#Kia Corp

[uniqueeval]

How Mexico is winning the trade war between the U.S. and China

A freight train carries cargo shipping containers in the El Paso Sector along the US-Mexico border between New Mexico and Chihuahua state on December 9, 2021 in Sunland Park, New Mexico. Patrick T. Fallon | AFP | Getty Images New data shows a surge in trade between China and Mexico at a time of tough tariff talk during the presidential campaign. Customs data shows a significant increase in raw…

[geolyte]

A couple familiar faces! Artfight is starting soon and I figured these two were due for a refresh. My art's changed a LOT in the past few years that have passed since i drew them.

[gremlins-hotel]

From the notes of Capt. Alfred Jones: "Davie was a bus and the 'Flying Fortress' moniker seemed to pass her by, but it was a ship with a brave crew. The trudge of getting back to England from enemy territory is a story for another day. I miss her and sometimes I miss the boys we lost that day."

-✪- -✪- -✪-

B-17F "Dear Davie": *U.S. Army Model B-17F-65-BO Air Corps Serial No. 42-29670 Delivered Cheyenne 31/1/43; Pueblo 18/2/43; Salina 15/2/43; Brookley 19/3/43; Smoky Hill 23/3/43; Dow Field 18/4/43. Assigned to the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group [TS-L] "DEAR DAVIE" 22/4/43; Missing in Action near Hamburg 25/7/43 with Alfred "Comet" Jones, **Co-Pilot: Daryl "Speed" Reed, Navigator: Richard Reed, Bombardier: Charlie Marstaller; Radio Operator: Johnathan Graves, Flight Engineer/Top Turret Gunner: Clyde "Pepsi" Ray, Ball Turret Gunner: William Ortlieb, Waist Gunner: Leslie Lipsey, Waist Gunner: Paul Rapoport, Tail Gunner: Thomas Pugh (6 Killed in Action); "DEAR DAVIE" lost to flak/anti-aircraft fire, crashing near Uetersen, 15 miles NW of Hamburg, Germany.

-✪- -✪- -✪-

[nerd things & acknowledgements below cut]

Notes on the B-17F... The B-17F was an upgrade of the previous E model, with several notable changes: A one- or two-piece plexiglas nose cone, as opposed to the ten-paneled cone of previous versions. Reinforced landing gear allowed for a greater maximum payload, from 4,200 lb (1,900 kg) of ordnance to 8,000 lb (3,600 kg). Flight and combat range of the F model was improved by 900 mi (1,400 km) with the addition of nine self-sealing rubber fuel cells in the wing root, aka, "Tokyo tanks". The F model was generally characterized by being tail-heavy - which lead to part failure - and woefully undefended from the front; the early F models had no front-facing armament, leaving a 60° blind spot to the direct front of the aircraft - a flaw which was exploited by German pilots, who held air superiority. Later F models would see a list of possible available modifications (factory and field) such as inserting two .50 caliber machine guns into the nose cone to solve the blind spot. Other modifications to later F models were bulged cheek turrets, as opposed to the window-mounted guns of earlier iterations, and the available addition of the iconic "Bendix" chin turret. The chin turret is far more common on the subsequent G "gunship" variant. ("Dear Davie" is an early F model without the nose mount, bulged cheeks, or chin turret.)

*This model production block, serial no., and fate are borrowed from real-life B-17F #42-29670, "Thundermug." "Thundermug" was an aircraft that originally served in the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group alongside my great-grandfather and his usual steed, "The Gremlins Hotel." It was transferred to the 544th BS/384th BG, at which point it went Missing in Action over Hamburg from flak/aa-fire; 8 of its crew became POWs while 2 were KIA. I have had the honor to speak to descendants of both of its crews and help them research "Thundermug"; I wish to voice a mere glimpse of their stories in a unique way.

**All names of Alfred's crew are either cobbled-together family names throughout our history here or entirely fictitious - though some were inspired by real people whom I grew up with stories of. All inspirations were individuals that lived good lives post-war.

[monkeydoespride]

EMERGENCY NOTICE

This is an emergency notice to all members of the Nevada Digging Corps. In light of new information all National Guard occupied sites are to be considered lost and all contact with National Guard facilities is to be severed. At 3:37pm on the 18th of March radio contact was lost with Mound House soon after the scheduled arrival time for the Nevadan National Guard. After the allotted 3 hour mechanical malfunction wait period had elapsed it was decided that attempts to reestablish contact would be conducted by armed corps members operating out of site Lovelock. This decision was made in light of the recent loss of several keys sites the previous day.

At approximately 9:01pm members of the 23rd, 74th, and 367th Armed Corps were shuttled to a location approximately 1 mile SSE of Mound House. Clear weather allowed for visual contact to be established at 9:12pm. After confirming the establishment of visual contact with command, radio contact was subsequently lost with all three units. This loss of contact is now believed to have been the result of intentional jamming. What follows is a rough timeline assembled from the few snippets of radio chatter that would emerge over the next 15 minutes. 9:15 pm: Upon loss of contact with command all three squads assumed normal autonomous protocol, with the 74th Corps assuming command of the operation. 9:17 pm: It was decided that vocal contact with Mound House was to be established by both the 23rd and 367th. With the 74th acting as a reserve in case of emergency. 9:23-9:27 pm: Several snippets of of gunfire and explosions. 9:30 pm: Radio communications were briefly reinstated with a lone individual later recognized as Lieutenant James Versal of the Nevada National Guard. Only one statement was provided by Lt James before communications were once again terminated. "You cannot find us, but we can." All personnel from the 23rd, 74th, and 367th Armed Corps are currently listed as MIA, with several likely being KIA. Any and all contact with National Guard officials is hereby strictly prohibited and anyone found doing so will be dealt with appropriately. The project must continue. Authors note: I just want to make it known that I was actually already planning on having the group behind this insurrection be a part of the Nevada National Guard. However with @inthefallofasparrow's addition to my first post, I decided to change it from a rouge factions to the guards entirety.

[masterofd1saster]

RIP Capt Brian S. Letendre USMC KIA 3may06

Captain Brian S. Letendre, 27, of Woodbridge, Virginia, was killed in action in Al Anbar province on 3 May 2006. He was leading a combined force in an isolated outpost. AQ launched a complex attack that killed him and seriously injured another Marine capt.

Letendre was born in California and raised in Woodbridge, where he graduated from Potomac High School in 1996. He joined the Marines in 2000 after graduating from Milligan College in Tennessee.

He served in OIF as commander of 1/2's CAAT team for which he was recognized with the Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal with a Combat "V" for valor. His decorations also include BSV and PH.

His survivors include his wife, Autumn, his then 3-year-old son Dillon, his parents, and two brothers. If you can visit him in Section 60, drop by and pay your respects.

[pulpandgristle]

II: GUT DEVILS

Pilot ID: Erica Trương, tertiary escort and point-defense operative of the Fledgling Seventh Fleet Status: Active Current Assignment: Supervisor for preliminary acclimation of Pilot ID "Sidewinder"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sortied with the new girl today. The ratty one that still wears Earth denim. The one who cut her hair with the backblast on my mech's heat exchanger.

She ain't shit.

Oh, she'll tell you she is, make no mistake, boasting about her wetwork on the Periphery. Big fuckin' talk for an academy washout. Mercenary piloting isn't something to be proud of, not like the Corps. At least if I die it's for the Septarchy. For something real.

She mocked my umbilical too, the little bitch.

They stuck her with me as a gunner and a haptics backup. Made us share a cockpit too, even though my mech's always been a one-man setup. Command said my injuries made me a liability.

They gave me a babysitter. Fucking horseshit.

If you see any drops in accuracy, it's because of her. She kept misbehaving. I couldn't keep line of sight.

Words carry well in the oxygen medium. Her voice is like a gravel driveway: flat, dark, coarse, dust coming off the words, like she dug them out of her chest.

Out of rubble. Like a brick.

"So, the mech eats for you?"

Of course it does, you fucking idiot. Command won't pay me enough for another jaw. I said yes just to shut her up.

"Can I see?"

Then she just climbed out of her harness. She ran her hands on everything, spidery little fingers pawing at my fucking umbilical with her bare skin, cinching it to see if it hurt.

It did. Kind of. Something like pain. It's why I'm clumsier on the readouts, by the way, Command. Strike it off my record.

"What else can it do for you?"

I told her that Septarchy mechs can make anything, do anything. The cockpit's a womb, after all, it's not special. Pilots just borrow it and pull the body's strings with their fists. Standard procedure.

Every bioframe's been able to do full-body life support for decades. It's why I never leave. Why they grafted my endocrine system and my liver and my pelvis into the wall and filled my torso's empty space with surveillance equipment and gyroscopes.

Then I told her not to fucking touch anything else and to get back in her seat.

She ignored me. Figured she would. Somehow it stung.

Then we took an AP round to the calf and I screamed all undignified and she stole the reins out from under my hands.

She pretended to care that we were live-fire, sat herself in my lap, hung off the port for the secondary trigger by the loose notochord in her right wrist. Nasty craftsmanship on her neural jack, by the way, probably a custom job she did with a dendrite kit and a sharp stick. Completely unsanitary.

I saw the tendons strain. She blinked, bit her tongue, made a spot of blood in the water between us, nailed a bogey from ten thousand meters. Clean.

Lucky shot.

The muzzle flash shone through the mech's skin when she did it, a plume of gossamer light, like a halo, falling in blinding ropes through her charred hair.

Dumb little clocky gut devil. Stop distracting me, goddammit.

The sortie was over two minutes after that. Septarchy won, no casualties, Periphery force 100% KIA. She got eight kills. I got one.

Whatever.

She stepped on my chest when we were getting pulled out of the mech for decon. Then she stole my thunder when we docked and Command gave us honors—oh yeah it was no biggie, thank you so, so, much, really it means the world to me—as if she did everything herself. As if I wasn't fucking driving.

No, she's not a professional. Far from it. She would've pissed in the medium if I wasn't there, the fuckin' slob. Now the entire cockpit smells like her.

Earthy, like Periphery dirt, silicate-rich. A hint of cheap liquor. Sweat and plastic and denim and testosterone, powerful but suppressed, made graceful through discipline and chemicals.

She borrowed some of the mech's estrogen when I wasn't looking, I think. My estrogen. Little goddamn leech. Thief. A disgrace to the Corps.

I want any superior officer that sees this report to listen to me, and listen real fuckin' close. She's a menace. The next time she sorties with our compliment, get me five minutes alone with her while we go through pre-flight checks. She owes me.

Whatever she stole, I want it back.

[whumpscholar]

I saw people introducing OCs for @whump-kia's event so here are some of my silly guys!

Alright, so: we're doing space fantasy. We're doing mecha, some of which are powered by dragons. We're doing ill-considered space travel logistics. Don't worry about it. Posts related to this setting will be tagged #sunsverse; story content will be tagged #the fires of lesser suns.

Pavel Dyatlov, 25, he/him

Affiliation: Crescent Mercenary Group

The oldest member of CMG's pilot corps. Became a soldier so he wouldn't have to run his own life. Scary face, soft heart.

Maxwell de Lune, 19, he/him

Affiliation: Crescent Mercenary Group

Former shipbreaker from the worst space station you've never heard of. Dreams of being a famous pilot. Talks to machines. Manic pixie nightmare.

Kingfisher, 39, she/her

Affiliation: Crescent Mercenary Group

Captain of CMG's flagship, the Clair de Lune.

Arkadia Grace, 20, they/them

Affiliation: Crescent Mercenary Group

Kingfisher's bloody right hand. Claims to have grown up in a palace & has the accent, if not the manners, to prove it. Short stature, shorter temper.

Escher von Rue, 33, he/him

Affiliation: Circle Parhelia

Cordelia von Rue, 16, she/her

The third son of a third son. Bad luck to keep the spare's spare on a palace world, so off he went to the cloister. He was ten.

He does not remember his eldest brother's face.

Affiliation: Circle Parhelia

Joined the Circle to study medicine, but when they found out she was compatible with their mechs, she was squired to none other than her prodigal older brother. The black sheep.

Delightful.

[catboydogma]

for fox prompts:

thorn's mission to scipio (uh oh) but fox is on a blackout mission when the news comes in so he finds out later

the road south

soleil soleil - pomme

send prompts !

notes: u are very evil for this.

wc: 479

Fox was feeling good about himself when the news came in. That was always what stuck in his memory, after: the feeling of having just come out of a shower, of shaving, looking forward to sleeping on his own cot, cleaning and organizing his kit to put it away for the first time in weeks, and then the shock like falling into cold water at speed.

“Say that again,” Fox said, pressing both hands against his desk. He wasn’t even supposed to be in office—he was off until tomorrow morning, a necessary measure put into place after any trooper’s deep cover mission.

Thire just gave Fox a miserable look, lips pressed into a thin white line and eyes half-lidded with grief and exhaustion. “The Republic takeover of Scipio wiped out two full squadrons. Thorn was KIA. It should have been a damn milk run, escorting a couple of senators into talks with Banking Clan reps.”

And instead, they’d just lost some of their best and brightest. Fox sat down with a jolt that rattled him down to his bones, pressing his knuckles into the top of his desk until he was sure he’d leave two fist-sized dents in the cheap metal. He opened his mouth but no words would come. All he could think was that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Thorn and really looked at him—had it been just before Fox’s deep cover mission? Their last Command meeting? Even before that? It couldn’t have been that long—Thorn was his SIC and a vital piece of the CG Command Corps to boot. But all Fox could think was that it hadn’t been soon enough. A tenday between them, two on the outside, but it hadn’t been soon enough.

He tried again for words, something, anything. “Thorn,” he said, voice cracking on a note of helplessness. “Thorn.”

“Fuck, I know.” Thire’s face crumpled, expression giving in on fault lines of stress and sleeplessness. “I know.” He rounded Fox’s desk to haul Fox to him, heedless of the way his chestplate stabbed Fox in a shoulder through his flightsuit.

“Thorn,” Fox rasped again. His vod. His Commander. His friend. His bulwark. The CG Command Corps was tightknit by necessity but Thorn had always been the most loyal of them all: he volunteered for the hard missions, the missions guaranteed to turn into all-out melee fights, he’d been at Fox’s side since Fox’s promotion to Marshal Commander. All that and more: gone in Fox’s absence. He tried to pull up a memory of Thorn’s smile—frequent and blinding—and could only remember a time before the crow’s feet at the corners of Thorn’s eyes had deepened, before one of his front teeth had chipped. He held onto Thire as tightly as Thire held onto him and let his words slip away from him one by one.

[grandmaster-anne]

15 February 2023 Released on behalf of her Royal Highness the Princess Royal, during her visit to New Zealand for the Royal New Zealand Corps of Signals Centenary Event. "My thoughts are with all New Zealanders whose homes or livelihoods have been affected by Cyclone Gabrielle. I have been given the opportunity to visit the national disaster and crisis headquarters today and I am impressed by the major efforts being undertaken by first responders, local and national agencies to ensure the best possible support for everyone, especially those still at risk. I admire the courage of the people of Aotearoa during this alarming and difficult time. You should all be proud of the resilience, strength and care for your communities you are showing in the face of adversity. Kia Kaha." — The Princess Royal 📸: NZDF Photographer Corporal Naomi James

[syrakhanistan]

She was a demon

———

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

———

BATTLE OF DEEP LAKE - Wikipedia.sq

(part of the 6th Army War)

Images (clockwise from top-left):

Still image from footage of a bombing run over the battlefield by Soviet bombers, resulting in friendly fire; colour photo of mass grave of unidentifiable dead; thermal imaging, blurry, reportedly of the Soviet Union's foreign mercenary black ops unit codenamed 'XV7-b'; still coloured image of the aftermath of the Karelian Annhilation Incident, revealing the banks of the newly formed lake stained red.

———

Date: 18th November 1961 – 20th November 1961

Location: Plains between former Lake Glubokoe and former Lake Nakhimov (current-day Lake Kirillov)

Result: Pyrrhic Soviet-Loyalist/Finnish Victory (Rogue 6th Army completely destroyed, along with virtually all combatants on both sides); leads directly to the Secret December Accords between Finland and the USSR.

Belligerants:

Aggressors: 6th Combined Arms Army of the Leningrad Military District (disavowed/declared traitors); foreign mercenary corps ([REDACTED])

Defenders: Finnish Armed Forces (5th Brigade of the Karelian Military District); Soviet Union (Loyalists of the 6th Army; elements of the Leningrad Military District and the Volga-Ural Military District, such as the 16th and 20th Guards Regiment as well as the 22nd Air Army); foreign mercenary corps ([REDACTED], including Projekt XV7-b).

Commanders:

Aggressors: Marshall Kirill Meretskov (POW); General Fyodor Polynin (KIA); [REDACTED] (KIA (disputed - likely MIA; Cmndr. of the [REDACTED] Mercenary Corps)

Defenders: Lt. General Johan Woldemar Hägglund (WIA - injuries in battle would lead to his death two years later); Commander Dmitri Yazov (disputed, WIA); Colonel-General Valerian Frolov (KIA); Marshall Rodion Malinovsky (nominal; Secretary of Defence); [REDACTED] (KIA; CEO of the [REDACTED] Mercenary Group); [REDACTED] (WIA, later MIA; Cmndr. of the [REDACTED] Corps); [REDACTED] (MIA; Mercenary Leader of 'Projekt XV7-b').

Strength:

Aggressors: ~100,000, including ~1,000 pieces of materiel

Defenders: ~150,000 of the Finnish Armed Forces, with only a few hundred WW2-era tanks; plus ~25,000 6th Army Loyalists with a contingent Air Wing, and ~50,000 supporting forces and materiel reinforcements from nearby districts

Casualties and Losses:

Aggressors: Disputed (over 99% of all forces KIA - between 50-200 survivors, although figures vary)

Defenders: Disputed (Between 95% and 99% of all forces KIA - roughly 1,000 survivors, although figures vary)

Note: Terrain massively changed due to Karelian Annhilation Incident; creation of new lake formed by joining the two nearby lakes through the creation of a massive crater on the former plains. Forests within 50km utterly devastated due to firestorm; windows from over 100km away blown out. Terrain permanently left desolate due to the sheer concentration of dead left to rot.

———

The Battle of Deep Lake, sometimes known as the Battle of the Two Lakes, the Battle of Glubokoe Lake and the Battle of Kamenka, as well as the Karelian Annhilation Incident, was the conclusive battle of the undeclared 1961 conflict, fought between Finland and the Soviet Union against rogue elements of the Soviet 6th Army (for more information on the 1961 conflict, see: 6th Army War, or Third Finno-Soviet War (disambiguation)).

Following the Finnish Armed Forces routing of the rogue 6th Army, and the diplomatic communications between the Finnish and Soviet governments leading to revelations, predominantly due to the cooperation of Commander Dmitri Yazov of the Leningrad Military District, that the 6th Army had been acting outside of the orders of the Soviet High Command.

As a result, a contingent of armed forces from the 6th Army made up of loyalists were sent by the Soviet High Command to redeem themselves, by cooperating with Finnish armed forces in terminating the remains of the rogue elements.

As a result, roughly 80 kilometres outside the walls of Leningrad (modern day St Petersburg), on the plains between Lake Glubokoye and Lake Nakhimovskoye-ozero, the allied forces of the Soviet Loyalists and the Finns met the rogue 6th Combined Arms Army of the Leningrad Military District. The battle lasted just over 48 hours, and bore witness to the largest battle of armed forces since the Second World War - a battle that wouldn't be topped until the Caucasian Conflict of the 2000s.

The Battle, already unique for several reasons, was also ingrained further into military history due to the intervention of armed foreign mercenary corps on both sides (a point of controversy for Soviet/Russian military politics - see: Narva Affair) - including the Soviet hiring of a black ops unit that directly lead to the Karelian Annhilation Event that ended the battle by killing roughly 99% of all combatants.

The dramatic end of the battle with less than 5,000 survivors directly lead to the Secret December Accords - a secret and long-denied diplomatic summit between Finland and the USSR that, while never acknowledged, is reported to have lead to rapproachment between the two nations, including a personal apology from the leader of the USSR to the survivors on the Finnish side, and the USSR's payment of reparations and funeral costs.

———

...

[Damaged diary entry of [REDACTED], the former leader and Commander of the Mercenary Corps and Eversor Rank Leader for the [REDACTED] who were hired by the rogue 6th Army. [REDACTED] survived the battle at great personal cost, and has since been MIA, although some evidence suggests that they are receuperating under the solemn but gentle hands of the Seventh Officio.]

...

———

It was a cold fucking day.

I remember it well. How could I not?

The soil was already stained a crimson red from the corpses left to lie around. The sounds of gunfire and magic bursts became as sweet as honey, rhythms daring us to fall asleep.

A bomb here, a flying head there. The last few days had been a mess, but that day was a nightmare.

We should have never taken this fucking contract - if we'd known the full details, especially HER deployment, we would have gotten the hell outta dodge by yesterday.

I recalled a rocket hitting the side of a transport chopper, a Mil Mi-2, little scrawny but loud thing. It fell rapidly, sputtering along until it hit the ground with a solid thunk, fuselage instantly detonating.

I held my hand up to pause my group's approach through the forest, staying hidden, watching the flames.

Out of the fire, a single figure, brushing ash and pieces of corpse off their blackened combat fatigues. Pitch black hair waving in the wind, a claw coated in gold flexing fingers in anticipation.

One of my girls gasped... or maybe just sighed. Breathed loudly.

Just once. Within mere moments, her entire upper body was plastered across the trees and her comrades, a beam of unfamiliar purple light eviscerating her.

Another moment, a blink. This time, she stood, one of my girls held aloft by her claw, dribbling crimson across the snow from an agape mouth, whispering unheard apologies. As quick as she died, she was tossed aside by the woman, a simple wrist motion all that was needed for the bloodstained golden razors to dislodge the corpse.

I gripped my rifle, and ordered a retreat to my comrades, while I myself charged the woman in the flames.

She smiled. That... there was something, something deeply wrong with her. A kind smile. A gentle one. A knowing one. A worn smile that'd seen too much of the world to care anymore.

With a simple sweep of the hand, she had flexed her claw, burning a golden flame, barrels emerging from a mechanism within. I dodged by the skin of my teeth - my comrades were not so lucky, reduced to cinders by several simultaneous explosive rounds seemingly teleporting from the claw's gun-barrels into the earth below my girls.

The forest, the trees, the snow. Ablaze. My heart beating, a drum. Foolish, madness. This was insane.

Comms chatter. Gibberish in Russian. Hurting my ears. I tossed it away, giving up on my mercs and allies alike.

It was irrelevant now. A demon had arrived.

"You... a heretic. Anomaly. Shouldn't be here." I spoke, my throat dry like sandpaper.

That smile again. Hidden. Hiding. Wrong, so wrong.

"You one of the big man's goons? Come to hunt me down? For what, a bunch of dead commies in the snow?"

More gibberish, this time from the demon in front of me. I continued to step forward. She didn't attack. Odd. Dangerous.

"Oh... You don't know, do you? Well, whatever."

Whatever, indeed. I pounced as she finished her last words, my gun barrel front facing towards the enemy--

--not there, where did she--

Finger gone, just the little one, fastest dodge, heart again pounding. Danger. Danger.

"Oh?"

Whisper behind me, treading soft, not cautious, not cautious enough--

Blink, step back, dance, dance. Finger healing, can't be helped, waste of energy, barrels barking through the trees, darting like rabbits in the moonlight, shadows and light.

"Fast. Very fast. Wrong. You... You are an irregular."

"Not fast. Just good, my friend of few words."

Another flash of light, not light, darkness that glows, corrupting purple like a burst of--

--bouncing, dodging, bark flayed from tree, splinters, coughing. Neck, shoulders, moving but only just.

"I was hired to do job. A job... Russians wanted blood, I give blood." You murmur to the smiling killer who you know is inches--

--away, that smile once again right in front, dodging, weaving, out of--

--the way, out of harm's--

"You're keeping up. Isn't it disorienting for you?"

Russian isn't my mother tongue. I didn't quite understand one of those words. How annoying. Bemusing. Ignore, distraction, dodge and--

Ah, flesh. Knife.

"Ah, I see, I see." You whimper, shaking shoulders, blades removing, gushing blood.

"Oh... I see. Reflexive dodging... That is quite neat. No wonder he hired you to merc me."

Irrelevant. More drivel. How would this lunatic be related to a revanchist Russian bunch's quest? What have the Soviets unleashed on this forest? Beginning, odd, questions, moving--

--more blades, this time from inside. Painful, extracting, pushing, pulsing, hopping, tree and tree, movement between--

--missed, closed distance but jittery, excited?

"Too fast. Odd. Irregular. Wrong." You continue. Blathering. Out loud thinking. Madness. Bad habit.

That dreaded light again. Frying the air around, catching a hip, feel smell bone, flesh cauterising, rotting in an instant.

Purple light. Light that isn't light. Dodging instantly.

Upwards, upwards. Air is gas. Gas is matter, energy, feel the breeze, the movement, the moves--

--grabbed my blood-stained shoulder, tossing over--

--air flies by, knee in the--

--tooth spat out, smile covered in--

--smoke rising from forest, from guns, from bullets flying--

--plane exploding nearby, falling apart, detonating--

--skin peeling, flayed, rotting, corpse-alive, pain, pain, movement, air flows around like water, water and air becomes blade and--

--cut cheek, smile falters, even as my ear flies away, as knee pops, as leg flails around by a string.

The air around you feels comfortable, wanting, needing, begging. You want to stop, you wish to stop, but danger, so much danger, can't breathe, the pain, you have to keep killing, the mission isn't done, you were paid well, they'll die without you, and the demon can't stop you, so you have--

--to give up, other foot removed, held in bloodstained hand, smile gone but genuine chuckle.

"You're... pretty good, mercenary."

No. I'm the best.

"Not good enou--"

Blink, miss, wait for the--

--jump, opportunity, launch, ignore, splatter, gives cover, gives way, catches, blade like water coming down, coming down, faster, gun pulled, trigger tense, she can't dodge, she can't...

Dead. Silent. Grey.

What...?

The smile returns. Not her smile.

Feathers. Light from something that isn't there. Grinding of gears. Yet--

Holds you tight. Warm, even. Genuine smile.

The forest below continues to burn. Tanks meet flesh, planes fly low, missing in the mess.

You can't feel left leg. Right left is felt, not good felt. Arms numb, perhaps broken or even gone. Barely hear. Flesh stopped rotting, no longer burning.

...Mercy?

She looks at you. "I haven't seen something like that in quite a while."

Purple. Grey world. Feathers.

You remember your reading. Your training. Guidance. Old words from old books, long dead writings of fallen soldiers, legends...

"You. It's... Not just heretic. The heretic. You're--"

"My! For your few words, you're pretty intuitive, eh?"

Small nod. Calm demeanour.

Sudden overwhelming feeling. Like energy, full unbridled hate emanating, sins unbound, like walking on the ocean floor, pressure.

Subsides. Held tighter once more.

Let go. Limbs grown back, barely, slowly. Back to rotting. Kept in air.

"...If he'd let me choose people like you, I'd almost be tempted."

Lifts head high. Looks around. Sighs. Says something, not with words. Shaking head. Irritated, not at you, but at another.

"Too bloody stubborn."

She looks back at you, floating above the ashes. "Fine... fine. I killed your girls, so it's only fair that... Well, I'll do the rest as well, eh? You gave it your all... So I shall do the same."

You squint. That pressure again... not directed at you. Not malicious... at least, towards you.

Hate. Unending hate, want for power, lust, jealousy, she wants it all, she will burn it all if she could just have it, just wants it all and has it all but can't understand, won't understand, tired, so tired of everything yet so...

"Enough. I think... I think that's enough for a while." She turns back to you.

"You showed me something wonderful: your most impressive feats..."

She opens her hands, reaching out to the air.

"Let me show you the height of all your fears."

Light grows from underneath her feet. Expanding.

It moves, shapes itself. Words... symbols...

You know that one. This...

“T-that’s forbidden magic! You can’t—"

"Oh, but I can. If you see your man, my current opponent... Whatever that creature calls itself these days. Tell him he's still much too early. I have better things to do than to prance around the snow... although I'll have to apologise to poor Nikita-san for the mess I'm about to make."

The circle continues to expand, writing appearing from think air, burning your eyes, symbols unseen, words unspoken, heresies held tight from sight.

The Shieldmaiden's magic awakens, chains of history snapping. How? The legend... The one who brought Heaven to Earth. A remnant? Who was this demon? Who had I been fighting?

Could it be…? The Slayer? The Wanderer of Worlds?

She can't be her... Can she?

"Demon...! Heretic, shield-wielder, hated villain...!"

She smiled. "I am all those things, and more."

Closing her eyes, she waved her hands, writing a novel, composing a symphony, playing for an unseen band, as the circle continued to expand, the air rippling as energy unfurled, darkness evolving, overflowing.

You... You can't understand this. This isn't something you can... you want... to...

"You...! The Slayer, Wanderer…! You are...!"

Her smile changed.

A grin. Something cruel. Hateful. The gaze of someone who'd given up, who wanted the world and more all for a singleminded insanity. You can't... No. You won't understand this feeling. You refuse. It... She... She isn't human.

She's a demon. A devil. Shieldmaiden... returned. Made flesh. Demon.

Heretic.

The circle falters. Holds steady.

"You're...!"

"I am..."

She spoke the words, that which should not be, the names of the holy and the most unholy.

The demon bowed lowly to you, before spreading her arms aloft, gazing to the sky.

Then she cocked her head, and spoke.

"Memories of Labyrinth's Manipulation... Golden Purification...

Activate."

The world around you rippled. The gates of hell opened, just briefly, untold magicks let loose for a moment before quickly imprisoned once more... But only a drop was needed. Energy pulsated from the magic circle. Rippling, blurring, pulsing, screaming.

And then all shadows were extinguished.

A cup that should not be dropped, overflows to the floor.

A demonstration... Her response to me, to human perseverence...

In that moment, as the very world shattered underneath our feet, reduced to less than the atomic level, as she let me go, falling into the abyss with a kind and gentle nod...

I knew. I knew.

She was not just evil. An opponent.

She wasn't a magical girl, or even a witch.

She was a demon.

[thiziri]

The Princess Royal visits New Zealand

Day One

The Princess Royal arrived at Government House in Wellington and was welcomed by the Governor General of New Zealand, Her Excellency the Rt. Hon. Dame Cindy Kiro.

Day Two

Her Royal Highness started the day by meeting the Prime Minister of New Zealand, Christopher Hipkins.

The Princess Royal subsequently visited the National Crisis Management Centre at the Executive Wing in Wellington to meet those involved in the response to Cyclone Gabrielle.

“You should all be proud of the resilience, strength and care for your communities you are showing in the face of adversity.

Kia Kaha”

Her Royal Highness also visited the Museum of New Zealand.

As Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal New Zealand Corps of Signals, Her Royal Highness attended a reception to mark the centenary of the Corps.

The day finished at the National War Memorial in Wellington, where The Princess attended a Service of Remembrance and laid a Wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior.

Day Three

Her Royal Highness visited the New Zealand Riding for the Disabled group in Porirua, and handed out rosettes to young riders and long-serving volunteers. The Princess joined Riding for the Disabled (RDA) as its Patron in 1971, later becoming President in 1985.

Next, Her Royal Highness opened the Mission to Seafarers new Wellington Mission, and later unveiled the foundation stone for the Mission to Seafarers and Merchant Navy Memorial at Wellington Cathedral.

The Princess is President of the charity, which provides support for the practical and spiritual welfare of seafarers of all nationalities and faiths.

Day Four

The Princess Royal started her fourth day in New Zealand at Tūranga Library in Christchurch, to hear about the rebuilding of Christchurch Central City and Christ Church Cathedral. Her Royal Highness also visited the site of Christ Church Cathedral in Cathedral Square.

Later, The Princess Royal attended the Rededication Service for the Citizens' War Memorial and laid a wreath in Cathedral Square.

As President of the Royal Agricultural Society of the Commonwealth, Her Royal Highness met representatives of the Royal Agricultural Society of New Zealand and Canterbury Agricultural and Pastoral Association at Canterbury Agricultural Park.

The Princess Royal later visited Untouched World Merino and Natural Fibre Workrooms.

Afterwards, Her Royal Highness visited Willowbank Wildlife Reserve. The Princess Royal is Patron of the New Zealand Conservation Trust.

© Royal UK

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

WHISKEY'S FAMILY TREE

(back when they were all alive/young-ish)

Owen James Callahan

DOB: August 14th, 1961.

Marital Status: Married.

Status: KIA. 56 years old.

Profession: United States Marine Corps, Master Sergeant.

Evelyn Maria Montero

DOB: January 18th, 1963.

Marital Status: Widow.

Status: Alive.

Profession: Notary.

Madilyn Anne Callahan

DOB: June 26th, 1989.

Marital Status: Married.

Status: Alive.

Profession: High School P.E. Teacher. + Local Little League Coach.

Victoria Isabelle Callahan

DOB: January 18th, 1963.

Marital Status: Married.

Status: Alive.

Profession: United States Navy SEAL, Lieutenant.

Nathaniel Owen Callahan

DOB: August 29th, 1993.

Marital Status: Single.

Status: KIA. 24 years old.

Profession: United States Marine Corps, Staff Sergeant.

[collapsedsquid]

High-level KIA officials acknowledged to me that taxes on jade are the armed group’s primary source of funds. But it is the Tatmadaw and its cronies that are reaping far greater rewards from Kachin’s jeweled heritage. A 2015 Global Witness report compiling evidence of the companies that control many of the major jade mines in Hpakant reads like a Who’s Who of the military elite and its families, including former junta leader Than Shwe and ex-northern command chief Ohn Myint. Conglomerates linked to the army, with generic names like the Union of Myanmar Economic Holdings and Myanmar Economic Corp., hold jade concessions. Both companies were subject to U.S. sanctions until last fall. A major player in Hpakant, locals say, is Wei Hsueh-kang, a former commander of the United Wa State Army, Myanmar’s biggest ethnic armed group. The U.S. State Department has an outstanding reward of up to $2 million for information leading to his capture, based on his alleged role in “the dominant heroin trafficking group in Southeast Asia, and possibly worldwide.” [...] Such passion for jade helps explains why in less than a decade the number of wildcat miners in Hpakant has roughly doubled, as more mountains are reduced to rubble ready for prospecting. Drug use and disease, too, have soared. Hpakant residents estimate that heroin addiction afflicts 75% to 90% of the jade-pickers. And the needles are almost always shared. Thein Than Myo worked at Hmaw Sisar mine for 12 years. Even after he discovered he was HIV-positive, he kept on using, scavenging needles from the ground of shooting galleries. One Kachin NGO says that up to half of all Hpakant miners will eventually contract the virus.

[thistechnologicalterror]

How bout Aayla Secura?

BELIEVE IT OR NOT, I DO NOT THINK OF HER.

... HOLD ON, WAS SHE THE ONE WHO GOT ABSCONDED WITH BY A CLONE COMMANDER AFTER THE ORDER?

WE RECEIVED A KIA REPORT, BUT NO BODY WAS RETRIEVED, AND THE ONE WHO REPORTED WENT MISSING AFTERWARDS.

( COMMANDER... BREE? BLAKE? BLY? I DO NOT REMEMBER, I DID NOT WORK WITH THE STAR CORPS OFTEN. )

[obtener2]

"I can make men follow me to hell." - Union General Philip Kearny describing his leadership.

A Family and Nation Under Fire #iBooks https://goo.gl/SAVc8A   #nook https://goo.gl/DSQXGu   #Amazon: https://goo.gl/A3brGd   KSU Press http://goo.gl/Z3z4Xs

General Kearny is credited with developing the concept of corps badges, which would go on to be adopted by the entire army. He led a division at the battles of Williamsburg, Fair Oaks, and throughout the Peninsula Campaign. When KIA, out of respect for him Confederate officers forwarded Kearny's remains under a flag of truce to Union lines to ensure the general received a proper burial.