#The person left a lengthy explanation without aggressive personal attacks

[chemicalarospec]

hate that time someone was like "why don't you read the website YOU linked" and I already had and it didn't even back them up.

[inkwell1013]

Quiet Hands - Persona 5

Pairing: Yusuke & the Phantom Thieves (platonic), Yusuke & Natsuhiko (familial)

Genre: Oneshot, Angst with a bit of fluff, Found family.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: In this fic, Yusuke deals with a lot of internalized ableism and ableist remarks from Madarame. There is also some physical abuse, emotional abuse and depiction of a panic attack. The r slur is also used. Please bear these warnings in mind before proceeding. 

Summary: Madarame never understood Yusuke. He was quick to punish Yusuke for fidgeting. Yusuke learns that loud hands get him hurt. It is much better to have quiet hands. It is better to hold down all the stuff that makes him different. It is better to be who Madarame wants him to be. The Phantom Thieves seemed to disagree with this.

- - - - -

Yusuke was a creature of unbreakable habit. He enjoyed order and structure, and liked to know when he was expected to do things and how he was expected to do them. The slightest disruption to his routine would send him spiralling, leaving him in a horrible mood for the rest of the day.

Today was one of those days. Madarame had invited a guest over without warning Yusuke beforehand, and that had sent him into a tantrum of epic proportions. He didn’t like strangers and he didn’t like surprises, so this was a particularly detestable event in his eyes.

Madarame dragged him downstairs despite his vehement protests. “I don’t want to,” whined Yusuke, trying to pull his arm out of Madarame’s grip. “Let me go!”

“Oh, grow up Yusuke!” snapped Madarame. “You’re not a little kid anymore, and this whining is completely unacceptable for someone your age. Sometimes you must do things you don’t want to do. That’s life, and complaining isn’t going to change anything. Now, you will behave and act normal in front of this curator, or I will ground you for the rest of the week. Do you understand me?”

Yusuke squirmed in his grip. “But it’s so difficult Daddy. I don’t like new people.”

Madarame scowled. “I am not your father. What do you call me?”

“Sensei,” sniffed Yusuke. “Do I really have to do it Sensei?”

“Yes, the curator is expecting to meet you. I’m not having you embarrass me again,” said Madarame, shoving Yusuke into the living room.

The curator stood to greet them as they came in. He was an aggressively friendly man, who immediately went to shake Madarame’s hand with a wide, toothy smile on his face. “Is this your son?” he asked brightly.

“No, he’s my student. I took him in after his mother’s death,” explained Madarame, pushing Yusuke forward. “Why don’t you say hello Yusuke?”

Yusuke mumbled a hello, doing anything to keep from making eye contact, which was made difficult by the fact that the stranger seemed to be attempted the exact opposite at every opportunity. “I apologise for his behaviour,” said Madarame. “He’s a little shy.”

He punctuated the last word with a sharp glare. Yusuke curled further in on himself.

“I understand,” laughed the curator. “My daughter’s shy too. Anyway, what layout are we thinking for this new exhibit?”

Madarame and the curator launched into a lengthy conversation about the upcoming exhibition, thankfully leaving Yusuke out of it. He didn’t want to talk anyway.

All this stress of meeting a new person was making him feel a bit shaky. Similar to how a kettle filled with boiling water needed a way to release the rising pressure, he had found his own way of release. It varied by situation and circumstance, and today it had manifested as fluttery fingers. The curator hadn’t noticed, still engrossed in the work that Madarame was showing him.

Madarame shoot Yusuke a murderous glare and reached over a hand. He pinned Yusuke’s wrist to the table, forcing his hands to a standstill. The curator happily continued with the conversation, having not noticed at all.

“Quiet hands,” hissed Madarame. “You know the rules.”

Yusuke knew he was in trouble.

Nothing happened until the curator left. Madarame was cruel, but he wasn’t stupid. He never struck Yusuke in public and never in front of others - he had his reputation to worry about after all - but things were different behind closed doors.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, Madarame struck, like a viper leaping from the brush. He yanked Yusuke forward, sharp nails digging into his wrist. Stumbling, Yusuke desperately tried to regain his footing, but was thrown of balance again when Madarame smacked him on the side of the head, sending him lurching to the left. He was lucky enough to grab a hold of the coffee table before he hit the ground.

His ear was ringing with discordant chords of a half-finished song, and his vision was blurred, but he could still make out Madarame’s scowling face.

“Sensei, I—”

“Ten fucking minutes! That was all I asked,” screamed Madarame. “And you couldn’t even do that. What is wrong with you?”

Yusuke stared down at the ground. “I don’t know…” he muttered.

“You don’t know?” Madarame said incredulously. “I’m not having a retard for a student. You need to learn to control yourself. No more of that stupid fidgeting. I’ve let it go on for far too long anyway.”

“But I can’t control it,” said Yusuke.

“You will learn. You are not a wild animal that is completely lacking in self control. I raised you better than that.”

“Sensei, you can’t—”

“I’m doing this for your own good Yusuke. No one is going to take you seriously if you act like that. Now go to your room and think about what you’ve done,” spat Madarame. “Don’t think I’m feeding you after this outburst.”

 Things only got worse after that. Madarame stayed true to his word and punished Yusuke for the fidgeting whenever he saw it. That didn’t mean that Yusuke stopped though; he just learned to hide it in front of his mentor. He learned to bottle it all down and release it when he was on his own so he could avoid the punishment.

Even so, the pressure was always building, hissing and screaming to be let out. Sometimes he couldn’t stop it from erupting out of him. Those where the worst days. He would be left shaking and crying, scratching at himself, trying to alleviate that crushing feeling deep down in his soul.

He was only hurting himself – he knew that – but it was the only way to make himself feel better.

Madarame didn’t understand it, just as he had never understood anything about Yusuke. As always, he resorted to violence. He would smack Yusuke on the back of the head every time, repeating the same words.

“Quiet hands.”

Like how a dog can be made to salivate at the sound of a ringing bell, Yusuke was conditioned to associate exhibiting these behaviours in front of others with fear. With pain. Whenever Madarame had guests over, he played the role of the perfect protégé and dutiful student, exactly how Madarame wanted him to, so that he could avoid his ire.

Not once did he question it.

Madarame just wanted what was best for him.

That was the only explanation.

 As sad as it was to admit, Yusuke had never had friends before he met the phantom thieves. He had always been too busy with his art and studies and never had enough time to socialise. No one at his school liked him enough to talk to him anyway.

The closest person he had to a friend when he was a child was Natsuhiko, who had been more like a brother to him, but Natsuhiko left when Yusuke was ten years old. Ysuuke didn’t even get to say goodbye. He just found his bed empty one morning and was informed of his departure over breakfast. Yusuke never quite forgave Natsuhiko for leaving him like that.

The Phantom Thieves were a motley crew, but they were the kindest people Yusuke had met in a long time, so he was happy to call them his friends. They were all kindred spirits, people who had been beaten down and abused by the world, and people who wanted change.

He found solace in their friendship. It was comforting to be around people who were so much like him, who had similar pasts and experiences, and who could understand him.

That day he was reminded of how kind the Phantom Thieves were.

Yusuke had started yet another one of his passionate rants – this time about an artist from the Edo period, who was well known for his unique handling of colours and composition – and instead of blowing him off and ignoring him, as he had expected them to, everyone was paying attention to what he had to say.

And he loved it. Art was a second parent to Yusuke (it had certainly done more to raise him than Madarame ever had) and he would happily ramble about it for hours on end. Once he got going, he could rarely force himself to stop.

There was a lull in his ramble, and he realised how rude he was being. “I apologise,” he said. “I let that go on a bit long, didn’t I? I have a bad habit of running my mouth. It won’t happen again.”

“We don’t mind man,” said Ryuji. “Art makes you happy and shit. We get that.”

“It’s like me and computers,” added Futaba, who was crouching on the couch and fiddling with the ends of her hair. “Sometimes you’ve just got to talk about these things.”

“Whatever makes you happy Yusuke,” said Ann.

“We’re your friends,” explained Ren, leaning dangerously far back in his chair. “We only want you to be happy, and if this is what makes you happy, go for it.” Haru and Makoto nodded in agreement.

Yusuke couldn’t stop himself. He felt bubbly and ecstatic. All that energy had to go somewhere and he found his hand flapping, quite without his input or permission. He rocked on his heels, riding that wave of joy.

It didn’t last long however, and a wave of horror came crashing down upon him as soon as he realised what he had done. Everyone was staring at him and he was frozen in place.

It was like he was the painting in Madarame’s palace. That damn thing haunted his dreams. He would never forget it – the reminder that he was nothing than a thing to the man who raised him. The man he thought of as his father. It sneered at him, as he tossed and turned, reminding him that he would never truly be free.

A tiny sliver of his brain knew that Madarame was gone, and couldn’t hurt him anymore. But it was overwhelmed by everything else that was screaming at him that he was in danger. That he needs to run and not look back. But he couldn’t even do that.

They’ll only hate you after this.

He tried to force himself to say something – anything – but couldn’t force out a single sound. He swore that he couldn’t breathe. Everyone’s eyes were on him. His heart was racing, pumping adrenaline through his veins that he wouldn’t even use because he was too terrified to run, let alone move.

“Yusuke is something wrong?” asked Ren, ever the gracious leader. Yusuke wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle it if Ren hit him. He was usually so composed, but Yusuke knew he packed a mean punch. He had seen him use it on shadows before.

Maybe, if he uses it on you, you’ll turn to dust and blow away as well. Then you won’t bother them anymore. They’ll be happy that you’re gone.

“I can’t— I don’t— I need—" he stammered, unable to form the words correctly. Everyone was staring at him. This was so humiliating.

Ren cast a desperate look to Futaba, who nodded and swayed to her feet. She inched toward Yusuke and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. Yusuke flinched and she pulled away.

“You need to breathe Yusuke,” said Futaba. “I know it’s hard, but you need to breathe. In for four, hold for seven, and out for eight. Come on, do it with me.”

Yusuke took in a single shaky breath. And then another. Soon, his heart stopped palpitating at a million miles an hour, and he finally felt stable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what came over me. I- I don’t know. It simply happened.”

“It’s okay. You were just having a panic attack. Have you never had one before?” asked Futaba.

“No…” said Yusuke. “I can’t believe I lost control like that in front of everyone. This is mortifying.”

“No one’s going to judge you or anything. These things happen,” said Futaba, with a shrug. Everyone else nodded. “Do you know if anything triggered it?” she asked.

Yusuke chewed on his fingernails, a nervous habit that he never managed to kick, despite Madarame’s best efforts. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“We won’t. Trust me.”

“I am different to other people,” he admitted. “I always have been. When I was young, I had bad habits that were beginning to cause problems, so Madarame took it upon himself to… fix my issue.”

Futaba frowned. “You don’t mean..?”

“He used to hit me. It was never anything that bad, and never enough to bruise or scar, but it was adequate, and corrected the problem. I believe losing control and exhibiting that behaviour again in front of others was enough to remind me of it. I apologise for worrying you all.” He bowed his head, staring down at the ground.

There was a long, empty silence, which was broken by Ryuji. “Dude. He was abusing you.”

Yusuke blinked. “And that’s… bad?”

“Of course it’s bad!” exclaimed Ann. “He hurt you. It’s no wonder you’re afraid of him.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Ren, staring Yusuke down.

“I didn’t think it was important…”

Futaba walked over to the couch and took her previous crouched position. “So, Inari, are you autistic?” she asked.

Yusuke scowled. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. I was diagnosed as a child, but I grew out of it.”

He was a little surprised when Futaba cringed and Ren shook his head. “You don’t grow out of autism Yusuke,” said Ren, as gently as he could. “It’s a part of who you are.”

“But I’m not autistic anymore! I’m not. Madarame fixed me,” exclaimed Yusuke.

“Man, not to rude or anything,” interjected Ryuji. “But he lowkey traumatised you. He didn’t fix shit.”

“Hitting someone for stimming is like punishing your puppy for wagging it’s tail,” said Makoto. “You’re just doing what your body wants you to do. It’s normal. We all do it.” She gestured between herself, Futaba, and Ren.

Yusuke’s eyes widened. “You mean, you’re all like me?” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Ren “You’re not alone.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Why was he crying? “You’re all too kind.

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Nah. We’re just not shitty people like that bastard. Sorry if that’s rude or whatever, but it’s true.”

Yusuke couldn’t stop himself from snickering. “That’s absolutely true. He was a grade A asshole”

“Group hug!” announced Haru, launching herself at Yusuke. Soon, Yusuke found himself in the middle of a crushing group hug with every single Phantom Thief except Morgana, who was still peacefully sleeping on the windowsill.

“You’re a bit weird,” said Ryuji. “But you’re our weirdo.”

 It was Yusuke’s turn to decide where the group went on their weekly outing, and he chose the planetarium. Natsuhiko had taken him there once, when Yusuke was about ten years old. Looking back, he knew it was because Madarame had come home drunk again and Natsuhiko didn’t want him to see that.

It was funny how many of his good memories were tainted by hindsight.

Even so, the day stood out in his mind. It was a single happy moment in the sea of abject misery that was his childhood. Natsuhiko had spent the entire evening pointing out different constellations and telling Yusuke stories about them.

Even after Natsuhiko left, Yusuke remembered the stories. He would trace the constellations onto his palm and whisper the stories to himself, desperately clinging onto the few things he had left of Natsuhiko. He remembered every single word, exactly how Natsuhiko had told him.

He and his friends found their seats and settled down. The lights flickered on above them, stars appearing in the dark expanse. He remembered Natsuhiko daring him to try and count them. It was impossible; there were just too many. An incomprehensible number.

It was beautiful. He would paint it, but he could never capture its majesty quite right. All the swirls of purple and blue and black, with pinpricks of light shining through, filled the entire domed ceiling. It would never fit on a canvas.

Futaba leaned over and whispered to him, “Do you know any stories about the stars?”

“Are you sure you want to hear?” replied Yusuke. “You know how much I can go on about these things.”

“Of course. We all want to hear!” said Ann. Yusuke looked around to the smiling faces of his friends and couldn’t help but grin himself.

“Okay,” he said, flapping his hands, as he collected all the right words. Flapping was his favourite stim. There was nothing quite like it for that fluttery, excited feeling in his chest. “Can you see those three stars over there that form a line?” he said. “They are a part of a constellation called ‘Take No Fushi’. They represent a bamboo cane, being held by a young girl. The story stays that she and her sister were carrying buckets of water balanced on canes of bamboo, when they were attacked by a fearsome Oni. There was no escape, so they climbed a rope towards the sky. The elder sister became the moon, and the younger sister became the stars that trail after her…”

Everyone was listening to him. No one minded his stimming. He knew, for the first time in years, that it was okay to be himself around those he loved.

[biogenericpublishers]

Anesthesia Articles in JBGSR

Malpractice in the Intensive Care Unit by Evangelia Michail Michailidou* in Open Access Journal of Biogeneric Science and Research (JBGSR)

Abstract

Error in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) is a welldocumented and frequent problem. This is understandable as one looks at the complexities of serious disease along with the number of invasive and potentially harmful procedures that are commonly used there. Until recently, allegations of medical malpractice resulting from suspected mismanagement in the ICU were unusual, but there has been a rise the last years.

It is difficult to determine whether the increase in lawsuits is due to a real increase in adverse incidents or to a shift in media perception. There is no question that the aggressive cover-up by law companies dealing in personal injury lawsuits offering to initiate claims on a contingency fee basis has become more common. The Medical Protection Society is experiencing an increasing number of claims generally, and the value of damages awarded is skyrocketing [1].

This includes the insufficient number of ICU beds in the public sector and the acute lack of appropriate nurses in both the public and private sectors. More troubling are the obstacles faced by nurses to apply for critical care and the limited number of critical care nurses graduating. Coupled with a high rate of turnover due to burn-out and greater work openings in other industries and overseas, this leads to a situation where even private ICUs fail to staff their units and retain standards. The mixture of high bed occupancy, chronically ill patients and novice nurses provides the ideal atmosphere for errors and incidents that can lead to lawsuits for damages. The condition is not any different on the medical side. The quality of treatment is that critically ill patients should be treated in ICUs by a team of health providers headed by critical care practitioners with specialty in Intensive Care. Not only surgeons, internists or anesthesiologists without specialization in Intensive Care, which they close holes in the gaps of the health system and do not have the proper education. We are all accustomed to thinking in terms of our primary specialty but this carries many risks. Intensive care training offers the skill to treat the patient comprehensively and systematically, something very important in patients of ICU. Although, we have to mention that there were few unexpected variations in malpractice claims occurring in ICU because of specific medical specialty. Preventive efforts should concentrate on procedures, regardless of the medical specialty, including: 1. Retaining procedural skills, 2. Well-framing of procedural hazards, and 3. Adequately describing post-procedural complications. Skills that are either innate or can be developed through ICU specialization training.

While critically ill patients in the private sector are frequently handled by separate and not suitable always, physicians, these doctors prefer to see the patient at different times of the day, give contradictory orders, and make their own private records. There is no team work usually. Also, under the best of conditions, ICU management often – one would say eventually – results in 'iatrogenic' disorders. John Marshall pointed out that critical disease is potentially iatrogenic and it only exists in people who have survived a life-threatening medical procedure. In addition, the entire structure of serious illness is focused on the effects of original resuscitation attempts or the outcomes of procedures that are regularly conducted in the ICU. It is

Introduction

The plants are part of a rich ecosystem in the soil [1], where bacteria generally colonize the plant rhizosphere and, sometimes, the endosphere. Some beneficial effects for plants may include assistance in getting nutrients and promoting plant growth by modulating growth-related hormones [2]. Other benefits include the reduction of damage caused by phytopathogen [3]. Filamentous plant pathogens can severely attack plants, and in agriculture, this could lead to high economic annual losses [4]. The suppressive soils support soil microorganisms as the first defense against soilborne pathogens. General suppressive soils have a high total microbial biomass, resulting in low protection against multiple pathogens. This strategy is dependent on the quality and quantity of soil organic matter and cover crops that enhance populations of beneficial microbes intended to antagonize associated crop pathogens primarily by occupying plant infection sites [5]. However, specific suppressive soils have a high concentration of specific microbial species and result in high protection against specific pathogens [6].

Cultural practices in agriculture have a strong influence on soil health through physicochemical characteristics and soil microbial communities. Beneficial cultural practices are used to improve soil health and can, in some cases, increase soil disease suppression [7]. According to Schlatter et al. [6], the relationship between soil properties and soil suppressiveness has not been deeply studied. Many different abiotic or biotic soil characteristics have been used to describe suppressiveness, but there is a lack of reliable descriptors.

The plant protection of certain bacteria against pathogens includes a wide range of mechanisms: antibiosis, competition for colonization sites, nutrients and minerals, parasitism, and cell lysis [8]. The protection can be caused by direct action due to antibiotic compounds or indirectly by promoting plant defense as induced systemic resistance [9]. The biological activity is also related to secondary metabolites production, low molecular mass products not essential for bacteria survival produced by secondary metabolism during the late growth phase (idiophase) [10]. These compounds are generally involved in the antibiosis or perform synergism with other inhibitors [11].

This mini-review focuses on some conditions needed to maintain a suppressive soil and the antibiotic compounds produced by the most studied bacteria groups. Because of these molecules' wide diversity, the classification is complex, and several criteria could be taken [12]. In this overview, the work description considers the bioactive metabolites as volatile compounds and non-ribosomal peptides in an integrated and general way difficult to determine the limits between cause and effect and between acceptable complications and preventable negligence [2-5].

Patients who survive a lengthy stay in the ICU are rarely left with life-long complications as a result. Prolonged muscle fatigue, neurological disabilities, and post-traumatic stress disorder involving both the patient and the family are usually described. Who can blame the patient for his anger?

Patients are most frequently admitted to intensive care as a result of an iatrogenic case. Researches showing that more than 21 per cent of admissions had a previous iatrogenic case, the most common being adverse drug disorders, postoperative illnesses and complications of surgical procedures. Personal injury attorneys extend the net extensively and ICU workers may be accused, particularly if the long-term condition is not specifically linked to the initial injury [6].

How do we defend ourselves from legal action that can be both socially and psychologically crippling, not to mention financially catastrophic, if one is not insured? Guidelines and protocols are not always solutions. Hospital managers appreciate directives because they transfer the responsibility to either the writer or the person who failed to obey [7].

The instructions have a position, but are of no value if they are out of date, so impractical that they cannot be complied with or agreed by the workers. There will never be a rule for any case, and there can be no formula for intensive care. By all means have basic rules, but they must be practical, versatile, approved and revised on a regular basis. The most critical thing is to uphold high professional expectations. This means ensuring that all medical professionals and nurses who treat chronically ill patients are critical care experts. In addition, they need to remain up to date with the constantly evolving field of critical care medicine. A multidisciplinary in-house academic curriculum is a positive start [8].

Second, intensive care administration should be focused on a team. The ICU team includes nurses, surgeons, dieticians, physiotherapists and others who contribute to patient care on a regular basis [9]. The team needs a leader, preferably an intensivist, who supports a 'flat hierarchy' and a transparent and efficient contact mechanism. This includes a joint management round where the different practitioners will offer feedback and remind, criticize and help each other [10].

Even a supreme chief cannot defeat a team when it comes to decision-making. Harmonious teaming often ensures that the patient and the family do not get mixed reports about the patient’s success and anticipated results. Holding good notes is necessary, not only as the most effective defensive tool in the (no doubt unlikely) case of a legal problem, but also as part of the contact on patient management. Notes should not only document clinical observations and incidents, but also the explanation why decisions have been taken. It is advisable to retain a copy of one's own reports and share them with colleagues in the patient's hospital folder [11-13].

Finally, maintaining a positive relationship with the patient's family is incredibly necessary, not only to get them navigate emotionally tough times, but also because they are the patient's proxy decision makers. Families need details, but the mistake of overwhelming them with medical care should be avoided. It is more important to give them time to pose questions. It is not generally possible to build a connection with the patient when they are seriously ill, so a follow-up visit after they have left the ICU is an important way to link with them at a personal level and at the same time give them an explanation of what has happened and what the potential effects are. In the case of patients who have died in the ICU, the interpersonal relationship that has developed with their relatives throughout their hospitalization [14].

We ought to have in our mind that most of malpractice cases are brought not out of malpractice or even because of concerns about the quality of medical treatment, but as an indication of frustration about any aspect of patient-doctor or doctor-relatives relations and contact. Intensivists who consider and will react adequately to the emotional needs of their patients are less likely to be sued [15,16]. This can also be transformed into a more accomplished practice of medicine by those doctors who are most mindful of the importance of a positive relationship. For more articles in JBGSR Click on https://biogenericpublishers.com/

To know more about this article click on https://biogenericpublishers.com/jbgsr.ms.id.00129.text/ https://biogenericpublishers.com/pdf/JBGSR.MS.ID.00129.pdf

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[kristie-rp]

Wrong Place - Wrong Time

Original by @coloredinsanity / @cassandra-rp

triggers: Needles, human experimentation without consent, kidnapping

The last thing Ikari remembered feeling before her eyes rolled back was a sharp pain, the end of her attempt to fight. The color drained from her face, a sure sign that her opponents attack had worked. The tranquilizer darts used by employees of Herontesuto Laboratories were strong enough to pull Paimon under; Ikari didn’t stand a chance.

Quinn Hardy, genius reporter that she was, had caught footage of the encounter before booking it from the scene. It wouldn’t take long for Nano to find the footage, pulled from the reporters blog. Immediately afterwards, the sound of splintering wood interrupted the peace of their home: Nano had punched through the door of his workroom.

Nano was the calm one, Rikku prone to violence. That he’d reacted at all had put Rikku on alert as she strode out of their gym, a knot forming in her stomach. There was very little that could put Nano in an aggressive mood, and –

Rikku and Ikari were finally getting along, for the first time in years. Things were relatively okay – so of course things had to go down hill again. The knot in Rikku’s stomach fell as Nano mumbled an explanation, the three words they’d both been so concerned about, more than anything else:

“Heron has her.”

Rikku stops, pauses. All the motherly instincts she’d managed to repress for various reasons flared up immediately, and she shoved past Nano as she tamped them down. She still wasn’t particularly talented with computers, not seeing the point in learning when she had Nano around, but she could figure out restarting the video he’d left running on the largest screen, watching the footage attentively as she worked towards a state of mind that would actually be useful.

“We’re not leaving her there,” she said at last, after a lengthy silence following the end of the video. Whatever reporter had her hands on it, Rikku didn’t particularly care: what mattered to her was that now that they knew, they could act. “She was injected with something. They would have spent longer capturing her if they didn’t intend to start immediately.” Rikku’s lip twisted, but it felt distant to her. She knew what that meant: she had developed a habit long ago of dissociating from her body as much as possible in times of emotional and physical strife. The pain wasn’t useful to her, not when acting brashly or caving to weakness would end a fight in anything but her favor.

“We can’t charge in there without a plan,” Nano protested. He’d come to stand at Rikku’s side and was trying to hold as still as her. Trying was the operative word; she could see his human fingers twitching, twisting around the ring long since built into his robotic hand.

Actually, Rikku had half a mind to go alone, considering she’d met Nano because he was a pet project of Heron��s. She only had his assurance that he’d increased the security of his implants so hostile individuals couldn’t take over, and for all she trusted him, she didn’t trust whatever technology Heron had on hand. Still, she wasn’t going to have this argument now. “We won’t – we’re going to sit and discuss it. Compile everything we know about Heron. And then rip them apart for daring to touch Ikari.”

Ikari gasped awake, peeling her eyelids open against the grogginess consuming her. Her head spun, and the room around her warped into a white blur. Her arm and leg had been deactivated, but they couldn’t disable her spine – luckily. She scanned the room as she tried to focus and make sense of what was going on, recognising the room from the stories she’d heard. She tried to sit up, only to find herself restrained by a series of metallic binds that dug into her flesh. They bound her intermittently from head to toe, and even if she could get out – two of her limbs had been disabled. As the severity of her situation hit her, tears stung at her eyes.

It felt like hours passed before someone finally came in. As the scientist approached, Ikari took note of everything she could think to. An older woman who wore her dirty blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail, with blue eyes that seemed dull behind her glasses, she wore the standard lab outfit, the one her parents had described to her until she could repeat it in her sleep. Despite that, the woman herself seemed oddly familiar.

“I didn’t know that a Miuro was capable of crying,” she stated drily. Ikari watched as she pulled a tape recorder from the pocket of her coat, and switched it on. “This is Doctor Ameila Andurgor. Heron, employee ID 2581. Experiment on subject 15-dash-1. Nephilim testing. Unlike patient 14 and 84, she appears to display no signs of calmness, and is in fact quite distressed.” If Ikari had expected pity, she would be disappointed; judging by everything Ameila said, everything possible was being done to avoid seeing her as a person.

Ikari didn’t say anything as her breathing started to come faster. She knew Angeline, had listened to her stories about her parents. None of them gave her a warm fuzzy feeling, but she knew that the presence of Angeline’s mother meant she was on floor 5 – DNA – as that was what the woman specialized in. She pushed at the restraints again despite knowing it was useless; nothing the DNA department did would be something she wanted to experience.

She only broke her silence when she saw the syringe Ameila had brought in. The liquid inside was red and gold, and Ikari immediately knew this was going to be shitty. The entire situation had her feeling anxious, but with the syringe in sight, she was downright panicked.

“No! No. No – don’t – please don’t –” she tried to plead, but it was pointless. She struggled as much as she could, but with her entire body trapped as it was, she couldn’t fend Ameila off, and the fluid was injected into her human arm.

Ikari couldn’t see what Ameila saw. The scientist was fascinated to watch Ikari’s eyes – previously magenta – turn completely gold, and the glow that began to emanate from them. All Ikari felt was the agonizing pain, a burning sensation that started from the veins in her arm and throughout the rest of her body. She began to thrash and scream, enough that the binds snapped, coming apart around her. The pain and anxiety Ikari was experiencing was enough that she didn’t know how she broke them; all she knew was that without their support – and without her leg being active – she fell. On the cold tile, she screamed and clutched at her head and face, clawing at herself without realizing, trying to get the pain out.

She felt another prick, but it couldn’t compare to the pain she was in. It was almost kind of them to inject her with this next one, and her eyes rolled back once again as she slowly fell asleep.

It didn’t last long, at least that was what she figured. She woke up in a different cell, much more like Bella had described in the past – more like what Rikku talked about.

The pain continued to rip through her, making her feel as though her veins were on fire. Her breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps, erratic at best. Her limbs had remained offline, leaving her trapped on the bed as she clawed at her own skin. Tears had been falling before, but she was crying in earnest now. The pain felt more focused, shifting from her extremities towards her back – but that wasn’t much comfort when the pain didn’t lessen at all.

[racingtoaredlight]

Opening Bell: August 23, 2019

This week, the Trump White House backed off a plan to renege on $4 billion worth of spending that was earmarked for foreign governments and international organizations, including the United Nations. The plan to do so was hatched within the Office of Management and Budget as a means to recoup unspent appropriations. There are two noteworthy aspects of this, one which the article highlights directly, and one mentioned more in passing. First, whether intended or not, this was an attempt by the Trump administration to conduct an end-around on Congress’s constitutionally mandated authority to appropriate spending for a particular purpose, and congressional pushback, bilateral pushback no less, reflects a much-needed victory for the legislative branch as it attempts to restore some balance of power in relation to the executive branch, as the Constitution envisioned. Second, it also reflects a check on President Trump’s attempts to retrench U.S. involvement on the global stage. One of Trump’s few principles—and he has but two or three at the most—is that internationalism is disadvantageous for the United States; we, as a country, do not see a return on our investment in the form of foreign aid or participation in international organizations and conventions. Members of Congress, particularly those with a foreign policy or national security bent to them, who are otherwise allies of the president—most notably Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC)—have occasionally pushed back on these cuts by the White House, and this was no exception. This should count as a victory for those that seek to maintain as many political norms as possible in this climate.

For much of the summer, economists have expressed concern about an impending recession. The basis of this concern has been the lengthy period of economic expansion—rarely in American history has a period of growth lasted this long without at least a brief recessionary interlude—and multiple underlying other economic indicators, such as wage growth, have given the appearance that the post Great Recession recovery has been a hollow one all along. Complicating this situation has been two great spates of economic turbulence: the enormous tax cut passed by Congress and the ongoing, and increasingly ruinous, trade war with China. The trade war, supported by evermore tariffs imposed against Chinese goods, which have in turn been met with reprisals on American agricultural products, has pushed both countries onto an economic precipice. A further exacerbating factor has been the approach and response of the current administration; rather than stand as a unified voice on the economic situation, it has instead resembled a person with dissociative disorder; multiple personalities, all manifesting at different times and saying strikingly different things. The economy, as we saw in 2008 in particular, is based upon trust, both in the system and in its stakeholders. Markets dislike uncertainty, and so when one of the national economic stakeholders is unable to present a unified front, uncertainty is bound to become predominate.

Speaking of Donald Trump, the record number of Democrats seeking to challenge him in 2020 continues to dwindle, albeit slowly if not more appreciably. This week, two candidates—former Colorado Governor John Hickenlooper and current Washington Governor Jay Inslee—both decided to bow out. Hickenlooper decided instead to challenge Sen. Corey Gardner (R-Colo.) while Inslee will seek a third term in Olympia. Inslee, running effectively as a one-issue candidate—the environment and climate change—probably knew that he could not make inroads in such a huge Democratic field; plans to arrest climate change do not quite arrest the public conscious as much as free college tuition, regardless of which one is more likely to actually be implemented. Nonetheless, Inslee did succeed, if only briefly, in putting his signature issue in the spotlight and he may even have a chance of getting it adopted as a plank in the Democratic platform at the 2020 convention. Hickenlooper was a candidate appealing to the middle ground, like former Rep. John Delaney (D-MD.). It remains to be seen whether a centrist or a more leftist—or progressive, if you will—candidate will capture the attention of Democratic primary voters.

The two largest components of the federal budget each year, whether Congress actually passes a comprehensive budget or a Continuing Resolution which covers spending for a given year or two, are on entitlements—Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, etc.—and defense spending. The annual budget that Congress appropriates to the Defense Department, it is often pointed out, is greater than the next seven or eight countries combined. And yet the U.S. Navy possesses the fewest warships in decades, the Marine Corps is looking to downsize from its personnel height during the Global War on Terror, and the Air Force is looking for ways to trim costs on its Next Generation Bomber, the B-21, which is projected to cost hundreds of billions of dollars. The problem as this Rolling Stone article by Matt Taibbi eloquently points out, is that the Defense Department does not engage in cost-reductions for two reason: it has no idea how much money, assets, and expenditures it actually has, and there is an institutional disinclination to making the accounting system better. One of the most telling parts of this is when a $4 billion part of the Marine Corps’ budget was inspected to see if it met congressionally mandated audit guidelines and of that amount, the Corps was unable to account for $2 billion. The mind fairly staggers.

Virtually the entire geopolitical circumstances of the modern Middle East, stem from the Six Day War of 1967. In June of that year, Israel launched a massive preemptory attack against the militaries of Egypt, Syria, and Jordan and inflicted such a crushing blow, that Israeli ground forces were able to capture vast swathes of territory—including East Jerusalem—which are still under Israeli control today; the so-called Occupied Territories. The lore of the Six Day War is hard to resist: Israel, outnumbered in military might by its perpetually hostile neighbors, bests three of them in less than a calendar week. But, much like how the Duke of Wellington described his victory at Waterloo, the Six Day War was a “damned near run thing.” The Israelis were rewarded for strategic aggressiveness and decisive action, but only because a series of events, out of their control, created certain circumstances which contributed to early Israeli success. The Six Day War may have been brief in duration, but it was won even faster: in its first six hours, and this is an outstanding explanation of how it happened and serves as a meditation on how a military action from over half a century ago continues to inform the modern Middle East.

There is a better than decent chance that you, any of you, have heard of W.E.B. DuBois. I would hazard a guess that few, if any of you, have heard of Madison Grant or Lothrop Stoddard. There may be a distinct reason for this, and it is apparent in the outcome of a short series of debates between DuBois and Stoddard in 1927. DuBois, true to his intellectual might, presented a logical case for why black Americans deserved equal rights with white Americans. Stoddard, in his response, relied upon racial theories based upon the supposedly superior nature or Nordic people’s “germ-plasm.” Without spoiling the outcome of the debate—the title does so already—the DuBois-Stoddard duels reflect something applicable in our current circumstances: allowing the purveyors of white nationalism to present their beliefs in the right forum, exposes the utter absurdity, the abject ridiculousness of their dogma. In this piece, the build-up by writer Iran Frazier takes time, but the point is well worth making.

In 2015, an elderly resident of Corning, California, approximately an hour and a half north of Sacramento, stopped greeting his mailman on the porch. His investment advisor noted that Eugene Brown had stopped making his twice daily calls; one before the opening of the New York Stock Exchange each morning, and one immediately after its close each afternoon. A police welfare call confirmed suspicions: the elderly Brown, who lived by himself, had died of a stroke in his home. Thereafter, officials of the county public administration office sprang into action in order to index Brown’s belongings and seek to find a will or last testament. Brown, as so often is the case, did not have a will. But his home did not have the signs of an elderly hoarder. In fact, Brown lived a rather spartan existence. But this undermined the fact that Brown was in fact a millionaire. This is the story of discovering a parsimonious millionaire who has few family members, no will, and what happens after in such a circumstance. 

Finally, much has been made of the amount of support which Donald Trump continues to enjoy among Republicans, while Democrats appear riven among a wildly divergent group of presidential candidates—numbering somewhere around 23, depending on when you read this—that range from the far left-socialist, and the centralists in the mold of Bill and Hillary Clinton. This article by Alan Abramowitz explains, without drawing conclusions, that the Democratic Party is more divisive going into 2020 than Republicans. This, I would argue, is a product of Democrats becoming the bigger tent party as Republicans continue to alienate communities outside of white, rural males.

 Welcome to the weekend.