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miz-orque · 1 year ago

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Long Post

Sooo here's my silly little Monsoon concept in the Cyberpunk universe. This took some time, but I had a lot of fun doing it. You'll find a few things repeated on paper as my thought process was a little all over the place. The notes and layout on the pages may be a little unorganised. What's written on paper is reflected in the text, plus extra.

Yeah, this is longer than I thought lol so it's really appreciated if you do take the time to read it. I think I went a little ham 👀;

Apologies for image quality. I still have yet to get a scanner.

Cyberpunk!Monsoon.

General info

Typically, I would fashion him in: an Edgerunner's jacket (which is generally a mix of military armour and pedestrian materials woven together (this jacket is the Valentinos dual-weave Edgerunner)), simple black yoros and yoru no samurai kicks - the last two items being reminiscent of his ninja design in his canon universe. His utility belt and sais are also kept the same, tho the end of the sai's pommel glows when in use for combat.

He has a multitude of implants and cybernetics which include:

Memory boost - optimises sync between the brain and cyberware. An additional neuro chip implanted in his frontal lobe allows him full control of his unique cybernetic arms, including detaching and reattaching his arms, and control of his hands if they are several metres away when detached.

Self-ice - prevents him from getting a neuro virus.

Kerenzikov boost system - essentially a reflex booster

Custom Kiroshi optics: the Oracle (more details of this later)

(outdated) magnetic segmented cybernetic arms where each segment has a neuro link for full control (more details of this later)

Second heart - if his current heart stops beating, the second one activates.

Adrenal boosters - helps body maintain performance under pressure (in game stats detail less stamina usage when engaging in melee)

Micro rotors - increases attack speed

Adreno-trigger - increases attack speed for several seconds whe entering combat

Synaptic accelerator - a neuroprocessor that regulates hormonal balance during threatening situations (in game time is perceived slower for a few seconds when in combat. This implant can be used repeatedly after a 60 second cool down, but he's not looking to have a fight for longer than a minute)

Sub-dermal armour - exactly as it sounds - armour beneath the skin. He has this installed on his neck, torso, back and legs (before they were replaced)

Proxi-shield - the closer an attacking enemy is, the less damage they deal

Bionic joints (eventually replaced) - support of joints. He had this in his legs.

Dense marrow (eventually replaced) - increased power behind melee attacks. He had this in his legs

Dermal implant of a Tyger Claw tattoo - This implant directly links the user's optical implant to the weapon's system, offering real-time data-tracking of the weapon info - he only has this because he was a member of Tyger Claws for a few years, but he decided to keep it as he found it useful and for sentimental reasons

Fortified ankles (eventually replaced) - allows for greater distance covered when jumping

Iron lungs - is able to take in and utilise more oxygen. This was useful when he had his organic legs. This cybernetic has become rather redundant to him now that he's more metal than meat, tho he finds it useful for when he's smoking, he doesn't cough, however they're due for a cleaning from his habit.

Blood pump - supplies body's cells quickly and efficiently with oxygen - again no longer required. He eventually gets this removed

Further info

In this canon, Monsoon has albinism. His original eyes were replaced at a young age due to his poor vision and he received dermal implants to protect his sensitive skin from UV radiation.

Originally, his cyber optics were designed after his real eyes. These were standard optics that allowed him to see as the average person. The eyes were later replaced with Kiroshi the Oracle optics when he was recognised as a competent attack dog. These new eyes, however, were again based on his real eyes. He did not obtain his custom black and red optics until he joined Tyger Claws

The Oracle line allows the user to detect enemies (even under cover) within 17 m, turrets and cameras within 35 m and explosives and traps within 26 m, as well as 10x optical zoom in. He later got these functions upgraded when he opted to change their appearance. They were eye wateringly expensive.

The cyber threading on his face (the lines) are based on the veins surrounding his eyes in his original MGR concept art.

Likewise, the barcode on his forehead from his original concept, has been repurposed as evidence of being an unfortunate victim of human trafficking. Human trafficking exists across the globe in the Cyberpunk (CP) universe. The barcode that was tattooed on his forehead as a child was produced for the underground market to audit their stock. These markets are also owned by corporations who donate some of the profit made to charities (to look good to the general public), to law makers (for manipulation) and to crime syndicates (as pay).

As previously stated, Monsoon obtained custom black and red Kiroshi optics when he joined Tyger Claws. He thought they looked intimidating and cool. He was 15. And he still stands by this decision in his 40s. The black and red are also based on his MGR concept art.

For the record, Monsoon's unique eyes and visor in his original MGR concept design are some of my favourite things about him. Respectfully, these were omitted as I felt they didn't completely suit the environment I placed him in for this au. Sure, visors exist in CP, and of course there are characters like the Maelstrom group and even River (2077) that have robust optics, however:

Monsoon in this canon doesn't work as a corpo cyborg based in Denver with henchborgs under him; he is the henchborg and he's really fucking good at it

His visor holds his electromagnetic generator. In this canon, he doesn't have the ability to separate his entire body, just his arms. It would be redundant for him to have it unless he wears it for the aesthetics. I'm on team Practical Monsoon here so...

Maelstrom essentially believe in transhumanism. Monsoon does not believe in this (him becoming a cyborg in MGR is a consequence of him not wanting to die) and the glowing eyes would give his position away if he's being stealthy.

I think River's too broke to get a better looking eye lol. Monsoon may not be rolling in it, but at least he can afford eyes that provide wider perioral vision and allows him to blink his eyelids.

I just wanted to show off the emotions in his eyes. Can't do that if he's looking like: ⚫👃⚫ "I luv u"

I've designed him bulbous eyeball connecting visors that help increase his field of vision to act as his CP au visor. (A little on the fence with this)

Regarding his arms, their design is outdated. Further information will be provided later in the post, tho I thought I'd keep this here as this was used as reference for myself.

Ken doll Mons and his bs (backstory obvs)

Born in 2031 in Cambodia, Monsoon grew up in poverty. He was abducted as a young child and sold in the black market to an organised crime syndicate. Originally, he was going to be used as an actor for the growing extreme braindance (XBD) market, however, due to his aggressive and tenacious nature, he was taken to be trained as an attack dog instead.

Mention of a several years' mission is present, but this will be touched upon later. The two images are of Monsoon before and after this mission.

Pre-mission:

Most of his body is organic, tho he has a number of internal implants (as mentioned previously)

As stated, unlike his original canon design, the additional segments are omitted. Due to CP lore, and considering Monsoon's upbringing, he would have succumb to cyberpsychosis ages ago (would have gone on a spree like James Norris in Edgerunners). A super bog standard definition of cyberpsychos is a condition where the person dissociates from society when they have too many implants and not a great support system (if they even have one). (It's a theory that David's support system is the reason why his tolerance for something as extreme as his sandevistan was high). If the chassis was kept, I would have had to abide by this rule; Monsoon at this point would have been a slender version of Adam Smasher. (Not a bad idea, but that's literally what he is in MGR but with MG lore in place). Omitting his chassis meant that there was more freedom to explore the world of CP with Monsoon. Also I wanted to see him in sneakers.

Also, his design wouldn't suit the Night City (NC) environment. In his original canon, he's the only WoD member that isn't wearing a coat. In NC, he would need to be naked to fully utilise his abilities. Not to mention, the city itself being so busy, I feel as if his magnetism would cause some damage to certain technology, if his segments don't catch onto a vehicle or a building or a fellow cyborg's butt. If anything, reference of his original design (torso and legs) would be for cosmetic purposes.

Post-mission:

He lost his pelvis and legs during the mission

As he was out in the desert at the time of this incident, his legs were replaced with robust mechanical legs provided by a nomad ripperdoc.

His legs were later replaced with a sleeker and more modern design. He also got that Mr Studd installed 😉

His cyber legs also include reinforced tendons (can literally double jump/jump great heights), Jenkin's tendons (accelerates sprinting for a few seconds - recovery time is just as quick when he's not sprinting), fortified ankles (jump great distances) and lynx paws (quiet footsteps). These are to mimic some of the attributes he has in his original canon.

His cyber arms are eventually replaced with an upgraded and custom pair.

He has cyberpsychosis. Treatment includes therapy, medication and being around his support system regularly. Of course, due to the nature of his work, slaughter does help relieve the aggression he gets from his psychosis.

After being sold to an organised crime syndicate to become an XBD actor, his aggressive nature had them think he would be better suited as a protector. He was repurposed to become an attack dog. For fun, he was given a pair of sais to train with, tho his mentor was compassionate enough to train him well. Tho he was born in Cambodia and spent his early childhood there, he was migrated to Japan after being sold. He spent the rest of his childhood serving the Yakuza as their favoured attack dog. From 15, he was stationed at Night City, being a body guard for a high ranking Yakuza member, but he decided to join Tyger Claws instead.

Additional notes:

The crime syndicates involved are primarily a mix of Triad and Yakuza members, smaller groups and groups outside of Asia are also involved, taking advantage of the state of Cambodia (it's not great). Particular corps are also involved and it's rumoured the Khmer Rouge may also be poking their noses into this black market (they exist in the CP universe. Like in our real world history, they did have their influence, however they were expelled from Cambodia and ended up ruling over Laos in the turn of the 21st century) in hind sight, Monsoon was pretty lucky

He was sold at the age of five.

The XBD market involves things like murder, torture, sexual assault - basically any instance that involves very extreme negative emotions (and is obvs very illegal). Monsoon would have likely been put up for murder and maybe even have cyberpsychosis induced on him

The Yakuza viewed Monsoon as disposable, but thought to have him at least trained in fighting. When his teacher taught him how to use the sai (which he picked up quickly), the members he often interacted with saw his potential. On the field, Monsoon was aggressive.

He was named Monsoon because he was purchased during the season. The name stuck because of his extreme behaviours: eerily calm when he's not in a fight, frightfully violent when he is.

His first implant were his eyes. The following cybernetics were implanted on him without his knowledge ie he woke up one day with his hand replaced with a cybernetic one lol. He freaked

When he arrived in Night City, he offed the Yakuza member he was meant to protect and joined Tyger Claws swiftly after. It was rumoured that this particular was to be disposed of once a negotiation with affiliate groups was made. Monsoon didn't care and killed him anyway. He's never forgiven them for what they did to him.

Because of his upbringing, he speaks Japanese fluently. Being the favoured attack dog, he wasn't required to learn any additional languages, especially with the advent of the translator, however, he did take up learning English when he learned he was going to visit California for an unknown amount of time. Much to his chagrin of learning the common conversational sentences English, when he arrived at Night City, particularly Japantown, he was disappointed that everyone around him was speaking Japanese. That didn't stop him from actively learning tho. Unfortunately, he doesn't remember much Khmer if at all.

The crummy tattoo dermal implant on his back depicts Reahu, the demon king in Cambodian mythology. It's described to be a head without a body and devours the sun and moon, but because of its lack of body (and therefore stomach), it's a perpetual cycle of devouring these celestial bodies.

His stoic and serious nature proved him to be a valuable member to the Tyger Claw gang, getting some recognition from high ranking members, including a glance or two from the up-and-coming fixer, Wakako Okada. He was given a few private jobs, one of which awarded him his extraordinarily unique magnetic arms at around the age of 18. Tho his peers didn't care for the attention he received, a small group of Tyger Claws grew jealous of him, even denouncing him as a member for being an outsider.

During a mission out, the small group turned on him, disabling his arms and taking advantage of his shock. He did defend himself to the best of his abilities, however, he was outnumbered and beaten to near death. Before completely blacking out, he called Wakako.

Once recovered and his arms repaired, he left Tyger Claws and sought vengeance on those that tried to kill him. No longer a member, he happily attacks any member that so much as looks at him funny.

Additional notes:

His position in the gang would have been pretty much the same in his original canon. He did participate in some drug dealing and trafficking, however he enjoyed fighting the most.

He was out cold for a couple days when he was picked up by Wakako and taken care of by a doctor of her choosing

Monsoon was growing tired of the gang anyway and thought he would be successful if he left. The group that attacked him provided him a really good reason to leave

He wanted to remove the Tyger Claws tattoo on his back, but decided against it as he gave it a new meaning: continuously devouring the clan

It's an exaggeration to say that he attacks any TC member if they look at him funny. He attacks them if they touch him in any way, shape or form.

Despite the fact he was a member for about five years, he has never crossed paths with Jimmy. Jimmy was locked away being a cringe teenager editing edgy braindances and wearing black eyeliner.

Ze arms

Gifted his magnetic arms at 18, adapting to fully cybernetic arms was a challenge, especially with the unique ability to desegment at will. Tho they are rumoured to be of Arasaka make, his provider advised it was from an underground yet promising corporation.

Previous arms

Neural connection between brain, arms and segments.

Powerful electromagnetism, however best performed away from the busier parts of Night City

Electromagnetic generator located in shoulder joint.

Silicone connection inside and outside of elbow.

Upper half of arm matches skin tone. Forearms and hands are black (right) and red (left).

Palm and fingertips padded; sensors are quite sensitive

Range began at 10 metres, but increased to 15 when his arms were repaired

New and current arms

Possess the same elements as the previous arms, but with a sleek design

Arms are completely black apart from the left forearm and hand being red.

Generator hidden in shoulder

Fingertips have highly sensitive sensors

Edge of segments glow red when in use (when he gets his magnet on)

Carbon fibre material

Faster movement

Range is about 30 metres max.

Additional notes:

The arms are quite expensive. He has to visit a reputable doctor that is well educated in electromagnetics and whatever the fuck else his arms possess because they're pretty insane

It took him a good month to get used to using fully cybernetic arms and even long to actually master the use of its magnetic abilities. He would say about a year.

The underground corporation used both Arasaka and Militech to craft the arms. Monsoon's unknowingly a guinea pig, however he does eventually meet the people behind these.

Said people provided him with the new arms

He exclusively uses his magnetic abilities in combat. At least, that's what he says. Monsoon has used his abilities to get something out of reach, get something from another room, and trip Jimmy (when he didn't like him) - now he uses them to pull Jimmy towards him

Sundowner

Monsoon became a solo mercenary after he left Tyger Claws. Mainly working with Wakako, he would sometimes do gigs with other solos. More often than not, he would find himself working alongside this heavyweight merc, Sundowner. At first, he found him to be rather loud and obnoxious, but eventually he found him to be a worthy and competent ally to the point he's glad to see him in his group of mercs.

Additional notes:

They met for the first time during a meeting with a fixer at Tom's Diner. Monsoon mistook him for a patron as Sundowner was chowing down on a burger and commenting loudly about the music. He wasn't particularly excited to learn that he would be working alongside him for this mission

They only ever hang out at bars or eating establishments, and the occasional visit to a braindance club.

Okay, maybe sometimes they visit Dogtown for the thrill and chaos

Monsoon's been to Sundowner's humble abode once for bbq. It's in the Badlands

They once infiltrated a Scavs base because Sundowner thought one of them stole his keys to his truck. They killed them all. They did not find his keys because he suddenly remembered where they were kept.

They once got into a random scuffle with Sixth Street

And the Voodoo Boys

And the Valentinos

And the Animals

And Tyger Claws (Monsoon enjoyed that one)

All started by Sundowner.

Sundowner is gun heavy in this universe, only using Bloodlust when he wants to get messy, but keep his hands clean.

Of course, Sundowner has the Gorilla Arms cybernetic that grants him immense strength as well as the Reinforced Tendons implants

Coming from Alabama, Monsoon's not quite familiar with the terms Sundowner uses that isn't Night City lingo. Sometimes he uses his translator which isn't the most reliable due to Sundowner's accent. He did eventually grow accustomed to his way of speaking

Sundowner most definitely did partake in the Corporate War of 2069.

Sun became a fan of Jimmy's unnecessarily violent XBD edits

The above drawings are of them in their twenties

Legs and mission

The mission

At around 25 years old, Monsoon with Sundowner was given a secret gig by their mysterious fixer. Like most gigs, survival was not guaranteed, however, the payout for this gig was huge if they did survive. This gig involved them and a small group of other mercs, techies and netrunners to travel outside Night City across the country. The mission was so secretive, contact outside anything that did not revolve around the mission was forbidden, this meant that kin were left in the dark about the whereabouts of their loved ones.

The gig proved challenging; some members lost their lives. Monsoon almost lost his life being involved in an incident that had him lose the lower half of his body. He carried out the rest of the mission in a set of robust cybernetic legs that included storage for his stoma bags. The difficulty of this mission did solidify and strengthen his friendship with Sundowner.

After the mission, which ended up lasting five years, and of course receiving his massive payout, Monsoon got himself a new set of legs, a built in bladder, rectum and a Mr Studd (with Jimmy's assistance). He also developed cyberpsychosis which is handled by his medication, therapy sessions and time spent with loved ones.

Additional notes:

The payout was six digits

The mission itself was arduous. Flat lining tended to be the bulk of the mission, tho the men would argue it felt like an underground war. Really, it was corpo shit trying to keep governments outside of their business. Infiltration and assassination proved more difficult than initially thought, especially when theft of technologies was involved

Monsoon did find it difficult to not get in contact with the people he cared about during his gig. He obviously worried about Jimmy the most because he's a danger magnet. He forced him to get the Shock-n-Awe implant as a means of defence, but he also told Jimmy not to wait for him.

Monsoon's lower body was crushed by a massive structure that collapsed after a bomb went off.

He often wrapped cloth tightly around his abdomen to keep his storma attachments extra secure. The last time he didn't have that security, he dookied on Sundowner when he tried to parkour. They still laugh about it.

He lost his legs about two years into the mission

His psychosis developed rather quickly when his legs were swiftly replaced with robust cybernetic legs.

He was fully prepared for Jimmy to have moved on. Much to his surprise, he waited for him and started gaining immense success in his work.

He also learned he became a cat dad

Ze legs and pelvis

His replacement legs right after the accident were standard metal robotic legs that helped him get around, tho it hindered his athletic abilities. He was happy to have them finally replaced with a more competent model. These legs include:

Matching skin tone

Sensors included that allows him to detect pressure, temperature changes and pain

A faux butt with padding

A Mr Studd that acts similarly to a natural penis - of course he misses his real one, but he's glad he can pee out of this one and relieve sexual need. Special sensors in the phallus connected to a specific neural link allows him to feel aroused when stimulated and lead to an eventual climax, of course it's not the same as it once was. His sex drive is also quite low.

Faux testes included for aesthetic purposes - they look and feel almost like the real thing! 😃 A TRT device was considered to be included in his pair, but he opted to take injections whenever he wanted to. He doesn't think the lack of testosterone hinders his abilities to carry out his duties as a merc. Before he changed his legs, he wasn't on testosterone regularly.

Reinforced tendons, Jenkin's tendons and Lynx paws installed

Height increased from 6'2" to 6'5" - he had a high calorie and nutritional diet due to being trained as a fighter, however, that isn't to say he didn't receive painful procedures to increase his height to appear more intimidating

Has replacement organs with sensors

Artificial butthole works fine 👍 (don't lie, you were curious)

He takes rather strong immunoblockers

Additional notes:

Jimmy paid for some of the costs. He insisted.

Recovery was relatively quick, tho he had to take the time to get used to his new legs and make sure sensors worked well.

Jimmy's aware of Monsoon's cyberpsychosis. It kinda turns him on. And he loves to admit it.

....yeah Jimmy did select the junk to be Monsoon's replacement sausage

Khamsin

During a few of his gigs, he had Khamsin as his "wheels guy". His chatter and loud music gets on Monsoon's gears, but Sundowner like Khamsin, plus he's an excellent driver. Most of the time, Monsoon zones out when he's around Khamsin, but with enough drinks, he'll chuckle at a joke or two.

Additional notes:

Khamsin's truck looks better than how I drew it. I'm just bad at drawing vehicles

Khammy also has cybernetic legs

Mons doesn't hate him, but he wouldn't invite him to his place

Sometimes he gets taunt ideas from Khamsin

Mistral

Monsoon has been a well established solo when he met the young and snarky woman who goes by Mistral. Tho she's solo, she also dabbles in netrunning, proving her versatility. At first the two didn't get on so well. She taunted him about being an old fogie, and he retorted her about being a naïve and obnoxious little girl with pink hair, even tho their age difference is approximately 15 years.

Sundowner kept wanting her on the team despite the bickering as the group worked well together and he enjoyed her accent. When the group finally did decide to hang out together at a bar, Monsoon and Mistral bonded over their annoyance with Khamsin and their love for Jimmy. As the two got closer, Mistral gifted Monsoon a couple of sakura hair clips she won at a fair. He invited her to his place to see his cat.

Additional notes

Mistral's married to Courtney lol. Courtney's a corpo, but they hardy spend time together due to their work

Mistral's a fan of Jimmy's XBDs.

She's visited their place multiple times and has designated herself as their cat's aunt

Monsoon loves the hair clips, even tho he doesn't express this out loud

She's a gun user - I'm basing this off her time as a soldier, plus I'm not sure where her lance fits in the CP universe. The geckos would be more like her and Courtney's freak children than her tools

Monsoon does not like her freak children

Weirdly, her and Jimmy became good friends. They text each other on a regular basis

She also hangs out with the two if Courtney's busy with work

She playfully throws things at Monsoon. Monsoon draws on her face when she's netrunning

She came to Night City directly from Algeria. She misses the food there

Fighting

Monsoon's fighting style is more or less identical to the original canon moveset, save for his lack of magnetic segmented legs and torso. When he had his natural legs, he utilised reflex implants to boost speeds and force behind his kicks. Now that he has his cybernetic legs, he's even more dangerous in a fight. He has implants that increase his resistance to hacking. His arms can be disassembled by skilled hackers, a hell of a disadvantage if he's using his sais to attack from a distance. He carries a multitude of grenades with him which includes explosives, EMPs and smoke grenades.

Outfit

Monsoon dresses in kitsch style clothing. His wardrobe consists mainly of vests and short sleeves, and perhaps five pairs of bottoms. As he's often doing gig work (and beating up Tyger Claws), he favours no sleeves for their practically and ease of wear. He does own at least a handful of long sleeve shirts, bombers and hoodies which he wears on special occasions, such as when he doesn't want to use his magnetic abilities.

Additional notes

He owns a couple neokitsch style clothing (clothing that only the wealthy can afford) because Jimmy likes to spoil him. He only ever wears them when he's visiting Embers

Jimmy likes stealing his jackets and hoodies.

Monsoon on occasion wears Jimmy's jacket to feel like a villain - Jimmy doesn't take offence to this.

Monsoon wears his clothes until they fall apart. It annoys Jimmy because he knows he can afford new clothes.

He also hates going clothes shopping with Jimmy

Apartment

His apartment is located in Japantown, Westbrook of Night City. He keeps the apartment clean and free of clutter, the only decorations he has are books/magazines and a dragon statue that holds incense (came with the apartment). Eventually, his apartment transformed into a lively little abode when Jimmy entered his life. After becoming accustomed to the company, the apartment now includes horror movie posters, memory chips dotted everywhere, cute little momentos, cans of Spunky Monkey in the fridge, an additional toothbrush, additional clothes in the wardrobe, sex toys and numerous Polaroid photographs of the two.

Additional notes:

Sometimes they use each other's toothbrush by mistake

He has a plethora of plants. He likes nature. Jimmy's a little freaked out by the plants especially when they touch him

He doesn't smoke in the apartment

#Okay I think I'm done #I have been on this from the first page to the last bit of text for maybe a week and a half/couple of weeks?#I'm not quite sure how to even tag this if I even HAVE a specific tag for this #I'll use my usual tags for now #IT'S A LOOONG post of alt universe fan nonsense. I might even rejig some of the info later down the road if I'm still fixated #I advise you grab a snack #My art #cyberpunk au #mgr monsoon #mgr sundowner #mgr mistral #Mgr Khamsin #cyberpunk 2077 #I'm so tired #👁️👁️#nerd shit

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magratpudifoot · 2 years ago

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I had a mammogram the other day*, and the imaging clinic had an opt-in program to have "AI" review my images before they were seen by a doctor.

The program had an acronym that was never explained and that I forgot as soon as I encountered it. It cost $40 and was not covered by insurance, but I was assured that it is "FDA approved".**

It was offered to me first on the online intake form. I could enroll then, but there was no way to decline, so my forms displayed as incomplete. I was then offered it again, this time verbally, when I got to the office and was asked to do the entire intake form again on paper, presumably because my online forms were "incomplete". I was left sitting in the waiting room for 45 minutes while I heard the same offer given to the next 20 or so patients who arrived after me.

I don't know if it was the cost, or general technophobia, or our collective mistrust of bullshit because we've all seen at least one Theranos documentary at this point, but as far as I could tell, not a single person added the "AI" pre-screen.

And I am asking myself now, how many of us might have considered it for maybe a second longer if they just called it "pattern recognition software." I might have, if it had been the right day, I don't know. I see the utility in having routine identification done by software if it is then compared to an independent review by a human specialist. That would be, in my opinion as a lapsed Electrical Engineer, an ideal use of the technology we are able to develop at this point in history.

But the minute someone called these pattern recognition programs "AI", the people who were reading Ayn Rand under the desk through their Engineering Ethics classes took their NFT money and put it on the new shiny.

I spent all of high school feeling like a paranoid nut for being the kid always warning people that we needed to slow down with the "let's do tech because we can!" mentality because humans can't be trusted to treat computer intelligences ethically when we can't treat each other ethically. In the early 2000s, it was apparently laughable that I bought into the far out science fiction idea that we could create artificial intelligence.

Now I've found myself in a society run by people who have seen the fiji mermaid and think Barnum's software is "intelligent".

And it is so much more annoying than I could have imagined.

But definitely do go have a mammogram when it is time for you to do so. I'm a J cup with a low pain tolerance, and it barely registered as uncomfortable for me.

* A real one this time, not just the kind where my cat wakes me up in the middle of the night making biscuits on my chest looking like she's posing for Henry Fuseli.

**For those who do not listen to Oh No! Ross and Carrie, the FDA typically determines whether something will injure you or make you sick, not whether it does what it claims. I imagine the FDA approver giving the camera the ol Jim Halpert as they rubber stamp the form declaring that a piece of software run against a static image three days after the person pictured in the image has left the facility won't give said person cancer.

#no one asked you ms p #why yes i do still have a flip phone

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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HASO, “The Plan.”

Getting excited for tomorrow. I have had this idea for a while and am pleased to be able to execute it. Building up to something good :)

Dr. Krill, Adam, and Dr. Katie stood in the low ceilinged Vrul council chamber at the center of the city. The entire room was as Adam had remembered it, with large glass windows looking out at all 360 degrees of the city. At one point he had assumed it was just the selfish desire of the ruling class to look down on the citizens, but as he looked, he could now see that there was some utility to the tower, almost a watch tower over the city. The canals and structure of the city itself could be sectioned off if there was ever an emergency, cut like a pie into triangular sections that could be excluded from the force shield if it was ever needed.

As soon as their historian had put forward her hypothesis, the Vrul council had been called to order, and a few other GA members were now sitting in on the meeting remotely. They would have come themselves, but upon hearing about the horrible creatures that were, even now, clawing at their walls, the council had ordered the shield sup for what must have been the first time in millennia.

Luckily for them, they had never let the shields fall into disrepair, and as he looked out the window he could see the shimmering blue purple nexus of power glistening in the sky above them.

It worried him thinking that the ancient Vrul had deemed it necessary to have a force field that went into the sky as well. Dr. Kell had had a ruptured helium sack when they brought him in, but that gave the assumption that, perhaps, he would still have been able to float in his infected state, which was not something that bare thinking about, though it WAS an important item to consider.

“Yes, all the evidence does seem to point to that.” The counselor said, their head turned towards the GA chairwoman as they spoke, “We have contacted the other cities along the central line and they report their cities are built in much the same way. Satellite imaging shows clusters of…. The nesting sights all over the world, though their greatest cluster happens to be around our city. If each circle has approximately seven of the creatures burrowed below it, we estimate about 49,000 of the creatures possibly burrowed below our landscape. The animals in the area seem to know to steer clear of the nesting sites. The larger animals have moved in great migrations towards the poles where there are few of the nesting sites, and the animals who have a lighter step are prone to avoiding the circle when they can. Zoomed in pictures DO show the occasional skeletalized remains of some creature or another, but it is hard to tell what they died from.

The GA chairwoman was nodding, “So you believe that the cities were built for a different reason than originally thought.”

There was a pause and then the council nodded, “Yes, it seems likely that Vrul lived in open cities before the outbreak began and then built the city in defense against the creatures. The Deltas, we have found are the main spreading vector, since they are stronger and faster, they are more mobile, but the disease affects everyone similarly causing acute aggression and infected pustules filled with sores that rupture and spread a cloud into the air.”

Dr. Krill stepped forward just then to cut into the conversation, “Dr. Katie and I have examined the infection under controlled conditions, and it is clearly a disease that originated on this planet. It does not have the structures you would assume from a viral or bacterial infection common on worlds where the creatures are more animal than plant. In this case the subject does seem primarily interested in infecting our species. The disease is transmissible primarily through respiration where the spores enter the body and into the lungs, as it were, where they are dissolved and the toxin spreads directly through to the brain. It will then destroy most of the decision making and memory centers of the cortex, amp up aggression, and then start germinating more spores in those packets that we have seen.”

“So it isn’t contagious to other species.” The Chair woman asked

Krill shook his head, “I did not say that. While it is a disease that is meant for plant-like liforms, any creature with lungs similar to ours are also under direct fire of infection. Humans for example send blood directly to their brain from the lungs, and have cortical centers that are generally analogous to our own. Of course, humans have the blood brain barrier that would be much less likely to allow that to happen, so I don’t see a mental breakdown as part of its affect on humans, but I do imagine they could develop sores that could burst and be contagious.”

“I see, than what is your plan?”

Another of the council members took the moment to step forward, “Clearly we restrict movement outside the city. It worked for us for four thousand years and it shall work for the next four thousand years.”

There was a murmur of agreement around them before.

“You’re not fucking serious.”

There was a pause as the entire council chamber turned to look at him, Admiral vir standing just before the window and staring down at the city.

The human looked on in absolute consternation.

“Do you have a problem with that, human.”

Admiral Vir drew himself up, “Damn straight I have a problem with that. You have an opportunity to take your planet back. You have all the weapons and all the allies in the galaxy and you won’t even fight for your own planet. Living in your air tight cities and using it as an excuse to bring down even greater restrictions on a group of people who have never known any sort of freedom before.”

“Watch your ton-” “No, I am not one of your citizens, and I won’t be silenced for my opinion. At the end of the day it IS your decision, but you have to understand. The Vrul home planet is one of the greatest sources we have of natural gas and yet Vrul economic power is at an all time low, and that is because the group of you wont leave your cities to harvest it. Now we learn that there is a reason, a stoppable reason, and you just want to sit here and do nothing about it always watched by the fear of what if something happens, what if one of them gets in somehow, what if the strain changes, what if what if what if.” He looked around the room, “not to mention that if you took control of these things, you would be able to expand your cities, which would mean no more termination orders for those who are deemed, by the government mind you, to be useless.” he gave a very pointed look at Krill, “You would have had the doctor dead if it wasn’t for my intervention, and then as soon as something went wrong you called him back. I think that is a perfect example on how this system just isn’t working.”

The Vrul council stared at him, and it was pretty clear that they weren’t a fan of the words coming out of his mouth. There was one problem though, there were other citizens in the room than weren’t going to keep their mouths shut. There was Krill of course, who they had already discredited, but the Admiral had waited for the perfect opening, the the psychologist was there, the historian and more than a few other assistants, who he could see were Betas.

He knew from what Krill had said that Betas were insufferable gossips. So anything that happened in this tower was likely to get out.

With grudging slowness the council grinded back into movement, “Than what do you suggest, Admiral? We are not well versed in military tactics which is what this would require. You can hardly blame us for turning back to the one thing that has always worked.”

Good job hiding behind being pathetic he thought to himself.

“It is a good thing that I am Admiral of the GA armada and have some experience with the tactical side of warfare.” He turned to look around at the others, “We will want to continue doing our tests on these creatures. I want to know what their weaknesses are, and I want to know how to kill them. This is to hoping that bullets do the trick, but I also want to know what they are attracted to. Some of you have suggested vibrations in the ground, in which case, I can use that.

Krill and katie agreed with him.

And he walked with them as they stepped from the room.

“You are really toeing a line the way you speak to them, I think.” Katie whispered quietly

He leaned in, “I have a feeling that the Vrul weren’t always like this. The traditions of government they have now are based on martial law that was present during a zombie apocalypse four thousand years ago. They don’t want to give up their power, but my duty isn’t to their government, it is to their citizens.”

Krill hummed his agreement from Kati’s opposite side, “The Admiral is right, I believe. The more I think about it, the more I have come to a conclusion that we are not as….. How shall we say…. Fragile as the council would make us believe. A lot of what they say is based on the idea that we need to be protected, but I think that ideology is something that was passed down from when we actually DID need to be protected. What other truths about the Vrul don’t we know because we haven’t been allowed to look into it further.”

Adam tapped his fingers against his crossed bicep, “The maximum age of a Vrul for one. I read a paper that said that the average age of a Vrul before termination is only around thirty or forty years, but if what they are saying is true about these zombie vrul, than it is likely they are around four thousand years old.” He glanced over at Krill, “how old does this make you past your termination order/”

Krill shrugged, “I was evaluated early, so I am only considered 35 in your human years, a little bit older in the Vrul reckoning of things, but that does pose an interesting hypothesis. I have never actually seen a Vrul die of old age. But it would make sense with the termination order. If we were forced into cities, than it would make sense that they would do these things out of a need for population control, that is assuming that we can live forever, a thought that seems ludicrous to me, but still.”

Adam nodded, “Starting off though, I want to know what kind of music does what to the creature.”

Dr Katie looked at him skeptically, “Music?”

He nodded, “Music.”

“What are you planning, she said suspiciously, looking him over with a critical eye.

He smiled, “Dealing with the hoard all at once, but if we can do that, and use music against them, well then I would want to use all of my inherent advantages now wouldn’t I?”

Katie nodded with some thought and motioned him onward.

They went back to the chamber, while he and some of the marines went back to the wall, where the group of ravening Vrul were still tearing at the base.

“Lower the shields.” he ordered on of the Betas.

The creature looked at him like he was nuts, but the look on his face made clear, in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to argue and hurried to do as Adam ordered.

The small section of the field opened, and he leaned out over the drop looking down at the creatures still clambering at the wall.

“Huh, Maverick, come here.”

Maverick trotted over behind him, rifle bouncing in a sling against her chest and she skidded to a halt next to him, “Yes Boss.”

“Think you can shoot one of them in the head from up here?”

She paused, frowned but then shrugged, “I mean…. yeah , probably.”

“Go on, target practice.”

She looked at him a bit confused for a second, before shrugging and leaning out over the drop. He grabbed her by the back of the shirt just to give her that extra bit of security while she got a good angle.

There was a small pause, and then a sharp subsonic crack as the rifle fired. The Vrul flinched at the shockwave and Adam’s ear’s rang. Damn idiot forgot to put in some hearing protection before she did that, but what was done was done. Not even a millisecond later there was a sharp explosion as the Vrul in question shattered into its component parts. It cracked open like an egg and the strange, and deadly pollen ruptured out before falling back onto the ground.”

Maverick drew herself back inside the shield which shut quickly.

“Huh, that worked better than expected.”

“Yeah, but did you see the polen?”

He frowned and nodded, “I did. I don’t think any Vrul should be going on this mission with us, and as for the humans. IT will be full suits and respirators for everyone. I want to see how long these spores can last in the environment by themselves. Hopefully it isn’t long, because if it is then that puts my whole plan out the window. I also want to see how long it can last in the air, because that is going to be super important.

***

When he returned to the lab later on after coordinating his original idea Dr. Katie and krill were waiting for him with their results.

“So, what did we find.”

“A couple of things.” Krill announced, “FIrst of all, the spores last a very short time outside the host, maybe twenty four hours at most, though that is only when provided with the perfect condition. They cannot infect the surrounding plant life or the soil. The spores themselves are rather heavy and so they don’t stick around in the air longer than the wind can keep them up, and they seem to be neutralized by water, or water ruins their infectivity when outside a subject, so that is also good news. His helium sack would still work if it was not for the tear, which means that these creatures can float, and we know that the deltas can burrow to some degree.”

Adam was nodding slowly, “And how about the music?”

“Ah, that we found is interesting. A steady and predictable beat does cause them confusion, so most human songs will get them. Anything without a measured beat isn’t an issue, like classical music for the most part. Songs that have no drumline don’t confuse them as much, and songs where the drum line isn’t as noticeable also don’t affect them as much. A good predictable drumline as seen in many rock songs will get them nice and confused, but your best bet for neutralizing them is a hard rock or metal drumline with additional patterns coming from the guitar and vocal track.”

“Hard rock and metal to save the day then.”

They looked at him with a curious expression as he grinned at them.

“What are you planning.”

“I am planning to kill zombies, and I am planning to do it in style.”

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gagmebucky · 6 years ago

Text

[bad boy!bucky. teasing. kitten.]

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no one’s treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

in which you’re supposed to tutor bucky but he has other plans. (includes bad boy!bucky x shy!reader, bucky’s pov, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, fingering, mild exhibitionism and voyeurism.)

do not repost.

—

“Shouldn’t you be closer?” Bucky quirks a quizzical eyebrow from across the library table, lips slanted in the faintest of smirks, resisting a full blown show of teeth lest he intimidate you further.

Stacked shelf to shelf, the book-laden expanse is desolate on an eight o’clock evening. The maze of literature has a plethora of tables and chairs on in-house reading; of which, the both of you are stationed at one. At the farthest corner of the room, he’s moored you in a coven of privacy: obscured from the front desk by towers of wood and bound paper.

At the opposing head of the rectangular surface, you look up; the first glance in ten minutes since arriving for the studying session as you procrastinated under the guise of arranging the work space. Your wide eyes connect with his, and you swallow. “I. . . I,” you stammer before clearing your throat and nodding. “Yes. I - I suppose I should.”

His fingers flex subconsciously at the anticipation of having you within reach. “Okay, c’mon,” he encourages, settling forward as he pats the open seat beside him. “I won’t bite, kitten.” Before he can control himself, a smirk upturns his naturally redden lips, words drawling out like gravel, “Unless, of course, you want me to.”

Your pretty face darkens a bashful shade, and your mouth opens then shuts. You diligently gather your materials, fumbling some underneath the intensity of his carnivorously blue gaze. Once you’ve packed up your textbook and writing utensils, you grapple them to your chest. “I am just your tutor, James, and all we’ll be doing is studying,” you state, hushed and insistent, almost as if to convince yourself.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, his teeth following to nibble on them before releasing. “Whatever you say, kitten,” he claims, but there’s a covetous glint in his dilated pupils that says otherwise.

Albeit with hesitation, you pad down to the chair directly diagonal from him and sit. A unique lull of vanilla and cinnamon greet his senses, another intoxicating whiff when you flip your physics book open to a chapter about electromagnetic waves.

After skimming it with your eyes, you straighten. “Okay, um,” you say without looking at him. “Are you sure you want me to tutor you? Because it’s not my major, and I’m only getting a B—”

“I’m sure.”

Unbeknownst to you—and to anyone who looks at him—he’s getting an A in Introduction to Cosmology. The thing is, he heard you’re one of the volunteer tutors; what’s a better way to get to know you than through deceiving you into being alone with him in a nearly empty library.

A part of him feels guilty for that but it’s a necessary evil. Utilizing your predilection for helping others, he’s finally gotten you on your own. With your generally skittish personality, amplified when it comes to a roguish reputation like his, it was his only course of action. And he’s wanted this, wanted you for awhile now.

Ever since he’s seen you in the front row of class, jotting down line and line of lecture, catching glimpses of your face buried in a book underneath the campus tree, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. But upon approaching you, you were all stuttering and clumsily running away.

Turns out, his capable temper and brazenly illicit activities are more infamous than he initially thought. Which he should feel proud about, not annoyed by. But given its fault in thwarting his courting of you, there’s a flicker of agitation.

That particular emotion is simmering with every second he inhales your bewitching aroma and eyes your beauty up-close. Warmly dimmed lights cast down a glow on your face, the shadow of your cheekbones, the length of your fluttering lashes. Your eyebrows are pinched cutely in concentration as you scan over his error-ridden homework, pink tongue peeking against your upper lip.

God. You’re so cute. But in a way that makes him want to sheathe himself inside you as deep as possible and watch you writhe around on his cock beneath him.

His jaw locks briefly as desire pits in his stomach. And, he knows he’s staring, an intensity of hunger display within his shark-like eyes. Undoubtedly, you see through his storming oceanic pools and know that there’s a gluttony of dastardly impulses flashing through his mind; carnal movies starring you and him in the leading roles.

For the millionth time, you clear your throat. “S - so, I think we should go over the easy ones first. Then we - we. . .” you fumble over your instruction when his hand finds its way on your thigh, squeezing lightly through your skirt. You gulp and spare a nervous glance around then whisper, “What are you d - doing?”

“Trying to learn,” he answers casually, moving his hand to slip underneath the fabric. He withholds a sound at the soft smoothness contrasting against his rough palm. Gauging your reaction, the shiver that slithers down your spine but the alarm widening your big eyes, he stills in place, tracing lazy circles with his thumb. “Aren’t you gonna help me, kitten?”

You nod quickly. “Y - yes, of course.” You shuffle in your chair but he keeps a steady hold on you. “What I was saying is that, we’ll go slow then when you understand the basics, we’ll go f - faster with some harder problems.”

“You know, I’m the type of person who prefers to go fast. I like to go in all at once, no preparation. . .” He licks his bottom lip. “Fast and hard. You think you can handle that, kitten?” On cue with the pet name, he glides his palm up your sensitive inner thighs, inching to where you’re radiating heat.

Immediately, you gasp. “J - James!” you admonish a little too loudly and drop your pen to seize his wrist as it fixes between the cradle of your hips. “I - I’m trying to tutor you; what are you d - doing?” Despite the appalledness of your voice, your hips are instinctively bucking into the stimulation.

“I’m listening,” he insists innocently, tilting his head as if perplexed by your fidgeting. “Is there something wrong? D’you need to use the bathroom?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, clearly crossed between calling him out and brushing it off. To his lucky surprise, you chose the latter. “L - let’s begin, then.” You relinquish his wrist and focus on the work splayed out on the table. “The test is coming up, and you’ll need to memorize the equations so - so—” When his hand reaches your panties and his index finger draws lines up and down your slit with the faintest of touches, you jolt, gasping, “James, we’re supposed to be studying!”

The look on your face, he can't get enough of it: embarrassment attempting to cover the need shining in your sparkling eyes. “I am.” He chuckles huskily as he undulates his fingertips along your cloth-clad slit. “I’m studying your little pussy. And you wanna know what I notice right off the bat?” he questions like you can respond but you’re too busy shoving a fist in your mouth and smothering sounds as he goes to work.

He kneads your sex crudely, manipulating the weeping flesh through soaked cotton between his fingers. He hasn’t touched you for more than a minute, and you’re already a puddle against the chair—slicked up and primed for something to fill up that tight hollowness inside you.

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no ones treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

As you nod with fluttering lashes, he bypasses your underwear and palms your hot, soft mound. A moan vibrates through his throat at the same time you squeal. He beelines for your clit, swollen and just begging for abuse—which he’s more than happy to provide, to wear the tiny bundle of nerves out until you just can’t stop shaking.

The mere image of your cute self undone like that in the public has all the blood rushing to his cock and straining for release; for you to give him that release but that’s not his aim right here and now. Right here and now, it’s about corrupting someone as sweet and good as you—to be the blackguard that unravels you like candy bar and eats you whole.

“G - god. That’s good,” you whimper, raking your nails down his muscular forearms, and he’ll wear the red marks with pride in the future. You survey the surroundings but he can’t care less about whether someone’s watching. “James. H - hold on—”

He pauses and lifts a brow because you’re still rutting into his caress like a dog in heat. “You really want me to stop, kitten? ‘Cause your sexy body is telling me otherwise.” If you want him to stop, he has zero qualms about doing it; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you in your entirety.

You shake your head. “N - no. I - I like it,” you whisper shyly, blinking those hypnotizing orbs at him. “But—”

Cutting you off, a familiar voice rings out, “Hey!” Deep and annoyingly authoritative, he identifies the blond librarian’s baritone pitch. Heavy footsteps on hardwood became louder as a build rivaling Bucky intevenes. “I heard someone yell—”

Bucky grunts. “We’re just fine, Rogers.” He punctuates the word by parting a finger past your tumescented folds, sliding in with a curved angle until he hears your muffled but telltale choke that he's about to stroke your g-spot. A smirk curls into his lips as you slump in your seat, arms braced around your head to hide your face. “Oh, yeah. We’re doing great.”

Steve narrows his eyes and folds his arms, nonverbally saying he won’t be brushed off that easily. “Am I seriously supposed to trust someone like you, Barnes?” he retorts with a scoff and takes a step closer to examine you.

Which, if it were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck off before he makes them. In this case, however, he’s knuckle deep inside you, and he sorta wants Steve to know that. In Bucky’s failed attempts to pursue you, he noticed that his childhood frenemy had also developed feelings for you, but is too daft to act on them. So, there’s some satisfaction in showing him you’re literally wrapped around his finger.

Your channel possesses him like a vice, practically gushing with every slow thrust, fevered like the contents of a volcano, and soft like silk; he knows you’ve been made to be seated around his cock. And with that conviction in his head, he’s going to show you off proudly.

“Kitten, why don’t you tell Stevie here that I’m taking good care of you?” Bucky purrs in your ear, gaze connected with the fiery depths of Steve’s. “Just reassure him that I’m handling my perfect little kitty just like she needs.”

It takes you a minute to gather yourself—not that it helps—then you raise your head. Your face is dazed in unmistakable desire, a shimmering sheen of sweat around your forehead, pupils blown wide. “I - I’m fine,” you croak, a tone away from being a moan. “James is h - helping me.”

Satisfaction fills him, and he has to share how pleased he is with you. Keeping the heel of his palm flushed against your clit, the texturized pad of his finger rasps over that soft spot inside you over and over, speed quickening every time, making you sporadically spasm around him.

The sensations hit you at once because you coil yourself into his embrace, trembling with your nose pressed into his chest, and his other arm huddles you close while his fingers play you like a fiddle. His black t-shirt does a decent job of suppressing your pleasure-heavy cries, but in a library setting, the noises are unmistakable.

In shock—jealousy or arousal, both probably—Steve takes a step back, eyes like moons and lips parted as he watches the girl he has a crush on shudder and sob in the throes of orgasm within the arms of his frenemy. All the time, Bucky’s remain on his, an infuriating smirk upturned on his lips.

Because he’s an asshole, he ducks down to stage-whisper in your ear, “That’s it, kitten. Squeeze my fingers, show me how tight you’ll feel bouncing on my cock. Be a good girl for me, and do exactly what I say.” Your cries crescendo, and your channel twitches warningly. “There she goes. You’ve got the softest, littlest, wettest pussy, don’t you, kitten? And I’m the only one who gets to have you, right?”

Along with a nod, there’s a distinct bleat of, “Y - yes!” And that snaps Steve out of his perverse trance, blinking back into reality, and spinning on his heels to storm off, probably to jerk off or punch something. Either way, Bucky’s having the best time he’s had in awhile, and it’s all thanks to you.

You bite into his pectoral through the blend of polyester and cotton when you cum, a sting that he absolutely loves. Your velvet walls pulsate and throb as you flood his hand, your whole body vibrating with the force that upheaves you.

He rocks you through it: repeatedly cooes of “Good, kitten,” and waning strokes of his fingers, holding you snugly. Once the convulsions have stopped, he pops his finger free and sucks it clean. At the taste, a groan wrenches through his throat, and the urge to get on his knees and lap at the source dominates him.

Blearily, you look up at him, all timid and such. And he feels his heart melt. “I don’t want you to fail,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry!”

He cracks a grin. “It’s fine. I’m doing good in that class, anyway.” He cups your cheek. “I just wanted to hang out with you. Why don’t we get something to eat, and then later, I’ll eat you?”

Although flustered, you nod with a small smile. “O - okay.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#bucky x reader #bucky x you smut #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel x you #marvel smut #my writing

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passionate-reply · 4 years ago

Video

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This week on Great Albums: a Great Album that your average rock critic would actually agree with me about! Find out how Kate Bush got her groove back with her fifth LP, Hounds of Love, and whether she ever came down from that hill. Full transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Ever since I first conceived the idea of Great Albums, I’ve always intended it to reflect nothing other than my own personal “canon”--not necessarily a list of albums that were influential, successful, or acclaimed by anybody’s standards but my own. But in this installment, I’m making a somewhat uncharacteristic move, and diving into an album that really doesn’t need me to advocate for it: Hounds of Love, by Kate Bush, often considered Bush’s greatest masterpiece--if not one of the greatest albums of all time.

Released in 1985, Hounds of Love was Bush’s fifth studio LP. Her career had started off surprisingly strong in 1977, with the release of her debut single “Wuthering Heights,” written when Bush was only 19 years old. With a high-concept theme, based around the titular novel by Emily Brontë, it would set the template for much of Bush’s subsequent career: irreverently eccentric, high-concept art-pop with the intensely personal passion of a singular singer-songwriter. But just how much patience for that sort of thing does the general public have, beyond letting the occasional “Wuthering Heights” through as a sort of novelty hit? Bush’s subsequent work in the early 1980s met with inconsistent reception, with her fourth LP, 1982’s The Dreaming, marking a particularly low point. The first album that Bush produced all by herself, The Dreaming took even more radical creative liberties, pushing her sound into increasingly experimental territory.

Music: “Get Out Of My House”

Following the fairly cold reception of The Dreaming, Bush took several years to produce her next album, but it would prove to be the one that redeemed her career, and arguably turned her into a bigger star than ever before. Hounds of Love managed to stay true to the core principles of the Bush aesthetic: moody and introspective, full of rich and complex narratives, as well as musical risk-taking. But it honed and refined that sound into something that was also remarkably pop.

Music: “Running Up That Hill”

“Running Up That Hill” was one of the biggest hits of Bush’s career, and arguably dethroned even “Wuthering Heights” as her signature song. I think the secret to its success is its ability to balance Bush’s experimental impulses with an intuitive, deep-felt emotional quality that makes her best work resonant in an accessible way. On paper, “Running Up That Hill” is as high-concept as anything else in Bush’s catalogue--a song about making a deal with God to swap sexes with your lover, and feel what life is like in another body? But at the same time, the song has an ability to “work” even if you don’t know all of that. Who hasn’t longed for a way to bargain with supernatural forces, for a chance at the impossible? There’s a certain applicability to its themes, which I think is a chief reason why it’s inspired so many covers and reimaginings over the years. But even when one listens to the original, the stately washes of digital synthesiser and the powerful conviction that propels Bush’s vocals make it easy to sympathize with. It feels grounded and physical, rooted in the most carnal aspect of the human body. Positioned as the opening track of the album, “Running Up That Hill” feels like an obvious lead single--in the best way possible. But it’s worth noting that not everything on the album is quite so radio-friendly.

Music: “Cloudbusting”

Perhaps one of Bush’s most compelling narratives, “Cloudbusting” is also, ostensibly, fairly high-concept, portraying a heavily fictionalized episode from the life of Wilhelm Reich. A controversial figure both in life and legacy, Reich is best remembered for his work in psychology, heavily influenced by the spectre of Sigmund Freud. But “Cloudbusting” focuses on his later-life fascination with the physical sciences, and his belief that a mystical energy called “orgone” was responsible for both human emotional woes as well as disturbances in the Earth’s atmosphere. Reich attempted to develop a machine that could manipulate this energy, and hence achieve the longtime dream of technological weather control, but there’s no evidence his “cloudbuster” really worked, or that there’s any such thing as “orgone.” But Bush’s “Cloudbusting,” and its accompanying music video, portray Reich as a tragic hero, silenced by government authorities who sought to destroy what they couldn’t understand, conflating his work with cloudbusters with his censure by the FDA for his questionable medical devices.

The song was inspired chiefly by the memoirs of Wilhelm Reich’s son, Peter, with Bush explicitly portraying Peter’s naive childhood perspective on his father, and that does allow for some substantial nuance here...but at some point we have to ask ourselves what responsibility an artist has to the truth. “Cloudbusting” is the musical equivalent of a film that’s “based on a true story,” and I see no reason why music can’t be just as capable of spreading misinformation as the Oscar-bait biopics of Hollywood. Just how accurate, or how beautiful, does a work of art need to be, for us to allow a bit of playing loose with the facts for the sake of a great story?

Setting aside these quandaries presented by its subject matter, “Cloudbusting” undoubtedly delivers musically. Across its sprawling runtime, it develops and earns a sense of grandeur, building from its infectious percussion and cresting with Bush’s fragile, but assertive prayer: “I just know that something good is going to happen.” If you listen closely to the percussion tracks on the album, you’ll notice that there’s no cymbal or high-hat utilized anywhere, which helps give the album its particular hazy, meandering ambiance.

That effect is perhaps even more pronounced on the second side of the album. Hounds of Love is divided quite sharply into two sides. The first side, also sub-titled Hounds of Love, opens with “Running Up That Hill,” and finishes with “Cloudbusting,” which serves as something of a bridge between the two, combining a singable hook and a pop-like verse-chorus structure with a taste for more visionary narrative. While the first side is home to all four of the album’s singles, the second side, sub-titled The Ninth Wave, strays much further away from the standard expectations of pop.

Music: “Under Ice”

Going by the tracklisting, there are seven tracks that make up *The Ninth Wave,* though their smooth transitions and willful defiance of verse/chorus structure create a seamless oratorio or song cycle feel, not unlike many of the great “album sides” of the prog tradition. The Ninth Wave also departs from the feel of the first side in its instrumentation. While the Hounds of Love side has its fair share of exotic instruments, such as a balalaika on “Running Up That Hill” and a didgeridoo on “Cloudbusting,” The Ninth Wave is more richly baroque, with elements like that jarring violin on “Under Ice.” As it progresses, the breadth of timbres increases, climaxing in the Celtic-inspired “Jig of Life.”

Music: “Jig of Life”

The explosion of folkish, backward-looking sounds of “Jig of Life” and “Hello World,” with their fiddles, whistles, and full choir, represent its protagonist’s return to the realm of the living, after the trauma represented by earlier tracks like “Under Ice.” The abstract, though affecting, narrative presented by The Ninth Wave seems to be a tale of death and rebirth, with a narrator who drowns themselves, only to be reborn--whether literally revived from a failed suicide attempt, or metaphysically reincarnated after a passage through the realm of the dead.

Much more has been written about the themes of *The Ninth Wave* than I’m getting into here, but suffice it to say that many people consider it the relative highlight of the album. But I think it’s worth questioning that a little bit, and taking the time to look at Hounds of Love a bit more holistically. Just because the first side is a bit less overtly experimental doesn’t mean it doesn’t have just as much to offer, artistically, or that it isn’t a part of what makes this album truly great. At the end of the day, I think we can probably agree that far fewer people would have ever heard The Ninth Wave if it weren’t for those more accessible singles on side one, moving copies of the record and adding to Bush’s widespread acclaim. Without “Running Up That Hill,” Hounds of Love might have gone down in history as a fairly niche cult classic like The Dreaming, instead of the era-defining album that it got to become.

On the cover of Hounds of Love, we see an image of Bush reclining and embracing two dogs--who were, in fact, her own pets. The image’s saturation in purplish pink and Bush’s perhaps sultry expression combine to create an impression of traditional femininity, which resonates with the album’s themes of gender and sensuality. Framed in by large white borders, we might read the composition of the cover as evocative of a personal locket or memento, a sort of furtive glimpse into Bush’s more private or intimate essence, fitting for the introspective and emotional focus of much of the music. This “framing” is perhaps also evocative of the idea of the domestic sphere of life--and hence, again, of femininity.

While the title track of the album portrays the “hounds of love” as figures of menace, who are said to “chase” after its narrator, the submissive and comfortable-looking canines portrayed in the cover art seem like a foil to that idea. In the history of European art, dogs are often used as symbols of fidelity, particularly in the context of romance. Titian’s Venus of Urbino, painted in the 1530s, is often considered the progenitor of the Western “nude” as an archetype. Alongside the titular goddess, paragon of eroticism and the feminine, the painter has also included a lapdog, peacefully dozing beside her. It’s tempting to see the composition of the cover of Hounds of Love as doing something similar, invoking confident sensuality alongside a symbol of faithfulness to portray the essence of idealized love.

After the release of Hounds of Love, Bush would once again take several years to produce her next LP, 1989’s The Sensual World. More closely related to The Ninth Wave than the A-side of Hounds of Love, it was nonetheless another commercial and mainstream success for the artist.

Music: “The Sensual World”

From the mid-90s to the mid-00s, Bush took an extended hiatus from music, focusing instead on her family and her personal life. Despite uncertainty surrounding the future of her career, she would eventually return to the public spotlight in the 21st Century, and remains active, if somewhat intermittently, to the present day. At this point, it’s safe to say that Bush has a fairly enviable position, having lived long enough to become a cultural institution, and able to bask in the cult following her unmistakable and distinctive work has earned her. For as much as I’ve praised the more commercial side of Hounds of Love in this piece, I still believe in the power of the truly unfettered creative soul, and I’m still happy for Bush that she’s achieved that kind of freedom.

My favourite track from either side of Hounds of Love would have to be “The Big Sky.” In the context of the album, it stands out for its rousing, triumphant crescendo of energy--a marked difference from the languid, introspective sensibility that dominates most of the material. And it manages that without bringing the cymbals back, either! Thematically, its emphasis on weather and the sky prefigures that of “Cloudbusting,” perhaps providing a more hopeful and naive vision of what weather can do, which resists being “clouded” by political drama. That’s all I have for today--as always, thank you all for listening!

Music: “The Big Sky”

#music #great albums #kate bush #album review #album reviews #classic album #classic albums

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shopweb · 4 years ago

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WHAT YOU THINK WILL BE THE NEXT STEP OF MARKETING IN MODERN ERA?

Presently a day world advances have been changing. They are turning out to be more futuristic thing become digitized. This situation, I think advanced showcasing is the following stage of promoting in the current period.

why advanced marketing significant for present day time advertising

Advanced promoting permits a business or an association to extend its branches and become effective. To be exact, it is one of the powerful types of promoting at the present time. It will permit you to reach up to an enormous number of individuals. Also, this type of promoting will present to you a ton of brand commitment. Subsequently, on the off chance that you don't fuse advanced advertising in your promoting methodology, it will be considered inadequate. In this way, we will talk about the advantages of computerized promoting. It will rouse you to use this type of showcasing. Consequently, the explanations behind picking ,advanced showcasing in the cutting edge period are:

Here are 15 of the main motivations to comprehend why computerized promoting is essential in the advanced time advertising :

1. THE TIME IS NOW

It is the need of great importance and the future – Whether a business is on the web or disconnected, both plans of action are reliant upon shifting degrees on natural traffic (expected clients) to their sites which is indispensable for their food and extension. More web clients mean more likely clients for online organizations working in different enterprises, and the advanced market is the most quick and successful method of contacting them.

No other type of showcasing was seemingly so incredible since the actual appearance of the publicizing business, as computerized promoting is today. It is definitely more compelling than different methods for customary showcasing (paper and paper commercials) in advancing items or administrations.

Thus, most organizations have advanced advertising at the highest point of their plan and put significant assets into it to help their image mindfulness, online notoriety, and presence, the group of which keeps them in front of the opposition. Except if obviously, somebody has been living under the stone for the most recent decade or thereabouts, it has unfolded upon every other person that what's to come is well and really – DIGITAL.

why computerized advertising

2. Rivalry

It assists with endurance in a hyper-serious space – The control of Digital Marketing is loaded with viable devices, procedures, and channels that aggregate can help a site proprietor's odds of enduring and prevailing in hyper-cutthroat online commercial centers.

It is much more basic for physical organizations to keep up their online presence, a large number of which have seen the interest for their items quick lessening, given the outstanding extension of online business which has left numerous physical organizations across numerous areas, battling for endurance. (Model – book shops all throughout the planet, following the ascent of Amazon's Kindle).

Change of traffic into leads, deals and buys in is basic to the endurance of an online plan of action and that is actually what all methods and methodologies of advanced advertising are intended for. Advanced showcasing systems gave executed keenly and well, can convey results for you as they have accomplished for a great deal of other online organizations, helping them to endure, yet in addition to develop and grow their piece of the pie.

3. LEVEL PLAYING FIELD

It evens the odds – Digital showcasing has end up being extremely instrumental in making everything fair for all players contending in the space, paying little heed to the size of their activities or the size of their promoting spending plans.

That doesn't imply that it is feasible to mount a generously aggressive internet promoting effort without the embodiment of any assets, however, it rather suggests that it's feasible to accomplish a considerable amount of your objectives without wanting to distribute tremendous assets for showcasing goals, which might be definitely past the spending limits of little and medium scaled organizations.

Computerized Marketing Techniques

Computerized advertising works with a ton of apparatuses which can be utilized to fabricate strong showcasing systems that have demonstrated instrumental in evening the more modest players draw in a portion of Internet traffic. The control of advanced advertising is developing each spending day, making it work for more modest players to run and execute deals and showcasing measures. .

4. Transformation RATE

It guarantees a higher transformation rate – Digital showcasing gives numerous simple roads to organizations to check their change rates. Online organizations can check continuously the quantity of their watchers (evaluated in rate) which get changed over into leads, endorsers, and deals.

Different kinds of successful advanced promoting efforts run by a portion of the main computerized showcasing organization in India like Search motor advertising, the Social media promoting, and Email advertising, demonstrate extremely viable in conveying upon a higher change rate. It is important to work with a strong computerized showcasing methodology on the grounds that something else, every one of your endeavors may at last end up proving purposeless as can be seen from numerous sites which appreciate high natural traffic yet at the same time think that ,it hard to change over the guests into leads and deals.

Advanced showcasing is the correct way to deal with check the present circumstance as it permits online organizations the capacity to contact guests who are bound to be keen on your items or administrations than the others. This is guaranteed by utilizing various types of advanced showcasing which easily work with compelling correspondence channels with the guests.

5. Profit from INVESTMENT

It creates preferred ROI over conventional promoting – Digital advertising has conveyed better Return on Investment (ROI) for some organizations, path better than the what similar organizations have while utilizing the administrations of customary media.

It is basic information that the expenses of getting for conventional media can here and there get excessively luxurious for little and medium scale organizations. Further, the outcomes can once in a while be away from being good and the most noticeably terrible part is that it stays exceptionally hard to gauge the resultant adequacy of conventional advertising efforts. As a conspicuous difference, it is easy to follow the resultant viability of computerized showcasing methodologies progressively.

An advanced promoting methodology created by one of the many driving computerized showcasing Organization in India along producing a predictable progression of focused traffic has higher odds of achievement by bringing about a higher number of leads, deals, and supporters. There are bundles accessible at various value focuses on the lookout, which guarantees a little something for everybody, giving on the web organizations a plenty of alternatives to pick the bundle most appropriate to your inclinations and specialty their systems as needs be.

6. BRAND REPUTATION

It helps in building a brand notoriety – Since alluring focused on crowds are at the core of most computerized showcasing methods, apparatuses and procedures, all there's odds of building brand notoriety valuably if and when these systems are executed proficiently.

Picking a Product Brand Name - Branding

Directed crowds probably as of now have a reasonable thought regarding what your image depend on (ethos, standards, objectives, culture) and what it offers (items and administrations). Seeking after them is a savvy methodology for they would normally be more disposed to buying your items or paying for your memberships/administrations than different segments of irregular site guests.

Coming great on your standards and conveying incredible items and administrations followed by the after-deal client assistance, will teach a reasonable piece of dedication in your clients and may additionally produce rehash business out of them. This will considerably help you in your objectives of building a trustworthy brand through informal.

7. Interfaces WITH MOBILE CUSTOMERS

It gets organizations associated with portable clients – Mobile telephones and tablets are progressively turning into the most mainstream routing for the vast majority to get to the web, just on the grounds that it guarantees the Internet can be gotten to from any area.

SMM - Mobile

Since the Internet and all that the web offers is prepared to use 'in a hurry', individuals are more disposed to utilize advanced mobile phones over some other gadget to get to the Internet. Advanced cells packed with front line innovation hitting the racks each spending day at pounded costs are further driving this attitude and special change among clients, all things considered. Advanced showcasing permits organizations to arrive at web clients while they utilize the web in a hurry through promoting advertisements on different online media stages.

8. Intelligent

It is intelligent – Digital showcasing is extremely intuitive and permits organizations the capacity to discuss straightforwardly with their guests. Particularly in web-based media advertising, which is a significant noticeable piece of computerized promoting as far as we might be concerned, direct correspondence with clients can be worked with on different web-based media stages through direct messages/in-boxes, site remarks, audits, and tweets/posts.

Direct correspondence is the most ideal route conceivable to construct an intelligent local area of your guests whose aggregate inclinations, mentalities, and responses can be noticed, read and at last utilized for bettering your promoting procedures over the long haul.

9. Pulls in TARGETED TRAFFIC

It helps in pulling in focus rush hour gridlock to sites and organizations – Digital advertising delivers a great deal of ways which can help you in drawing in focused rush hour gridlock to your sites and organizations.

Search engine optimization and focused on traffic

A nice SEO methodology joined with shrewd statistical surveying is frequently sufficient to make high-positioning substance which can rank higher internet searcher results pages (SERPs). Advanced advertisers all throughout the planet use explicitly curated watchwords outfitted towards a specific crowd, which helps in driving exceptionally focused on rush hour gridlock.

10. Expanding REVENUE

It helps in expanding incomes – It has been referenced as of now concerning how powerful and instrumental advanced showcasing methodologies can be considerably expanding the transformation pace of a specific business and a similar impact brings about expanding incomes for the said business.

There have been a few reports affirmed by Google which inferred that organizations utilizing computerized advertising are probably going to expect almost multiple times more income development, instead of the organizations who actually don't utilize advanced showcasing.

11. Draw in WITH INFLUENCERS

It gives a road to draw in influencers – When it comes to two of the most well known and broadly utilized web-based media foundation of our occasions, Facebook followed by Twitter out-rival every one of their friends.

influencers and lead age

A large number of the most persuasive figures in different strolls from life are dynamic on different online media stages today and computerized promoting delivers openings for organizations to draw in them. On the off chance that you have done unobtrusively and insightfully, odds of achievement are consistently near and that can function admirably for organizations in expanding their devotees alongside their transformation rates and further spreading brand mindfulness.

12. Expands BRAND TRUSTWORTHINESS

It helps builds the brand's dependability – The most significant and fundamental pieces of our lives are coming 'on the web' and it reaches out to most organizations. Online business as well as disconnected organizations, who have their online presence in nearly across various web-based media stages.

It goes far in expanding brand mindfulness, regardless of whether the organization is a very grounded and generally conspicuous business. For cutting-edge organizations, ideal surveys left by clients go along in the route in building a brand's dependability as informal remaining parts an extremely critical main impetus in computerized promoting. Most organizations have gotten easily simpler for organizations to connect with through their different web-based media pages for asks and the issue goals.

13. Following

It assists organizations with following the exercises of their clients – Digital promoting efforts gives organizations a great deal of ways into checking the mentalities and inclinations of their clients.

This should be possible through contemplating and noticing the notices they drew in with, presently prior to making a buy. Typically a few commercials and substance are more convincing than the others and by considering which ones are improving and why precisely are they improving, it gets simpler to limit on what techniques to use to market and how to advertise.

14. Moderate

It is truly reasonable – Already having been credited with having made everything fair for all major parts in the hyper-cutthroat online space, computerized showcasing is considerably more moderate than other advertising techniques. It likewise stays simpler to track and screen than different strategies which additionally guarantees similarly much better Return on Investments (ROI).

15. Expanded CALL TO ACTION

It initiates individuals into making a move – The order of advanced advertising is packed of different systems which ,when utilized adequately can appeal individuals in making moves essential for changing over guests into buyers.

Source of inspiration

There are a tons of cunning and savvy approaches to mentally appeal guests into making them do, what you mean for them to do, by utilizing different Calls-To-Action like asking to join, to like, to download or to just purchase. Generally, all pointers into appealing individuals to respond emphatically to a Call-To-Actions are intended to be stylishly satisfying and satisfying for better impact.

End

The universe of internet shopping, otherwise called E-trade has detonated dramatically in the previous decade or so to turn into a multi-billion dollar behemoth, with perhaps the most famous online business organizations on the planet (Amazon) likewise ending up being additionally one of the most extravagant.

As of July 2019, there were over 4.33 billion dynamic web clients on the planet which is the greater part (56%) of the whole total populace. The quantity of dynamic web clients is relied upon to develop considered as the most fundamental methods for getting digitized and getting to the web all around (web/information plans and the gadgets) continue to get less expensive world-over.

Today, a world without the web is well and really incredible and Digital promoting a significant job in being the main impetus behind the Internet that we know.

#Digital Marketing Company in Bhubaneswar

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grim-faux · 5 years ago

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21 - Hall of Rorschachs

The lift gave a harsh clatter against the steel rails, as the cables jerked the empty container back to the ground floor. I twisted around and lunged at the underside in some pitiful attempt to latch on and ride up, or drag it back down if I must. Even if there was doubt I had the strength to hold on, I was desperate. But it was not to be, I was far from grasping the cart as it faded into the dark gullet of the chute. The clatter of the carriage grew distant as I stood in the shadows gazing up, hand outstretched. Begging. My thoughts pleading. No one was listening. I returned my focus to the short corridor with the lamps that buzzed and dim whenever a surge slid through. I was so set on getting out. Ready to say my goodbyes. I let my fucking guard down. How typical. How fucking typical.

I tried the call button beside the chutes entrance, but it required a magnet key. I recalled the Asylum, and the numerous trials I endured to locate those damn cards. I didn’t believe I would stumble upon one down here, since it was ‘Father’ Martin that had planted them for me. God, even in death he’s still giving me shitty fetch quests.

New Objective: Find another way out. I didn’t know what awaited down here, lurking. Didn’t feel prepared to continue. It couldn’t be worse than the twins or Trager, could it? I crossed to the set of doors and pushed one open, and was nearly blinded by the sterile light blazing over the pristine walls and floor. Bright glaring lights, that reminded me of His cell. I blinked the dryness away as I stepped into the hall, I could detect an immediate change in pressure. Aside from the air having a dry and clinical property, I couldn’t explain the sensation, but I didn’t like it. Bravo for intuition. The floor was polished and as bright and white as the cylindrical walls curved around the hall. I wasn’t a geologist so my knowledge was limited, but if I had to guess I would say it was all chiseled from natural stone, from the mountain itself ”…something that had been waiting for them in the mountain.” What the hell was this place? Now that I thought back on it, a colleague of mine had tried to relate a scientific matter to me concerning specific ores, and how it attributed to supernatural occurrences. Truth of the matter I had been a piss poor student, and constantly teased her as she tried to educate me. But I had listened enough. The paranormal was a genre she was interested in, and she was thrilled to tell me about a place she visited in Colorado (not Mount Massive). Some ritzy Hotel, the Overlook I think was the name, its location built upon a cash of natural limestone. Scientific observations were utilized to support theories, that paranormal occurrences could be attributed to high concentrations of limestone in the mountain. Something in the mineral conducted electricity. It sounded a little too fantastic to me, but here and now, I was beginning to wonder if Murkoff had premeditated these findings. Someone believed them. In that case, the Asylum wasn’t target exclusively for the history or the seclusion. It was elected due to the qualities of the region itself. Or maybe I was just tired. I looked up at the symbol printed above the next set of doors. I’d seen it before. No, not the lockers in prison block. The video the Priest had forced me to watch. That symbol was on the floor when the MHS tacticals were throttled like chickens. The atomic, molecular design? Or could there be further religious affiliation? I pushed the doors open and stepped into a fresh scene of horror. I knew this room, and my anxiety increased tenfold. Blood streaked the floor, splattered on the white stone walls. Bullet marks decorated steel and glass in random areas, the pieces of a gun had been scattered over the floor with black splatters. Muscles and entrails glistened under the light as I moved from the doors. Red had dried to the large crescent desk fixed at the rooms center, two large screens sat behind it, bright and cheery in contrast to the stew soaking into the stone. One read Murkoff Corporation, the other sported the trinity Molecular design along with WALRIDER PROJECT in bold. And the symbol on the floor streaked with blood. That symbol was everywhere. With a sigh, I took out my camera and filmed everything. It was giving me low battery warnings, but I had at least a half hour left if I didn’t run out of power for the night vision. Unfortunately, there seemed to be plenty of light in this place. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Whoever finds my corpse – trust no one and tell everyone. I am not crazy. I know, I know, only crazy people say that. But I am as sane as this world allows, with a camera full of evidence. Don’t call it a gospel. Call it a mockery of reason, let the world know it is Murkoff’s fault. Bury these bastards with my mutilated dead body.” It took a few minutes for me to write. My hands seemed steady at first, but when I put pen to paper, well…. Aside from the difficulty of holding my pen against my middle finger, it was almost unbearable to apply pressure to my index finger. I dated the note and leaned back to view murder and rot surrounding me while I wrote. I needed to get my priorities straight. A few plants dotted the room, but I knew they were fake without a glance. Polished gray pillars encircled the lobby, they didn’t resemble any specific mineral. Just general grade cement to support the dark blue ceiling. The far side was comprised of a glassed portion of the wall, with thick pipes behind. Water, gas, electricity, I didn’t care. Beside the wall sat a short desk, out of place among the red streaks. Two chairs had been set facing one another, and two mugs of coffee still sat on the brown wood. I averted my gaze to the opposite wall, where a purge chamber stood open to the room, black blood washed down its sides and soaking the floor. The images came back clearly as I had seen them, despite the drugs swimming through my brain at the time. I could envision the panicked militants shrieking as their bodies were ripped through the tiny crevices in the doors, and holes of the glassed in wall. One man’s legs still lay a few feet from the pile of meat, a string of organs dried to the stone. I stumbled back into the large desk and sat down on its surface. My hand touched a folder beside me, and I looked down to flip through the pages. It was nothing remarkable, nothing relevant I decided. From the personal records of Dr. Wernicke. The Modern Prometheus Document: The Pride of Wisdom Schrodinger Wolfram “FRANKENSTEIN, or The Modern Prometheus” by Mary Shelley, published anonymously in 1818. Chapter 23, excerpt – “Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say." I broke from the house angry and disturbed, and retired to meditate on some other mode of action. Well, it appeared they created man’s monster. And it hath a wraith unlike no other being in our world. I closed the folder and pinched the bridge of my nose. It was apparent I had dug in too deep, I didn’t know if I could claw out of the grave I had lain in. I suppose I had one choice. Keep digging. I didn’t know exactly where I was, but I had a strong estimate. I was in the Basement of the Asylum. I looked to the security operative slumped in his chair, near where I perched. Briefly, I wondered what would become of the remains of all these people? Even if Murkoff wasn’t the shady bastards that they were, it was impossible to gather up the pieces to return them to their families. The investigation? I slid off the desk and approached the blood splattered door of the cold purge chamber. My breath hitched as I tried to inhale gently, but the pain in my rib couldn’t be negotiated with. I didn’t know if I could do this all over. I might need to find someplace to rest and if fate allowed, I would awaken before I died. The door panel sparkled embers from the torn wires, probably motion sensors detecting my approach. The doors held silent, an eerie howl raised from the dark depths. I raised the NV and reassured myself there was nothing, I was alone except for the dead. The hair bristled along my brow. God, why did I put that image in my head? I shuffled forward into the cradle of the dark. Above wires and cables ran the length of the tunnel, the walls were as they were in the entrance, chiseled and polished stone with occasional gaps that had been glassed off where additional paneling and vital equipment or systems were nestled. The camera flashed a familiar image, I tensed as static buzzed through and waited until it cleared. Nothing but shredded bodies, nothing but the secrets these people died with. I listened to the silence. For so long I was accustomed to the distant shrieks and mutter of people, behind doors I hoped to never open. Now, I was buried deep in solid rock, with only the pulse in my bones to alleviate the sterile peace. Murkoff personnel were everywhere, lined against the walls, bodies torn inside out by a force I could never have a want to comprehend. I doubt any two were slain in the same fashion, or the method of death so violent it was impossible to replicate. As always, never footprints. But what ghost had feet? Guts and lungs splattered up walls, I was unsettled by how fresh it appeared to be, but attributed it to the NV. Thin lines marked the floor, I knew these prints that made long red through copious puddles. I’d seen the same when I was pushed off an elevator by a lunatic. They turned when the tunnel curved, ahead light swept into the shadows. I clicked off the nightvision but hesitated to emerge. I refused to trust the helpful presence of light, but for now it was welcomed while my camera demanded a fresh battery. I dropped the old one and set the new one in. The distant clatter that echoed was a solitary thing throughout the corridor. The wall along my right had the natural mineral trimmed away into flat walls, reinforced with cement, and steel in some areas. The metal portions were fitted with slates, or shields, that same symbol from the lobby was printed besides the shields. I stared down, the marks. Those lines went through these panels, curving around the edge. I debated the meaning as I took a deep breath and squinted my eyes. They looked like portals or panels that could be moved. There was a set of powerful looking hydraulic hinges, but otherwise no handles or switches that could gain access. Probably wouldn’t do me any good anyway. I fit my fingers along the edge testing for a draft, but judged they were airtight. Pressure sealed. This facility was dedicated to science and clinical procedures, despite the butcher of the upper floors. If there was a way out, hopefully I didn’t need to access it within there. I could come back, once the rest of the Block was explored. As I resumed on my way, something came to my thoughts, it was a bit random. In the report it was stated Billy had spoken to the Dr. Wernicke in a white room. I spun around checking the walls and surrounding surfaces. This place was pretty white. But…that wasn’t possible. I looked up and watched a camera connected to the cables in the ceiling revolved slowly, catching all the action as it happened. I glanced back at the doorway before I continued down the hall. A Block. The large plate on the wall identified this as A Block, or the whole hall was? There wasn’t much to it. I was reminded of the Cell Block’s of the Asylum above – C Block, D Block. Clearly this was as a part of the Asylum as the condemned sections of the Female Ward. This didn’t surprise me. But it could have been coincidence as well. I’d go with that, since I was done with the conspiracy theories. The next set of doors had pop marks across the glass and metal, bent out in small boils where bullets had lodged. The bullets were fully visible in the glass, surrounded by the star shaped impressions that commemorate the battle. I felt the shadows around me as I huddled in the garden, the branches cracking as something swept through. That inhuman shrill. In my ear screaming as the thunder laughs, and my vision fills with white. Then I’m curled up in the room, the dry wood and cold plaster on either shoulder as I tremble and listen to the ringing in my ears. The sensation that crawls through me, I can’t explain it. I’ve lost something, yet, nothing is amiss. I don’t feel right. I barely glimpsed the panel at my left. Morphogenic Engine. I stopped with my hand on the door and bent my head around studying the hall I had moved through. You know what? Fuck that. I can’t conceive what it would look like, what exactly it’s supposed to do. I don’t care. I’ll come back! I promise. I’ll come back if I have too. That was probably a hollow promise, but my obligations had faded since I stepped off that damn elevator. I had no luck with elevators. A series of large canisters greeted me on the other side of the doors, pressed to the wall on my left and out of the way. The label read ‘saline’ substitute. That sounded kind of weird, wasn’t saline a substitute? I took in details of the hall, my camera held in no specific position as I walked. The ceiling retained its natural rock, but the walls on either side resembled the interior of medical labs. This all looked like existing cave before Murkoff came along and filled it with their nightmare science. The idea brought me back to the theory of the mountains as the target rather the Asylum, and I wondered about the files I had found dating back before Mount Massive was shut down. If not for the limestone, then the isolated region was more than worth the resources to insure the quality of their uninterrupted studies. I touched the wall on my left as I neared the doorframe. The material was metal and possibly reinforced. I don’t think it was meant for militaristic operations, though they clearly took precautions for their work. For an invasion or ‘terrorist’ attack, a lot of good it did them. A thin red streak slipped between the open doors I peered through, blood was spread from ceiling to floor. I blinked, staring. The air was thick with copper and rot. I was so tired of that smell, but I just couldn’t get away from it. It was soaked into my clothing as it was soaking into the walls around me. I stepped inside, careful of the pieces beside the counter that had once been one or two people. Maybe three. All of them spattered over the floor, organs hung in ribbons on counters, pieces of bone scattered over metal cabinets. I scanned the labels visible through the glassed in shelves. Most were filled with vials of fluids, many of which sported long, four syllable words with –ine or –phen on the end. Files were scattered over the sinks and floors, reminders for injections and progress with patients identified by numbers. I stood beside the rolling chairs and scanned over the room, debating if it was possible that materials remained that I could patch my hands with. Something actually medical, rather the spare shirt that would be waiting for me in the jeep. Pipes twisted around the edge of the ceiling. I followed the sections around the room trying to recall something about pipes. They were pumping the recycled air throughout the facility, they had to. Couldn’t risk foreign contamination. It sounded ridiculous in my head, but I preferred it that way. Revisiting the hall, I turned left. The black stains of yet more Researchers coated the gray metal of Nitroglycerin tanks, scattered beside the wall. He was probably in the midst of transporting them when it all happened. A few tanks managed to stay on the wrecked cart against the wall. I poked into the next room, the remains of staff had all but painted the walls. I stumbled as I leaned on the door, just… everywhere I looked, the broken pieces of tissue and body parts was all over. I have to emphasize the ALL OVER aspect. I thought the Asylum itself was gruesome, but this was something else entirely. I looked from the doors of the room, shot up by bullets, to the large tank of unmarked gas or fluid. At the other corner was a medical waste bin piled high with black bags, stuffed with unknown rubbish. It was a clear violation of sanitation, but for whatever reason Murkoff began to lack in strict policies during its final days. I was curious to what could be crammed in those bags but they sagged and were covered in unknown gunk, and the smell of residual chemicals did not encourage me. It was subtle evidence of distress, though at the time this room from a glance gave the delusion of order and regiment. I stared up as I leaned on the autopsy table bolted to the floors center. Above, an arm hung from one of the pipes that lapped around the ceiling, dried muscle had peeled back to reveal white bone. Threads of intestines stuck to files stuffed into the shelves, the jaw of someone was lodged into the space between a drawer and the countertops edge. It looked like the fleshy tissue of the throat had remained attached. I shut my eyes and rested my weight to my free arm, when I opened my eyes, I noted the pages that had scattered from a folder stained with blood. Under the harsh lamps the fluids looked fresh, almost new. The battery in the camera itself was holding strong, I used it to snap the pictures as I skimmed through. PROJECT WALRIDER POSTMORTEM PRIMATORY REPORT MM1300921 (form note: all material herein to be transcribed and revised to fit legally binding requirements of Murkoff Corp. records. See form 4083) AUTHOR: Jennifer Roland NOTES: My fourteenth autopsy of a Walrider patient, showing no more signs of accepting the therapy than any of the others. There have been slight gains in cell migration and morphogenesis (including effects similar to Human Growth Hormone), but nothing to suggest the stable creation of a sentient, independent swarm. So tired. Doubting my judgment. Will submit another request for leave. The psychological cost of using such far gone and further provoked patients is more than I feel I can handle. May suggest hanging less hope on the far-flung theories of a senile Nazi and move towards using a simpler mechanical engine based on major sperm protein. Will definitely suggest harsher chemical restraints. Murkoff Security killed patient 923 after he overcame enough tranquilizers to put down a hockey team. I’m afraid the Hormone Therapy is interacting with our chemical restraints in a counterproductive manner. This file. This file was very important. It gave insight that had not been present in past documents. The use of words in her text made it sound like…. Dr. Wernicke was still alive. I stared at the phrase she included which made the doctors status current, if it was not a mistake of word use. But that would make him ninety years old, at the least. I set the file down and looked upon the carnage, the violence, the death. I corrected myself. Wernicke had been alive. I couldn’t imagine him surviving this. I tossed the file aside and ventured through the door, turning to the corridors end. Expulsion of gooey innards spread high on the wall, long red lines slid down before the liquid dried. More death, more bodies that had at one time been living people. I pressed my hand to the wall as I took the right corner, avoiding the skin stretched across polished white floor. I don’t know why I was self-conscious now, after I had traipsed through mounds of bodies in the Asylums halls. I couldn’t even come up with a cheap theory. Every corner, I saw red and wet entrails, black skin and orange puss. The air was filled with its rancid vapor, from the methane released as the meat soured. What would they do with all these bodies? Where could you put them all? I didn’t reach the doors in my path. I had to stop and lean on the wall, gazing at them. Doors and more doors. What would be behind them? My liberation at last? I didn’t care, I had to lie down, rest. The ache in my skull was unbearable, if I took one more step I would fall. I couldn’t go on like this. I just kept seeing bodies and faces, images I couldn’t explain. What was I seeing? I wasn’t even hiding in the shadows. The shapes were no longer trapped in my camera. The room spun, I kept myself from stumbling with my hand on the wall as I lowered down. There was a shallow slant beside the floor, I propped my good side on this to keep the pressure off my ribs. I kept the camera in my right hand and set it beside me. I wasn’t planning on sleeping, just needed to give myself a chance to cut the ache. The floor was cold but it felt so good to lay my head against it. It didn’t even matter how bright the bulbs were above, I could turn my face into the collar of my coat and shut my eyes. Almost at once I felt my mind descending into a thick blanket of sleep. I tried to stir from the tempting lull, but I couldn’t resist. I was surrounded by the corpses of dozens of unnamed scientists but I didn’t give a damn, it was too hard to stay conscious. I escaped the pain, I escaped the world, and I escaped the cold halls churning in my mind. As I felt my body slip into the illusion of safety, a painful spasm shot up my spine. I was paralyzed. The sensation was horrible, my muscles locked up and I couldn’t will them to relax. It was as if the concept of mobility was ripped from my brain. I was a prisoner in my body, fully capable of detecting the environment around me but unable to react to it. I felt the camera in my hand as I slowly regained consciousness, but… I remained unable to rip free of the powerful vice that had seized my chest. It was too painful to do anything less pathetic than cringe. I whined as my ribs shifted in my side and gagged. I was suffocating! My eyes open drunkenly, dots whirling in my vision as my brain craved oxygen. I saw something. A dark shape leaning over me, staring into my face. I barked out a terrified sound and swung my arms out, clipping the wall with my left hand as I thrashed. I scrambled over the floor struggling to escape thin air, until I was pressed back into the doors. I stared wild eyed, disturbed and gasping for air, despite the odd tickle in my chest. There was… Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The lights blazed down as fierce as when I had dropped, my head pulsed the same as before. No change. There was no demon here. The sharp sting returned to my finger as I recalled, I’d just smacked a stone wall with it. I clutched the shaking hand to my chest, and curled my other arm around it and barred myself in with my knees. I sat for moment fighting to forget the pain, while my filthy pants soaked up red drops. “Nothing is here,” I whispered. “Just a nightmare.” My voice rattled against the walls, impossibly loud, overpowering briefly the dull buzz that hung over me. I uncoiled and trusted weight on the bleeding hand to push me upright. My body was uncooperative but my mental brawn won over. I shut the door behind me and scanned the long corridor ahead. To my eyes it just went on forever. Probably wasn’t too far off. A thick pipe extended overhead, I saw no other visible wires and took this might have been the main electrical. Beside it metal cabinets jutted from the walls, though the natural stone work remained in this tunnel, along with various protrusions. Additions, such as flues were burrowed into the rock on either side, and another thick gray pipe extended along the ceiling. Electricity was in the air, I could feel it like the hum from a television when you first turn it on. But it’s forceful, charged in the empty space but not in the walls themselves. Maybe it was the lamps overhead. I set my hand on the gray pipe testing the vibrations but felt none. I ignored the marks of blood I left behind, as I walked and swayed around the huge tanks. Many stood my height but none held clear labels, just a serial label printed on the metal top. The sides of the floor were marked with caution strips, and other more descript warning lines marked the floor every few feet. I skimmed over the large pipes bent and twisted along the corridor walls, of what they transported I couldn’t say. Looked like aqueducts, but I doubted this. Pallets stacked high with bags and covered with a blue tarp, had been abandoned in the hall. I tried to peel back the plastic cover and record what was beneath but the material was thick. I also lacked the patience. I slipped over the top rather crawl around. Judging by the layout of this tunnel, I could deduce this was not a main wing but dedicated to temporary storage hall. Plans in the schedule might have included park the pellets in a more particle space, but that was before the shit storm hit. Or this was another example of a lapse in protocol. I winced when another thought hit. Files existed that made note on the cutback in staff costs. The man I had seen playing the piano. Had he been a patient? I jumped when the camera sputtered, the noise echoed from the chiseled walls. Damn it! That scared the shit out of me! I held it away as the visor cleared, and continued walking. The files would be corrupt, I decided. But I could still salvage them, I had equipment for that. My shoulders shook on the thought of reviewing what I had recorded. The sounds I made when I ran from Trager. It didn’t even sound like me. Was that really me? I said that allowed, and paused to glance around wondering if it was I that had spoken. I barely began walking when I noticed to my left, a window. I skid to a stop and backed up. A window! Transparent hand prints of red stained the surface, but beyond that sunlight. Sunlight! From the outside! It was all clear golden sky, rolling hills. No more storms filled with monsters shrieking with the thunder! The outside world was still out there. It was waiting just for me. I was staring into a militaristic hangar, a few vehicles parked under the steel structure ceiling, the walls stretched around appeared reinforced. Most important of all, there was no sign of life, no movement. Just equipment, materials, large barrels of god knows what. And that beautiful sunlight washed across the military jeep wedged in the doorway. If I was viewing it from the correct angle, no one was going to close that door unless they packed some powerful explosives. Or, had the key to the jeep. I held the camera up and filmed what I was seeing, while trying not to get too close to the Plexiglas. There had to be— Ah. Over there! Far right wall, lit up like Christmas. A purge gate. From the distance and discoloration of the window, I couldn’t validate if it functioned or not. But it didn’t matter, it was the first entrance/exit I had come across. There didn’t seem to be any difficulty in dismantling those purge gates though. How did I get over there? I tracked the hall that continued before me, with my eyes. If I had a map, no doubt it’d have an arrow indicating this way led to the exit. Large blue barrels sat in my path, I could view traces of blood on the walls just beyond them. Directly behind me, another set of doors clear and featureless. Above the frame a green bulb, indicating they were unlocked? I stared into the white hall within, while my mind hunted for escape. I had visions of myself entering that small hall and an alarm going off, a steel shutter lowering like in some James Bond film and me stuck inside forever because I just couldn’t let go. Or maybe I was afraid to? Could that be it? The doors parted automatically upon detecting my movement, the plastic panels issued a soft hiss as frigid air swept out. I paused in the entrance, not doubting my fears, whichever ones I had. I debated turning away and just leaving, working on that gate and my inevitable freedom. But I really couldn’t have too much evidence. I said that once before. But maybe I was right. I was afraid. The short hall was cold, the air crisp, fresh. One of the two doors was left open, which explained the drop in temperature. It was a small room filled with freezers, all below zero temperatures. I stepped around the right side trying a few of the doors, but they required access codes through key panels. At the left side of the room a door had been smashed, the locking mechanism no longer active allowed numerous clear vials to spill across the floor. Whatever the contents, they had dried and converted white limestone into varying shades of iridescent. I kicked a few away with my foot and listened as the glass crinkled as I turned. Along the back wall of the room sat lesser refrigerated cabinets, the contents exposed through foggy glass. Beside them, a dry erase board. I stood before it, my camera giving its usual complaint as I waited patiently for it to quiet. It was some form of chemical engineering algorithm, exponents and a formula function I did not recognize. All in blue marker, except for the title at the top, which was a simple label written in black.

Morphogenic Engine

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction

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thewrittenpost · 5 years ago

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10 Questions Tag!

Thanks for sending me this @feathered-quill! These are so much fun, and I’m sorry I’m so slow that I often feel it’s too late for me to join in, so I was so happy you asked me if I wanted to! :D I’m going to throw this under a Read More to keep it small, and since I don’t know who’s been tagged, consider this yours! If you want to do it, feel free to say I’ve tagged you!

Okay, under the cut are the ones for me to answer!

1. Do you conciously take inspiration from authors or books you love, or from your genres? Or do you actively try to avoid it?

I don’t consciously do it, but I suppose a lot of my inspiration for things come from things I loved; I try to put in my favorite things from those books/series, like Found Families, or how much fun worldbuilding is, and stuff like that! I don’t try to actively avoid those kinds of things, unless what I do begins to be too similar to what some of my favorites have already done!

2. Do you write fanfiction, do roleplaying, or other kinds of fan activity? How do these things influence the way you create original work? Do you feel they’ve given you valuable “tools” in your “creative toolbox?”

I do! Well, sometimes; I’m behind on RWBY, which is what I write for these days, so it’s been a while (unless you count practically plotting a whole thing through discord with a friend). But I’ve done fanfic for years and it’s absolutely influenced how I do my things now! I’m way more comfortable sharing online for one, and it gave me a way to practice with characters I knew so well before trying to write scenes between characters I was still learning about! Plus, it was always a fun experience (except that one time I tried writing smut, back when we were still calling them lemons) and I feel every bit helped! (I also roleplayed here on tumblr, which should have helped me be more comfortable talking to people online, but it did not... more a me thing, it wasn’t them, so like... not everything works as planned!)

Also, I’m just a big fan of fanfiction, reading or writing. Even now, it’s like going home... although I did start getting random PMs on FF.net from porn bots (I think, I wasn’t checking too deep into it) so I guess even there wasn’t safe.

3. Do you use WorldAnvil (or something like it) for worldbuilding purposes, or do you prefer to use your own methods/systems for worldbuilding?

I don’t, but mostly because I just never looked into it! I mostly just keep them written on paper or here for my worldbuilding!

4. How do you choose your characters’ appearences? Do you use generators, choose face claims, make sketches, or something else?

I start with coloring! Hair, eyes, stuff like that, and then describe further based on that! The image is generally pretty simple until I do find a face claim (something I started here on tumblr) and that’s about it... vague pictures in my head that I attempt to put on paper. Haha, but then I play with dress up games to see if I can get something more solid!

5. What are your favorite tropes to read about or watch? Are they the same as the tropes you yourself most like to use in your writing?

Found Family is a big one! And I blame that on the Circle of Magic series, where it’s just beautiful and I love it, and I’m not going to rave about it because I do that a lot and could do it for hours. Um... I love Slow Burn romance, or two people who obviously care for each other frantically trying to deny it to themselves and others, for various reasons. (The Caraval series by Stephanie Garber made this clear to me) Tension, whoo hoo!

I do try to use them, but romance isn’t my strong suit (though I love reading it) but definitely the found family!

6. Do you have a network of writer friends offline, such as a school club, writing workshop partners, etc.?

I do not! I stopped asking my mom to read my stuff and help me bounce ideas around a long time ago, and the neighbor I would tell about my Frog Prince WIP moved away.

Oh, but I have my friend to talk fanfic with, so I’m not totally alone! Just not my original stuff!

7. When looking for inspiration for a story, are you more likely to be drawn to visual or auditory elements? (Ex: would you browse through picture prompts, listen to music, seek out a written prompt, or something else?)

If I’m looking for inspiration, definitely looking for a written one! I get too distracted with pictures and music, haha! Although I got some inspiration once staring up at the sky at school one day, so sometimes images work great!

8. Are the names of your characters and the places in your world important to you? How do you choose them?

I find them important because I get attached as I build them up! But honestly, most of my names come from baby name books, or they’re adapted from name generators.

Altheria and Thearial are close to my heart though, because I adapted them from a fantasy name that I came up with in elementary school, and they’re just shuffled from each other’s names. (Is that anagram? Pretty sure). They’re one of the few names that came from me, besides Wispa which no one goes to in story, so I’m attached to them!

9. Do you utilize any personality types or tests to determine your characters’ personality, like Meyers-Briggs, enegrams, character archetypes, the four temperaments, alignment charts, the elements, Hogwarts houses, or even various types of astrology (Western Zodiac, Celtic tree, Chinese zodiac, etc.?)

I don’t; I kind of just decide those things after! But I enjoy doing those things regardless, and sometimes those tests help me figure out new things about the characters!

10. What is your favorite part of worldbuilding? (Ex: building cultures, mapmaking, history and timeline work, making conlangs, religion and mythology, plant and animal making, magic and technology systems...)

I have to pick a favorite? Oh no! Um... if I have to pick one thing, it’s plant and animal making! I mean, religion and magic stuff is cool too, but I love coming up with plants and creatures and then attaching religion/magic significance to them! ...Plus, I love my Igniliths, so my pride there won’t let me pick something else.

Questions for You!

How much of your WIP do you share with people offline, or is it solely an online thing?

Is there a trait that makes a character more likeable/more likely to end up as a favorite to you?

Do you have any writing guilty pleasures?

Did your favorite authors/stories inspire your favorite tropes? What is your favorite trope in reading?

Do you think there’s a minimum/maximum amount of worldbuilding that should be done, or is the sky the limit?

If people were to write fanfiction of your story years from now, what is one thing that you would absolutely love to see?

Referring to six, what is one that you would not want to see concerning your characters/plot?

Do you have a favorite point of view to write in?

What is one thing that cannot change in your OC without making them a completely different person?

What comes first: your character’s appearance, or your character’s name?

#feathered-quill #thanks for asking!#the writer speaks

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lalunaunita · 6 years ago

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The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 4

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy

Rating: Teen

Summary: Batman talks to Catwoman, but the mystery only deepens. He and the Commissioner interview another of the thief's victims.

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 4

Gotham City still vibrated with energy at the witching hour, especially on a Friday night. The Batmobile cruised lesser-used streets in the dark parts of town. Pedestrians and revelers were everywhere, despite Batman’s attempts to avoid them. He set the Batmobile to autopilot and switched his monitor over to his drones—the latest appropriation of Wayne Industries tech to be added to his arsenal.

The drones scoped out wide areas of Catwoman’s usual stomping grounds, hovering high over the city and zooming in on rooftops and out-of-the-way places. He eliminated several sections of the city, unable to find her anywhere. Batman sighed. It would be his luck if she decided to stay in for the night.

A shadow flowed across one rooftop, disappearing behind a pigeon coop.

Gotcha, thought Batman.

He parked the Batmobile in a dark alley and cut the engine. In moments, he was accelerating up toward an ugly old stone gargoyle, its shoulders wrapped in his grappling hook line. He pushed off of a cornice with both feet and used his momentum to flip up and over, landing silently on the roof.

No sound betrayed Catwoman’s surprise at seeing him, but he felt it emanating from the dark corner behind the pigeon coop.

“Catwoman. I’m just here to talk,” Batman said, gloved hands held out in front of him. He used the rough tone he affected to hide Bruce Wayne’s memorable bass.

“Talk? Seriously? Since when do we exchange pleasantries, Batman?” Catwoman took a few cautious steps around the side of the coop, one clawed finger trailing the chicken wire enclosing it.

“Since that time you helped me stop the Joker,” replied Batman.

He could hardly see her. She was dressed all in black with her signature cat-eared cowl covering everything but the pale oval of her face, topped with the goggles she wore to hide her identity. Then she finally stepped away from the shadow of the coop, and muted moonlight shone off of her slim leather catsuit. Her sinews and curves were all of a whole. Her muscles were tense, ready to strike or spring away. Batman couldn’t blame her.

“Well, I couldn’t let him kill people, could I? He’s a homicidal maniac. I have friends, family. It was nothing to do with you,” Catwoman said, tilting her head imperiously.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “I think we have another situation involving common interests, so to speak. Crimes involving cats are happening in our city. What do you know about it?”

“Is some little psycho killing cats? It’d be better if you hadn’t told me,” hissed Catwoman.

She gripped the whip coiled at her side. Batman put up a hand again to reassure her, even as he slowly reached for a batarang in his belt.

“No. Cats are being stolen. Primarily expensive cats, but also cats from all around the city. You can see how it looks.”

Catwoman’s posture went defensive as she faced him squarely and crossed her arms. “I can see how it looks? Batman, I steal dead things. Inert things. Things that don’t require care and feeding. Things that make me lots of money.”

“So you’re saying you haven’t been stealing any actual cats? Not a one?”

“Not one,” she replied, dropping a hand to her hip. “But I’ll keep an eye out for you, alright? I don’t like competition.”

A rare half-smile drew up one side of Batman’s face. “I suppose that’s the best I can ask for. Don’t steal anything tonight, alright? I don’t feel like chasing you down again.”

Catwoman snorted. “I’ll consider it. See you around, Batman.”

With that, she stepped to the edge of the roof and launched herself into a graceful dive. Batman’s stomach went with her for a moment, but then he saw her whip snap out and coil around a streetlight. She swung away into the night.

So that’s what it looks like, he thought as he left in the other direction. In the morning, he’d contact Commissioner Gordon and let him know he’d confirmed their lead suspect.

Catwoman cursed to herself as she dropped to the ground behind a dumpster, certain that she’d lost Batman. There was no way to know whether she’d fooled Gotham’s number one detective. She was sure he had a tell, but she’d yet to discover it. Until that time, she suppressed her own reactions as best she could when they had one of their rare meetings.

It had been difficult managing the charity ball on top of her already packed agenda. She’d almost decided not to don the catsuit tonight. As Selina Kyle, she was doing everything in her power to provide for the neglected cats of Gotham. As Catwoman, she was taking direct action.

Hopefully, leaving early from her own charity ball hadn’t been too noticeable. There were bigger fish to fry this evening, and she couldn’t afford to worry about her image right now. Not with lives at stake. She’d received a tip about a pet store with a stock of kittens that barely received enough food and water to live. Her anger spurred her on.

Catwoman unscrewed the bottom of her whip handle, revealing a hidden compartment with a key fob. She pressed a button on the fob and was rewarded with a quick flash of lights and a twip-twip noise that echoed around the dingy alley. She grinned maliciously to herself. The old gray van with ridiculous cat ears on the roof was over the top, but Catwoman had no faith in Gotham PD’s ability to track even the most ostentatious criminal vehicle. Look at all the ludicrous clown cars the Joker had driven over the years—no cops had ever managed to track back to the place he stashed them. She’d already given Batman the slip, so there was no one to follow her.

Catwoman got behind the wheel and twisted her key in the ignition. The engine’s low purr matched her chuckle of delight. This was going to be fun.

She maneuvered the gray van through quiet streets until she came to a run-down commercial area of town. She pulled up to the curb in front of a store called Feline Boutique. Feeling brazen, Catwoman knelt and popped the pathetic lock on the front door in a matter of moments. A bell tinkled as she crossed the threshold of the dark pet store. She made a beeline for the back room, pushing aside a heavy curtain to peer in.

There was no one around. The place was dark and still—except for a few tiny mews from one corner of the room. Catwoman tapped a button on her goggles and illuminated a small area with a narrow flashlight beam.

“Sweeties, I’m here to take you home. Just be patient for me a little longer, okay?” She crooned in a soothing voice as she came to a stack of cages.

The meowing intensified as she pulled two kittens from the first cage and loaded them into a soft-sided duffel slung over her shoulder. The kittens struggled to climb over each other, but fell back with adorable clumsiness. Catwoman’s flashlight raced over the interior of the cage as she turned her head. There was no water in their dishes and just a crumb or two of kibble left. Catwoman’s anger burned hot. She quickly opened the second cage and, reminding herself to be gentle, took out two more kittens. She removed every kitten from the room and zipped the duffel mostly closed to keep them from tumbling out. The bag shook a little as the kittens rolled about inside—there were a lot of them.

Catwoman turned to leave but stopped, noticing a pen and notebook on a desk by the door. She bent and jotted a quick sentence. Ripping the page loose, she folded her note and tucked it into the uppermost cage, where it couldn’t be seen from ground level.

She made tracks then, certain she was pushing the limit of her time window. With the kittens secure in the back of the van, Catwoman buckled in and drove away. She heard sirens as she turned the corner, but saw no lights. She’d made it.

“Another day, another ticked off cat owner,” Commissioner Gordon muttered to Batman as he pushed aside the heavy curtain and motioned the vigilante to precede him.

Batman entered the back room of the Feline Boutique, ducking his head to keep his cowl ears from tangling in the curtain. The dirty storage area of the pet store was made uglier by the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights that illuminated it. Batman looked at the empty kitten cages in one corner, all the doors hanging half open.

“Where is he?” Batman asked, turning to the Commissioner.

“Who—oh, the owner? I… convinced him to take a walk around the block. Not a very nice man. I’m hoping a few moments away will calm him down, but it’s doubtful. I wanted a few minutes to process without him shouting in my ear.” The Commissioner’s lips wrinkled under his moustache.

“Mmm,” hummed Batman as he pulled his trusty flashlight from his utility belt and snapped on the beam.

He started with the bottom row of cages, noting their dirty interiors and the absence of water. The cages didn’t get any better the higher he went.

“I talked to Catwoman last night,” he mentioned casually as Commissioner Gordon turned a keen eye over the rest of the space.

“Is she the culprit?” the Commissioner asked bluntly.

“She says she didn’t do it,” Batman replied, “but she did.”

“What, you have proof? I can call the station right now!”

Batman shook his head, then stretched up high to get a view of the top cages in the stack.

“Hold that thought, Commissioner.”

Batman fished around in the top cage and pulled out a square of paper, folded once. He flipped it open.

“I told you I hadn’t stolen one,” the note read in a neat, feminine print.

“Your proof, Jim,” Batman said, passing the note to Commissioner Gordon with two fingers.

“How did you know?” the Commissioner asked, taking the note. He reached for the walkie-talkie at his belt.

“Catwoman tries to hide it, but she’s got the same body language tells anyone else does when they lie. It doesn’t amount to evidence, of course, but it’s generally wise to know when someone is lying to you.”

The sound of heavy stomping feet interrupted them and a tall man with slicked-back black hair burst into the room.

“Where are my cats?” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Commissioner Gordon’s chest.

The pencil the Commissioner held snapped in half as he leaned back, startled.

“Mr. Ricks, as I already explained, we’ll try our best to find your cats,” he replied.

“You need to do better than that! I’m out of business without my cats. The store’s called Feline Boutique - without the felines, I’ve got nothing! I can’t wait on you. I’ll be better off looking for them myself.” Vitriol and spittle flew from the man’s mouth in equal measure.

Batman took half a step forward, but the Commissioner fixed him with a steel glint that he then turned on Mr. Ricks.

“You’re welcome to try. I recognize that this is your livelihood, Mr. Ricks, but you are the third angry cat owner I’ve dealt with in two days. You can trust that this is my top priority. Now, if I find that you have interfered in the investigation in any way, or harassed any of my officers, I’ll pursue obstruction of justice charges against you. Let me do my work.” The Commissioner didn’t raise his voice, but a cold fury burned in his eyes that made Mr. Ricks back away.

Mr. Ricks visibly swallowed. “Alright then, Commissioner. Uh, thank you for your time. Uh-”

“Where’s the back door?” Batman interrupted.

“Over there.” Mr. Ricks pointed with a weak hand.

“Jim, I want you to take a look at something,” Batman murmured.

The pair of them stepped around Mr. Ricks, who still stood there dumbfounded.

“Have a good day, Mr. Ricks,” the Commissioner said as the exit closed behind them.

In the alley behind Feline Boutique, he let out an exasperated sigh. He scratched behind his ear with the broken pencil and pocketed his notebook.

“I don’t understand it, Batman. The cats in that shop weren’t valuable. Why would Catwoman steal them?” The Commissioner asked.

He followed Batman’s line of sight as the caped crusader pointed a gloved hand down the alley.

“What do you see back here?” Batman asked.

“Trash. Garbage cans. Dirt,” the Commissioner replied.

“But no cats,” noted Batman. “Usually Gotham’s alleys are full of stray cats scavenging food. I didn’t notice the decrease in animals until a few nights ago, but I believe it’s been going on for a long time.

“This isn’t about money, Jim. Catwoman’s angry about these cats. Angry enough to steal—and who knows? Maybe even angry enough to kill. I’ve got to stop her.”

“What will you do?” the Commissioner asked.

Batman tapped his chin. “I have a plan, but it’s better if we wait until tonight. I’ll contact you once I have everything I need. For now, please make sure all the evidence is logged in. Catwoman has famously slipped beyond Gotham PD’s reach in the past. It’s time to put a stop to it.”

#llu writes #the purrfect crime #batman #catwoman #batman fanfiction

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dizzypinwheel · 6 years ago

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Identify Yourself

Chapter 5: A Lesson in Pragmatism

While we’re at it, nyoom! Have a link to the four previous chapters.

Hank could tally the total number Fowler had suspended an officer on one hand, and not because he was lenient. He commanded the police department with a fierceness that only a former drill instructor could muster, demanding the rank-and-file beneath his supervision to follow his expectations without question. It took little to cross his bullshit quota, and indefinite suspensions came with a questionable expiration date. They tended to last a long while. So color Hank surprised when he was contacted shortly after the start of his suspension, requested to pay a visit to the department. During their curt conversation, Hank noticed Fowler seemed strained. Fowler stayed on the line long enough to pencil in an 11:30 meeting for the following day, disconnecting the call before Hank could raise any questions.

After circling the area for a choice parking spot, Hank parked his death trap and fed the meter. He approached the precinct, feeling a glimmer of pride as he glanced at his watch. It read 10:50 AM. He didn’t expect brownie points or gold stars, but being punctual for anything that didn’t involve a sports stadium counted as a goddamn miracle. It almost made him feel respectable.

He gained a proper sense of understanding of why Fowler seemed so frazzled on the phone when he walked through the front doors and surveyed the reception area. Every android that performed quote unquote menial tasks for the precinct had vanished. The executive order that required all citizens to relinquish their androids to the authorities was probably to blame. He bet they were dismembered scraps of plastic by now, buried in landfills located on the outskirts of the city. It appeared the precinct had yet to hire suitable replacements. Unfortunate rookies were floundering at the front desk, scrambling to process the swelling queue of civilians. The officers looked downright miserable, displeased about performing work they considered beneath their station.

He joined the queue, massaging his temples as he grimaced at the agitated line of visitors that kept tapping their feet or checking how much time had passed on their smartwatches. They were unaccustomed to such incompetence. He felt thankful that he had shown up early, that he wouldn’t have to fret about digging himself in a deeper hole by being late to his appointment. Still, it would have been preferable to have his access credentials, which had been confiscated the moment Fowler suspended him. He would have been in the bullpen by now.

He dug his hands deep into his coat pockets as he waited, turning his attention to the big screen television mounted on the wall on the far right side of the lobby. A couple of smartly dressed anchors were seated behind a glossy desk, and he half-listened to them prattle on about this attempted robbery or that wreck on Chrysler Freeway. His attention was piqued when they began a segment about a situation that held Detroit in its grip: the assassination attempt on the leader of the deviants and the aftershocks that shortly followed.

“Last Friday, we broke a story about the failed assassination attempt that happened near Hart Plaza. The incident is still under investigation. The federal government released a statement Saturday, categorically denying all wrongdoing and promising to prosecute those involved to the fullest extent of the law. The deviant leader, Markus, has been placed into protective custody in an undisclosed location.”

The other anchor took over.

“Following that fateful incident, tensions between human-android relations have become strained, with a growing number of people from both sides demanding justice. There have been rashes of organized protests and acts of civil disobedience across the city, and not just from deviants. Concerned citizens of Detroit from all walks of life have begun to participate in the demonstrations, creating human chains around the perimeters of protest zones to protect their android counterparts. When asked why they would put their personal welfare at risk for a machine, many cited the gruesome moments of police brutality they witnessed during earlier deviant-led marches. Whatever their reason, the human protesters we interviewed seemed united behind a single goal: to do what they can to create a space where androids can protest peacefully, without fear of police or government retaliation.”

At that moment, the newsroom cut to footage of the Detroit State Capitol. The stately, well-kept grounds had been transformed into an organized sit-in, a makeshift camp with laid-out tarps and pitched tents. Protesters huddled together in clusters, taking turns holding cardboard signs or chanting into megaphones. A group of college students had circled the android encampment, locked arm-in-arm to create a protective barrier. Hank found that final image particularly uplifting. God knows the press had been fixated on using the younger generation as a proverbial punching bag, depicted as too self-absorbed to care about anything beyond their own social media bubbles. It was satisfying that they were the ones using their leverage to protect the vulnerable. It was a watershed moment.

At that moment, a tentative voice addressed him like a cautious tap on the shoulder.

“Lieutenant? Lieutenant Anderson?”

Hank tore his eyes from the broadcast and approached the rookie before him, unsure how long he had been transfixed by the stories on screen. Time had blazed past and he was surprised to find himself at the front of the line. He ran his fingers through his gray hair nervously as he studied the man in front of him, reading the name tag affixed to his uniform. Officer Brown. He was rather thin and had a smart buzz cut, perhaps no older than 22. Despite his professional air, he had an anxious demeanor; Hank suspected the young man was uneasy around him.

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

“I’ve got an 11:30 appointment with Captain Fowler and need a clearance badge. Think you can help me out with that?”

“Sure, just a second.”

Officer Brown opened a drawer and took out a laminated pass with a metal clip, handing it to Hank.

“So you can clip this pretty much anywhere, as long as it’s visible.”

“No need to explain,” Hank replied. “I’ll take it from here. Take care, all right?”

“I’ll try,” he muttered.

As Hank left the reception desk, he clipped his visitor pass to his coat breast pocket and strode towards security screening area. He noted a sullen police officer leaning against the wall next to the security scanners, his arms crossed, a resentful replacement for the PM700s that had faithfully stood watch just days ago. When it was his turn, Hank stepped through the motion sensors. They chirped as they registered his pass and the gates granted him access, sliding apart with a quiet hiss. The officer waved him through with an apathetic gesture, barely affording him a single glance. In return, Hank nodded curtly and continued through, opening the door that led into the bullpen.

The bullpen was swarming with activity, the entire room a cacophonous din of unanswered phone calls, clacking keyboards, and work-related chatter. Some officers conversing during a hasty coffee break straightened up as Hank passed by, intentional lowering their voices to a suspicious whisper. It appeared there had been no shortage of gossip in his absence. He did his best to ignore their unwelcomed stares.

As Hank made a beeline for Fowler’s office, he stole a glance at his old workstation, feeling a twinge of regret. Save for a few scuff marks and coffee stains, all signs he had once worked there had been scrubbed away. His malnourished plants and bumper stickers, framed graduation photographs and newspaper clippings -- his personal effects had been tossed out or squirreled away in a box somewhere in his shed. He felt territorial. At least it remained unoccupied. No one had tried to lay claim to his workspace. Yet.

Fowler could be seen in his office, hunched rigidly over his desk and sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. He massaged his temples as he stared at his computer screen, scrolling through what were presumably case files, unaware that Hank had arrived for his appointment. Rather than barging in, Hank rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles, stuffing his hands deep into his coat pockets as he waited. Fowler looked up at the sound of the knock and nodded at him, inviting him to come inside. Hank swallowed, his mouth and throat paper dry.

Hank entered the immaculate office, gingerly shutting the door behind him. He experienced a fleeting moment of hesitation as their eyes met and he shifted his gaze to the potted plants nestled against the wall, hardy little fuckers that required little water. Maintaining eye contact seemed impossible. After decades of working together in the force, Hank had grown accustomed to shooting the shit with Fowler, speaking to him without any filter. But now he just found himself incapable of speech.

Thankfully, Fowler didn’t leave him dangling long. He set down his mug with an agitated sigh and massaged his temples, studying Hank before breaking the silence. And even though his manner of speech was brusque, his voice was gentler than anticipated.

“Damn it, Hank. Sit your ass down.”

Hank forced an unconvincing smile as he complied, seating himself in a squeaky chair made for utility rather than comfort. He sat stiffly, his hands resting in his lap, and focused briefly on a fixed point just behind Fowler, a couple of Tigers baseball caps. It brought to mind a flash of memories: simpler times when they had been a pair of nobodies, friends watching ball games from nosebleed seats with their sons. He resisted the urge to shake his head. Look at them now. He inhaled deeply and turned his attention to Fowler.

Time to cut the crap and get this over with.

“So,” Hank shrugged, gesturing. “I’m here.”

“Yeah…” Fowler replied. “So you are.” His eyes shifted to a tasteless white clock that ticked away on his work desk. “On time, too.”

Hank smiled thinly. “Imagine that.”

“Hey, it’s nice. You should consider making it a habit.”

Hardy har.

Hank pursed his lips, stifling an instinctive urge to retaliate with sarcasm.

A minute spell of silence trickled past as the two men paused awkwardly, each painstaking second punctured by the steadfast ticking of Fowler’s clock. Hank clenched his hands into tight fists, tongue-tied. Astute enough to recognize his reluctance, Fowler took initiative. He leaned forward, threading his fingers together as he set his elbows on his desk.

“For what it’s worth, I appreciate you taking the time to stop by, especially on such short notice.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hank mumbled, waving him off. “Hell, if anything, I should be thanking you. It gave me an excuse to leave the goddamn house.”

“Huh. What, you missing work already? Sounds like you’ve gained a little bit of perspective.”

As prone as Hank was to griping about the bullshit aspects of his line of work, it had given him unselfish goals to fixate on. A silver lining. And when that positive glimmer of his life had been stripped away, he sure didn’t appreciate that was left -- trash bags of take-out boxes and drained liquor bottles, a neglected house haunted with a mausoleum of inescapable memories.

“Suspension sucks, Jeffrey. I hate it.”

“You think I wanted to suspend you? Hank, you forced my hand.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

“Do you, though? Do you really?”

“Yeah,” Hank said softly. “I do.”

Hank faltered and fell silent, his shoulders slumped, drained of anger, of any desire to quarrel. He skirted Fowler’s scrutinizing gaze, feigning interest in a display case lined with row after tidy row of prized military decorations. A lump formed in his throat as he combed through his muddled thoughts, unable to find the right words to say. All he knew was that he felt compelled to apologize.

“Look, I fucked up,” he muttered. “Royally. And that’s on me. No one else.” He scoffed. “Hell, after everything that happened, I’m surprised you didn’t can my ass.” He took a measured breath and locked eyes with Fowler. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”

With that, he held his tongue and steeled himself, expecting Fowler to gloat or admonish him. Yet Fowler remained composed, his tone even, with no hint of malice.

“Apology accepted.”

“Really?” Hank raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Just like that?”

“What, you rather I grill your ass?”

“Well, no. Not really.”

“Listen, I’m not going to pull any punches. I’m done butting heads, not when I have so many problems with the precinct.”

“Yeah, I saw that on my way here. Seems like a proper shitstorm.”

Fowler shook his head and scoffed. “That’s what happens when you lose a quarter of your workforce overnight. It’s been a fucking nightmare. I need more manpower.” He paused, giving Hank a pointed look. “Officers with experience.”

Hank failed to conceal his surprise. “Me? I thought I was on your shitlist, that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Come on, use your goddamn head. You think I invited you here to chat over coffee? You know better than that.”

“But you’ve never been this lenient, not for anyone.”

“I’m not being lenient. I’m being pragmatic. This precinct is understaffed and overworked -- we need people.” Fowler stood up and leaned forward, his hands planted on the desk. “Hank, I’m giving you a one-time shot, a chance to redeem yourself. If you’re done being a cop, fine. I won’t stop you. But if you want this, and I mean really want this, I guarantee you’ll walk out that door with your badge, a police detective for the DPD. Either way, I need to know. Will you come back?”

“When you put it that way, I’d be an idiot not to.”

“So it’s settled.”

Fowler sat back down.

“Just so you know, there are rules I expect you to follow. When you are at work, you will conduct yourself as a professional. I expect you to be punctual, I expect you to work without complaint, and I expect you to keep your behavior in check.”

“Sounds fair to me.”

“Good, then it’s settled.”

Fowler opened a drawer and produced a shabby badge, dull from neglect, and silently placed it on his side of the desk. As soon as Hank saw it, he stiffened, his leaden hands rooted to his lap. Fowler regarded him with a stern eye, fingertips grazing the grooves of the engraved shield within. “Consider this badge on loan. Whether or not you get it back is entirely up to you. Act like what you are, a police lieutenant, and it’s yours.” His expression grew stern as he cupped the badge with his right hand, concealing it from sight. “But if you take even one step out of line, I won’t hesitate to fire your ass. Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear as crystal. Consider all bases covered.”

Satisfied, Fowler offered Hank his badge, sliding it across the desk. “Then let’s move on to a different topic.”

Unaware he was holding his breath, Hank reclaimed his badge with a hesitant hand and stuffed it deep into its rightful place, mingling with his car keys and spare change in his right coat pocket. Meanwhile, Fowler was stooped over a secured file drawer, unlocking it with a fingerprint scan. He muttered to himself as he carded through the files, fishing out a thick manila folder stamped with the word CONFIDENTIAL in bold red letters. Tucking the folder under his arm, he rolled his shoulders and turned to face Hank.

“Let’s head down to the evidence room. I have a case for you to look at.”

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. It took me a long time to make this update. I was dealing with a really serious bout of depression and anxiety and it just sucked all the joy out of things I enjoy doing. I’m in a much better place right now and have every intention of finishing this story. I owe @silenceindetroit so much gratitude for her insight. She is a wonderful beta. If you would like to be tagged for future updates, let me know! I’m also a whore for reblogs and comments. If you enjoy what you’ve read, consider doing so. ;)

Tagging the following:

@asunachinadoll // @malanoches // @negotiator-on-site // @spirit--fox // @detectiverichardreed // @nerdiebeauty // @kaylaproductions // @fizzabel // @windyfiend

#connor dbh #hank dbh #detroit become human #dbh fanfiction #dbh

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hilarymp · 6 years ago

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PET SEMATARY (2019) REVIEW

SPOILER WARNING! This review contains spoilers for Pet Sematary (2019), Pet Sematary (1989) and the novel.

I’ll admit straight out of the gate that I went into Pet Sematary (2019) with a negative attitude. For whatever reason (one that I am still struggling to comprehend) the studio decided not only to make a rather large divergence from the source material’s plot, but to also spoil this “twist” in the trailer and promotional material. That alone was enough to convince me that this remake/reboot/reimagining/whatever the fuck you want to call it probably wasn’t going to win me over. So let’s discuss that first and foremost.

I am not at all opposed to film adaptations making changes. Case in point, 2017’s new IT. IT and it’s miniseries predecessor are among some of my favorite horror films of all time, despite the fact that they were not 100% faithful to the novel, especially the more recent installment. For me changes are totally fine as long as they a.) maintain the spirit, themes, and tone of the original story and b.) make the film more frightening.

With those rules in mind the change prominently displayed in the trailer for 2019’s Pet Sematary, the fact the Creed’s eldest child Ellie is the one who is killed and brought back from the dead instead of toddler Gage, already failed at rule b. Don’t get me wrong, any reanimated evil corpse is going to be scary, but why on earth would you deny us an evil murderous baby just to give us yet another creepy little girl. The ‘creepy little girl’ trope in horror is so tired and overused it makes my head hurt. The Ring, Orphan, The Exorcist, Silent Hill, The Shining, Alice Sweet Alice, The Bad Seed, Let the Right One In, Hereditary, Sinister, I could go on and on and on. The use of the trope isn’t inherently terrible, but why would you go out of your way to use it when something less used and much scarier (a straight up homicidal TODDLER) is an option? The simplest and most likely reason, in my opinion, was for convenience. Is directing a 2 year old more difficult to direct than an 11 year old? Yes, of course, obviously. But it’s definitely possible, as Mary Lambert proved while directing Miko Hughes as Gage in 1989. (Honestly, to this day I can not believe the performance she got out of that little boy.) So to me the change is not only a disservice to the film, but also an indication that the filmmakers were unabashedly lazy.

So now that you know why I had set myself up for disappointment to begin with, let’s break down what the film succeeded at and how it failed.

Whatever problems I have with the film, at least I can say that I loved the cast. John Lithgow was extremely endearing and likable. His performance as Jud was a refreshingly grounded and heartfelt departure from Fred Gwynne’s high camp in ‘89. Jason Clarke was as engrossing as ever. I always enjoy Clarke’s performances, and he often brings extra depth to characters that would have otherwise fallen flat (Dr. Price in ‘Winchester’ being a prime example). And Jete Laurance was nothing short of incredible. You would never expect that this little girl could transform into something to sinister so effortlessly. Her performance in the first half of the film is filled with such sweet sincerity, that her turn into undead Ellie is all the more frightening. Not as frightening as being terrorized by a little ankle biting toddler, mind you, but enjoyable nonetheless. ESPECIALLY compared to Ellie in the 89 film. Do you remember her? My God, she was so annoying.

Speaking of annoying, Amy Seimetz as Rachel was the only weak link in the cast. Instead of being deeply troubled and complex as Stephen King wrote her, Seimetz’s Rachel is so one dimensional that by the third or fourth time we see her crying, I wasn’t just unmoved, I was borderline irritated. ‘The weepy mother’ role in horror films are never especially fulfilling, but in this instance Rachel was meant to be much more than that. And the cheapening of the Zelda subplot doesn’t help matters either.

To me Zelda, Rachel’s late sister who suffered from spinal meningitis, was hands down the scariest part of the book and original film, so I was extra disappointed here. I’m fully aware that the character of Zelda is extremely problematic and portraying her as a monster is ableist as fuck. (Let’s be real, 99% of all Stephen King’s works are problematic but if we pull on that thread we’ll be here all day.) But the in the new film she is completely under utilized. Her appearances have been shrunk down to generic Conjuring-like jumpscares. Like most horror movies these days, the film relies on quick cuts, loud bangs, and obnoxious music cues to startle us instead of showing us anything particularly alarming. There is one prolonged sequence of incredible suspense, as Louis slowly walks through his basement in search of his daughters reanimated corpse, that filled me with so much dread that I was finally genuinely scared. Alas, *sad trombone*, it was undercut with a cheap jumpscare just like all the rest.

On top of uninspired jumpscares, the filmmaking as a whole was ‘meh’ at best, especially the production design. The houses nearly hidden among the picturesque dense woods are definitely more visually interesting than the ones presented to us in ‘89. It also makes the danger of the nearby highway much more palpable, with the road being both closer to the house and more believably prone to accidents, with the thick foliage hindering the drivers’ ability to see. And the ‘pet sematary’ itself is serviceable enough, not much different from what we’ve seen before. But once we are taken beyond the dead fall to the cursed burial ground, the scope of the film shrinks drastically, making everything feel cramped and cheap like a paper mache Haunted house, even with cheap smoke machine effects to match.

There are a lot of loose ends in the film as well, though it’s hard to tell if they were caused by the script or the editing. For instance, when Jud is explaining the burial ground to Louis, he mentions the wendigo that is suspected to be the source of the land’s power. But… that’s all he says about it. He doesn’t explain what a Wendigo is, what it does, or why it does it. If you’ve never read the book, or have never heard of a wendigo before, the word means nothing. Why bring up the Wendigo at all if you’re not even going to tie it into the lore properly. They could just have easily just said ‘cursed Indian burial ground’ (it in and of itself a tired trope, but still) and we would have just went with it. Another example is when undead Ellie is terrorizing Jud, she turns herself into Jud’s dead wife, and mentions that says something along the lines of “Your wife is “n hell for what you did to her before she died”. What? What the hell did he do? Why the fuck would you even put that out there with zero follow up?!

Oh and let’s talk about Pascow. His role in the film is minimized so much, they might as well have left him out entirely. If I’m remembering correctly, late in the novel Pascow appears to Rachel urging her to come home. In the first film he appears to Rachel instead, who tells Rachel they need to come home. But in this film he appears to Gage. A toddler. Who can barely speak. Now as disturbing of a notion it is to have a very small child being haunted by such a gruesome image (and you all know how much I love disturbing shit), it’s also kind of pointless and dumb. If Pascow wanted to get Rachel to come home, why would he appear to Gage who, again, can’t talk, instead of just appearing to Rachel? One could argue that Gage’s crying and saying the name Pascow freaks Rachel out so much that it makes her want to go back, but you could just as easily say she left to get away from her memories of Zelda in her parents house, or the fact that Louis wouldn’t answer his goddamn phone

We’re also missing out on some crucial motivations to explain Louis’ terrible decision making. No scene of Louis and the grandfather fighting at the funeral, no Louis being blamed for his child’s death, no knocking over of the casket. I might be biased since, for me, that sequence is one of the most upsetting moments of the 89 film. But on top of a missed opportunity to shock, it also takes away the debilitating guilt that motivates Louis to resurrect his child, despite knowing it won’t go well. The guilt is still vaguely implicit, but sometimes horror films need to explicitly illustrate cause and effect, if for no other reason than to keep the audience from screaming “Why the fuck would you do that!?” at the screen for 2 hours.

Speaking of motivations, what are Ellie’s? What even is Ellie for that matter? The film can’t seem to make up its mind. Undead Ellie has Ellie’s memories, remembers how she died, and holds grudges against her parents for both her death and her resurrection. So there must be some part of the real Ellie in there, right? But when Rachel says “You’re not my daughter” undead Ellie agrees with her! So if it’s not really Ellie why does she keep trying to guilt and punish her parents? If she’s just an evil demon or spirit possessing Ellie’s corpse, you’d think it’d be glad that Louis was stupid enough to bury her up there. Free meat suit, hurray! The spirit clearly wants more bodies buried up there, seeing as it takes out the entire family just to bring them back like she was. Surely she just wanted to kill them all for funsies, right? Who the fuck knows. The screenwriter sure doesn’t appear to.

Another super obnoxious thing about this film is it’s cheap fake-outs. It’s one thing to change iconic moments from the first adaptation, but constantly calling attention to it is another. Like the ominous close ups of Jud’s heel and him kicking the bed before Ellie gets him on the stairs. Yeah we get it. ‘The old movie had Gage under the bed, but watch out, we’re mixing stuff up in this one!’ Yup. Got it. Thanks for the reminder. Or the whole ‘Gage almost being hit by the truck’ fake out before Ellie is actually hit. This one is especially stupid since you already fucking showed us in the trailer that Gage isn’t going to die. Why even try to fake us out like that when we already know you’ve changed that too? You have successfully irritated and underwhelmed me, movie, no reason to draw more attention to it.

Here’s a quick list of some other petty little things that bugged me. These aren’t even necessarily the movie’s fault, some just come from the book itself.

If Rachel is so traumatized and adverse to talking about death, why the fuck did she marry an ER doctor?

You expect me to believe that Louis, pragmatic Louis who doesn’t even believe in an afterlife, would just follow Jud over the deadfall, through the woods, across a swamp and up a bunch of mysterious stone stairs, with zero explanation? No questions asked? I’d be asking “What the fuck are we doing?” about every couple of yards.

Why in god’s name would Rachel’s parents not only still live in the house where their daughter suffered and died, but also KEEP THE DUMB WAITER SHE DIED IN?

Why don’t movies ever address the fact that when you’re buried your eyes and lips are sewn or glued shut beforehand? And the scene where Louis is bathing Ellie and he sees the staples in her head and is all freaked out - wouldn’t she have huge fucking staples all across her chest and down her abdomen from the funeral home too??

Despite my complaints, Pet Sematary isn’t completely devoid of entertainment value, not by a long shot. It’s not bad, it just could have been so so much better. Pet Sematary is riddled with missed opportunities, and if you‘re an overly analytical jaded horror fan with a devotion to Stephen King like I am, they are much more obvious. I’m not mad, Pet Sematary, I’m just disappointed. To quote Tyra Banks, we were rooting for you, we were all rooting for you! You had so much potential, you just dropped the ball. Just like losing a loved one, there’s a mourning period that must be observed. Time to cope with the loss of what could have been. But rest assured, by the time you come out on blu-ray, I’ll be ready to try again.

#Pet Sematary #pet semetary 2019 #pet semetary spoilers #movie review #stephen king #horror #horror films

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beyondnewsnet · 4 years ago

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How to compose a book?

The primary thought is: book main event you need to compose and why?

We can partition the kinds of books into two: fiction and verifiable.

By fiction we mean every brief tale, books, brief tales and any sort of text dependent on characters, an account entwining and a plot.

For true to life ... all the other things: manuals, papers, papers, presents, guides. To put it plainly, all that has an instructive or useful person, and no connection with anecdotal stories or nonexistent characters.

In the event that you choose to compose a book you will initially need to comprehend the reason why you are doing it, and when this is clear, you will have a more clear way to follow to continue with its creation, dispatch and what maybe matters most: adaptation.

Read this article

The reasons might be different, for instance I composed my books since I needed to spread the word about my abilities for a wide crowd and for a drawn out period. This applies to the initial two titles I composed a couple of years prior: "Selling on the web at no expense" and "Facebook promoting at no expense" .

These two titles, still exceptionally sold on Amazon today, have permitted me to spread the word about myself by huge number of individuals who, thus, have looked for me, reached me and some have turned into my clients.

Something else entirely for my most popular book in the area * "Search engine optimization is dead" *, with an intentionally provocative title - it raised a genuine unfinished plumbing space in the SEO people group and in that of web showcasing - it had a more explicit and direct inspiration to obtaining of clients and contacts.

As should be obvious, you can be provoked by different reasons, yet how about we attempt to explain and sum up them here:

Brand situating

You need to characterize your image and position yourself plainly inside a specialty or market. From your book the peruser will see precisely what your identity is and will dissipate any questions concerning what your particular abilities are.

Authority

You need to be perceived as one of the main specialists in the area and you need to make a work that makes some meaningful difference, that follows a way. For this situation, intending to be a smash hit creator and getting significant acknowledgment from your crowd will be fundamental.

Business card

At the point when your book is the means by which you need to acquaint yourself with your possible clients, in any event, when cold. This implies that you generally have two or three duplicates with you consistently and circulate it for nothing at whatever point you meet somebody fascinating enough for your business to merit a free duplicate.

By and by I think that it is somewhat frail as a procedure, however for somebody possibly it is ...

Rule the specialty or fill in the holes

You will probably be the just or most awkward creator on a given point, when somebody looks for that particular theme you expounded on.

For instance, my companion Claudio Delaini, who works in an amazingly upward area, that of security at work in industrial facilities, has distributed handfuls and many books in under 2 years, situating himself in a definitive and huge way on all commercial centers (specifically Amazon), for specific hunt terms.

Adaptation

You need to utilize the book as a vital aspect for opening ways to possible clients, catching leads, making deals. So, you need to construct an advertising channel for your on the web or disconnected business.

I would say that the last option is the main inspiration of all assuming you need to accomplish positive ROI, yet it is likewise the most hard to execute: you need to assemble a way, have the items and realize web promoting devices and techniques well.

I don't consider a legitimate inspiration the one that some come to me now and again to introduce, to the alleged "individual fulfillment". I don't plainly see what fulfillment there can be in independently publishing a book, since it is something inside anybody's span.

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Unexpectedly, the creation and dispatch of an effective book are processes that require huge endeavors and impressive time assets, therefore simple individual fulfillment - as I would see it - doesn't legitimize setting up such a machine.

Steps to compose a book:

There are a few methods that can help you, however to discover how to compose a book you should trial and track down the right harmony between the time you have accessible and the center you can profit from.

A few systems are notable and have consistently been utilized by proficient essayists, I have concentrated on an especially viable one that consolidates various techniques and approaches, prepared with a decent daily schedule and some amazing apparatuses, valuable for working on my exhibition as an author.

Here is a rundown of how to compose a book proficiently:

I made a draft of the design of the book. First I compose my considerations about the work on paper, I get an unpleasant thought of what I might want to accomplish, driven by * why * I'm doing it.

Market and rivalry investigation. Having explained the point, it's an ideal opportunity to go all the more explicitly, so I will examine the market, concentrating on which books have as of now been distributed regarding the matter and the amount they are selling.

Title creation. In light of my exploration, I characterize the title which will then, at that point, be the leitmotif of the entire work. For instance, when I chose to state "Website optimization is dead" I realized that I would compose an assortment of elective procedures to the standard SEO rehearses.

Conclusive construction. Since I comprehend the market, the title and what I need to accomplish, I get the design of the book recently outlined and complete it.

I WRITE! To do this I submit myself, devoting time (a little at a time) but with a ton of commitment and concentration. This is the reason I take on the tomato procedure, that is, I compose during short meetings of 15-45 minutes, sprinkled with thorough breaks during which I do different things.

When the composing is done, we continue on to what we could characterize the after creation of a book: COVER and REVISION OF THE TEXT.

For the cover I can deal with it (I've generally done this for my titles) or utilize some great creators at low costs on Fiverr.

Concerning the correction of the text, I like to pass everything straightforwardly to somebody better than me. I tend not to see my missteps and to misjudge the force of my jargon :)

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Presently our book is prepared!

The distribution part is the simplest, for instance with Amazon KDP you simply need to transfer the text and cover records to acquire in an extremely brief time frame (we are discussing hours), the last OK supposed to be available for the public on Kindle and paper eBooks.

Prior to distributing, notwithstanding, we should choose something vital.

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wandabherrera · 4 years ago

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Streamlined Principles For Functional Literary Criticism Approaches

filipino dating site "There is then imaginative perusing just as exploratory writing. At the point when the brain is supported by work and creation, the page of whatever book we read gets iridescent with complex reference. Each sentence is doubly critical, and the feeling of our creator is pretty much as expansive as the world."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Abstract reactions consolidate perusing and composing strategies where artistic works of shifted kind are oppressed for assessment, examination, depictions, and translations. These abstract pieces might be a sonnet, a paper, a novel a short story, among others. Ogenlewe (2006) likewise adds that doing abstract reactions are academic activities which gauge and think about the characteristics or downsides of a specific work.

Abstract reactions come in changed methodologies, and these are authentic, fanciful, true to life, formalistic, mental, sex, sociological, peruser reaction, and deconstructionist. These are end results of artistic speculations that I see as among the amazing ways that can revamp understudies' scholarly composing abilities. It is in this way suggested that artistic works focused for reactions should be coordinated with the kinds of ways to deal with be controlled. Scholars of these sorts ought to have a deliberate choice which is based from the idea of a particular work, alongside the way that these methodologies may cover to cause deviation of center in showing up at an elegantly composed yield. Fusing a few for all intents and purposes detailed standards for a compelling composed article will in general be a significant help. I prescribe these standards to fundamental students.

Guideline one (1) offers students to acquire essential foundation with respect to prologue to writing subject. Foundation information in writing is a fundamental standards before you can utilize these methodologies. It incorporates learning person's information in regards to the class and components of writing that interfaces with scholarly gadgets and procedures, timetable of world writing that gives one expansive insight on their associations with history, and abstract speculations which these methodologies radiated. Good degree of mindfulness in regards to scholarly analysis is normally empowered joined with cutting edge ability of the English language; essayists' innovative and enlightening thoughts in the artistic world are showed through proper linguistically organized structures.

Guideline two (2) permits students to mirror the class where the abstract work should be. Is it an exposition, a novel, a sonnet, a short story, a history, a journal, a life account, tale, a play, or a show, among different structures? What highlights are typically found in these classes? Knowing the class of the piece to manage will give possibilities to everybody to be familiar with the prevailing aspects found in the composed workmanship. A work's predominant aspects are suggested, or straightforwardly expressed through the creators' words which may prompt a reasonable abstract methodology that you can work. In the event that there's a need to explore on its unique circumstances, you're urged to do as such. The data you will accumulate helps in building up your initial section. They may change from designs and some different components like the subject, or characters will yield an overall insight about the work crediting to the importance of choosing the reasonable methodology for a powerful paper.

Guideline three (3) gives freedoms to notice the significant qualifications of the artistic methodologies. Inability to construe differentiations of these methodologies is regularly commensurate to powerlessness to apply them. Deciding the contrasts between the abstract methodologies takes you to a fitting composing style. Your defined inquiries measure your ability of fathoming the reasoning behind each approach as an author. It's vital and reasonable to see every idea by making inquiries out of it, rather than remembering their definitions. Remember that verifiable analysis' motivation depends on the circumstances and occasions under specific time; commensurate to saying that it very well might be connected to the essayist's life, recorded, and social foundation among places during his time. Legendary analysis stresses on early stage designs which have happened in various existence known as models. This is either an image, a character, a circumstance, or a picture which associates with additional comprehension among perusers. Paradigms are found from fiction or genuine occasions. True to life analysis includes the author's life which conveys subtleties in supporting investigation. Formalistic methodology characterizes how the components including abstract gadgets and artistic strategies are converged all in all to impact the perusers' discernments. Mental analysis is utilized to investigate the craftsman's conduct and how this can be helpful or agitating to authorized principles of human cooperations. It can likewise be utilized to consider the essayist's history and what his life's occasions meant for his conduct. We can additionally use this by breaking down the essayist's character through partner mental realities to help fundamental explanations behind the development of such conduct. Sexual orientation analysis reasonably investigates works that project segregation or biases among people in accomplishing fairness in reality. Sociological analysis is utilized when we include the social, financial and political circumstances where this work has been based. Peruser reaction analysis is utilized to communicate differed bits of knowledge or translations connected to perusers' strict, social, social conviction after perusing the scholarly works, and afterward showing up at the genuine significance based from the entry. Deconstructionist analysis is a methodology utilized to see how a work is made. It's a method of investigating by lessening it into more modest parts to find thoughts. It's a methods for finding out how a creator shows his thoughts in words which doesn't address completely his expected musings by others since words are not definite. Perusers tend to make emotional understandings. By breaking the content, perusers will intently appreciate what the creator intends to show up at a target portrayals of the thoughts.

Standard four (4) guides understudies to acquaint the reasons for each approach and at first look at a picked artistic work through direct inquiries. Making inquiries to coordinate with a reasonable strategy for study will be gainful. These inquiries ought to synchronize with the authentic information in regards to these methods. Does the piece identify with reasonable authentic, and get-togethers? Is the business related with the essayist's life when this was made? Does it have prevailing references or repeating examples to different works of writing or, in actuality, circumstances? Does it unequivocally identify with creator's account? Does it contain fluctuated scholarly methods and abstract gadgets? Are there huge scholarly strategies and gadgets utilized as useful components? Does it project winning particular conduct which can be explored through mental linkages? Takes every necessary step uncover points of separation or bias on men or ladies' equivalent chances? How critical are these conflicting focuses towards explicit or general society' existing normal practices? Does it contain social, financial and political foundations to be inspected? Are there thoughts that project social practices, financial issues, and political occasions? Does the piece give changed experiences or translations related to man's strict, social, social conviction? Is it conceivable to separate it into more modest parts to discover how the language is utilized by the creator in inferring their particular thoughts separated from individual translations? Would it be advisable for you to choose for abstract over target understandings, can you give your thoughts' supporting subtleties through the words that are extricated from the sections?

Guideline five (5) animates the students to choose a last methodology. Do you have sufficient supporting subtleties after choosing the strategy to be investigated in your composing analysis? For instance, you picked verifiable methodology from Leo Tolstoy's, War and Peace. Are there various chronicled occasions that you can connect in playing out this errand, or will it be adept on the off chance that you use the formalistic style? Will the subtleties do the trick your picked approach? While analyzing the substance and highlights of Edgar Allan Poe's Cask of Amontillado, you saw that there are a few early stage designs from other artistic works. Would you pick personal, or spotlight on legendary technique for this matter?

Guideline six (6) drives understudies to choose the planned creative cycle. Is it true that you will assess, dissect, portray or decipher a favored work? Do you decide to go through three or four cycles? Will you simply examine on the piece's characteristics or downsides, or both? At first choosing the cycle like assessment, investigation, depiction and translation will convey you a chance for simple impression of the subtleties which are important in the movement.

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livinginlandmarketing · 5 years ago

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Even as the House of Representatives laid the groundwork Monday for a second impeachment of President Donald Trump, one of his supporters, Jessica Martinez, took heavy political fire 3,000 miles away in her role as a member the Whittier City Council.

Martinez was in Washington D.C. last week when Trump supporters broke into the U.S. Capitol in the hope of upending the recent presidential election. Now, many in the city of 86,000 want her to step down from the council.

She’s hardly alone. From local teachers to attorneys to students to business owners, people from all parts of Southern California who attended the D.C. insurrection — some as participants in the breach of the Capitol buildings, some as instigators of the violence that left five people dead, and others, like Martinez, who say they were on hand simply to express an opinion — are facing a swarm of public shaming.

“As Americans, we have the right to free speech as long it’s exercised peacefully,” Martinez said Friday, as she condemned the violence. “That’s what I was doing.”

But as locals react to Internet evidence of who did what during the insurrection, a debate is emerging over free speech rights, their limits, and their consequences.

Exposed

Like the insurrection itself — shown live on television and re-shown by many participants on social media video — the consequences of having a role in taking over the Capitol are playing out in public.

At least 161 faculty members and trustees at Chapman University in Orange have signed a publicly circulated petition calling for the removal of law professor John Eastman. They say Eastman, who spoke to the marchers before they broached the Capitol, helped to incite the violence.

In Los Angeles, a Cal State Northridge student, James McMillan, drew focus in the college paper, The Sun Dial, which reported his “Storm Congress, baby!” posted to social media outside the Capitol.

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In the Inland Empire, Jim Riley, owner of Riley’s Farm, drew a “false information” warning from Facebook over his posting “What I Saw at the Insurrection.” By late Monday, the Oak Glen company’s page was at risk of being unpublished.