answer pleasing to the Herodians, he would have lost popular support because the people experienced the various Roman taxes as an unjust burden. The answer Jesus gives to the question is somewhat elusive and thought-provoking, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God’. The coin his questioners had in their pocket had Caesar’s image on it; it belongs to him; it can be given back to him. What is it that belongs to God? Jesus will go on to say that God is to be loved with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. Our whole being belongs to God in love. Whatever is owed to Caesar, to the political power of the day, is miniscule compared to what is owed to God. Jesus seems to be saying that our duty to the political powers must be lived in a way that is consistent with the much greater duty that we owe to God.

And/Or

(iii) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

The payment of taxes is often a contentious issue. It was especially contentious in the time and in the land of Jesus because the taxes were paid to the Romans, an occupying power. An unusual coalition of Pharisees and Herodians approached Jesus to ask him if it is permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not. The Pharisees would have opposed the paying of such taxes whereas the Herodians would have favoured it. It seems that no matter how Jesus answered, he couldn’t win. It was a trick question that was intended to set a trap for Jesus. His eventual answer took his questioners by surprise; he escaped their trap. His reply recognizes the legitimacy of the governing authorities, ‘give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar’, but it sets that within the larger context of what we owe to God, ‘and to God what belongs to God’. What belongs to Caesar, namely the coins with his image on them, is much less than what belongs to God. Caesar’s image may be on his coins but God’s image is on all of us. Jesus seems to be saying that if our coins belong to Caesar, we ourselves belong to God. God’s ultimate authority makes relative all human authority. We have only one Lord and that is God and for us Christians it is Jesus the revelation of God. Our ultimate loyalty is to the Lord and his values, and that primary loyalty is to shape all our human loyalties.

And/Or

(iv) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

The question that is put to Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading is not a sincere question. It is an effort to trap him. If he were to say, ‘Yes, pay your taxes to Caesar’, he would lose the esteem of most of the Jewish people who resented the Roman presence; if he says, ‘No, do not pay your taxes to Caesar’ he would be liable to arrest and trial by the Romans. Jesus was asked many questions in the course of his public ministry and when the question came from a heart that was genuinely searching he took it very seriously. On this occasion, however, Jesus’ questioners were simply out to get him. Yet, Jesus did not stay silent before this question, insincere as it was. In a very succinct and somewhat enigmatic fashion he declared that people should give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and give back to God what belongs to God. The coin can be given to Caesar because it belongs to him, but what is to be given to God is something much more fundamental. A little later in that same chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus will spell out what is due to God – God is to be loved with all our heart, soul and mind. God is to be our first and greatest love, our primary commitment. That certainly can never be said of any human authority, be it political or otherwise. Jesus is saying that no Caesar, no political institution, no human institution can ever take the place of God in our lives.

And/Or

(v) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Some questions people ask spring from a genuine desire to know. Other questions people ask can be more in the way of trick questions; their purpose is to embarrass or to catch out the person being questioned. The question that representatives of the religious and political establishment asked Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading comes into that second category. ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ Jesus’ reply ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God’ indicates, at the very least, that Caesar is not God, and that what belongs to God is of a different order to what belongs to Caesar. If Jesus were to be asked, ‘What is it that belongs to God?’ he would no doubt answer, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength’. Caesar, no political authority, no religious authority, is to be loved in that way. For us as Christians to love God in this wholehearted way is to love Jesus, God’s beloved Son, in this wholehearted way. He alone is worthy of our total allegiance, and all other allegiances have to be shaped by that fundamental allegiance in our lives.

And/Or

(vi) Tuesday, Ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus was asked many questions in the course of his public ministry and when the question came from a heart that was genuinely searching he took it very seriously. The question that is put to Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading, ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ is not a sincere question. It is an effort to trap Jesus. If he were to say, ‘Yes, pay your taxes to Caesar’, he would lose the esteem of many of the Jewish people who resented the Roman presence; if he were to say, ‘No, do not pay your taxes to Caesar’ he would be liable to arrest and trial by the Romans. Yet, Jesus did not stay silent before this question, insincere as it was. In a succinct and somewhat enigmatic answer he declared that people should give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and give back to God what belongs to God. Jesus seems to be saying that a certain loyalty is due to the political authorities but an even greater loyalty is due to God. A little later in that same chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus will spell out what is due to God – God is to be loved with all our heart, soul and mind. God is to be our first and greatest love. That certainly can never be said of any human authority, be it political or otherwise. Our primary loyalty is to the God whom Jesus reveals to us by his life, death and resurrection; all other loyalties are shaped by that primary loyalty.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ieJoinus via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

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