#They are used to classify and sort documents in the archive

[this-is-not-a-slow-burn]

hate what people did to the dead dove tag

[inbabylontheywept]

So I found one of your (nonfiction) stories and read the one about the refrigerators, and it made the librarian part of me very curious (and a bit horrified) and I have so many questions!! (Feel free to entirely ignore this, and I really don’t intend to ask anything classified) Are there still refrigerators being used for document storage? Did the refrigerators keep reasonably consistent temperature/humidity? (Because those are both things you want in anything resembling archival storage) How long were documents stored in refrigerators? Do you have any actual document storage/retention guidelines?!

Thank you so much for sharing all your stories, they are hilarious!!!

Naw, it's surprisingly difficult to even ask questions about classified material. We're encouraged but not technically required to be vague about the tests and their purposes, but the fridges are fair game.

Anyway, from the top:

Are there fridges still being used for document storage? At the time that I wrote the fridge piece, we were down to four (4) file storage fridges. At present, we are down to a single (1) file storage fridge, and parts to repair it are on backlog. Then we're going to have to build another filing cabinet. Not looking forward to that.

Did the refigerators keep things reasonant consistent for temperature/humidity? Yes. The temperature in the building does not fluctuate very much (they have relic computer systems that are absolutely, terrifyingly irreplacable) and keeping them happy is a major concern. The fact that it preserves paper is just a convenient side benefit. Humidity is likewise kept low in the basement (like, single digit percent low), for the benefit of some machines that dislike it strongly. We do occasionally raise the humidity in certain location while handling ESD sensitive materials, but those tend to be far from the fridges.

How long were the documents stored in refigerators? We have some facility documents that date back to 1972. We do occasionally have to reference those documents to answer such thrilling questions as "Why does overloading the machine hydraulics downstairs sometimes cause the microwave clock to reset upstairs?" (The answer is that, for reasons no one can explain, they ran 125 feet of wire off the test cell's breaker specifically upstairs, to the one outlet that powers the microwave.) (Seriously.) (And then they recorded this, as if their confession could expunge this kind of sin.) (Engineering does not follow Catholic God's rules- we do not have to forgive someone just because they fessed up.)

Do we have any actual document storage/retention guidelines? Sorta. The guidelines for disposal of documents refers to both positions and specific people that have been gone for years. In theory, someone could take it upon themselves to champion a new disposal process, but that would be boring bureaucratic work whose reward would be doing more boring bureaucratic work, and the machines that we work on here are the coolest shit in the world. Everybody loves working on the machines. Nobody likes sorting through papers. So we just kind of keep punting that one down the road. We'll probably do that until we get someone in who actually prefers doing paperwork to badass science (basically impossible), we get someone from outside the group who arrives to assure document compliance (theoretically possible, ridiculously arare) or until we run out of space (actually impossible, we add space more quickly than we can fill it with papers). We do have guidelines on storage safety. I do not know a lot about what they are. I'd be surprised if the fridges weren't kosher though. The official cabinets have some parts flimsy enough to put through with a can opener. Those fridges could be dropped from an airplane and not get a dent. They're beautiful devices.

[basilone]

I want to hear your thoughts on fandom and the recent influx of the term content creation!

Well, anon, you are in luck! (Or not, depending on your definition of luck. 😉) I just so happen to have many Thoughts & Opinions™ about this. I will get wordy, this will get lengthy, and I will be social and put most of my thoughts under a readmore cut.

I personally try to avoid the terms ‘content’ and ‘content creation’ when talking about fandom works and a fandom’s creative pursuits nowadays. Occasionally, sure, it happens that it slips out anyway – it’s a term we’re all really used to using! – but I want to be as mindful about its use as possible. This is a personal decision on my account and I won’t get uppity about other people’s use of these terms, though.

But, Killy, you might say... why would you avoid using these terms? For me, here’s why:

Content is not synonymous with art;

Content creation indicates something different than art creation;

Fandom should not be subject to consumerism;

Fandom is about connection.

If all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die.

Yeah. I know. Melodramatic much? I’m on my fainting couch here, folks. 😂 But let’s dig in, shall we?

You know, maybe it’s just the archivist in me that balks at the term ‘content’. Content is a data entry field in the archival system we use at my real-life job: literally speaking, this data entry field is where we put a brief summary of the document attached to that specific archival file. It contains information that tells you the key takeaways of what the document is about, but it will not contain the full text of the document itself. Content is one of the points of access for our archival search: I know what I’m looking for, so I put a few keywords into our search and it pulls up the relevant file. But what do I need, really need, in my line of work? It’s the document itself, not the data entry field. The document tells me the whole story that I need to be able to truly do my job well. The content-field is a cliffnotes edition of that story.

It’s the same way with the art we create in fandom. I’m gonna take myself as an example here, because I create a fair bit! (Shocking, I know. Local Tumblr cryptid sighting, more at 11. 😎) I spend hours writing fic. I spend hours sorting through screencaps before screeching at Photoshop for a lengthy amount of time. I spend days pouring over quotes, books, documents, photographs, tutorials, and other things that will help me create something cool. I apply color theory, art framing/perspective, narrative focus, and many other theories and techniques to my writing and my giffing. If I were to put my finished work or any of my WIPs in that same archive system, it would be the document within the archival file. The tags I use on my posts? Those are markers similar to the content-field. They tell you who my gifset depicts and from which show it is. They tell you which OC of mine my fic is about. My work contains these things I tagged.

But my creative work is not content itself.

Content is marketable, easy access, blurb-y stuff. Content is something you absorb within one minute flat. Content is the highlight reel. It’s what fills a page, something you’ll scroll past in a heartbeat, something that barely stands out in a long long long list of stuff. Content is what you consume on a lazy Sunday afternoon without ever being forced to read lengthy pieces, take in the details of what you see, pause mid-scroll to ponder the meaning of life, whatever else have you. Create content and you create a flash in the pan, a quick laugh maybe, before it fizzles back out again. Create content and it’s here today and gone tomorrow without anyone mourning its absence for too long.

Art should last longer than that, don’t you think? 😉

So when I see people put a fic request in an askbox and it’s phrased like “Speirs x spy!reader fluff” and that very same request makes its way into about ten more askboxes before the fandom starts comparing asks? I might be inclined to classify us all as slot machines. Put an ask in and out rolls a fic. Who cares which slot machine it came from? As long as you’ve got your painstakingly crafted fics that you consume the same way you do actual content, right? We, its writers, are just lucky if we get a pat of acknowledgement on our little slot machine head for our troubles, aren’t we?

When I see an overly detailed summary of what sounds like a full-fledged fic in an askbox and the demand is “write this for me”, I recoil from the screen and go “child, who the hell birthed you, were you raised in a barn?” out loud. If you can tell a story in the space of an askbox, consider asking for help to let that story – a story you own, a story that is more yours that it could ever be mine – grow into what it has the potential to be.

When I see fics and gifsets and other creations get likes but not reblogs, I mutter something about the state of fandom economy these days. We exist in a little fandom bubble. Our bubble can’t expand or blow from place to place without a little help from our friends. And you’re my friends, right? I know the follow-button says follow, guys, believe me, I’m not that far gone, but for me ‘follow’ means ‘friend’. 💚 You’re my buddy now. Suck it up. We’ll share a can of peaches. 🍑

When I see fics and other creations get reblogged without tags or comments attached, I die a little on the inside. I feel like a little Victorian orphan child going “please, reblogger, a little penny of thought for its creator, if it pleases?”. I feel like commentless and/or tagless reblogging is giving me nothing, nothing at all, about who you are.

And I want to get to know you! I want to know who’s in my notes. I want to know who’s scrambling through my MotA gifsets like a fat little raccoon inhaling its third helping of a box of jelly-filled donuts. I want to know who is adopting which character and why. I want to know that it’s your birthday, or that you had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up, or that you are locked in an Ikea at three in the morning reading my blog by the bright lights of countless Solhetta bulbs. I want to know that you love my OC Darlene but that you ain’t sure what the hell my OC Lottie’s got to do with anything. I want to know what tickles you – a turn of phrase I used, a color in a gifset, a little detail I captured that made me go !!!!!! on the inside while I was creating too – and I want to know what moves you.

What reaches into the soil of your being and nourishes you enough to blossom into whichever lovely self you can grow to be? What is precious to you? What comforts you in the dark nights of your soul, when all light feels like it’s faded out? What do you love, truly love? What feeling and thought and idea and love love LOVE do you consume – truly consume, head to tail, no takebacks – and what are you consumed by in turn?

Let me connect with you. Let me know the little internet scraps of you that tell me you’re a DeMarco girlie, or that you’re here for Hoosier only, or that you’re as feral and batty about Speirs as I am, or that you actually really can’t stand the one dude everyone else raves about. Let me know that you like angsty quotes on gifsets – feel free to yell at me for making you schedule an impromptu therapy session – or let me know you saw what I did in my fic there and you’ll be demanding compensation from me while you lie down and wail about it. Let me know you’re very into those lovely blues on a gifset (I know, SO good, right??) or that you are side-eyeing me because that close-up of your fave turned you into a little puddle.

Let me know what moves you, because I created these things with love. I created them because they moved me, too. I created them because I have a story to tell, somehow. I created them because the whole world is a string of stories and I want to pass the heart of them on to you. I created them not because I want to jump on a hypetrain that races past all the episodes and all the alternate universes and all the stories without stopping, but because I want to soak up the sun and point at something and tell you “look, isn’t this beautiful?”. I created them not because I am looking for a quick fix or a distraction or an escape, but because I want to give you something that nourishes you as it has nourished me.

That’s so much more than that quick flash in the pan, yeah? That’s so much more than what content could ever hope to be. That’s something that lasts beyond the clicks and gives you an ever-expanding horizon that leaves you wondering just what in the world is next.

Let me repeat point five: if all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die. Because content doesn’t sustain you. Connection does. And connection? That happens with meaningful interaction. That happens when you stop getting followers and start getting friends. That happens when you treat all forms of art as something unique that can be precious to someone, rather than something to like today and forget about tomorrow.

Can I do a lil mic drop? Yeah. I think I’m gonna. Just this once. 🎤

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Hi!

I have quick archaeology question for you

We've been doing some work in my backyard and have seem to found an old trash pile (broken glass, pottery, a bit of pipe, maybe slag?) I know our house is pretty old so I was curious about dating it!

So, do you have/know of any good resources for dating historical pottery in New England?

Sorry I didn't get to this when you first sent it. I've been busy with a move and then traveling back to visit my family before the beginning of the next semester. Not that I have a moment to breathe, let me throw some resources your way.

Maryland Archaeological Conservation Lab has a good click through menu that can serve as a sort of flowchart for identification. Depending on how late into the historical period you're in, you should be looking at both coarser ceramics and porcelain.

The Digital Archaeological Archive of Comparative Slavery has a comprehensive document for ceramics identification. See also their Ceramics Appendix.

Saint Mary's University has posts with helpful photos, descriptions, and date ranges for numerous types of ceramics.

Alpine Archaeological Consultants has a great paper that's relatively easy to read and features resources on how to identify glass, ceramics, and other artifacts from the historic period.

Parkland College's page is more Midwest-centric, but it's still a good resource.

Florida University has a good description of how archaeologists classify artifacts with examples.

The Society for Historical Archaeology has one of the best databases for historical bottle identification (I'm a huge slut for glass bottles).

The SHA also has a great guide for identification of common 20th century artifacts. See also their Links in Historic Archaeology page and their Research Links page.

If you can find the date (or even the decade) of the construction of your house, that would be a great place to start! If you have artifacts you want to clean, you can use a toothbrush and water, but be careful about scrubbing too vigorously because it can damage paint and labels that are on top of the glaze/glass. Do not use water to clean any metal artifacts. Slag is identifiable because it's bubbly/melted/slightly porous and less heavy than other rocks and/or metal.

If you have pictures of anything, I'd love to see them! Although I can't promise any identification because sometimes it's difficult without being able to physically inspect the artifact.

Other archaeologists are welcome to chime in with any links and resources I might have missed.

-Reid

[chrisairgames]

Time to Play Curios: Albrecht Manor

When it's Halloween, I like to play creepy Halloweenie games. Ok, well I might like spooky games all year-round, but for the horror season it's time to pull out all stops. When I received this package in the mail last month, I knew it'd be perfect for the weekend before Halloween:

Curios: Albrecht Manor is "an epistolary horror mystery experience" by Seb Pines, the first in the new Curios series from Good Luck Press. There is no single person who runs the game. No one knows what they're about to open, other than what you see on the blurb.

The notion of the game is that the players are "Researchers" of "The Archive" who receive evidence and ephemera leftover after the appearance of supernatural phenomena. The details on the Archive is sparse, but you an unbothered dayjob vibe oozes from the tone. This manila envelope is all you're going to get, and your job is to make some declarative statements by the end of the research.

It's a fun space to play. I could see the experience of play spanning the spectrum between a total LARP and completely player-facing. For our game, we were closer to the player-facing end of that spectrum, and had a fabulous evening.

What's inside?

The Albrecht Manor manila envelope contains 11 letters and two postcards, along with a short mailing notice and the "Archive" report card. Like any good horror story, the letters start off tame with bits of weird, yet quickly start including photos, newspaper snippets, blueprints and administrative papers.

From tearing open the letters to the difference in paper textures, styles and handwritten bits were thrilling to handle. We were surprised how each piece, and sometimes innocuous details at first, came back to have us rifling back through what we'd read before.

Play Experience

With the stack of letters in the center of the table, without prior discussion, we naturally began to play by each picking up a letter/postcard, and circling, writing notes, and sharing weird details. This created a fun, anachronistic revelation of details, as sometimes one bit would go unremarked earlier would pop up in someone else's letters.

When an important detail came to the forefront of this developing narrative, I appreciated how the spotlight would pass around each of us adding more context or details or asking questions we weren't sure how to answer. But it's extremely difficult to discuss direct details without spoiling the contents of the letters. The discovery of certain documents and finding the inter-connectivity is the fun of this game.

The game comes with a single paragraph of instruction, which can seem daunting, but I was in awe of how the physical presentation made space for our own curiosity to define the bounds of how we approached the mystery. We examined photos under different types of lamplight, tried using the zoom on our smartphones as impromptu magnifying lenses, and folded paper in all sorts of ways. Most importantly, we were enraptured by this game for nearly three hours and were astonished at how fast the time passed.

We all appreciated how there is no direct, singular answer, and that we the players were the ones to define the story from our collective interpretation. It's not a good mystery, especially a ghost story mystery, if you're not left with more questions by the end.

Spoilers at the next heading!

Three specific moments literally gave me chills. I don't want to spoil those here. After the photo and line break is the report that was sent to the Archivist at curiosarchive.net. I realize now that we didn't "even "formally" discuss how we would classify the Albrecht Manor phenomena, but the classification is hinted at.

While I don't intend to spoil specific details in the letters, the submitted report has major spoilers. So if you haven't played this game, don't read any further!

Submitted Report to the Archivist

29/10/2023

Dear Archivist,

The first sentence on the first postcard, unwittingly, says it all, "the house is a dream."

This group of Archive researchers have deemed this household, built by one Damian Albrecht, to be a spiritual machine. This trap inhabits the mind of its occupants, and grows and shifts according to its creator's and past occupants' hopes and dreams of a warm household. The researchers are even hesitant to call this a haunting, but agree the house appears to be a spatio-temporal machination propelled by the spirits it is required to consume to keep operating. The fire, in this interpretation, is a convenient excuse for the house to re-enter its slumbering stasis. The researchers' consensus is that there must be only one true fire, but could not access WHEN that may be.

The researchers agreed, though without substantial evidence, the purpose of this machine is to sustain not only long life to its creator, Damian Albrecht, but also to impose HIS dream onto others, and subsume their dreams to feed his own. Again, the fire is a convenient cover-up for the displaced spirits Albrecht has trapped.

The researchers were divided on several facets, foremost questioning the actual existence of the principal figures: Alex Dunn and Anne Wilson. Could it be that Alex Dunn is in fact Albrecht? Has the persona of Alex Dunn created the character of Anne Wilson to represent the inhabitants of St. Ann? Will there be an all-consuming fire that destroys the town, and this house (and letters) are calling the community to action, as a sort of warning? Does Albrecht Manor's machinery twist and channel the powers of the Catholic Saint Ann, whose emblem is a Door, to imbue itself with supernatural power? If Alex Dunn is/was a real person, were they drawn to the house due to past trauma involving Anne and the implied kitchen fire that took place in the past? Did this oft-alluded-to fire kill Anne?

Many loose ends remain, but these Archive Researchers remain confident that the initial readings of the Albrecht Manor as deviating from the traditional haunting are correct. The "ghosts" are most likely Albrecht himself, and the temporal echoes of the Manor's past occupants. We put forth that through mechano-spiritual insights, "Damian Albrecht" built Albrecht Manor to trap people into its/his dreams of a perfect home. As a single household can never be "perfect" in his madness, the Manor and its master yearn to consume more ideals to feed this imperfect spiritual machine.

Thank you for reading, dear Archivist.

All best, Chris Air & Friends.

[ravenhol-m]

The archive did have a copy of the paper, yes, but they were strangely reluctant to hand it off to you, even with the council badges' clearance. The only thing you found stranger was how heavily protected it was, having been previously stored in a safe — so old that with each twist of the lock, the entire thing jittered and made an awful screech as the metal knobs twisted against each other.

Pulled from a large cream-colored folder jam-packed with other 'classified documents' you had only heard vague and half forgotten tales of, it was passed off to you wrapped in an intricate leather and gold-adorned dust jacket that had peeled and cracked with age in a way that made it seem as if it had been clawed by some feral beast. After carrying it to the table, you dropped it with a thud and opened it — the pages made such a delicate crackle as they were freed from each other's touch.

A 'former'. you read these words with a certain sense of dread while lurking in the corner of the Ravenholm archive.

It exerts such a strange pull on your mind, like a hand grabbing at the back of your head and squeezing. You turn around to look, but... it's just a shelf, stretching about a dozen meters into the air above you. Something feels wrong about this, and you can't help but turn pages and read word after word after word, their pull dragging you deeper into the cracks between the lines and almost luring you to a specific page. And so it does.

You tear the pages apart and firmly plant them down as you press your hands against that old, dusty yellow paper. After all this searching, you've finally found it: a detailed account of the single most feared type of magic in human history. Something so terrible and vile that it had to be erased from history and locked away from the world, never to meet the gaze of anyone other than some of the most powerful individuals on the planet. And you were fortunate enough to be one of them.

'Dark magic, formers and coagulants. A history and explanation' dated 1897. 2 years ago

"Dark magic is a side of humanity no being should ever wish to see. It is a mockery against our Lord above and all of his creation, but so is the folley of man. We were given all we could ever want, and we lost paradise for it, we lost our paradise over nothing more than scraps of what we were promised. Dark magic is the exact same.

Should one of our own turn against all that is good in the world turn their back to our father who art' in heaven and commit a sin beyond that of potentially even the original sin, then this is what may await them. For the sin of contorting our Lords work into their own vile replica, the sin of murder, the sin of greed and pride and gluttony and envy, the sin of veiweing yourself above the rest of God's creations.

Your punishment... Is this.

A former.

A former is what happens when someone may believe themselves able to ascend to a place beyond humanity, reaching the next step of our development as a species but in turn falling short due to their own folleys. A human soul is a powerful thing. We are made with a certain power in us that no other being possesses, a sort of 'indomitable spirit' that places us firmly above all other beings. But when two souls are bound forcefully to another body, it fights back in recognition of the dark magic.

This thrashing causes horrific change within the user of dark magic. Being immediately subjected to the horrors of man, their mind crushed, and shattered by the power of a second human soul — they are often rendered brain dead almost instantly.

If one of these pathetic examples of our fine species is unfortunate enough to survive. This is what they will go through.

Corruption

It is common throughout the magic types. A person learns too much and goes mad with power, their ego getting the better of them, and they believe themselves unstoppable. Until they are killed either by themselves or a single well placed bullet. However,with dark magic, this tends to take on a... different form.

Stage one: begining

Users may notice some small side effects such as anxiety, moodswings, and seasonal depression. These are some of the more extreme side effects, and the few who get these should consider themselves lucky. As they have been given a chance to stop.

Stage two: Encroachment

is reached once the user begins to suffer amplifiedversions of the previously mentioned symptoms. Anxiety develops into extreme paranoia, and mood swings develop into bipolar episodes. Seasonal depression turns into severe depression that often results in cases of self-harm in an attempt to 'become perfect'.

Stage three: development

Often, the end point for most dark magic users. At this point, their physical deformations become noticeable or too difficult to hide, and they are found and killed. About this point is when they become completely insane, most develop extreme visions and voices as they claw and rip at their own skin and often become cannibalistic.

Stage four: Awakening

Few ever make it to this point. This is a complete loss of one's self only achieved once dark magic takes full control over them and the souls residing within them, they either have their conscience and everything that is then destroyed or they are locked in their body and they are forced to watch themselves turn into beasts — we are unsure which at this point in time but that may change — as they resort purely to violence in every scenario.

Stage five: Transfiguration.

The end point of this abominable affliction. Those who reach this point often turn into something... inhuman. Something you can only identify as humanoid due to the presence of arms and legs. some may not even have those. The user becomes something bestial, evil, and utterly malignant. While not especially powerful, they must be avoided AT ALL COSTS. they aren't human. Don't try to treat them like one. God knows they won't treat you like that.

Stage six: coagulation.

Metamorphosis... quite the unique trait, most often seen In the likes of caterpillars as they claw their way through a prison of their own making and emerge as something... New. Coagulants—

A bang comes from behind. You reflexively slam the book shut and look over at the source of the noise. Guards stand at the front desk, asking the archivist if they had a woman who passed through here recently. She asks for specifics, of course, and they give them to her. They're describing you. You don't know what or why they want you, but the best guess you have is that you've been found out. You don't know when or how, but if they know what you've been searching for...

You hold the book by your side as you run deeper into the library. There aren't many places to run. There are many floors and shelves to hide behind, to be sure, but there's no way you can escape without making it past the guards who are now patrolling the building. Floorboards creak and rhythmic thumps echo, feet beating against them as your legs start to burn. You dash through row after row of thousands and thousands of books, an endless maze soon to be your coffin.

Or at least you thought. Right ahead of you lies the key to your escape: a window located at the end of a hallway on the fifth floor of the librarium. You move toward it with what energy you can muster — a fatigued half jog — and grip the ribbed wood, pressing your face against the fogged glass in an attempt to see what may lie below.

You press your right cheek against that cold and wet condensation, hoping to get a peak at what you can. But there's no angle to be found. You are alone, accompanied only by the sound of your own exasperated breath dragging against your mouth. Luckily for you, silence like this is where ideas are born. A lock, the window has a lock holding it down, and there's plenty of ways you can make it past a simple lock, right?

Being winter time, it was locked shut to avoid any water getting in and daming the books. Only the archivist holds the key, you assume. Not exactly much time to go grab it now, is there? Thankfully, a key isn't the only way to open a window. You take some deep breaths. Clench a fist, and reel back.

*CRASH* The noise was hopefully hidden by the size of the librarium. Not that it mattered. You were getting out of here one way or another. Peaking down out the window, nothing but a sheer drop awaited you, and again, you are lost as to a solution. That's when you notice a slanted roof about fifteen feet away and two stories below you. An opportunity.

This being your true last option wasn't preferable, but it was definitely safer than trying to leap into a pile of hay or climbing down the side of the building. And so you prep yourself. Walking back towards the end of the hallway and praying to yourself that this works, you breathe faster, raise your left arm, and go for it.

Rushing toward the window, you pull the book closer to your side, feeling a slight hesitation just as you're about to jump through the shattered glass. You stumble, flying out the window the wrong way and clipping your foot as you leave it. Dropping toward the shaled roof as the wind whips across your face, you brace yourself as you slam into it. Something cracked—maybe you, maybe the roof. Wet shale isn't very good for grip, something you learn extraordinarily fast. You slide down, the rough pattern bumping and bruising you on the way, and fall even further. It couldn't have been long before you felt a slam as your back made contact with something cold and hard.

A neigh is the best clue as to what you fell on. curling your spine with a horrid shake from underworked abs, you place a hand on the roof of a carriage—more accurately, what's left of the roof after you fell directly on it from about two stories up. The dent almost perfectly matches your shape, like something out of a comic strip. Pushing these thoughts aside, you remember what you have to do. Rolling and lifting yourself out of the crater you left in the roof, you gently flop over the side of the carriage onto wobbly legs. stumbling away down the alley you find yourself in, bloodied, battered, and bruised.

[bobwess]

OMG Biden had classified documents!

Full disclosure. I think we should have better records of classified documents to ensure that nothing is accidentally or willfully retained by leaving administrations.

(Edit at the end to incorporate new developments.) That being said. Is this the same as Trump? Obviously Fox news, MAGAGA faithfuls, and Trump think so. What we know: Biden Attorneys found 10 Obama Administration classified documents in a locked file when they were sorting through files preparing to move out of an office. The office was a think tank Biden used during his time as Vice President. They immediately notified the national archives who regained possession of those documents the next day.

How many: The Biden team found 10 documents reportedly marked classified and immediately handed them over. The FBI recovered over 300 classified documents in Trump's case, many after Trump's legal team untruthfully informed them they had handed over all documents already.

Where: The 10 Biden classified documents recovered were in a now disused official office of the former Vice President. The more than 300 Trump classified documents were found at his personal residence.

Recovery: The 10 Biden classified documents were found by his legal team during a move out of the now disused office. They were immediately reported found and returned to the national archive. Comparatively the national archive and federal agencies were aware Trump had retained documents and repeatedly asked for their return. They were repeatedly told that all documents had been returned, incorrectly. Documents were then seized when the FBI executed a search warrant to recover the documents.

Retention: The Biden administration immediately reported and handed over found documents through proper channels without being asked. Trump team willfully retained the documents even after federal demands of their return.

Content: The 10 Biden classified documents did not contain nuclear secrets, though the exact contents are unreported. The 300+ Trump documents did include nuclear secrets, though the exact contents are unreported.

Classification: The media sucks ass at reporting classification levels so fucking bad. They straight up don't seem to understand the different levels of 'classified'. The 10 Biden classified documents have no reporting yet on what level of classification they are. The 300+ Trump classified documents have all levels. Sensitive, Secret, Top Secret, and, TS SCI, our highest compartmentalized classification that should not be outside of a controlled government facility.

Investigation: Both documents cases are under or have been under investigation by Trump appointed law officials.

So yes. Both cases do involve classified documents and are both under investigation. But there is a world of difference.

Note: Both of these investigations are still very much underway, and new developments may emerge.

EDIT TO ADD A NEW DEVELOPMENT: Upon finding the documents, the Biden legal team themselves launched an extensive search of all former Obama Administration documents in all locations to be sure there weren't any other misfiled classified documents, and they have found a few more, also handed immediately to the archives. There have been no indications of criminal intent, and therefore while a special counsel has been assembled to review it, the administration is not facing any legal charges at this time.

[imfmi6]

I was sorting through my old M:I archives and found something interesting.

M:I-3 timeline artifacts source propstore.com

Years ago me and my friend trying to decipher (lol) text. I got some rough draft, maybe it will be useful for someone!

not as unbiased as hoped

In 95 Agent Hunt does not attend a meeting he is supposed to in regard to charges brought against special agent Luther Stickel by assistant director *** Bauer

Both agents Hunt and Stickel are unavailable

In 95 Agent Hunt is suspended *** a hearing investigating his conduct and the alleged possession of classified documents, He has reported that he was shot and wounded his partner while he was suffering drug induced dementia

Investifation into this incident will be conducted

1995 - Special Agent Hunt is returned to full duties

All charges dropped. His admitted shooting of Special Agent Stickel was deemed necessary and justified

No charges pressed

1995 - Charges that Special Agent Hunt, with his partner Special Agent Luther Stickel, were detained after trespassing on Government property under military jurisdiction are dropped

1996 Agent Hunt is summoned before Congress along with agent Stickel and Assistant Director S. Bauer in regards to an incident involving a diplomatic pouch and the death of it's courier

Agent Hunt does not attend

Agent Hunt is held in contempt of Congress for refusing to disclose Agent Stickel's location. Charges dropped when Agent Hunt attends a later meeting

[nte-backlinks1]

The Role of Artificial Intelligence in Document Management Systems

Introduction

In the digital age, the efficiency of document management systems (DMS) is crucial for the smooth operation of businesses. Artificial Intelligence (AI) is revolutionizing how organizations manage, store, and retrieve documents. This blog explores the transformative role of AI in document management systems, highlighting its benefits, applications, and future prospects.

1. Enhancing Efficiency with AI

Artificial Intelligence significantly enhances the efficiency of document management systems. Traditional DMS often rely on manual processes that are time-consuming and prone to errors. AI automates these processes, reducing the time and effort required to manage documents. This automation leads to faster document retrieval, improved accuracy, and increased productivity.

AI's ability to streamline document handling is transformative. Tasks such as sorting, filing, and retrieving documents, which once took hours or even days, can now be completed in minutes. By minimizing human intervention, AI reduces errors that commonly occur in manual processes, ensuring that document management is both faster and more reliable.

2. Intelligent Document Recognition

One of the standout features of AI in DMS is intelligent document recognition. AI algorithms can identify and classify documents based on their content, without the need for manual intervention. This capability ensures that documents are accurately categorized, making it easier to locate them when needed. Additionally, intelligent document recognition can extract relevant data from documents, further streamlining workflows.

For example, invoices, receipts, and contracts can be automatically recognized and sorted into appropriate folders. Important details such as dates, amounts, and parties involved can be extracted and indexed, making searches more efficient and comprehensive.

3. Advanced Search Capabilities

AI-powered document management systems offer advanced search capabilities. Unlike traditional keyword-based searches, AI enables semantic search, understanding the context and meaning behind queries. This allows users to find documents more efficiently, even if the exact keywords are not used. Such enhanced search capabilities are particularly beneficial for large organizations with vast amounts of data.

Semantic search understands natural language queries and the relationships between words, offering more relevant results. This means users can search for documents using phrases and questions rather than relying on specific keywords, significantly enhancing the user experience and productivity.

4. Improved Data Security

Ensuring the protection of sensitive information is crucial for any organization.AI enhances the security of document management systems by implementing advanced encryption techniques and access controls. AI can monitor user behavior to detect unusual activities, providing an additional layer of security. Moreover, AI can automate compliance with regulatory requirements, ensuring that sensitive information is protected.

AI-driven security measures can identify potential threats and respond to them in real-time. For instance, if an unauthorized user attempts to access confidential documents, AI can flag this behavior and automatically restrict access, preventing data breaches.

5. Workflow Automation

Workflow automation is another significant benefit of AI in DMS. AI can automate routine tasks such as document approval, routing, and notifications. This reduces the workload on employees and minimizes the risk of human error. By automating workflows, organizations can achieve higher efficiency and ensure that processes are consistently followed.

AI can manage document lifecycles from creation to archiving. For example, when a document is created, AI can route it to the appropriate stakeholders for approval, send reminders for pending actions, and archive it once the process is complete, all without human intervention.

6. Enhanced Collaboration

Collaboration is essential in modern workplaces, and AI enhances this aspect in document management systems. AI-powered DMS facilitate seamless collaboration by providing real-time access to documents and enabling simultaneous editing. Additionally, AI can suggest relevant documents and provide insights based on user activity, fostering a more collaborative environment.

Real-time collaboration tools allow multiple users to work on a document simultaneously, making edits and comments that are immediately visible to all parties. This fosters teamwork and speeds up project completion times.

7. Predictive Analytics

Predictive analytics, powered by AI, offers valuable insights into document management. AI can analyze usage patterns and predict future document needs, helping organizations to optimize their document storage and retrieval strategies. Predictive analytics can also identify potential bottlenecks in workflows, allowing for proactive management and improvement of processes.

By examining how documents are used and accessed, AI can forecast trends and recommend actions. For instance, if a particular type of document is frequently accessed at the end of each quarter, AI can ensure that these documents are easily accessible during those periods.

8. Future Prospects of AI in DMS

The future of AI in document management systems looks promising. As AI technologies continue to evolve, we can expect even more advanced features and capabilities. Future AI developments may include more sophisticated natural language processing, enhanced data analytics, and greater integration with other enterprise systems. These advancements will further revolutionize how organizations manage their documents, driving efficiency and innovation.

The integration of AI with other emerging technologies such as blockchain and Internet of Things (IoT) could offer even more robust and secure document management solutions. As AI becomes more adept at understanding and processing natural language, the interaction with DMS will become more intuitive and user-friendly.

Conclusion

Artificial Intelligence is transforming document management systems, offering numerous benefits such as enhanced efficiency, intelligent document recognition, advanced search capabilities, improved data security, workflow automation, enhanced collaboration, and predictive analytics. As AI technology continues to advance, the future of document management systems will undoubtedly become even more efficient and innovative. <a href=" https://www.nte.ai/Blog/latest-news/the-role-of-artificial-intelligence-in-document-management-systems/?utm_source=backlink&utm_medium=directory+submission&utm_campaign=organic  ">Visit nte.ai</a>

[elijasz]

i just saw a job offer for an archival assistant and it perfectly fit a friend of mine and in the description it said "only for people who've never worked with us before" and thats so ominous???? I sent it to a friend and she's going to apply for it.

Oh no I read further...the job is classifying documents, objects and historic artifacts and sorting them into storage. What have I done?! I hope she doesn't get Sasha-d!

[digitaldocumentservice-blog]

Secure and Organize – Disc Archiving for Data Preservation

The importance of data protection and security cannot be underestimated in an age defined by digital information. Whether you are a person in the business of keeping important records safe or have fond memories stored on optical discs, having a reliable and efficient disc storage system is essential. This article highlights the world of automated disc storage, robotic disc storage, and automated optical storage discs to explore how these technologies are shaping the landscape of data protection. We will discuss the benefits, challenges, and solutions provided by disc archive systems and automated disc storage.

Development of Data Storage

Before we dive into the world of disc storage, let's take a brief tour of the history of data storage. Over the past few years, we have seen remarkable developments in data storage technologies. From punch cards to magnetic tape, floppy discs to compact discs (CDs), and hard drives to solid-state drives (SSDs), the ways in which data is stored and accessed have changed significantly.

Optical discs have been a popular choice for data storage due to their high capacity, long-term stability, and resistance to physical damage. However, management and preservation of optical disc data has presented challenges, especially when large collections of discs are involved. This is where automated disk storage and disc archive systems come in handy.

Need for Disc Storage Systems

Managing Data Overload

As our dependence on digital information increases, the amount of data generated and stored is also increasing. Businesses, educational institutions, government agencies, and individuals accumulate large amounts of data that need to be protected and organized. Optical discs have proven to be an efficient means of storing this data, but as disc volumes grow, the need for a systematic and automated approach becomes apparent.

Ensuring Data Protection

One of the primary concerns when it comes to data storage is protection. Traditional optical discs, such as CDs and DVDs, are susceptible to degradation over time. Exposure to light, humidity, and temperature fluctuations can cause data loss. By employing an automated disc archive system, data can be systematically stored and managed, ensuring its long-term preservation.

Quick and Efficient Recovery

Imagine a scenario where you need to access a specific document or cherished memory from a vast collection of optical discs. Sorting them manually can be a time-consuming and error-prone task. Disc archive systems equipped with robotic disc storage enable fast and efficient retrieval of data with minimal human intervention.

Role of Automated Disc Storage

Automated disc storage, often integrated with robotic systems, provides a comprehensive solution for managing large quantities of optical discs. Let's learn how these systems work and what benefits they provide.

1. Disc Automation

Automated disc storage systems are designed to automate the entire process of handling optical discs from storage to retrieval. These systems use robotic arms and advanced software to efficiently identify, classify, and manage discs. This automation reduces the risk of human error and speeds up the recovery process.

2. High Capacity Disc Storage

An important advantage of automated disc storage is its high capacity. These systems can accommodate thousands of optical discs, ensuring that even extensive collections are well-organized and easily accessible. This is especially beneficial for organizations and individuals that need substantial data storage.

3. Disc Storage Management

Effective data protection and organization requires strong storage management. Automated disc storage solutions regularly come with sophisticated management software that allows users to classify, label, and index their optical discs. This makes it easier to locate and retrieve specific data when required.

4. Automatic Backup and Restore to Disc

Automated disc storage systems can automate backup processes, ensuring that data on optical discs is regularly and securely duplicated. This redundancy reduces the risk of data loss due to disc degradation or physical damage. Additionally, these systems enable automatic restore, making it easy to recover data from backup copies.

5. Disc Recovery System

In the event of data corruption or accidental deletion, an automated disc storage system can provide a disc recovery system that can help recover lost data. This feature is invaluable for individuals and organizations who want to protect their important information.

Exploration of Robotic Disc Storage

Robotic disc storage is an important component of automated disc storage systems. These systems are equipped with robotic arms that can access and manipulate the optical disc with precision. Here's how they contribute to the efficiency of disc storage:

1. Speed and Accuracy

Robotic weapons are designed for speed and accuracy. They can quickly locate and recover the required disc, reducing the time taken to access data. This level of automation reduces the possibility of human error while ensuring data integrity.

2. Disc Protection

Robotic arms handle the discs carefully, reducing the risk of physical damage. They can also store discs under environmentally controlled conditions to extend their lifespan. This combination of careful handling and preservation increases the longevity of data stored on optical discs.

3. User-friendly Interface

Most robotic disc storage systems come with user-friendly interfaces that allow users to easily request specific discs, schedule backups, and manage their data. This accessibility makes it easy for both individuals and organizations to take advantage of automated disc storage and archiving.

Disc Storage Automation Solutions

Incorporating automated disc storage and robotic disc storage into your data protection strategy offers several attractive benefits:

1. Long-Term Data Protection

Automated disc storage solutions ensure that your data remains intact and accessible for years to come. By reducing the risk of physical damage and providing backup and recovery options, these systems help protect your data from loss and degradation.

2. Efficient Data Management

Managing a large collection of optical discs can be a daunting task. Automated systems simplify this process by classifying, labeling, and indexing data. This means you can quickly find and retrieve the information you need without the hassle of manual searching.

3. Saving Time and Cost

Automated disc storage systems save both time and money. They eliminate the need for manual data management and recovery, reducing labor costs and reducing the risk of data loss due to human error.

4. Scalability

Whether you have a small collection of optical discs or a huge collection, automated disc storage solutions can be tailored to suit your needs. They are highly scalable, ensuring that your storage system grows with your data.

Choosing the Right Solution

When selecting a disc archive system with automatic disc storage, it is essential to consider your specific needs and budget. Here are some factors to keep in mind:

1. Capacity

Determine your required capacity based on your current data storage needs and future growth projections. Make sure the system chosen can accommodate your entire disc collection.

2. Compatibility

Make sure the system is compatible with the type of optical disc you are using. Whether you rely primarily on CDs, DVDs, or Blu-ray discs, compatibility is important for a seamless collection.

3. Backup and Recovery Features

Look for systems that offer robust backup and recovery options. This ensures that your data remains secure and recoverable even in the face of unexpected problems.

4. User-friendly Interface

A user-friendly interface is essential, especially if multiple users will be accessing the system. A well-designed interface simplifies data management and retrieval.

5. Longevity and Support

Invest in a system from a reputable manufacturer that offers long-term support. You want your disc storage solution to stand the test of time and receive necessary updates and maintenance.

Conclusion

Data protection and organization are essential aspects of managing digital information. Automated disc storage and disc archive systems equipped with robotic disc storage have emerged as indispensable tools for individuals and organizations. These systems provide efficient, secure and scalable solutions for managing and preserving vast collections of optical discs. With their high-capacity storage, automation features, and data recovery capabilities, these systems provide peace of mind to anyone seeking the protection of their valuable data. As the volume of digital information continues to expand, it is a wise choice to invest in a reliable disc storage system with automated disc storage capabilities to keep your data safe for years to come.

[judah-byrd-boa-130118202518]

Microsoft Memopad

Case Inquiry Draft: Last edited 12/27/03

I haven’t stopped thinking about that file and the nature of this case as a whole. At the very least the Briarstone radio file makes sense, it was a considerable abnormality to the station’s scheduled broadcast. No idea what caused it, but still considerable enough to be looked into by the bureau. With the other, older files from the 70s however I have no idea why archiving them in such a strange manner matters, the redacted TTS file especially. Redacting information is a normal and necessary process of the agency for a myriad of reasons, but it is strictly against protocol to erase data of any kind, and it has become clear to me that part of the recording is missing. Furthermore, what irks me about such a high threat class case is that this is coded information among faculty that would have admin access to all redacted information already.

The only conclusion I can make is that someone higher up in the bureau is using these files as a mule for classified information of some sort. I am not about to forfeit my place at the agency over a case, but conspiracy of any manner does not bode well for our integrity. I’m still working to find the missing audio, and in the process I’m trying to build a record of such inconsistencies to present to my supervisor. Secrets will only serve to divide us. For now I’m keeping this on my personal computer to avoid uncomfortable conversations with my coworkers.

Retrieved File Data: Last edited 12/29/03

I found it. I had a hunch the data for the removed sections were somewhere on the file. Lo and behold whoever last worked with the file trimmed the audio so that they could restore it later like I am now. I’ll listen to it in a few hours once I’ve had the chance to get through today’s case work.

sggkh://wirev.tlltov.xln/urov/w/1RSP8hD4YzuQaEYvXfAKJSZtpPNgxLt-0/ervd?fhk=wirevhwp

Untitled: Last edited 12/29/03

What the fuck. That virus, or, I don’t know what to call it, reformatted all of the documents in the Briarstone file. Every one I looked through had their contents either entirely scrambled or filled with new text that wasn’t there before. I don’t understand the motive or make to any of this, it’s not just a sick prank or a conspiracy anymore, something is alive in these files and I want no part of it.

[ssbmetal]

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[mrerwinsmith]

Hello commander, I hope you're having a really pleasant day.

I recently overheard something that really concerned me. I was delivering a message to my friend who works in a bar and and I stayed there for a while. Later when I was coming out of the ladies facilities I overheard a conversation between a couple of men.

One of them was dressed in uniform but without the Scouts cloak. He was selling documents to the other person and he claimed that these were genuine official scout files. He made out like he has access to all sorts of areas and could get more.

I don't know if anything has gone missing on your side and I'm not enquiring about the contents. I wouldn't know if there's any information of value to sell to someone. I suppose he could have just made fake files and passed them off as official files to rip someone off.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that something could be seriously wrong. I really could be barking up the wrong tree here and I really don't want to accuse any of the Scouts considering everything you guys do for us. However if there's the tiniest possibility of this being true and I didn't say anything then I am basically an ass either way.

Hi, Sparky.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I received your missive several days ago and have been looking into it since then.

The Scouting Legion doesn't have too many classified documents, but there are certainly some. Those are generally not kept in desks or our archives, but in other locations known only to the officers tasked with their protection. Naturally, these officers are those in whom I place my utmost trust.

I am happy to say that nothing of import was found to be missing or compromised during my investigation, but there were some documents in our archive that appear to have been removed without authorization. These documents happen to be mundane in nature, but knowing that someone is selling them makes me wonder about their intentions.

We're presently looking into the individual making these transactions and will have this person court martialed and punished.

Thank you again for your dedication and support of the Scouts, Sparky. Without your vigilance, I imagine it would have taken more time to be alerted to this activity and act on it. You have my gratitude.

[tired-beholding-bitch]

you’ve got my heart bursting at the seams

look guys! a Soup Sickfic AU update! I know you missed the fluffy romcom content 🌈 and I’m also in time for the last day of @jonmartinweek​ which I’m delighted about actually. ✨

promise next time they’re going to go on a date. I swear this whole series doesn’t exclusively feature jmart taking turns being gay about each other, there will be some dating involved. eventually. at some point. maybe they'll even kiss sooner or later, who knows! not them for sure!

for now, enjoy Jon being in complete denial for 3k words straight ❤️

-

Jon is… a competitive person.

Anyone who has known him for longer than fifteen minutes, especially in a social setting - say, like a game night – could and would probably tell you that, while side-eyeing him with some amount of distrust and adding that he surely can be nice, if a bit of a prick about game rules.

He’s maybe, perhaps, competitive enough to have been permanently banned from showing up to Georgie’s weekly board game nights back in university, despite having been an active participant only the first time he went.

He isn’t especially proud of the person he becomes during a game of Scrabble. Neither was Georgie.

Unfortunately, Tim has known him for much longer than fifteen minutes.

He mentions it for the first time in the morning, as he’s handing over a stack of papers before getting started on his own work for the day, leaning over the desk to catch his eyes before he can bury himself in the documents.

«You know, boss, it’s Friday.» he says, casual as anything, tilting his head to the side. Jon makes a non-committal hum that he knows won’t be enough of an answer. 

It would be an innocent enough remark, except he recognises that tone. It’s the you’re going to work yourself to death, Jon tone. The just think about it, Jon tone. The you know, boss, it’s Friday tone.

It’s too early in the morning – and four hours of sleep are too few – for him to deal with that tone. Tim pretends not to notice the suffering, pleading look he gives him, and barrels on uncaring.

«We’re all going out for drinks tonight! You should come, too, get a little bit of fresh air? So you don’t end up sneezing to death trying to sort out the new boxes, at least.» that was, to be fair, exactly what Jon had planned to do. Not the sneezing to death part, given it’s highly unlikely he will actually die because of a little dust. Or, well, considering the state of the boxes they have unearthed earlier in the week from, possibly, the filthiest, most disgusting spot in the Archives, a lot of dust. The boxes that are currently housed in the corner of his office, sitting there in all their suspiciously stained glory. 

He doesn’t think Gertrude ever bothered even acknowledging the existence of these files during her whole tenure – at some point, if the smudged numbers written on the sides are any indication, they must have had dates on them, but that point is long gone and lost forever, which means they’ll have to check them one by one in order to classify the statements by date.

He isn’t looking forward to it, but it needs to be done.

He draws in a breath, preparing to tell Tim just that, but before he can get a protest out he’s being spoken over again with frankly excessive enthusiasm.

«It’s trivia night at the pub down the street, come on. The one where basically the whole Institute gathers on Friday evenings, you know?» he says. He’s still aiming for casualness, now sitting halfway on top of his desk, a cheeky grin splitting his face in an achingly familiar way.

It’s the same as when he used to drag them both out of the library for coffee, back in research, offering to pay for Jon's delirious mix of sugar and caffeine because oh no, it's way too entertaining to see you when the sugar rush hits, please allow me.

It’s been a while since he last saw that smile directed at him. He has missed it – the easy camaraderie of it, how delighted Tim looks when he rolls his eyes but ends up going along with whatever he’s planning.

Tim, being Tim, senses his hesitation like a shark with blood and proceeds to show absolutely no mercy.

«What, are you going to let David from Research win trivia night?» he asks, still smiling – his grin is sharper, somehow, pointed in a way that reminds him all of a sudden of the Admiral, whenever he managed to catch a bug. Jon isn’t smiling. He’s almost thirty years old, and he has a very serious job to be carrying out at the moment, and he’s above such petty matters, thank you, what kind of a question is that. 

That’s what he means to say. He feels the words on the tip of his tongue. He can do it.

«We’ll see.» he says, instead. Before he can even register the betrayal of his own brain, Tim is pumping his fist in the air, triumphant. He’s out of the office in an instant, giving him one last wave on his way out, as he’s closing the door behind himself.

Jon wonders if his assistants are aware he can hear everything that happens in the bullpen, even with the door closed. Probably not. Or maybe they just don’t care, which is infinitely more likely.

As the day drags on, sluggish like only spring Fridays can be, with their peculiar brand of cheerful drizzles and temperatures too high for a cardigan and too low for everything else, Jon considers several ways to get himself out of it.

«He said yes, guys!»

He could try to sneak out before them, feigning a headache and then coming back later, or he could barricade himself inside the office, too, he surely has enough boxes for that.

He could also, simply, tell them he isn’t going. They probably wouldn’t put up too much of a fuss – they all have seen the state the Archives are in, after all. Really, they’re probably going to have more fun without him, anyway.

Things have been… awkward, lately. 

It’s mostly his fault. It’s, to be completely honest, entirely his fault. Trying to find a balance while battling with the weight of his new role – alongside the guilt of knowing Sasha was the one who should have been promoted, really, more experienced and more qualified than him – has made him quite prickly. Even more than he normally is, and Jon isn’t great at social situations to begin with.

Martin, especially, has taken the brunt of most of his moods. He cringes slightly at the thought, the memory of some of the things he said making him wince.

He knows he has been unfair to him.

Tim and Sasha have said as much, more than once, and he won’t pretend to be that oblivious. He knows, the uneasiness of guilt poking him like a needle every time he fails to bite down a scathing remark, his chest tight with it as Martin’s face falls.

He has been trying. The anxiety tangled up with the whole situation makes it all the harder to approach – he’s stiff with it, fumbling over his words, and the time never seems to be quite right, someone butting in right when Jon has managed to work up almost enough courage to say the words, or Martin getting spooked and running off before he can say anything.

He isn’t even that bad.

He had taken longer than expected to adjust to writing reports in the right formatting, and his research hadn’t always been up to Jon’s standards, which were admittedly rather strict, for the kind of cases they had been working on, but he had learned quickly enough. He’s much better now.

And he’s… kind. Even though Jon really doesn’t deserve it.

He’ll bring him tea twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, steeped just a minute too long, with two sugars to balance out the bitterness, because he has noticed that’s how Jon likes it best. He’ll take a moment to smile at him, if they bump into each other in the morning when they get in, or in the evening before leaving. Not that he’s often arriving or leaving with everyone else, these days.

It makes something stir in his stomach, small and pointy, uncomfortable in a way not too dissimilar from how swallowing a fishbone feels. It leaves his throat tender, and if he reaches for the cup of tea left on the corner of his desk, lately, Jon finds himself smiling more often than not.

Martin being there is another reason he’s quite on the fence about going at all, to be honest.

He’s painfully aware of how narrow the booths are, and the idea of trying to make polite small talk without paying too much mind to their knees touching under the table, their arms brushing as they both reach for something, straining to hear the conversation over the music – always too loud – or the other patrons – also too loud – has him sweating already, his skin prickling with it.

However.

By the time five comes around, he has almost made up his mind to go. 

He’s been reading through dull ghost story after dull ghost story for hours, the statements not even particularly well written, lacking the compelling pull some of them have, and the low thrum of boredom is driving him slowly but relentlessly mad.

The knock on his door isn’t unexpected. Neither is Tim poking his head in without waiting for an answer, cheerful as ever. 

«Hey, boss! We’re leaving, you coming with?» he asks, and Jon hesitates for a second despite it all. 

There’s so much to do. The boxes seem to be glaring at him from their corner, dust already settling on the floor next to them, and the pile of papers next to his laptop is seemingly unchanged from that morning, way too high and threatening to fall down any minute.

Tim looks at him, and his smile is still familiar and warm, and Jon knows he wouldn’t press the issue if he said no right now.

But he doesn’t want to.

What he wants to do, to be completely honest, is drink half-decent beer and destroy the Research team at trivia, because no one gets to call the Archives a useless waste of paper and resources unless they’re waist-deep in said waste of paper and David really, really isn’t.

The walk to the pub is as quiet as it can reasonably be expected to be with Tim and Sasha around.

He grabs his coat without a second thought.

Their constant bickering becomes an easy, well-loved background noise quickly enough, and Jon falls into step behind them, trying to not get hit in the face as Tim gestures animatedly explaining something or other about the secrets of the publishing industry. It’s a story Sasha must have heard a thousand times by now, but she’s still looking at him intently, nodding in all the right places – Jon, however, is perfectly happy with letting it fade into white noise for the moment.

Martin must notice him slowing down.

He falls back as well, hesitantly, adjusting his pace to match Jon’s, and Jon can feel a scowl already starting to dig in between his eyebrows because he doesn’t need pity, he’s made a conscious choice to step down from the conversation and he isn’t going to get lonely walking alone for five minutes.

He looks up at him, and he swallows the words as soon as they come.

Martin looks calm. Content. His glasses are a little crooked to the side, and his hair curls around his ears a bit more unruly than usual, ruffled at the end of the day like it never quite is when he first gets to work in the morning.

They walk in silence, and it isn’t awkward – not in the painful, terrible way Jon had expected it to be, hot with shame and crawling with guilt. 

He can still feel it, but the night air is fresh and clean, and he doesn’t feel quite as out of place as he feared he’d be.

It’s… nice. 

«Take that, Anita! God, all the times she bragged about what a good cook she is and she thinks saffron comes from lilies?»

Huh.

Jon has a problem.

The problem is that he might, in fact, be something of a shoddy judge of character.

The problem is that he has already had a couple of pints more than he normally would, and he can feel the buzzing, pleasant humming of the alcohol making his limbs heavy and his grip on his own feelings quite lax.

The problem is sitting next to him in a narrow pub booth, turning towards him in a triumph of messy red curls and freckles, and has the tiniest gap in between his front teeth that Jon shouldn’t linger on as long as he does, and is apparently the only person taking destroying the Research team at trivia as seriously as it should be taken.

Martin smiles at him, wide and easy and bright, and the expression crinkles his eyes in a way that makes the sharp, twisting feeling in his stomach very hard to ignore all of a sudden.

«Good job, Jon!» he says, and before Jon can say anything back – or, really, do anything that isn’t opening his mouth – Tim is shuffling out of his seat, clapping him on the back.

«Marto, why don’t we go get another round before the next question, yeah?» he asks, and Martin nods, getting up as well. He whispers a we’ll be right back to him and Sasha before they both disappear among the crowd, weaving through the tables to get to the counter.

Sasha clears her throat, pointed. Jon lets his chin rest on his hand, and doesn’t look at her, because he knows exactly what expression she’s wearing right now.

«Well, it seems like you and Martin are getting along, aren’t you?» she says, and he can hear the mischievous grin in her voice before he sees it, peeking at her from the corner of his eye. She’s mimicking his position, cupping her cheeks in her hands, and her eyes are glinting with delight.

«I have no idea what you’re talking about.» Jon says, because he has to say something. Sasha makes a face. 

It’s a face he knows very well – usually it means she’s about to do something very illegal or something Jon won’t like in the least. Or both.

He backtracks slightly, before he can find out what it’ll be this time.

«He… he might not be as bad as- as I initially thought he’d. Be. And you and Tim aren’t taking this seriously enough.» he whispers, then, and despite having already known that privately for a while, because Jon isn’t a complete idiot, it feels strange to admit it out loud. Like a secret. That’s why he whispers – it seems appropriate.

God, he’s drunk.

Sasha doesn’t answer. Instead, she hides a giggle behind her hand at whatever expression Jon’s making, her cheeks going red with it.

When they notice Anita from the library team sending extremely murderous looks their way, wrapping her cardigan increasingly tighter around herself as she does, Jon snorts so hard he almost chokes on his beer.

«Didn’t know the library was promoting a mummification revival, did you.» he mutters, unthinkingly.

Sasha’s laughter is very loud – the kind of contagious, full-bellied laugh that makes you want to grin in return. Jon’s, under the right circumstances, is louder.

The circumstances, it turns out, are right.

They’re still folded in two over the table, every patron in the pub now either trying to ignore them or giving them dirty looks, when Tim and Martin get back.

They’re carrying two glasses each, sharing a look of utter confusion as they sit back down, but that isn’t what makes Jon pause.

He is, distantly, aware that Martin is quite handsome.

He has eyes. He can appreciate the solid build of him, the way his features are soft in places and harder in others, going together well all in all.

Jon also knows that he’s rather strong.

It’s just how things are. It’s a fact. An objective truth. 

It is, however, a very different thing to be confronted with Martin rolling the sleeves of his jumper to his elbows, huffing a little at the temperature, right next to him. 

They’re interesting forearms, in Jon’s defence. That’s the only reason he’s staring.

They look as strong as Jon knows they are – they all know, really. Martin had taken care of most of the boxes by himself, while he and Tim and Sasha tried to move a single one in a timely fashion and failed, earlier in the week.

So, Jon knows he has strong arms.

Jon, now, also knows Martin’s forearms are rather muscular, and that the hairs on them are a lovely reddish-brown that doesn’t quite match his hair. 

Once again, facts.

He swallows. When that isn’t quite enough, his throat suddenly dry, he takes a sip of his new pint – it’s been a while since he last laughed that hard, hasn’t it.

With surprisingly good timing, that’s when the host takes the microphone back in hand, the squeaky old thing distorting his words unpleasantly as he speaks, keeping his mouth too close to it. Jon winces at the sound, barely able to make out what he’s saying.

«And now, for the last question of the evening! A cultural one, folks: “Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory” are the opening lines of which Lord Byron poem? You have two minutes to write your answers!» he says, and he scoffs, reaching for the pen and paper abandoned in front of him from the previous round.

And then he stops.

He doesn’t know.

They’ve gotten this far – and they’re so close to winning, he has been keeping count, but they need to get the last answer right or the Research team is going to have the upper hand. Jon would rather eat one of the statements from the eighteen-hundreds, dust and parchment and all, actually, before letting the Research team win.

Tim and Sasha look as baffled as he feels, frowning and repeating the words to themselves, sounding them out in case they’re familiar. 

Then, the paper gets ripped from his hand along with the pen, Martin muttering something under his breath next to him, scribbling frantically.

«Oh, come on, let me. It’s All for Love. There– fuck, we’re almost out of time.» he says, and then he’s out of the booth, rushing to the counter to hand in their answer right as the timer chimes, counting down from ten.

And Jon is staring, and he’s staring, but he can’t help it.

The thing in his stomach has moved up, fluttering wildly in between his ribs, small and tender and yet really, really difficult to ignore.

It doesn’t feel like a fishbone anymore, actually.

Jon could almost miss it, swept up in the elated feeling of hearing the host confirm they’ve won, squeaky microphone and all, Sasha and Tim cheering so loudly he’s afraid they’re going to get kicked out for a second.

But when Martin turns to grin at them, delighted and proud and holding the most ridiculous plastic trophy Jon has ever seen like it’s a precious award, it becomes harder to ignore.

It sits in the very centre of his chest, and it’s warm and familiar, and it feels like holding a cup of tea in the morning, and like receiving a smile at the end of a long day, and like walking in silence on a spring evening.

It’s sweet.

Oh.

[thetriggeredhappy]

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

-

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

-

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

-

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently. 
And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

-

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

-

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”

“What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

-

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.