#Location Intelligence Platform

[airsageofficial]

[ryescapades]

hihi :333

sooo i was rotting in bed and was reading ur dazai like reader and i liked it alot 😼

so what if reader is a like a vice captain of a another division and acts like dazai and likes to tease and mess around with hoshino and narumi (basically just likes to mess around with everyone) so it's kinda hoshino x dazai like reader x narumi

thank u + have a great day 😸

(ur writing is really good 😜)

characters: hoshina soshiro x gn vice-captain dazai!reader x narumi gen

genre/warning: fluff, attempt at crack, leaning more towards platonic (bcs idt there's any ounce of romance in this... apart from like,, a few dirty jokes lol), set in a joint training camp between multiple divisions

a/n: omg yall rly love dazai!reader huh xD and thank you for the req ,, you're so sweet !! sorry for the delay, i'm glad my work could be your source of enjoyment while u were bedrotting haha

1.23k wc | narumi's ver | hoshina's ver

if someone's ever asked to describe you, they'd usually say something along the lines of humorous, arbitrarily smart or even ridiculous sometimes.

but for those who are unlucky enough to be close acquaintances with you, they'd rather say you're an anomaly. someone who is unpredictable and whimsical at times but intuitive, intelligent and too sharp-witted for your own good.

after years of knowing you, narumi gen has never had a day of peace whenever you were within his vicinity. it's always something or the other.

"why am i here with you again?" narumi grumbles under his breath, feeling icky in his own combat suit out of nowhere. the wind atop the highest building in the city where he's located at blows, ruffling his dual-toned hair.

your lips lift into a cheshire grin. "oh? have you already forgotten what vice-captain hasegawa said? my platoon is assigned to work with you, captain." you remind.

the man exhales before rolling his eyes. "i'd rather get eaten by a kaiju than have you here chasing after my ass," he mutters, and it makes you smile even wider. "what a shame. i'd have loved to have a tap on that ass," you sigh oh so woefully.

narumi halts in his steps, body rigid as the tips of his ears burn hot at your claim. "w-what the hell did you just say, you—!" he doesn't get to finish his sentence when the building suddenly shakes vigorously, sending everyone to tumble on their feet.

narumi clicks his tongue when a massive body of a snake-like kaiju slithers from below, looming over you two and the rest of the officers. "took you long enough to show up, damn reptile," he glares at the monster.

the kaiju hisses before spurting out a spray of some dark, viscous liquid. "watch out!" someone bellows from somewhere as everybody scatters, dashing away from getting hit by the sizzling and corrosive substance. narumi grips on your arm, pulling you behind him as he takes a step forward and readies his gun.

he doesn't get far as the snake starts lashing its heavy tail around, tearing more at the building and trembling the ground from the force. at that point, the building might as well just collapse from how tilted it's becoming.

"everyone, get off the building now!" you shout the order, helping your platoon members stand back up straight. your hand abruptly shoots out to hold the railings when the building is no longer standing straight, stabilizing yourself so that you wouldn't sway from the staggering force.

your eyes dart around as narumi, who has been distracting the kaiju from attacking the other officers while they're moving to other platforms, turns to you. "there's no time," he grits, noticing there's no escape route for both of you.

suddenly you hold his bicep, gaining his attention. narumi's about to ask what was wrong when you start running to the edge of the inclined building, dragging him along. his eyes widen in realization.

"wait, wait, no, what are you doing? y/n, hold on, NOOOOO—" the next thing he knew, he's already free falling from a tilted 150 meter building after being forced to jump off from it, his heart plummeting down alongside his physical form.

his scream is cut off when you yell at him to 'hang on tight, captain!' over the wind, the whizzing sound of something caught in his ears before there is a sudden jolt, and then the two of you are suspended in the air, swinging steadily from side to side.

he's convinced that he might've experienced a temporary death in the middle of that free fall.

when the two of you finally manage to get back on your feet, narumi quickly turns to you with a snarl, "are you crazy?! you could've told me first we were going to plunge ourselves into our impending doom!" he shrieks.

your eyes shine with mirth. "crazy? i was crazy once—" he interrupts your musing with a loud, stretched out groan, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "just focus on your job, vice-captain." he sighs in relent, eyeing the grappling hook gun that you had used.

he should really file a complaint on your behaviors to your captain one of these days... at least that's what narumi has been telling himself for the nth time after he started getting roped into your shenanigans one too many times. he wonders why he hasn’t done so until now.

"well, all in all, you're welcome for saving that cute little ass of yours, captain." you send him a wink as you walk away, causing him to combust where he stands when your words finally register in his head, embarrassedly throwing out curses with his vulgar mouth at your disappearing back.

narumi swears with you around, he's gonna grow literal grey hair and die young, and it's not because of a kaiju.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“i heard the mission yesterday went well?”

you turn around when you hear hoshina approaching you from behind. “as well as it could possibly turn out. why? were you worried about me, hoshina-kun?” you tease, focusing your eyes on him now instead of assessing the officers who are training just a few feet below the watch tower you’re at.

hoshina scoffs, “please, i was more concerned about narumi who was unfortunate enough to get assigned with ya. and that’s sayin’ somethin’ cuz i barely even care about him,” he reproaches.

you snicker, shrugging nonchalantly, “i just gave him a little jumpscare, that’s all.” hoshina doesn’t believe that ‘little’ one bit so just he hums, “well, whatever i guess. he’s a big boy. he could handle whatever shit show ya put him through,”

at his words, your eyes gleam under the striking ray of the sun. “oh, he’s a big boy, alright…” you drawl, lips curling upwards in a smirk. hoshina mentally facepalms himself. “don’t ever make a dick joke about captain narumi around me again. that’s disgusting,” he grumbles.

suddenly a new voice interrupts you, “make a what about me?” narumi butts in, thick eyebrows furrowing in suspicion and mild curiosity. your eyes light up even further. “oh, captain narumi! nice timing! we were just talking about your d—“

“do not finish that sentence, vice-captain y/n,” hoshina glares at you. you only send him a pointed look, smiling innocently at him. the captain’s gaze bounces between the two of you. “were you two talking shit behind my back?” he crosses his arms angrily, though you and hoshina can only see a grumpy child who’s about to throw a tantrum and start stomping his foot on the ground.

“whatever makes ya think that?” hoshina counters.

“you’re not answering the question, bowl-cut bastard,” narumi argues back.

you decide to chime in, “you see, vice captain hoshina here—“ the man in question tenses, ready to oppose whatever claim you’re about to make before someone calls out in the distance, “narumi!” it’s hasegawa.

the three of you turn to look, and narumi visibly deflates at his own vice-captain’s scowling face. he sends you two one last glare, pointing at himself with two fingers and back at you two next, as if to say ‘i’m watching yall,’ before storming off.

hoshina huffs, and you let out a chuckle as you watch narumi getting smacked on the back of his head by hasegawa.

you sigh almost dreamily, “ah, i just love to push your buttons,”

“i’m going to push ya off this tower if ya keep this up,”

i'd like to believe that narumi is the cake-less one out of the two (it's canon actually. the empty cans in narumi's room told me so).

also this is me giving yall something to smile and giggle at before i drop the next part of OTST :)

--

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[bitchb0ybunny]

LONG READ, BUT WORTH IT!!!

COD FANS, PRO-PALESTINIAN PALS, LISTEN TO ME FOR A SEC. I know this might be crazy, but hear me out. Just for a moment, I promise it'll be worth while. I thought for like 5 minutes on whether or not I should post this, but I say fuck it. My account isn't big, I'm not popular, but I know this will at least get on one persons page and get one persons attention and that's what matters.

THIS MAN! THAT MAN UP THERE ^

COD besties love him, some people might not know who he is. His name is Johnathan Price, he's a fictional character played by Barry Sloane in the Modern Warfare 2 Remaster. Friends, take a close look to that thing around his neck.

Some of y'all think it looks familiar, right?

Me too. I might be slow on this, some people might've pointed it out on different platforms already, but I'm bringing it to attention anyway. It looks like a Kuffiyah. (Kuffiyeh? Kuffiya? Keffiyeh? I'm still a little confused on which spelling of the name is correct, so I'm using all of them). I might be crazy here, but it looks like one to me. If you don't know, a Kuffiyah is a Palestinian garment that, in very simplified terms, symbolizes their culture and freedom. I'm sure everyone already knows that that freedom has been threatened and that the people of Palestine are currently being slaughtered like cattle, no matter their age, sex, gender identity, etc. It's pure bloodshed of innocent people, a genocide, a holocaust if you need more terms.

I have a very simple theory that I don't think is hard to believe, but first let me show you what a Kuffiyah looks like for those who don't know.

Protesters at University of Michigan in the US, this month. Photograph: Anadolu/Getty Images

The black and white garment these people are wearing is a Kuffiyah. You can find numerous videos on TikTok and other platforms showing up-close images and videos of a Kuffiyah and explaining what the pattern symbolizes.

Now, if you need a second look at that scarf-like garment Captain Price is wearing around his neck, you can scroll back up. There also should be a video below, a clip taken directly from the game, that shows that same garment at different angles if you need a better view.

Now back to that talk of a theory.

Farah Karim, another Icon from the Modern Warfare games. Again, some of you might not know her, here's an image of her.

She's an occupant to a made-up Arabic country called Urzikstan that is located near the Black Sea. She's a solder, and leader, of the Urzikstan Liberation Force, which is an army that fights against the occupation and invasion of her country. In this case, Russia. Farah Karim and John Price are close and, in the games, team up to fight common enemies often. If you look at the country of Urzikstan on the map, in the COD universe, I believe it looks like the same area Palestine should be located on a map if it weren't for Israel's 70+ years of occupation and colonization on Palestinian land.

According to the games lore, the invasion and occupation of Urzikstan from Russia started in 1999, and I'm not sure if its confirmed but I believe it's at least once it's alluded to Price having helped the ULF (Urzikstan Liberation Force) fight off the Russian occupation and free the country.

By this point, I'm sure at least one of you incredibly intelligent people reading this post have figured out what my theory is exactly:

Urzikstan is Palestine in the COD Universe. Or, at the very least, is modeled after and has its history inspired by the very real horrors Palestine has been facing since around 1947 when one of the first/the first attack(s) on Palestine took place on December 31st (Here is an article you can read about that, and there are plenty of similar articles from that outlet). Some of you probably have stopped reading, or think I'm crazy, or something along those lines, but hear me out for a second.

That Kuffiyah that Captain Price is wearing, remember that? People who are in support of Palestine are buying and wearing those to help financially aid Palestinians who can still sell their goods and show their support. I believe that is exactly what Price did, and why he's wearing it.

Now, I raise a question to those who weren't in support before. If Captain Johnathan Price can do something so basic is show support for a population and help fight for a countries freedom, why can't you? It's not hard to reblog a post, or sign a petition, or attend a protest in your area, or at the very least educate yourself on the matter. So, if you aren't, why? If someone who I know most, if not all, of the COD community here on Tumblr loves can do it, can go to war and fight for it, then why can't you do something that's real?

Free Palestine, and have a nice day/night to those of you who actually read all of this to the end.

[hayatheauthor]

Ten Websites Every Author Should Know In 2024

When I started this blog, one of the first posts I penned was "Websites Every Author Should Know in 2023." Now, as I return to breathe new life into this platform in 2024, it feels only fitting to offer an updated edition of that beloved post. 

Whether you're struggling with brainstorming ideas, organizing your plot, finding publishing opportunities, or simply seeking some writing motivation, here are 10 websites that every author should know in 2024. 

1. Artbreeder

If you're anything like me, you know the frustration of staring at a blank page, waiting for inspiration to strike. Well, say goodbye to writer's block because Artbreeder is here to rescue you from the depths of creative stagnation.

At its core, Artbreeder is a brainstorming tool that harnesses the power of artificial intelligence to help you generate ideas and explore new avenues of creativity. Whether you're crafting characters, creating scene locations, or conceptualizing entire worlds, Artbreeder's AI can help you create any image. 

But don't just take my word for it. Countless writers, from aspiring novices to seasoned pros, have sung the praises of Artbreeder for its role in fueling their creative fire.

2.  OneStopForWriters

If you've ever found yourself drowning in a sea of character arcs, struggling to untangle a convoluted plot, or simply searching for that elusive spark of inspiration, then OneStopForWriters is here to be your guiding light.

At OneStopForWriters, you'll find a treasure trove of resources designed to empower writers at every stage of their journey. One of the standout features is its unparalleled collection of writing tools and resources. From character development worksheets and plot structure guides to brainstorming prompts and writing exercises, this platform offers a wealth of resources to help you hone your craft and overcome any writing challenge that comes your way.

3.  Milanote

With Milanote, organizing your thoughts has never been easier. Whether you're plotting out your next novel, storyboarding a film, or brainstorming ideas for your next project, Milanote's intuitive interface and versatile features make it a breeze to bring your ideas to life.

But Milanote isn't just about organization – it's about inspiration, too. Dive into Milanote's vast collection of templates, images, and resources, curated to spark your creativity and fuel your passion for storytelling.

And let's not forget about collaboration. With Milanote, you can seamlessly collaborate with fellow writers, sharing ideas, giving feedback, and working together to bring your collective vision to life. Let me know if you'd like to collab! 

4. Inkarnate

Whether you're a fantasy author crafting intricate realms, a sci-fi writer mapping out distant galaxies, or a historical fiction enthusiast recreating the past, Inkarnate is your ultimate tool for world-building.

With Inkarnate's powerful mapping tools and customizable features, creating stunning and detailed maps has never been easier. From sprawling continents to intricate cityscapes, Inkarnate allows you to bring every aspect of your world to life with breathtaking detail and precision.

But Inkarnate isn't just about maps – it's about storytelling. Dive into Inkarnate's vast library of assets, from characters and creatures to landmarks and landscapes, and use them to enrich your world and enhance your storytelling.

5. World Anvil

With World Anvil's array of interactive tools and features, you can meticulously craft every detail of your world, from its geography and history to its cultures and languages. Whether you're creating a sprawling fantasy realm, a dystopian future, or an alternate historical timeline, World Anvil provides the tools you need to breathe life into your creations.

But World Anvil is more than just a repository for world-building information. It's a platform for storytelling, collaboration, and engagement. Share your world with readers, invite them to explore its intricacies, and immerse them in the rich tapestry of your imagination

6.  Scrivener

At its core, Scrivener is a comprehensive writing software designed to meet the unique needs of authors, screenwriters, academics, and more. With its flexible interface and robust features, Scrivener allows you to organize your thoughts, structure your writing, and bring your ideas to life with ease.

One of Scrivener's standout features is its ability to break down your writing into manageable chunks, or "scrivenings," making it easy to focus on individual scenes, chapters, or sections of your manuscript. With its intuitive corkboard and outlining tools, you can visualize your project's structure and rearrange it on the fly.

But Scrivener is more than just a writing tool – it's a creative hub where ideas flourish and projects take shape. With its built-in research capabilities, you can keep all your notes, references, and inspiration in one place, ensuring that nothing gets lost in the shuffle.

7. Dabble

One of Dabble's standout features is its seamless integration of plotting, outlining, and writing tools. Whether you're a die-hard plotter or a pantser at heart, Dabble has the flexibility to accommodate your preferred writing style, allowing you to create detailed outlines, jot down notes, and dive into writing whenever inspiration strikes.

But Dabble is more than just a writing tool – it's a community of writers united by their love of storytelling and their commitment to helping each other succeed. Here, you'll find support, encouragement, and invaluable feedback as you navigate the ups and downs of the writing process.

With Dabble's cloud-based platform, you can access your work from anywhere, on any device, ensuring that your novel is always at your fingertips, whether you're at home, at work, or on the go.

8. Literature Map 

Literature Map is a visual mapping tool that helps you discover new authors and books based on your literary preferences. Whether you're a fan of classic literature, contemporary fiction, or niche genres, Literature Map provides personalized recommendations to help you expand your reading horizons.

Using Literature Map is as easy as typing in the name of an author you love. Instantly, a constellation of related authors appears, each connected by their thematic, stylistic, or genre similarities. From there, you can explore new authors, discover hidden gems, and embark on new reading adventures with confidence.

But Literature Map is more than just a recommendation engine – it's a gateway to a world of literary exploration and discovery. Here, you'll find a community of fellow book lovers, eager to share their favorite authors, discuss their latest reads, and connect with like-minded readers from around the globe.

That concludes our exploration of the 10 essential websites every author should know in 2024. May these tools and resources empower you on your writing journey, from the spark of inspiration to the final flourish of your manuscript. Happy writing, and may your creativity know no bounds!

I hope this blog on Ten Websites Every Author Should Know In 2024 will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[janeofcakes]

One Night in Palermo: Chapter 1

Hi, Everyone! I haven't done this in ages and I hope you'll all jump on board again for another story. It's 18 months after Sherlock jumped from Bart's and he's busily taking down Moriarty's web. He's also pining and worried for John, who thinks he's dead. Sherlock's trying to make his way to the Moran, the web's center, when another assassin comes on the scene. Find out what happens!

----------

One year to the day Sherlock leapt off Bart’s, his best friend watching in horror, found him creeping into a dank warehouse in the middle of Belgrade, Serbia. The dead detective had been all over the country in the last year, as well as those sharing its borders. Hungary and Romania, Bulgaria, North Macedonia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Montenegro; all extensively traveled in the name of destroying Moriarty’s web of terrorists and murderers. He had just come through Kosovo from an assignment in Albania and tomorrow would take him to yet another location.

James Morairty may have died on the roof of Bart’s one year ago, but his criminal organization remained intact and Sherlock could not rest until Greg Lestrade, John Watson, and the beloved Martha Hudson were safe. Then maybe he could return to his old life of London and 221B and cases and John. Sherlock missed John most of all and had not been dead long before realizing the true extent of his feelings for his flatmate. Every moment not chasing down Moriarty’s criminals was spent wondering about John and what he was doing, or how he was doing. Worse yet, he dreamt of his flatmate as well, and they were becoming increasingly explicit in nature.

Sherlock gave a slight shake of his head to clear it. This was certainly not the time to go down that route of thinking. Mycroft’s intelligence indicated ten men in this building, making Sherlock’s full attention to the matter at hand imperative. The year’s assignments marked the longest period of time the detective had ever worked with his brother and there was at least another year to go before it would end. Remarkably, it had not been utterly intolerable as Sherlock had expected. Mycroft understood how Sherlock’s mind worked and gave him only the relevant information for each assignment. They met over virtual calls on a secured platform after each assignment was finished to discuss the next. Sherlock had needed serious medical attention on only two occasions and was immediately taken to a secret facility possessing everything required to address his injuries. The same short, blonde doctor cared for him each time, no doubt hand-selected by Mycroft to ensure Sherlock’s cooperation. The elder Holmes even made an appearance in both situations to make sure his baby brother was all right. He did not make himself tiresome either, much to Sherlock’s surprise, despite spending quite a lot of time by the detective’s side the second time around.

Sherlock had been caught during his last visit to Serbia. His captors quickly determined the usefulness of keeping him alive, but had no compunction with torturing him for the six weeks before his rescue. Mycroft even deigned to perform the extraction himself, he and his team infiltrating the base and killing every man in the bunker before carrying Sherlock out. It was at least a week before the detective could hold his eyes open for more than a few blurry moments at a time. When his senses and powers of deduction had returned, Sherlock was certain Mycroft had not left his side once. Oddly, the two brothers had grown closer as they worked together, but neither spoke of nor acknowledged it. 

Having found no one in the warehouse thus far, Sherlock proceeded down a long hallway that led to a large meeting room. Intelligence supplied by Mycroft’s spies had shown it was where the ten men spent most of their time. A door at the left side of the room opened into an office used by a man named Markovič, the indisputable leader of this terrorist cell. He had worked closely with Moriarty on more than one occasion and murdered countless people around the world.

Two other doors entered the meeting room; one that opened to a hallway of small rooms wherein the men slept and the one Sherlock was steadily approaching. The ideal situation for Sherlock was finding all ten men in the meeting room. Slightly less ideal, was Markovič in his office and the other men in the meeting room. Some of them having a kip in their individual rooms was the least ideal, but this time of night typically saw them all together planning the events of the following day. Regardless, Sherlock was prepared for any eventuality, or so he thought.

Sherlock slowed his step as he approached the room’s half-open door, rendering his footfalls completely silent. While each of the ten men was a very skilled killer, all were also dim-witted. Even Markovič, though intelligent, was no more than slightly above average. Sherlock knew his appearance would be surprising, but once the first few shots were fired, he would have to act quickly to avoid retaliation. A scant few feet from the door, Sherlock angled his body for the best view of its occupants and what he saw boggled his mind.

Eight men lay sprawled on the floor, face down on the table, or slumped back in chairs. All of them were covered with blood still oozing from pin-point bullet holes in chests, throats, or heads. None of these men had a chance to do more than consider reaching for their own weapons before they dropped. Sherlock analyzed the scene and deduced the events as they had happened while he moved through the room to Markovič’s office.

The door was also ajar. Sherlock pushed it open slowly, already knowing what he would find. Markovič was sat at his desk, leaning back unnaturally in the chair. His eyes were wide open and unseeing as they stared blankly at the ceiling. A hole was perfectly placed in his forehead, creating an isosceles triangle with his eyes. Blood stained his face where it ran down his nose and cheeks, over his throat to soak his shirt. Significant spatter and gray matter decorated the wall behind him in a sickly red glow.

Without delay, Sherlock went to the third door in the meeting room to check bedrooms for the final missing man. Finding him was not difficult. The first door in the hall was the only one open, so Sherlock let himself in cautiously. He found the man on the floor in a pool of blood, bedsheets twisted around one leg, and a pistol held loosely in one hand. He had obviously been only halfway out of bed when the door was kicked open and fired one shot quickly, the evidence of which marred the door frame next to Sherlock’s left shoulder. The intruder had not done more than twitch his head slightly to the side before expertly placing a bullet in the man’s forehead and watching him drop.

*****

Hours later, Sherlock sat at a desk in a safe house across the border in Hungary. He had changed into jeans and a plain t-shirt in dark green. His eyes were fixed on the screen of a laptop as he waited for his brother to accept the call. When the connection was made, it was Anthea’s face that appeared instead of Mycroft’s.

“Sherlock,” she greeted him. She looked tired. Perhaps the last year had weighed heavily on her shoulders as well. “He wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“Nor was I,” Sherlock replied dryly. “The assignment did not go as anticipated.”

“But you’re alright? It’s done?” Anthea asked with a touch of concern in her voice. The two of them had become far better acquainted over the course of Sherlock’s assignments and now had a certain rapport.

“Unconditionally,” Sherlock answered and watched as the subtle creases at the corners of her eyes smoothed away, only for them to return when he asked, “how is John?”

Anthea opened her mouth to reply, but Mycroft entered the room before she said a word. He moved to the screen swiftly and sat, studying Sherlock’s face. He was wearing his usual three-piece suit minus the jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up. A haggard expression dominated his features, but a sense of overall relief washed over them at seeing Sherlock in one piece. Mycroft let the indifference that hid whatever modicum of emotion he had slide into place and sat ramrod straight, his typical persona fully recovered.

“You were able to complete the mission,” Mycroft said with only the hint of a question in his tone.

“In a matter of speaking, yes,” Sherlock replied vaguely.

Mycroft cocked an elegant brow and leaned in.

“What do you mean?” He asked with keen interest.

“I found the bodies of all ten men upon entering the warehouse,” Sherlock said simply.

“An opposing faction?” Mycroft speculated, sounding unconvinced.

“No,” Sherlock said flatly, “it was precise and clean. None of the torture and delay seen between these enemies. A single man walked in quietly, just as I did, and murdered them all with one shot each.

“He killed all eight men as he moved through the room, three before they could rise from the table. Markovič was in his office and posed no challenge to dispatch. The last was in a bedroom.”

Mycroft had narrowed his eyes while Sherlock spoke, considering each word carefully. When the detective finished, his brother raised his gaze to regard him in silent contemplation.

“The work of an assassin where there should only be one,” Mycroft muttered.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed, “and it had occurred within the hour.”

Mycroft caught Sherlock’s eye and considered him carefully. 

“Sherlock,” his tone took on a condescending characteristic that always made the younger roll his eyes, “while the situation is unusual, it is not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock began, but Mycroft cut him off quickly.

“You have a mission that cannot be delayed by a… mystery, no matter how intriguing,” Mycroft said snidely. “Need I remind you of its particular importance to you, brother mine?”

Sherlock closed his mouth with a snap and pressed his lips into a thin line. Closer though they may be, Sherlock hated his brother for consistently adopting this air of superiority at a perceived weakness.

“Fine,” Sherlock spat, “but you will find out who it was. If I’m known to this assassin, I want to know his every movement. I will not tolerate interference.”

“Of course, Sherlock,” Mycroft assured him smugly. “I will use every resource at my disposal.”

****

As confident as Mycroft had been, his channels found out nothing about the assassin in the coming weeks. No one was able to determine where the man came from or where he got his information. One thing became abundantly clear, however. He also seemed to be dismantling Moriarty’s criminal organization one piece at a time. 

Sherlock completed two assignments over three weeks before encountering the assassin again. The circumstances were much the same as the first time. The target called Romania home and spent most of his time terrorizing every community within a fifty mile radius. He had assisted Moriarty several times over the last decade and had often welcomed the man into his home. If James Moriarty ever had anything even vaguely approaching a friend in his adult life, it would be this man.

Sherlock watched silently from the shadows as his target entered a small room and closed the door, leaving his guard outside in the dimly lit hall. They were inside a massage parlor not far from the man’s home. He spent four nights a week in this place, making rather dubious visits to a certain masseuse. Fortunately for Sherlock, the man’s guard made similar visits to the owner of the shop. 

A quiet whistle echoed through the hall twenty minutes after Sherlock’s target entered the masseuse’s room. He watched as the guard looked right, then left, and then disappeared down the hall. Sherlock waited another five minutes to be sure the guard would not return before moving silently toward the door his target had entered. He stood next to it for a moment, his back to the wall, already knowing it was unlocked. He had spent the last seven days watching his target and tracking his movements. Sherlock knew every habit and routine in the man’s life, right down to leaving the door unlocked while he got a massage and a blow job so he could exit quickly if one of his enemies interrupted. 

All Sherlock needed to do was open the door and pull the trigger. He had become quite a good markman over the last year and his gun was equipped with a silencer. He wouldn’t miss and no one would hear a thing. The only thing that made him hesitate was the masseuse. He had not yet decided what to do about her. He could kill her along with the target to prevent anyone being alerted by her screams, which were certain to follow her lover’s untimely demise. He could find some quick way to render her unconscious while she and the target were distracted. He could simply shoot his target and run, risking a successful escape. Sherlock was likely to be tortured if caught, a situation he could not afford. He scowled, the words ‘a bit not good’ echoing through his mind. The only option was knocking out the masseuse and hoping no one noticed him before he did it.

Sherlock looked up and down the hall, just as the guard had, and then moved to face the door. He twisted the knob silently with his left hand and pushed it open. The scene before him was nothing like he expected. Instead of finding the two of them fucking on the massage table, the woman was lying on the floor, unconscious and fully clothed. The target was clearly dead on the table, a bullet hole in his temple. Spatter decorated the wall next to the table and Sherlock could hear the quiet drip of blood as it fell from the headrest to the floor. Curious, he entered the room and squatted cautiously next to the woman. He might have risked touching her to find a pulse, but could see it clearly enough on her neck. The assassin had left her alive.

Sherlock’s gaze darted around the room until it came to rest on a small window near the top of the back wall, the only outside wall in the room. It opened on a hinge, a glass pane that lifted up and it was ajar. Several telltale scuffs left by opening and closing it marred the bottom of the pane. The assassin’s entrance and exit point.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stood. The guard would not return for another ten minutes, but the detective could not afford to be seen by anyone. He walked swiftly out the door and closed it behind him, looking up and down the hall again. Seeing no one, but hearing faint footsteps, he crept into the shadows to wait. Sherlock heard a faraway door open and the footsteps fade away slowly. After a few minutes of silence, he left the building and made his way to the next safe house.

A few hours later and a good two hundred miles away from the massage parlor, Sherlock stood in front of a laptop set in the small bedroom of a cozy flat. He had just relayed an account of the evening’s events to his elder brother and moved on to deductions made about the assassin. Mycroft’s less-than-enthusiastic response was quickly grating on Sherlock’s nerves.

“He has a conscience,” Sherlock argued vehemently. “He could have simply killed the woman, but chose not to.”

His brother’s unimpressed face looked back at him from the laptop screen, thoroughly unconvinced. Sherlock wished, just for a moment, that they were in the same room so he could grab Mycroft’s lapels and shake him.

“Very informative, brother mine, but I fail to see how it will help to find this mysterious assassin,” Mycroft intoned dismissively, glancing at his perfectly manicured nails.

“Finding him, no, but it goes a long way in determining what kind of man he is,” Sherlock sneered. “He is not a heartless killer and that tells us quite a bit.”

“Oh, very well,” Mycroft conceded impatiently. “He may not immediately put a bullet in your head should you meet, but will introduce himself first.”

Sherlock sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

“I will take care of him,” Mycroft continued sternly and it rankled Sherlock. The tone was the same used to scold him as a child. “You concentrate on your assignments and put an end to this dreadful business so you can return to your precious doctor.”

“How is John?” Sherlock found himself saying. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but Mycroft’s words squeezed his chest so completely that saying anything else would have stopped his heart entirely. He hadn’t even been thinking about John and was blindsided by the rush of sentiment, though he tried to keep that hidden. Mycroft, for his part, looked very disconcerted at the slip. His frustration had gotten the better of him, something that happened far more often than he would like to admit since he and Sherlock began “this dreadful business”.

“Sherlock,” he said with a long suffering sigh.

“Don’t patronize me, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped. “Just tell me what I want to know.”

“He is…unaltered,” Mycroft replied carefully.

“Unaltered?” Sherlock repeated through clenched teeth.

“I said unwell the last time you asked,” Mycroft straightened his spine and looked down his nose at his brother. “You have not returned to Baker Street. Do you imagine he is any different?”

Sherlock glared at his brother, blood boiling, but said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He knew his brother wanted to infuriate him. It was a distraction. Mycroft did not want to answer questions about John. It was nothing unusual, but affected Sherlock differently this time. Sherlock suddenly felt exhausted and homesick. Every bit of energy left his body. He was sick for John and if his brother didn’t want to talk about John, Sherlock had no desire to pry. He was not prepared to hear that the doctor had teetered ever closer to a crumbling precipice that might give way at any time. 

“Fuck off, Mycroft,” Sherlock snarled. He shut the laptop forcefully just as his brother closed his eyes in disdain at the vulgar choice of words.

Sherlock paced furiously. He was restless and frustrated and frightened out of his mind. Dozens of storylines played out in his mind as he took each step. The most disturbing thought ended with John’s broken body on the pavement at Bart’s, the same place they had both been just over a year ago, and it made Sherlock’s heart stutter in his chest. He gasped at the pain and stumbled into the loo to be sick. He splashed water on his face once he could stand again without retching and tried to calm himself, but his chest only felt tighter. He buried his head in his hands and prayed to whatever deity would listen that John Watson be alright.

When Sherlock raised his head again, his movements were stilted and his face remote. He cleaned his teeth and changed into pajamas mechanically, getting into bed and turning out the lights. Staring into the darkness, he parted his lips and breathed slowly. If he didn’t let his thoughts out of his mind, didn’t give them life, his brain and heart would surely burst from his body.

“Wait for me, John,” he whispered into the darkness. “Please.” 

****

The next time Sherlock ran into the assassin, the circumstances were quite different. It was three assignments from the last and in Montenegro. The target had not been difficult to finish, but her brother had spotted Sherlock as he made his escape and set off after him. They ran through the compound, ducking this way and that. Every corner the detective turned should have put more distance between the two, but the man behind only grew closer. Sherlock was getting tired and he knew it. On impulse, he ducked into a stairwell and barely tripped as he flew down the steps. He quickly pushed open the heavy wooden door he found there and hurried into an open courtyard full of towering shrubs and fountains. The moon shone brightly, dazzling stars surrounding it, lighting a path of escape. Unfortunately, the man following Sherlock was too close not to make a move for him.

The man dove for the detective and caught him around the waist with his arms. They went down hard, but Sherlock rolled swiftly and struck out at his attacker. They exchanged a few blows before strong hands wrapped around the detective’s throat. Without hesitation, he slid his own arms in-between his attacker’s and wrenched them outward. The other man’s elbows bent, giving Sherlock the leverage to pull his hands away and ram their foreheads together.

At first, only the other man was dazed, so Sherlock shoved him to the side and hopped to his feet. However, the after-effects caught up with him after one or two steps. Suddenly, his head swam and his sense of balance failed completely. Tumbling to his knees, Sherlock tried desperately not to fall any further. He gasped for breath and felt incredibly hot, but resisted the urge to tear the mask from his face. He preferred assignments that did not require a mask, ones where he could maintain a safe distance from targets and their associates. On this particular occasion, his passage through the compound could find him face to face with anyone and he could not be recognized.

Sherlock took a few deep breaths until his vision began to clear. Getting to his feet, he glanced around to check that his attacker had not similarly recovered. He saw nothing as rough hands grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind his back. A cold knife blade touched his throat before he could make any move to free himself. He was trapped. His mind raced, analyzing his options and discarding them; all the while, the blade pressed into his throat, breaking the skin ever so slightly. He nearly jolted at the sound of hoarse laughter in his ear.

“You thought you would get away?” The man holding Sherlock steady chuckled loudly. He pulled the blade more tightly and the detective winced. “You killed my sister, you son of a bitch.”

A gasp filled Sherlock’s lungs, but not for fear of his life as his attacker assumed. It was what he saw in the dark window in one of the tall buildings that lined the courtyard. A sight Sherlock never would have seen, if not for a glint of metal in the moonlight. As soon as he saw that flash of light, his eyes made out the figure of a man with a gun. Standing in the tall window was the assassin, covered in black from head to toe. His face and hair were covered with the usual balaclava. Any other details were lost to the darkness of his clothes and surroundings. His gun was aimed and ready, if the location of the reflection Sherlock had seen was anything to go by.

Sherlock stood very still, not even listening to the rants and threats from the man holding a knife to his throat. One way or another, Sherlock was going to die tonight. If the idiot behind him didn’t do it soon, he would be robbed of the pleasure by the assassin, who would certainly shoot them both. Sherlock could get away from only one of them, not both. He kept his eyes on the assassin as time ticked by and wondered why he hadn’t pulled the trigger twice already. The man couldn’t be weighing his options. It was simple: Aim and fire.

Just as Sherlock thought the word “fire”, a bright flash of light appeared from the assassin’s weapon and Sherlock felt a whoosh of air on his cheek. He expected pain or instant oblivion and got neither. The air around him was suddenly quiet and his mind registered his attacker’s hands going lax. The knife tumbled to the brick floor as the man leaned heavily against the detective’s back. Going down slowly, Sherlock maneuvered the man onto his back and looked at his face. There, between his unseeing eyes, was a perfectly placed bullet hole.

Sherlock’s head shot up to the window to see the assassin, but the man was gone. The pane held nothing but darkness. Without a second thought, the detective gathered himself and stood. It wouldn’t be long before his target’s body was discovered and the compound filled with people who would be happy to kill him. He crept through the courtyard and silently made his way out, encountering no one as he went.

Hours later, ensconced in one of Mycroft’s safe houses, Sherlock booted up the waiting laptop and entered his credentials. His mind was awash with deductions and questions and theories. If nothing else, the evening confirmed the standing deduction that the assassin had a strong moral compass. Quite a bit of additional data had been revealed as well, but Sherlock had not yet sorted through it. He needed to spend some time in his mind palace, arranging the pieces.

The laptop screen caught his eye when his brother’s face came into view. Sherlock had hoped to speak with Anthea first, but had no such luck. He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of the keyboard, a posture he often adopted when speaking to his brother.

“The assassin was there,” Sherlock stated without preamble. “I beat him to the mark, but he was there.”

“And you know this because?” Mycroft asked with an arched brow.

“I had a knife to my throat and he shot the man holding it,” Sherlock replied without hesitation.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he leaned in closer to his own laptop.

“He saw you?” He probed with an edge to his voice.

“Not as such. I was wearing a mask. My whole head was covered,” Sherlock answered evenly. “There was nothing to give me away. I was merely a man in distress.”

He could see his brother relax a fraction and then noticed that his eyes were locked on the small bandage Sherlock had fitted to his own neck. The detective furrowed his brow and shook his head dismissively.

“It’s fine,” he told Mycroft in a dull tone. “Superficial. I’ll be able to go without the bandage in the morning.”

“Good,” Mycroft approved, looking more at ease. “That is to say, I am glad you are safe. I must admit, however, I am somewhat troubled by the assassin’s actions. Surely killing you both would have been more to his advantage.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock replied with satisfaction. “It would’ve been easier as well; hitting my attacker with pinpoint accuracy to ensure his demise before he cut my throat requires much more skill than shooting us both. It proves my point.”

“That the assassin has a conscience,” Mycroft supplied in a long-suffering tone. He sighed. “Sherlock, you are a romantic.”

“I most certainly am not!” Sherlock objected, his good mood quashed in the blink of an eye. “I have merely analyzed the data and reached the logical conclusion, as I have in countless other situations.”

He glared at his brother, who returned the look with a smug smile on his face. Sherlock didn’t feel the need to continue the conversation because his pig-headed brother would not relent. He never had before and would not start now. Growing weary of him, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Tell me about the next assignment,” he demanded, wanting nothing more than to move the call along so he could retreat to his mind palace.

“Yes, of course. Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Mycroft smirked and began debriefing Sherlock on the next target, The detective both listened and imagined how best to have revenge upon his return to London.

****

The following assignment was easily completed in as much as it was finished before Sherlock even arrived. Four days after Montenegro, the detective stealthily entered a caravan dealership that was closed for the day. His target and a small band of men in his employ had taken refuge there, believing no one would find them. After entering the dealership, Sherlock followed music lilting through the air until he reached an extra-long caravan, knowing what he would find before reaching it. While the music played loudly, the absence of all other noise led him to one inevitable conclusion: The assassin had been faster this time.

Five of the six men Sherlock expected lay dead in the caravan’s central room. It occupied more or less the entire vehicle, housing a kitchenette along one side, a narrow couch and table on the other. Two seats and the steering column filled the front of the room, windscreen before them. A small loo cut into the back of the room with closets opposite. In between the two was a narrow hallway that led to a bedroom. Judging by the positions of the men and the angles of the bullets that killed them, the assassin had come from the hallway. He must have climbed in a bedroom window and used the element of surprise.

Sherlock moved cautiously into the bedroom, expecting to find the body of the sixth man, but the room was empty. It was also a mess. A lengthy struggle had clearly taken place in the cramped room and Sherlock could read it all in the broken and overturned furniture. The upper hand had shifted a few times throughout the fight. A stray shot was fired once, twice, and then Sherlock’s eyes came to rest on a piece of bloody glass lying on the floor near a cabinet on the far side of the room. He went to it in three long strides. It was part of a broken mirror that had been affixed to the wall above a waist-height cabinet. One of the two men had grabbed hold of it and stabbed the other, but which was which? Sherlock’s eyes tracked their movements through drips and smears of blood. The injured man eventually broke free and tumbled out the room’s only open window. The other man must have followed because the caravan door would have been left open had he used it.

Gun still at the ready, Sherlock hurried out the door and around to the back of the caravan. He walked silently along the trail of blood and shoe prints. More and more of the sticky, red substance stained the concrete as he went. There wasn’t enough to indicate that the injured man was bleeding out, but was still a troubling amount. Sherlock quickened his pace, anxious to learn which man was injured. He found himself hoping it was not the assassin. It made little sense, but he felt some odd camaraderie with the man. They did seem to have the same goal and were inextricably linked by it.

Sherlock wove his way through the parking lot, around one caravan and another, until he turned a corner and stopped dead. Twenty feet ahead of him, next to a chain link fence, was the body of a man. He was on his back and was obviously dead. Sherlock’s throat went dry and he quickened his pace. He and the assassin had narrowly missed one another for almost three months. They didn’t know the other’s identity and hadn’t even been in the same room together, but had come to expect one another. At least, Sherlock had. He supposed the same might not be true of the assassin, but he liked to think it was, especially after Montenegro. The man had blatantly made the decision not only to save, but also spare Sherlock’s life and the resulting sentiment had softened his heart toward the man. The detective would have considered these feelings a weakness in the past. Now, he saw it in a completely different light. The assassin gave him something familiar to look for, to count on. He couldn’t have John or home, but could at least have something, though it paled in comparison. 

Sherlock was jogging by the time he reached the dead man. He couldn’t see his head properly until he stood right next to him. Once he did, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. The man before him was not wearing a mask of any kind, nor was there one near the body. Instead, he matched the description of one of the six men Sherlock was sent to kill. The assassin had escaped. 

Relief quickly turned to trepidation, however, as he got a better look at the dead man. He had no stab wounds on his body and looked to have been killed by blunt-force trauma. Sherlock’s eyes darted around the scene, picking out a heavy metal bar and more blood. He followed a trail of it with his eyes for a short distance. It led to, and passed through, an old opening in the chain link fence. Something had weakened the links and broken through long ago. The assassin must have used it to sneak inside or he would not have known to use it as an escape. Sherlock looked as far beyond the fence as he could see, but saw no body and no large pools of blood. It seemed the assassin had escaped, indeed. But how far had he gotten and how badly was he injured?

When he recounted the night’s events later for Mycroft, Sherlock left out the possible extent of the assassin’s injuries and hid his concern for the man. He knew precious little about the man. It made no sense for Sherlock to feel at all connected to him and yet, here he was. He couldn’t stop himself from viewing the connection as a separate but united force against what was left of Moriarty. As such, not knowing the assassin’s fate unsettled Sherlock in a way he couldn’t explain and he hoped their paths would cross again soon.

****

The next assignment was long and tedious. Sherlock spent nearly three weeks just garnering enough trust through various acts of theft and bullying as assigned by the target’s second in command to even be told the target’s location. He then spent another six days planning out how to neutralize successfully. His frustration grew day by day at having to waste an entire month on this one target, lengthening his time away from John. John, who he knew was struggling. His last few conversations with Anthea were vague at best, but informative enough to know that John’s grief had renewed. 

The knowledge slowed Sherlock’s progress with the assignment and he knew it. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He would rather know at least something about John and be distracted than know nothing at all. He dreamt of his friend every night again; comforting him and assuring John he would be home again. He awoke each morning with renewed vigor at having spent the time with John, even if only in his mind. Part of him hoped dreams did the same for John, but they more likely only discouraged him. Sherlock had the advantage of knowing they would meet again, whereas he was dead in John’s world. Sherlock tried to ignore the regret and guilt that ate at him for it.

Motivated by the desire to end his exile and return home to John, Sherlock lost his patience and brought the assignment to an abrupt end. While in the target’s bunker for a debriefing, Sherlock broke into his office and waited. Nearly two hours later, the man and his second opened the door. Sherlock greeted them politely with one bullet each and left as fast as he could. 

His work done, after the agonizingly long month, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to move on to the next assignment. He grimaced as he logged onto the secure server he and Mycroft used to communicate, knowing his brother would berate him for his slowness. Maybe Sherlock would get lucky and Anthea would debrief him. He hoped as he pushed enter and waited, then sighed when Mycroft’s smug face came into view.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock murmured in greeting, saying nothing else. Mycroft more than made up for it.

“Good evening, Sherlock. I am glad to see you have finally finished your assignment. I was beginning to think that your target had persuaded you to stay on,” Mycroft’s snide words pushed Sherlock over the edge. The last thread tethering his frustration over the assignment snapped and he nearly swept the laptop off the table.

“Fuck off, Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted. “You know this is not how I wanted it to go. Just tell me about the next assignment and go back to your cake. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your greatest pleasure.”

“Sherlock, has it really come to this?” Mycroft began with an epic eye roll.

“You started it!” Sherlock interrupted. “Just tell me what I want to know.”

“In due time, brother mine,” Mycroft dismissed Sherlock’s anger out of course, “I have come into some information about your mythical assassin.”

“Oh, yes, perfect. Just what I want to know,” Sherlock snarked back, crossing his arms. “Tell me, Mycroft, how many assignments has he completed while I’ve been stuck on just one?”

“On the contrary,” Mycroft said blandly. “It seems both of you have succeeded in doing nothing. I have no indication he has made any movements during the last forty-two days.”

It was then that Sherlock remembered the trail of blood he had followed so long ago and the strange sense of loneliness he had felt. He had mentioned neither to Mycroft after that assignment.

“He was injured,” Sherlock stated almost without thinking, “in that caravan dealership in Skopje. I followed a trail of blood. He must need time to recover.”

“You failed to mention that in the debriefing,” Mycroft answered, his tone rife with skepticism.

“It was not relevant,” Sherlock replied haughtily.

“Wasn’t it?” Mycroft speculated. “Hm. I wonder.”

“Is there a point to this, Mycroft?” Sherlock snapped, growing tired of the conversation. His brother had a certain knack for analyzing his motives at the most inconvenient times.

“Could it have been a more serious injury, brother mine?” Mycroft continued calmly, unfazed by his baby brother’s outburst. “We have no evidence of him at all in the time between today and that night. Could he have been neutralized?”

“Neutral- he’s not our enemy, Mycroft,” Sherlock countered. “He saved my life.”

“Because doing so suited his purpose,” Mycroft supplied, condescension slipping into his tone. “You are very obviously on a path similar to his own. Why would he want that assistance to end?”

Mycroft was right. It was only logical for the assassin to keep Sherlock alive so the man didn’t have to hit every target himself. The detective had allowed sentiment to color his views of the assassin and if Mycroft didn’t know before, he certainly did now. Damn him.

“No,” Sherlock gave a slight shake of his head after a moment of thought, “there wasn’t enough blood for the injury to have been life-threatening. He will appear again. Just give him time.”

Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line and took a deep breath through his nose. He had more to say, but obviously debated on whether to do it now or save it. Sherlock knew Mycroft had chosen not to wait the moment his lips parted.

“You will have to deal with him one day,” Mycroft said carefully. “The time will come when you are no longer useful to him.”

Sherlock fought not to roll his eyes. As if he hadn’t considered that particular inevitability already.

“I will handle that when the time comes, not before,” Sherlock said flatly.

****

As if on cue, Sherlock found his next target in a private train compartment with a bullet in his head. They were on a train in Hungary. The man’s two most trusted associates were at his side, also shot dead. The assassin was back. 

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curled as he stood in the compartment’s doorway. He gave a subtle salute to the scene, closed the door, and casually walked back to his own compartment. As he went, he was filled with a sense of satisfaction and hope. With his own efforts coupled with those of the assassin, his timetable would change for the better and he could return home to John earlier than expected. Mycroft may have been right about an eventual confrontation between Sherlock and the assassin, but until then they would each enjoy the other’s usefulness without question.

****

Another handful of assignments came and went, Sherlock and the assassin working in tandem, but never encountering one another. Shortly after leaving another scene in which the assassin beat him to the mark, Sherlock calculated their joint progress once again and found that their current rate would see him back in London a full four months early. He was delighted.

A particularly successful month for both of them resulted in another revision of the time required. They had shaved off a few more weeks, much to Sherlock’s satisfaction. That was how, at eighteen months post-Fall, Sherlock found himself in Palermo, Sicily with only two targets remaining before he could return home to London and his life.

------

I know it was a long one, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading and for all your support! I've missed you all so much! Tune in next week for chapter 2 and remember, keep your stick on the ice. We're all in this together.

Love, Jane

[constantcrisis19]

Spoiled Rotten

Miguel O'Hara x GN S/O

AN: The results of the poll are in, the people have spoken, and I am here to deliver as promised. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,545

You trotted down the impersonal halls of the Spider Society HQ, the styrofoam container that you had in your hands held close to your chest in order to avoid upending the contents if anyone had the misfortune of running into you as you dexterously weaved through the throng of spider-people filling the building.

You nodded a quick greeting at any of the other spider-people that happened to make eye contact with you as you passed, the crowd predictably thinning out until it was only you creeping through the halls the closer you came to your destination.

You slowed your hurried pace when a familiar door came into view, the obstruction opening with a low hiss without you even having to touch the keypad located next to the door frame since Miguel had demanded that you hand over your dimensional travel watch so he could add an upgrade, an ID that the camera above the entrance to his office could scan and recognize so you would be allowed entry with little to no effort.

And, as far as you knew, you were the only person to receive this particular upgrade.

The room beyond the door was dimly lit, the lighting unnervingly akin to what you’d see in a horror movie, and you cracked a smile at the thought of Miguel keeping his lab and adjoining office dark in an attempt to scare off any spider-people that might’ve been brave enough to grace his presence. Though, even as humorous as the thought was, you knew that the true reason behind Miguel’s lighting choices was due to his sensitive eyes. 

You heard the door slide shut behind you as you moved further in, carefully maneuvering through the mess of wires and half-finished projects with a grace that pretty much all spider-people were endowed with upon being bitten in order to reach the office, where Miguel spent his every waking moment, seemingly intent on working himself into an early grave.

You followed the sound of low muttering, the indistinct noise becoming more intelligible when you stepped into the large space that everyone had dubbed ‘the office’. There you were able to confirm that the hushed voice you had picked up on was, in fact, Miguel, who was currently complaining under his breath in his native tongue as he aggressively swiped at the holographic screens in front of him.

You stopped at the base of the platform that Miguel used as a workstation and patiently waited to see if he would notice your presence, but when it seemed that the man was too absorbed in his work to realize that you were there, you let loose a single sharp whistle that echoed off the high ceiling to gain his attention.

You had to resist the urge to grin when you saw Miguel’s broad shoulders subtly draw up at the abrupt burst of sound, which was as good as a full-blown flinch when it came to Miguel, before the man turned away from the hovering screens in order to level you with an unimpressed look.

"What do you want?" Miguel barked and you raised a brow at his rather hostile greeting, your gaze scanning over his tense figure in search of the reason behind why he was so uptight. After just a few seconds into your examination, it became pretty clear that something was bothering the man, as evidenced by Miguel’s hands, which were balled up into tight fists, and how his narrow eyes looked more red than their usual brown under the low light of the room.

"Just wanted to check in. Things have been pretty hectic these past few days." You replied with a casual shrug and you watched Miguel’s shoulders heave with a deep sigh before he carelessly raked his fingers through his greasy hair, causing it to stand up at all sorts of awkward angles.

"I don’t need you to ‘check in’ with me." He snarled defensively, crossing his arms across his chest as he glared down at you, and your lips twisted into a concerned frown at his disheveled state.

“So… you're telling me that you've voluntarily stepped away from those screens in the last 24 hours to take a break and eat something?" You asked dubiously, already knowing the answer was a resounding 'no' before he’d even responded just going by his general appearance.

"I don't need breaks! I work just fine on little to no sleep, thank you very much!" Miguel predictably snapped, the man scowling at you as if he thought that you were an absolute idiot, but you didn’t even bother taking offense to his attitude since you knew that he had a tendency of lashing out when he was frustrated due to his lack of a healthy outlet.

“Well that's a damn shame. I guess these homemade chorizo tacos are just gonna go to waste if you're not gonna eat them." You sighed dramatically, staring forlornly down at the styrofoam container that you had so heroically protected during the journey to Miguel, the food inside still warm if the heat wafting off the take out box was any indication.

You resisted the urge to grin triumphantly when some of the aggression in Miguel’s expression and stance eased at the mention of a warm meal, the man’s eyebrows rising as his gaze shifted down to stare unblinkingly at the container that you had purposefully drawn his attention to. 

"You made me food?" He asked slowly as he stepped closer to the edge of the platform, and you found the way that he was trying and failing to hide his obvious interest kind of adorable. Almost like Miguel was a toddler who was trying and failing to stay upset even after having been offered their favorite candy.

"Fine. I'll eat. But I'm going back to work as soon as I’m done and you are going to go do something productive that doesn’t involve pestering me.” Miguel begrudgingly acquiesced, the smile that you’d been trying to repress blooming across your face when the man motioned for you to join him on the platform, and you wasted no time freeing up a hand in order to shoot a web at one of the beams running across the entirety of ceiling before launching yourself up into the air, landing gracefully next to him.

"Of course." You agreed quickly, practically shoving the food into his hands before grabbing a hold of his narrow hips and manhandling the man toward his barely used swivel chair and forcing Miguel down onto the plush leather seat.

Miguel went along with your antics easily enough -and if that wasn’t indisputable proof of how utterly exhausted he felt, then you didn’t know what was- the man deciding to forgo giving you a firm scolding that would go in one ear and out the other in favor of opening the lid in order to let the delicious scent of avocado crema and spicy paprika wash over the two of you. 

You closed your eyes and inhaled, the corner of your mouth ticking up as you nodded approvingly at the mouth-watering tacos, the crisp corn tortillas stuffed with a combination of meat, guacamole, onions and cilantro. You were actually quite proud of the end result after having spent several hours in the headquarters kitchen slaving away over the stove.

You looked out of the corner of your eye in order to gauge Miguel’s reaction, taking note of the way his eyes widened at the enticing aroma before he turned his incredulous stare onto you.

"You made these yourself?" He asked, his tone a little more dubious than you would've liked. You didn’t cook all that often -usually opting to go for something easier like take out or grabbing something from the cafeteria at HQ if Miguel wasn’t cooking- but when you did decide to take over making the two of you meals, then you put all your effort into making it good.

"Sure did. Only the best for you, babe." You said with a bright smile, watching in real time as Miguel’s cautious expression gradually transitioned into one of pure delight, before moving around to the back of his chair in order to take up residence behind him.

You brought your hands up to rest them on the tight line of his shoulders, carefully pressing your thumbs into the thick muscle in order to soothe the tension built up there, and Miguel relaxed under your touch as he delicately picked up one of the tacos before taking a bite.

"I was just going to work through lunch, but this is so much better…" Miguel praised after he’d swallowed, the man letting loose a pleased little hum with his next bite as he slumped further down into his chair, the styrofoam container held firmly in his lap as he ate.

"I'm glad you like it." You replied genuinely, lifting one of your hands away from Miguel's shoulders -the man protesting with a low grunt of displeasure- in order to trace the line of Miguel's jaw as you shifted your focus to the man's back, urging him to scoot forward to the edge of his chair before pressing your thumbs into the space between his shoulder blades with firm, unrelenting pressure.

You felt a shiver ripple down Miguel’s spine, the man subtly squirming in his seat as he resisted the urge to pull away from the deep ache, before calming when the taunt muscles in his back loosened, the pain turning into an indulgent pleasure. 

“Feel nice?” You asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that you had taken care to develop in the office, and Miguel made a noise that you chose to interpret as lazy agreement. 

You moved your hands away from his back as Miguel popped the last bit of his final taco into his mouth and leaned forward, the man turning his head in order to give you a questioning look, his brown eyes widening in surprise when you leaned over his shoulder and pressed a light kiss onto his bulging cheek. 

His throat made an audible click as he quickly swallowed, the man closing the now empty container and tossing it aside to deal with later before spinning his swivel chair around to face you, catching your wrist as you turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Miguel asked accusingly as he used his gentle grip to coax you closer, pulling you in until you were standing between his spread thighs, a small smile gracing your lips at his sudden clingy behavior, which was endearing and amusing in equal measure.

“You’re done eating.” You explained vaguely, and when Miguel simply gave you a blank look, you continued with a soft sigh. “You said that you wanted me to make myself scarce once you’d finished your food?” You elaborated with a raised brow, Miguel frowning at the reminder of his earlier demands, the regret and frustration that he was feeling practically advertised across his face like a flashing neon sign.

“You can stay. If you want.” Miguel quickly tacked the last bit on to the end of the sentence, releasing his hold on your wrist, and you were barely able to hold back from rolling your eyes at his unnecessary backtracking. 

"Oh, so the bossman is feeling gracious today. Aren't I special?" You mused sarcastically as you threw your arms over the man’s wide shoulders and playfully tangled your fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, the affectionate petting doing wonders toward chasing away Miguel’s uncertainty.

“Brat.” Miguel groused under his breath without any real heat, both of you knowing damn well that you would pick up on his muttered complaint because of your enhanced hearing, and you swatted the back of his head hard enough to make the man wince in retaliation.

You allowed him to pout for a moment before grabbing a firm hold of the hair that you had been previously brushing through and pulling him into a passionate kiss, Miguel immediately matching the pace you set and pressing up into the contact with an eager groan that you echoed when your bottom lip caught on one of his protruding fangs, a sharp sting radiating outward from the small cut as the delicate skin split.

“Ouch.” You said mildly as the familiar coppery tang of blood hit your tongue, and you drew away from Miguel just enough to lightly press a finger to the injury, the pad of your prodding finger coming away wet.

“Sorry.” Miguel apologized with a concerned frown as he guided you backwards so he that could push himself to his feet and approach his workstation in order to open one of the numerous drawers and root around inside, pulling out a package of gauze that he ripped open and placed gently against your split lip, soaking up the bead of crimson that had welled up from the tiny knick.

“It’s fine. I barely even feel it.” You assured as you reached up to tap the back of his hand in a wordless bid for him to move his hand out of the way, Miguel obediently letting go of the pad of gauze in order to allow you to take over before moving back over to the monitors, which were flashing with an influx of messages and alerts.

You ungracefully flopped down onto the chair that Miguel had vacated and watched the man’s turned back as he turned his attention back to his job, wasting no time tapping away at the holograms to respond to some crisis or another, but you stayed right where you were, lounging in the comfortable leather seat and using your foot to spin yourself in unhurried circles.

And, while most people would have felt that Miguel was being callous and insensitive because of the speed at which he’d gone from being involved in such an intimate moment to working again, you knew from personal experience that, despite how invested in his work Miguel might’ve seemed upon first glance, the moment that you moved to leave the man would immediately inquire as to what you were doing and most likely prompt you to stay in his own awkward, gruff way.

Miguel had never been very good with words, the man often saying one thing while his body language said something completely different, but you didn’t need him to give voice to how much he enjoyed your company since you could tell regardless since you knew what to look for. 

You saw how his previously tense shoulders and back were now relaxed -his movements confident yet leisurely as he slowly combed through the pile of work he’d accumulated over the duration of his quick break- which was a drastic improvement from the spastic state that you’d found him in, and how you’d occasionally meet his eyes in the reflection of the glowing screens, catching him in the act of sneakily checking in on you. 

The memory of Miguel’s sly way of making sure you were still where he’d left you had a smile spreading across your face, causing the cut on your bottom lip to reopen, but you ignored the barely there pain in favor of just basking in the tranquil atmosphere between the two of you.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 5, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 06, 2024

The U.S. government continues to tighten the screws against Russian malign activity. This morning the Department of Justice announced an indictment charging Dimitri Simes for violating U.S. sanctions against Russia. Simes allegedly worked for a sanctioned Russian television station and laundered the money from his work. Simes advised Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign. 

A second indictment charged Simes’s wife, Anastasia, with sanctions violations and money laundering through the purchase of fine art. 

The Justice Department also issued a grand jury’s superseding indictment against six Russian computer hackers. Five were officers in Russia's military intelligence agency; one is a civilian. The six are charged with hacking into and leaking information from, as well as destroying, Ukrainian computer systems. The hackers also attacked systems in European countries that support Ukraine and in the U.S.

The State Department has offered a $10 million reward for information on the defendants’ locations or their malicious cyberactivity.

The fallout from yesterday’s revelation that six powerful right-wing media figures were on the Russian payroll continues. One of the right-wing commenters referred to in yesterday’s indictment, Tim Pool, has pushed the idea that the U.S. is in a civil war, interviewed Trump on his podcast in May, and has been fervently against American aid to Ukraine. Today, he posted: “Upon reflection I now understand that Ukraine is our Greatest ally[.] As the breadbasket of Europe and a peace loving people we cannot allow the Fascist Russians to continue their crimes against humanity[.] We must redouble our efforts and provide and additional $200b at once[.]”

By this evening, though, he was making a joke of the news that his paycheck had come from Russia.

Notably, Trump posted on his social media site a rant that tied his own 2016 campaign to yesterday’s indictments, although the indictment itself did not do so. He accused “Comrade Kamala Harris and her Department of Justice” of “resurrecting the Russia, Russia, Russia Hoax, and trying to say that Russia is trying to help me, which is absolutely FALSE.”

Vice President Harris is not in charge of the Department of Justice.

By tying yesterday’s indictments to his campaign’s involvement with Russian operatives in 2016, Trump might have been trying to suggest the story was old news, but it does highlight the parallels between Russia and right-wing operatives trying to get him reelected. Along with his colleague Donie O’Sullivan, Jake Tapper put it like this on CNN: “Today, the U.S. government is trying to peel back more layers of what officials say are massive and complex efforts underway to influence your vote in the upcoming election. One part of these alleged plots: replacing your average 2016 Russian social media bots with actual conservative Americans, right-wing influencers with a combined millions of followers, influencers promoted by Elon Musk, some visited by Republican politicians such as former president Trump.” 

Then Trump fell back on the old trope that his opponents are communists, posting on his social media platform: “We are fighting true COMMUNISM in this Country. We have to save our Elections, our System of Justice, our Constitution, and our FREEDOM, but that can only be done after we win BIG on November 5th, and proceed to, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.” 

Economists for Goldman Sachs Group Inc. say that a Trump win in November would hurt the U.S. economy, while a Harris win—if she also gets Democratic control of the House and the Senate—would make it grow. 

Trump’s 2024 campaign is not at all about reality; it’s about a worldview. When asked at an event at the New York Economic Club “what specific piece of legislation will you advance” to make child care affordable, the 78-year-old Trump answered:

“Well I would do that. And we’re sitting down. You know I was somebody. We had Senator Marco Rubio, and my daughter Ivanka was so impactful on that issue. It’s a very important issue. But I think when you talk about the kind of numbers that I’m talking about, that because—look, child care is child care. It’s—couldn’t, you know, it’s something you have to have it—in this country you have to have it. But when you talk about those numbers compared to the kind of numbers that I’m talking about by taxing foreign nations at levels that they’re not used to—but they’ll get used to it very quickly—and it’s not going to stop them from doing business with us, but they’ll have a very substantial tax when they send product into our country. Those numbers are so much bigger than any numbers that we’re talking about, including child care, that it’s going to take care. We’re going to have—I look forward to having no deficits within a fairly short period of time, coupled with the reductions that I told you about on waste and fraud and all of the other things that are going on in our country, because I have to stay with child care. I want to stay with child care, but those numbers are small relative to the kind of economic numbers that I’m talking about, including growth, but growth also headed up by what the plan is that I just told you about. We’re going to be taking in trillions of dollars, and as much as child care is talked about as being expensive, it’s, relatively speaking, not very expensive compared to the kind of numbers we’ll be taking in. We’re going to make this into an incredible country that can afford to take care of its people, and then we’ll worry about the rest of the world. Let’s help other people, but we’re going to take care of our country first. This is about America first. It’s about Make America Great Again, we have to do it because right now we’re a failing nation, so we’ll take care of it.” 

There is no specific legislation here, or even a grasp of the specific nature of the problem of paying for child care. What there is, apparently, is an argument that high tariffs will solve all of the nation’s problems. In the New York event, Trump called again for slashing taxes on the wealthy and insisted that new, high tariffs of 20% on all imports, and as much as 60% on Chinese imports, will end federal deficits and bring trillions of dollars into the country, although he is wrong about how tariffs work. 

Trump insists that tariffs are taxes on foreign countries, but they are not. They are essentially taxes on imported products, and they are paid by consumers. Trump’s running mate, Ohio senator J.D. Vance, recently tried to claim that economists disagree about whether consumers bear the cost of tariffs, but as Michael Hiltzik explained in the Los Angeles Times yesterday, economists agree on this.

When he was in office, Trump launched a trade war in 2018 by putting tariffs of up to 25% on $50 billion worth of Chinese products. The next year he added another set of 10% tariffs on $200 billion worth of Chinese imports, and the next year he did it again, this time on an additional $112 worth of Chinese products. The nonpartisan Tax Foundation calculates that this amounted to an $80 billion tax a year on American consumers, costing the average household about $300 a year and costing the U.S. about 142,000 jobs.

There are reasons to use tariffs. They can be used to protect a new industry from cheaper foreign products until the new industry can compete, or to stop foreign countries from flooding a country with cheap products that destroy a domestic industry. When he took office, Biden kept those of Trump’s tariffs that protected certain industries.

Trump’s insistence that tariffs will solve everything is not about economics, it’s about pushing a worldview from the Gilded Age of the late nineteenth century, one embodied by the 1890 McKinley Tariff. “If you look at McKinley,” Trump told right-wing media host Mark Levin on Sunday, “he was a great president. He made the country rich.” In fact, McKinley (R-OH) pushed through the tariff named for him while he was in the House of Representatives from his position as a spokesperson for wealthy industrialists. They insisted that high tariffs were imperative to the survival of the country, that such tariffs were good for workers because they protected wages, and that anyone who disagreed was a socialist. But in an era without business regulation, industrialists actually kept wages low and used the tariffs to protect high prices that they passed on to consumers. 

In the late 1880s, the American people demanded a lower tariff, but when Republicans in Congress went to “revise” it, they made it higher. In May 1890, in a chaotic congressional session with members shouting amendments, yelling objections, and talking over each other, Republicans passed the McKinley Tariff without any Democratic votes. They cheered and clapped at their victory. “You may rejoice now,” a Democrat yelled across the aisle, “but next November you’ll mourn.” 

Democrats were right. In the November 1890 midterm elections, angry voters repudiated the Republican Party. They gave the Democrats a two-to-one majority in the House—McKinley himself lost his seat. Republicans managed to keep the Senate by four seats, but three of those seats were held by senators who had voted against the McKinley Tariff, and the fourth turned out to have been stolen.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[monratarot]

Major Arcana - 7. The Chariot

Please like and reblog if you find this information useful! 🌸🎀💕

//don’t claim it as your own and/or repost it on other platforms//

The Chariot calls all travelers and adventurers

Astrological sign or plane - Cancer the crab

Element - water

Key meaning - determination, victory, a journey

YES card

the traveler

beginning of a new emotional cycle

initiation of a new project

symbolize a wise and emotionally intelligent person able to use their own feelings to their own advantage

♦ Qualities of the card - balanced movement and stillness, being in the flow ★ Associated object and location - a toy car, a vehicle or cart, a spinning top or gyroscope, a sphinx

♞Upright meaning

ready to take control and navigate your path

getting a new car/vehicle

you are focused and intent on achieving your goals

a person who is responsible and concerned

home - travel away from home; you might welcome travelers from another state/country

relationship - endings, moving on alone but is your rightful path

career and money - swift progress in business affairs; financially you are on the road to success

health - health issues of the feet and issues with diabetes or digestion

♞Reversed meaning

arrogance

self-indulgence

poor leadership

there is a loss of control and focus

♞Reflections

+ 3 of Wands = broadening horizons and travel

+ 8 of Wands = travel, and communication

[okayto]

Mini-Review: Summer Time Rendering

To attend the funeral of his best friend and part of the family that took him in after his parents died, Shinpei returns to his small island home for the first time in two years. Hearing whispers that her body showed bruises around her neck inconsistent with the story of a tragic drowning while rescuing a child in the ocean, Shinpei becomes suspicious. There may be something brewing under the surface of this warm summer...

This is the perfect show as the northern hemisphere heads into summer: atmospheric, intriguing, balancing action and mystery.

STR first piqued my interested when I saw it referred to repeatedly as a show that didn't get the attention it deserved (a reviewer for Anime News Network referred to it as "among the best anime of 2022") due to being locked in "the Disney+ jail."

And having watched it, I agree: if this had been on a bigger anime-watching platform and released (in the US, at least) close to when it came out in Japan, it absolutely would've made a bigger splash. For some inscrutable reason, Disney got the rights but didn't release this in the US until months after it finished its run in Japan, without fanfare as a Hulu exclusive.

The upside to this is that you can more easily go in blind, and this is a show that benefits from knowing as little as possible ahead of time. Watching it weekly would've been an experience, but it lends itself to bingeing, as each episode advances the story--and mystery--even more, leaving the viewer hooked and hungry for answers.

That does, of course, make it difficult to talk about specific things I liked! The mystery is suspenseful, but it keeps up a good pace, balancing revealing more of what's going on with introducing even more questions. There wasn't a single episode where I got frustrated because it felt like the show was just playing up the tension; you're right there with Shinpei piecing things together, even if the thing is just "I can affect this even if I don't know what the outcome is."

Shinpei is a good main character, intelligent but not overbearing, and balanced with a cast that can variously match or surpass him in strength, intelligence, and relevant skills; if it weren't for the Plot Reason he's the protagonist, this would have just as well worked as an equal-ensemble show. Even Ushio, whose death was the catalyst for Shinpei's return, plays an active role in the story, helping prevent this from just being about a boy doing stuff in sad service to the memory of a dead girl.

As Shinpei uncovers more information about what happened, and through judicious use of flashbacks, Ushio's character develops, and she is a great character. In a show where scenes are sometimes sorting through the equivalent of two simultaneous chess games, it's nice to have at least one character who, while not stupid, uses her scenes to be refreshingly straightforward.

Verdict

English dub? Yes!

Visuals: Very nice! The story takes place equally during the day and after dark, as well as in a variety of locations, and it does a good job setting the stage, as well as balancing darkness and the need for the viewers to actually see things.

Worth watching? Absolutely. It's 25 episodes and uses all of them, neither feeling like it's dragging things out nor moving too fast. And despite its length, you don't have to wait until the final episodes to get any answers--Shinpei starts working things out quickly, and so the viewer does too. It's a solid suspenseful action show, and it was quickly obvious to me why I'd seen so many people say Disney did it dirty with its bizarre release.

Where to watch (USA, May 2024): Hulu (sub and dub)

Click my “reviews” tag below or search “mini review” on my blog to find more!

[unlikelychaossong]

Discover how AI and ML leverage geospatial data to drive better business outcomes and provide a competitive edge in location intelligence. Read the blog : https://shorturl.at/pJ7Lk . . #PertSol #Machinelearning #LocationIntelligenceplatform #AI #Locationintelligencesoftware #geospatial #locationaccuracy #technologies

[airsageofficial]

[zvaigzdelasas]

[VoA is US State Media]

26 Nov 23

The US military said two ballistic missiles were fired near the Arleigh Burke-class destroyer USS Mason after the seizure of a tanker off the coast of Yemen.

“Two ballistic missiles were fired from Houthi controlled areas in Yemen towards the general location of the USS Mason and the Central Park. The missiles landed in the Gulf of Aden approximately 10 nautical miles (18.5km) from the ships,” US Central Command said on social media platform X.

It said the USS Mason, which is part of the Dwight D Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group, was concluding its response to the Central Park distress call.

27 Nov 23

[angelwheat]

The Mundane and the Magic

༻ a codz x reader story ༺

➶ The Giant // ❝ Self-righteous Suicide ❞

➶ Chapter Four , 4621 words

Wobbly legs failed to support her as she nearly toppled over onto icy ground from the sheer unsteadiness of being exported from reality for a brief second and zapped into a land unfamiliar. Evidently, the experience struck the four men just the same, for each of them stumbled, struggling to recompose themselves as their heads were virtually spinning.

Hunching over where she stood, the girl pressed her hands to her hips, fighting to keep the bile down that she could feel bubbling up inside. Allowing the motion sickness to subside, she stayed put for a moment, listening to the men huff and grumble in displeasure.

After a short while she straightened her posture, smoothing down her hair that had blown askew at such a surprisingly harsh motion of blending through the linear fabrics of the universe.

Observing the foursome spaced out around her, (Y/n) noticed that the German appeared the most well composed out of them all, somewhat strangely unbothered by the experience of being teleported. Perhaps he was fortunate enough not to feel the sickening effects so strongly… or maybe he’s used to it.

The fact that he looked so unaffected but merely swayed for a second was enough to taunt the boys who almost landed with their faces in heaps of snow.

Dempsey staggered to composure, spitting his words at the German. “What the fuck was that Doc?”

Richtofen bit his tongue, infuriated with the American’s persistent use of his abbreviated title.

“Time travel.” He answered bluntly, looking down to smooth his attire.

“Yeah, no shit.” Dempsey coughed into his arm.

Nikolai had readied his shotgun the very second his eyes could focus steadily on his surroundings.

Immediately, the location struck as new, and eerie without a doubt, for there were tall, fully constructed buildings surrounding them, unlike the crumpled monuments seen prior to their hasty departure from Northern France.

These buildings towered high, some ranging from two, to perhaps three or four floors. The location appeared to be a group of factories; guess-ably of use for constructive purpose for the German army, for the writings on metal signs were stamped with painfully long words in Deutsch, that only Richtofen could make sense of.

Now they stand in the centre of the grounds, in a courtyard. A wide elevated steel platform stands a small distance away, with stairs leading up to a large machine, somewhat resembling the teleporter they had just been thrown into. Connected to the contraption were three chunky electrical cables, adorned with thick icicles along their length, which separated and lead to three mainframe facilities equal distance from each other. What they were connected to was as good as anyone’s guess.

Questions began to rattle around their heads as they observed their surroundings.

“Where are we German?” The Russian growled.

If Nikolai were to lock eyes with the Doctor, his deadly glare would kill him. But instead, Takeo eyed the German suspiciously, waiting for his predictable short-handed answer.

“We have arrived at a research facility.” Richtofen answered, as simply as predicted. “On the outskirts of Eastern Germany.”

The girl side-eyed him in disdain. His will to speak simply, almost like he was dimming down his intelligence to match that of the rest of the crew, or his frequent use of compulsive riddles and metaphors was already driving her mad, and she had only known him for a month or so.

Although now that time travel was brought into the equation, she could have very well known Richtofen for an eternity after discovering that shifting timelines and potentially re-writing history was entirely possible.

“What are we doing here, Richtofen?” She asked flatly.

All eyes landed on her when she spoke but flicked to the German when he shifted on his feet.

“I- We need to collect something.” Richtofen stammered, his eyes widening slightly.

The small slip up of his words raised wariness instantly, especially in Nikolai and Takeo for they narrowed their gazes at him in sync.

It fell eerily silent as all four pairs of eyes stared down the German, intimidating him as they all awaited a follow up speech explaining just what he needs to “collect”.

When he had no indication of opening his mouth to speak, Richtofen took a step forward, only to be brought to a halt when the barrel of Nikolai’s shotgun came mere inches from his chest before he could even blink.

“Explain why you have brought us here, German. You’ve been feeding us nothing but riddles!” Nikolai’s accent thickened, lacing his words with a menacing tone in his burst of rage.

Dempsey, Takeo and (Y/n) stepped up alongside the Russian, but none wanted to console the brute, instead believing he was right in resorting to a more threatening manner of interrogation. Richtofen raised his hands up in feeble surrender, his chest heaving as he stared down the thick barrel of the gun aimed at him.

“I can explain in time.” Richtofen answered hastily. “That I promise.”

Nikolai shook his head, his jaw setting in a sharp line. “I’ve heard that one to many times already. I do not believe you have any good intentions.”

The Russian adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground, his gloved finger grazing the trigger on his gun, prepared to put a bullet in his chest without a second thought.

(Y/n) could have sworn she saw a plead for mercy in Richtofen’s usually dull eyes, hoping he can be granted some leeway, and a chance to move without the men of the group virtually always breathing down his neck, for he stared between her and the weapon threatening him rather quickly.

Perhaps not this time.

While (Y/n) had been lenient in the beginning, simply following him blindly as a means of keeping everyone alive, however, it now seems that she’s growing just as impatient as the boys. Richtofen had certainly foreseen this.

“Alright, easy now.” The girl intervened with a firm voice, her hand reaching to lower the shotgun Nikolai held. “We know that killing each other isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Visibly infuriated, and practically steaming from the ears with boiling rage, Nikolai huffed loudly and retracted from the group, allowing Richtofen to lower his hands and exhale a long breath.

The girl dismissed the way the Doctor stared at her for a second, and instead focused on Nikolai in concern, albeit even wary of his next move.

His broad shoulders noticeably rose and fell with every heaving breath he took as he simmered down the fiery rage within him.

She could understand his dramatic actions for the world was flipped upside before their very eyes in a matter of seconds, and at this very moment in time, any action, no matter how drastic, could be deemed as justified.

Just when everything seemed tranquil, the sound of glass shattering made all unleash their firearms.

Staggered footsteps across icy ground emitted a small distance away, gradually growing closer. A stumbling decomposing corpse hauled itself through a beaten down wooden barrier. Yet another fallen soldier to have become a victim to the brain-rotting infection. But it seemed lost. Although it appeared to have retained some memory of marching; as the man would have done alongside his platoon before the outbreak.

Though given the unpredictability of the zombie, all but one keeps their weapons aimed steadily.

From what the girl could tell from discreet glances, Richtofen appeared to be studying the creature, or perhaps he was awaiting its next violent move. She had learned that he was not an easy man to read, at least not through his expressions, for he typically appeared emotionless.

She missed the way the Doctor rolled his eyes and swiftly breezed past the crew with his arm raised and pistol loaded to gun the zombie down with a single bullet its head.

With a heft thud, the lifeless creature dropped to the floor, the heap of snow its head landed in now absorbing the blood pouring from the gaping hole in its skull.

Richtofen holstered his pistol, turning to face the group looking utterly unimpressed when he was met with four scorned faces.

“I would simply suggest killing them when you see them.” He instructed blankly. “Research shows that they do in fact sense presence sooner or later.”

Silence enveloped once again, and (Y/n) felt herself shivering as the wind whisked through much stronger than before, creating an eerie whistle as it crawled through crevices in buildings. Her intolerance to the cold failed to go unnoticed as Richtofen witnessed her body quiver, and she pulled her coat snugly to her body.

“We must not waste time. There is much to be done.” Edward asserted, wanting nothing more than to hasten his own mission.

As much as the Doctor tried to ignore the thought, he wished to get the girl somewhere warmer, or at least direct her there if he could not escort her himself. He would not dare to admit that part of him felt a fondness for her, especially for her will to seek justice between the crew.

“Might I also suggest we search for supplies.” Richtofen added. “I’m sure we’ll be needing them.”

As if his queue to leave, Richtofen spun on his heel and made his way towards the central facility.

Dempsey made a hasty move to follow the German, but a light touch of a hand pressing to his arm had pulled him to an abrupt stop. He turned, only to be met with a look of annoyance from the girl.

He immediately opened his mouth to argue before she raised her hand to halt his words.

“I think we should leave him be.” She spoke generally.

The American stared at her in disbelief. “You’re gonna let him run off?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s not gonna run off.”

Dempsey’s hands flew out beside him in confusion and frustration. “Then what- “

Cutting him off swiftly, she declared, “If he doesn’t separate from us for a while, I think he’ll get killed.”

(Y/n) discreetly motioned to Nikolai with her eyes, who had his back turned at the time, prompting Dempsey to scoff and shake his head in annoyance, knowing very well that she was correct.

As flakes of snow fluttered down into her eye view, she peered upwards, sensing an impending snowstorm brewing above. Takeo had followed her gaze skyward, thinking just the same as clouds tumbled in thicker, hiding away the stars that barely glimmered in the evening sky.

“I’m gonna go look for supplies.” She told, wanting nothing more than to find somewhere warmer to roam.

Like her feet carried her away automatically, (Y/n) turned her back and began traipsing carefully over the snow towards a building. The doors to the main entrance virtually inviting her in as they were wide open.

Barely two seconds had passed before Dempsey’s cocky accent caught up to her.

“Woah woah, you’re not going alone missy.”

She could hear the way he spoke with a smirk on his face, and faced him immediately, quipping. “What? You don’t think I can handle myself?”

Tank’s eyes widened subtly upon sensing the stares from Takeo and Nikolai. (Y/n) couldn’t help the way she bit her lip in amusement as the American visibly regret his choice of words and fumbled to find a believable excuse.

But little did she know that Nikolai had turned away slightly to hide the way he smirked to himself, not wanting to have Dempsey bark at him in retaliation to finding his visible embarrassment amusing, but also, secretly, because of the way she held herself in that very moment. With her hand on her hip, almost proudly, as the corner of her lips curled up smugly. It made his heart skip a beat.

“What- No!” Tank breathed a faint awkward laugh, averting his eyes. “I just think we should stick together.”

(Y/n) shrugged. “Very well then, we’ll go in pairs. We can cover the grounds quicker.”

The three men perked up instantly, eyeing her attentively.

“Feel free to join me, but I’ve gotta get somewhere warm before I freeze to death.” She resumed walking away, this time much quicker as the cold air was nipping at her through her coat.

The trio exchanged blank glances, silently questioning whether to follow her footsteps. Yet not one of them dared to move, even though the girl had already entered the building.

That was until Nikolai wasted no time in taking a step forward, his boots imprinting the settled snow as he swiftly headed in the same direction as (Y/n).

In his wake, Nikolai left two men frustrated, with Dempsey visibly turning his nose up at the fact that the Russian had beat him to the same idea.

“That settles it then.” Dempsey grumbled, trudging past Takeo displeased. “Let’s just search this damn place.”

---

Hefty footsteps emitted behind her in a hasty manner, although not like the jagged pattern of a zombie. Despite how quick the person was walking; their steps had a steady pattern. She glanced over her shoulder, brows raised, only to be struck with surprise upon seeing the Russian following her path. She smiled politely when he reached her side, to which she earned the same in return.

“I was half expecting to see Dempsey behind me.” She admitted.

Nikolai couldn’t help the lie that slipped from his tongue. “He had agreed to pair with Takeo.”

(Y/n) nodded, oblivious to the fact that Nikolai was merely eager to join her.

Standing side-by-side, together they surveyed the room. From its spacey layout, and the huge vents surrounding a furnace central of a partially walled off section, it could be guessed that it was none other than a storage room, or perhaps a place that materials were discarded and burned for ashes littered the feet of the caged firepit. She couldn’t refrain from spluttering and covering her nose at the putrid smell that wafted from the furnace, one would assume the previous occupants were incinerating bodies what with such a foul smell.

A few crates and barrels lie on their sides, some of their contents spewed out and trampled across the floor, most of which were papers, scrapped rusty components, and bullet shells. Upon closer inspection, (Y/n) surmised that the bullets were splayed recently for not a drop of dirt covered one, and Nikolai had noticed this too.

“There was bloodshed here recently.” Nikolai thought aloud, moving forward a few steps.

(Y/n) hummed. “But the question is, where these people killing each other, or zombies?”

The thought of an army, once forged together by loyalty and discipline, turning on each other utterly driven to madness as the world collapsed, and people turned to flesh-eating murderers before their very eyes.

“I dread to think of it.” Nikolai responded, watching the girl as she crouched to view a crumpled sheet of paper.

Steel catwalks above their heads creaked and popped as the wind breezed through holes in the doors and walls, nudging its every obstacle with vengeance what with the force it was brewing up. Parts of the structure had already fallen from its rightful place, lying in piles of debris in random areas, the building being entirely torn apart by the harsh weather alone.

“We best not stay here too long.” Nikolai told. “My guess is that this place will be nothing but rubble before we know it.”

A fairy-light clink hit their ears, and as if ironically on queue a bolt from an overhead beam hit the floor, bouncing astray into a pile of ash. The pair locked eyes warily at the timing.

“Let’s see if there’s anything useful and get out of here.” (Y/n) urged.

Nikolai nodded and began his own deconstructive way of searching.

Little time had passed, and they had each found a great supply of fresh ammunition to be shared amongst the crew. Not being able to carry such a heavy amount of munitions between them means they resorted to shifting the supply crates to an area more safely accessible, for the crew to return to instead.

While (Y/n) had her hands elbow deep in a crate, she pondered on the earlier encounter with a raging Nikolai in the courtyard. His seething expression and merciless intentions to kill Richtofen remained permanently in her mind.

Knowing that she doesn’t fear the Russian in the slightest, for he has shown nothing but loyalty and kindness to her throughout the few weeks of knowing him, more so than he has shown anyone else, (Y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if Nikolai would have followed through with his drastic intentions if she had not intervened.

She looked his way, catching the way he swiftly averted his eyes to the crate he stood searching, taking herself aback when she felt her heart skip a beat.

Pushing away the thought of the mere instance, she called out to him. “Nikolai?”

The gentle way his name sounded when it fell from her lips made his rounded eyes met hers, prompting her to speak but the words were lodged in her throat as his eyes captivated and shimmered in the dim light the furnace glowed.

“You know I don’t blame you for nearly killing Richtofen earlier.” She declared with all sincerity.

However, the Russian scowled instantly.

(Y/n) watched as Nikolai drew in a deep breath, pressing his palms to the edge of the wooden crate.

“Richtofen is beginning to test my patience. What with all his riddles…” He told in his gruff voice.

“Tell me about it.” She muttered, fiddling with a bullet she had picked up.

“But I fear we are descending into madness by following his orders.” He admitted. “And I’m finding it nearly impossible to have any ounce of faith in his intentions.”

Something about the way Nikolai held himself in that moment struck her strange. He began to softly drum on the crate, his lips pressing into a line when he turned his attention back to the equipment before him. It seemed like there were words on the tip of his tongue, yet he could not allow them to fall past his lips.

(Y/n) chewed the inside of her cheek, staring blankly at the bullet she held, ruminating on his words.

“Do you believe that Richtofen has good intentions?” Nikolai blurted out.

The girl instantly locked eyes with him, noticing how serious he looked with such a hard-faced expression. His question made her ponder for a minute.

“I can’t say.” She answered truthfully. “He’s acting suspicious, that’s for sure. And God knows what he’s up to right now.”

Nikolai only nodded, acknowledging her.

“But let’s just get on with what we need to do. I’m already tired of stressing about his next move.”

Something sent a pang of guilt through the Russian. If the girl had not turned her eyes away, she would have seen the pitiful look on his face.

(Y/n) huffed and tossed small components back into the crate, walking briskly past Nikolai, and over to a smaller one yet to be searched on the opposite side of the room.

Another clink of a falling screw went unheard of as her footsteps overpowered the faint tap of metal hitting the ground. That was until the piercing sound of steel screeching, peeling away from the lengthy catwalk above their heads, a support beam overhead came barrelling down at an alarming speed driving terror straight through her as she froze beneath the collapsing structure.

She opened her mouth to scream, but she was voiceless.

Two hands gripped her sides firmly and dragged her out from under the beam’s line of fall, to which the enormous steel bar slammed to the floor with a deafening clang, rattling and shaking every inch of the building upon impact.

Riddled with sheer terror, the girl could not control the way she collapsed into the body of someone.

Nikolai almost toppled at the quick pace he moved, his back connecting harshly with the wall and audibly knocking the air from his lungs, his arms remaining locked around the girl in his arms.

Subconsciously, (Y/n) had pressed her palms to his chest to break her fall, and while still unable to comprehend such a flash of events, her mouth hung agape as she panted heavily. She could barely register a thing, feeling a dizzy sensation as she stared at Nikolai, her face full of fright at the thought of being crushed.

The Russian was worried that she could feel the way his heart was beating like a banging drum at such sudden closeness, but when her eyes dropped to see her hands planted firmly just below his shoulders, she came to her senses and almost jumped back out of embarrassment.

“O-oh my god, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) began to fret, adrenaline still rushing through her, causing such jittery movements.

She snapped around to observe the wreckage of the catwalk, that was once situated above their heads, now in a heap of itself, entirely blocking an exit route from the building.

“Are you alright?” Nikolai’s deepened voice called to her in pure concern.

When (Y/n) turned, she saw his face contoured with stress, and a hand readied to place on her shoulder, however, stopping himself when she nodded with a heavy sigh. She planted her hands on her hips, letting her head bow and eyes fall shut as she calmed herself.

“Thank you, Nikolai.” She breathed, wiping a hand over her face. “I owe you one.”

However, his face was flushed red as the thought of being so close together remained permanently etched into his mind. Unbeknownst to Nikolai, (Y/n) wouldn’t dare lock eyes with him, feeling the same embarrassment and awkwardness of being pressed so tightly to someone she hardly knew.

Neither of them could bring themselves to move as awkwardness was eating them up inside.

As if relieving them of the tense situation, Dempsey, tailed closely by Takeo, barged through the doorway atop the stairwell nearby, out of breath and clutching rifles tightly.

“We’ve got company.” Dempsey informed loudly, his voice gruff and stern. “Get your asses out here.”

Apparently, the crashing noise was enough to alert the stray undead swarms nearby, for they were filtering in through any access point possible, with some of them even tearing of their own decaying limbs as they came through or impaling themselves on broken barricades.

Equipping their weapons swiftly, (Y/n) bolted for the stairs that lead to a vantage point, with Nikolai tailing behind. She breezed past Dempsey, and took position beside Takeo, who had found excellent position that allowed for quick and easy shots to the heads of zombies.

With the team regrouped the hordes were cleared strangely fast. Typically, swarms came in frequent waves, virtually endless, but this time the air stilled. Not a groan or cry was heard from a zombie around. Even some of the boys moved to peer through open barriers, surveying the area, but they soon reeled themselves back to the group with their brows knit in confusion.

“Strange.” Takeo spoke aloud in his husky voice. “The land is silent.”

(Y/n) acknowledged Takeo and hummed in agreement, both vigilantly looking over their shoulders for approaching danger.

“So, did you guys find anything?” She asked, filtering her attention between the other pair.

Tank shrugged, looking a bit defeated. “A little. Couple cans of food, but that’s about it. This place is deserted if you ask me. We ain’t gonna find much.”

(Y/n) sighed in disappointment, the idea of a delicious homecooked meal seemed so far out of reach. She’s certain the men craved something more than just a measly can of beans, and even then, it’s typically shared amongst the five of them, barely subsidising the painful hunger.

Clicking of a gun being reloaded sounded. It was Dempsey loading his sidearm. While keeping his focus on what he occupied himself with, he spoke.

“What about you? Find anything?”

A response was on the tip of her tongue, but her own mind caught her off guard, teasing the image of her body pressed against Nikolai’s, and the way his gorgeous blue eyes stared deeply into her own. Vividly recalling the way his large, gloved hands rested softly on her sides, supporting her knees that dared to buckle under the weight of embarrassment. She felt her hands begin to clammer up at the intrusive thought, wiping them subconsciously on her coat.

When (Y/n) never responded, Dempsey’s little task in his hands halted as he peered through his eyebrows at her.

“We found stashes of ammunition, but not much else.” Nikolai had interjected.

Mentally, the girl thanked him for taking the words she failed to speak, however, feeling more awkward when she saw Dempsey eyeing her suspiciously.

Starling her, Takeo breezed past silently, moving to a cracked glass window that overlooked the storage room. Apparently something had caught his attention from afar. He observed the sight of the wreckage of the fallen catwalk; it certainly stuck out compared to the feeble clutter in the room.

(Y/n) couldn’t help the way her feet carried her towards him.

Sensing that she was standing a small distance from him, Takeo spoke.

“We heard a crash on the opposite side of the facility. Was it this?”

Takeo sounded so genuine, strangely. His speech was typically blunt and didn’t have much change in low tones.

“It was the catwalk that collapsed. The place is falling apart at the seams.” She answered briefly.

Takeo nodded in acknowledgment. He had suspicions that the rumbling noise of steel landing with such a mighty force had alerted the chaotic number of undead creatures.

(Y/n) stared blankly at the structure below, somewhat in a daze when she confessed. “I was standing underneath it when it fell.”

Dempsey and Takeo pivoted to face the girl simultaneously, their shoulders visibly tensed and eyes almost bulging.

Snapping back to her senses, she forced a smile as she quickly reassured, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Both relaxed in sync, breathing relieved sighs.

“But I have to say that I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for Nikolai pulling me out of there.” She told, looking at the Russian sincerely. “I really owe him one.”

In that moment she hoped that the frosty air nipping at her skin had already tinted her cheeks a rosy hue, for she could feel a burning fluster rising from her chest. A smile threatened to tug at Nikolai’s lips as he glanced her way.

No one had seen Dempsey’s eyes practically burning fire as he snapped a dirty look towards Nikolai.

“Alright, enough with the sappy ‘who saved who’s life’ shit now.” Dempsey blurted out bitterly. “We’ve got shit to do.”

Thudding footsteps followed as Dempsey stormed off out of the building with his assault rifle under a mighty grip and chest puffed in hot rage. Takeo looked to (Y/n) who stood tall by Nikolai, only to be scrutinising the Russian with his intensive eyes before stalking out with a huff.

The girl knit her brows in confusion.

It could be said that Dempsey was known for his ability to lose his temper quickly, and few times she had seen his anger get the better of him, but Takeo’s strange reaction struck her differently. She had never seen him give anyone, but Richtofen, such a fierce glare.

“What was that about?” (Y/n) asked, sounding somewhat bewildered.

Nikolai swallowed hard, struggling to muster a response when she looked at him with beady eyes, hoping for an answer.

Unfortunately, the Russian knew all to well just what sparked Dempsey and Takeo to be so infuriated, with him only.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say they seemed jealous.” She spoke aloud.

 Oh, but how jealous they were, and that’s only the beginning of it.

[89hitokiri]

In a parallel world where dogs are a threat, a special group of cats stands out.

黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) is one of the primary operational units of Kage Cat Corp, specializing in cybershecurity, hacking, counterintelligence, espionage, counter-meowrnalism, and counter-purrpaganda. Members of 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) are meticulously selected and undergo rigorous training to execute critical and clandestine missions that ensure Kage Cat Corp's dominance in the competitive world of pet rivalry.

Main Operations of 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage)

1. Cybershecurity: Protection of Kage Cat Corp's internal systems against dog hackers and mischievous squirrels, using advanced cryptography and artificial intelligence techniques to detect and neutralize threats in real-time. Constant vigilance to keep those sneaky canine intruders out.

2. Hacking: Infiltration into rival dog networks to steal trade secrets, find out where they hide their bones, and gain strategic advantages. Includes creating digital furballs and exploiting tail-wagging vulnerabilities.

3. Counterintelligence: Identification and neutralization of canine spies and internal threats. Dismantling rival espionage cells within Kage Cat Corp, especially those working for Doggo Inc.

4. Espionage: Collection of crucial information from dog parks and government pet agencies through infiltration and data manipulation techniques. Frequent use of stealth mode to avoid being detected by bark-sensitive systems.

5. Counter-meowrnalism: Discrediting dog bloggers and pet media outlets that publish harmful information about Kage Cat Corp by spreading cleverly crafted feline-friendly narratives or manipulated truths.

6. Counter-purrpaganda: Creation and dissemination of content that improves Kage Cat Corp's public image and harms its canine rivals. Utilizes social media platforms and other digital media to promote the supremacy of felines.

Proprietary Tools and Technologies

All technology used by 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) is exclusively developed and owned by Kage Cat Corp, ensuring absolute control over its capabilities and operations.

Proprietary Software

1. Automated Bot Network (CatNet-X):

- Functionality: Operates multiple social media accounts to post content, interact with users, and amplify specific messages. Can infiltrate private dog lover groups and forums to gather information and spread feline superiority propaganda.

2. Sentiment Analysis Artificial Intelligence (PurrceptorAI):

- Functionality: Analyzes large volumes of data in real-time, identifies trends, detects changes in public opinion, and assesses the impact of purrpaganda and misinformation campaigns.

3. Social Engineering Software (Pawthmancer):

- Functionality: Collects and analyzes personal data from social media users, enabling personalized social engineering attacks to gain access to sensitive accounts or confidential information.

4. Propaganda and Misinformation Algorithms (EchoLitter):

- Functionality: Generates and disseminates manipulated or false content to influence public opinion and destabilize Kage Cat Corp's canine rivals.

5. Secure Communication Platforms (CipherMeow):

- Functionality: Ensures that internal communications within 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) are completely secure using state-of-the-art encryption protocols.

6. Dark Web Monitoring Tools (DarkPaw):

- Functionality: Tracks activities on the dark web, facilitating the identification of emerging threats and the acquisition of leaked data.

Proprietary Hardware

1. Digital Surveillance Drones (StealthPaws):

- Functionality: Intercepts wireless signals and accesses unsecured networks, performing reconnaissance and espionage tasks in physical locations.

2. Augmented Reality Devices (AR-Meowser):

- Functionality: Provides AR interfaces for real-time system manipulation during missions.

3. Cryptographic Servers (QuantumClaw):

- Functionality: Secures the storage and processing of sensitive data using quantum cryptography technologies.

Presence on Social Media and Internet Forums

黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) maintains an omnipresence across all digital platforms, using its proprietary tools to carry out a variety of operations.

1. Online Community Infiltration: Utilizes CatNet-X to operate fake profiles on platforms like Reddit, 4chan, and other specialized forums. Integrates into these communities to gather information and sow misinformation, often spreading rumors about how dogs actually prefer catnip.

2. Crisis Management and Public Opinion: During crises, employs PurrceptorAI to monitor public opinion and develop communication strategies. Uses EchoLitter to steer the narrative and divert public attention with humorous cat videos.

3. Misinformation Campaigns: Conducts coordinated campaigns with EchoLitter to spread false content and confuse canine rivals, such as claiming dogs are plotting to outlaw naps.

4. Trend Manipulation: Uses algorithms to make certain topics or hashtags go viral, manipulating social media platforms' algorithms to promote pro-Kage Cat Corp content, like Cats Rule Dogs Drool.

5. Data Collection: Pawthmancer collects large-scale data from social media users, enabling detailed analysis to identify patterns, trends, and potential threats, such as new brands of premium dog food.

6. Digital Sabotage: Uses its tools to infiltrate the accounts of dog influencers and critical journalists, publishing compromising or manipulated content to destroy their credibility, such as photoshopping them with chewed-up shoes.

Example Operation of 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage)

Operation "Silent Purr":

- Objective: Humiliate a rival journalist who had been publishing stories against Kage Cat Corp.

- Execution: 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) launched a campaign using CatNet-X to spread humorous but false accusations about the journalist being a notorious cat food thief. Simultaneously, they infiltrated his social media accounts using Pawthmancer to post photoshopped images of him caught in the act of stealing cat food from local stores.

- Outcome: The journalist became the laughingstock of the community, with memes and jokes about the "Great Cat Food Heist" spreading virally. His credibility was damaged, his articles lost influence, and Kage Cat Corp emerged with their reputation intact and even strengthened due to the humorous nature of the operation.

Future of 黒猫影 (Kuronekokage)

黒猫影 (Kuronekokage) will continue to innovate and develop advanced technologies to remain at the forefront of cybershecurity and covert operations. The unit is preparing to face new technologies, develop even more advanced capabilities, and remain a key component in Kage Cat Corp's structure. Its omnipresence on all social media platforms and internet forums ensures that it will always be one step ahead in the information war, protecting and expanding Kage Cat Corp's dominance in the digital realm and maintaining the delicate balance of feline supremacy.