#also he's immune to stagger while attacking. so add that to his growing list of bullshit

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than file names

You're more amazing than Deific Artorius

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (31 of 41?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!BOLDED AGAIN IN CASE YOU WANT TO REFRESH YOUR MEMORY BEFORE READING THIS RELATED FLASHBACK...*************************

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*****AMAZING AND ALSO HEARTBREAKING COVER ART!!!!! MY POOR BOY, HELPLESS AND SCREAMING WHILE HE SLOWLY LOSES HIS GRIP ON REALITY… D: COCOHOOK38 IS TRYING TO KILL US ALL!!!!*************

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

Two days ago...

The barn fire was getting too big too quickly. While it was true that the Master’s orders called for total destruction, there were multiple other buildings on the list, and this would alert the authorities far too soon.

Sure enough, before the slaves had a chance to regroup, a siren sounded in the distance, growing closer at an alarming speed. Killian ducked around the corner of the building farthest from the road while he considered his options.

Above all, Killian desperately wished he could allow himself to be captured, to give himself up to be tended with proper medical care and painkillers and a soft bed. He wanted more than anything for this nightmare to be over, to simply collapse in the arms of his beloved and admit defeat. But then they would not have one iota of gain to show for all of the suffering. They would lose their advantage and would have to come up with another way to defeat the monster, a possibility that seemed more hopeless with each passing day.

As it was, Killian did have the inklings of an idea buried deep, meticulously guarded from the Master’s probing thoughts. If he could somehow communicate the particulars to his Swan without the collar camera overhearing... But it all depended upon his Master not seeing him as a threat. Which meant continuing on with the charade and the misery.

It was the Chevelle: Detective Jones and his new partner, David. What Killian had been expecting and dreading at the same time. He would not be permitted to stand idly by while his fellow slaves were rounded up by his friends. He had a sword; his Master would oblige him to use it. And both of them were formidable opponents, especially in his weakened state.

ELIMINATE THEIR ESCAPE ROUTE, growled the Master's voice in his head, slightly quieter than normal but not by much. From the shaky, unreliable views at throat level, it would not be able to discern details yet, only that the new arrivals represented both a threat to its current slaves as well as potential victims to add to its horde.

While the two officers climbed out of the vehicle and raced to investigate the blazing barn, Killian staggered around the opposite corner, behind their backs and to the concealed side of the car. He could hear definite sounds of battle: stun guns and then pistol shots as his friends struggled against far too many opponents. With a grunt of exertion, Killian drove the point of his blade into the front left tire.

Before long, Jones and David decided to retreat. They were approaching the car. Killian made his way to the back left wheel well, grimacing. The confrontation was inevitable now.

Tasked with clearing their escape route, David was the first to spot him.

“Killian?”

He did not fire his gun, which Killian confirmed was his regular pistol and not the stun weapon. Damn it, there would be no easy way out of this one. Killian had no difficulty summoning his bleakest expression. Never mind seeing his friend for the first time in weeks; that friend would likely never trust him again. He would have to make a very realistic attempt to bring David down, possibly hurting him in the process. Was it any wonder, then, that he felt no joy at the reunion?

THAT ONE APPEARS TO HAVE A NOURISHING VOICE. CAPTURE HIM IF YOU CAN, TRIPOD, BUT DO NOT ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE TAKEN.

David was trying to talk him down, stepping carefully forward with his hands raised, his pistol loose in his grip and pointing toward the sky. As one in a trance, Killian stumbled his way to the third tire, speared it with his weapon, then paused to catch his breath. He could see the prince slowly reaching for the handcuffs at his belt. In the background, Jones was engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle; like it or not, Killian's fellow slaves may take care of him on their own.

Killian allowed the point of his sword to rest on the ground, leaning back against the car in only slightly exaggerated exhaustion. He would not go to David; he needed David to bring the fight to him. It was all he had the energy for. Breathing heavily, Killian tried to block out his father-in-law's continued pleas, his reminders who waited for him at home, who was worried about him. None of it mattered if he was not successful in his quest.

Mere steps away, David had holstered his pistol and was reaching, almost too slowly to see, toward Killian's wrist.

“Come on, buddy. Let's get you taken care of, huh?”

Killian measured distances out of the corner of his eye. Waiting until the last possible second. Counting on the possibility that David would hold back and expect Killian to do the same. That Killian's true nature would result in the same feelings of restraint which guided David's actions.

With only centimeters to spare, Killian lashed out with the butt of his sword, driving it into David's solar plexus. The prince doubled over, winded, and Killian did not allow him time to recover. He followed the blow with a strike to the temple. Already twisted slightly as he fumbled for his pistol, David went limp and fell heavily to the ground, landing on his side. The thump of his body meeting dirt seemed to vibrate all the way up to the pit of Killian’s stomach where guilt normally lived.

KILL THIS ONE. BRING THE OTHER.

David seemed to be unconscious. He could not resist. Killian had run out of excuses. His Master was watching, and the nearest approaching siren was still much too far. Feigning breathlessness, Killian lurched the two steps that separated him from the helpless form of his father-in-law. Struggling to maintain his balance, he stepped over the obstacle, positioned himself behind David, and used a vicious kick to turn him onto his stomach. Then, as he straddled the body for maximum control, he allowed himself one quick glance in Jones' direction: now armed with a sword himself, the detective was finishing off his final opponent. If he could time this just right…

Killian magnified his tremors for the Master’s benefit as he held his blade poised above his target. Just as important as timing was the selection of a landing site. But he had to make it look as if his physical condition caused him to miss a fatal blow.

One good thing about David being unconscious: Killian didn't have to suppress the additional remorse that would have surely resulted from the pained reaction to his sword clattering off of David's shoulder blade.

Killian staggered as if surprised by the obstruction, and as he did so, he noticed that Jones had dropped his final attacker. With a dispassion born of his now-familiar mantra, Killian readied his weapon for a second strike.

Jones arrived just in time. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead.

BRING THIS ONE TO ME!

The mental command had a noticeably greater insistence than usual, bordering on frantic hunger. It was the closest it had ever come to instilling the mindless compulsion that drove all other slaves.

Killian knew why his Master was so adamant. And could not allow it.

Jones engaged in their shared tactic of posturing, and even if he weren't playing the part of a broken-down, hopeless slave, Killian was too weary to answer back.

The pair had sparred before, a friendly contest here and there, a way to keep up their skills in a more peaceful world than the one in which they’d spent most of their lives. And Killian could tell right away that, just as he did during those contests of no import, Jones was playing it safe, holding back to prevent injury, and that was the last thing Killian wanted him to do. His Master would notice if the fight were not authentic, and if they both curbed their strikes, it would be revealed as a farce.

The slash to his sword arm was entirely accidental; Killian knew by the look on Jones’ face. But the burning wound was somehow enough to spur the fight into high gear, with resulting bloodshed on both sides. They traded blows. Killian could feel half-healed wounds beginning to open with the exertion. Jones, too, bled from more than one gash but seemed not to notice.

Killian could not catch his breath. The scene begin to take on a shadowy, murky quality and he moved solely by instinct. Tenuous footing caused a very real stumble, quick reflexes allowed Jones to catch his sword arm, and Killian should have allowed it to end then. But his left arm was free, and he moved without thinking, or perhaps his Master’s hunger for a twin Tripod overcame his usual immunity to its edicts. He swung his stump with all the strength he could muster, driving the wrist ring straight into the detective’s face.

Crystalline flames consumed Killian's wrist. Jagged tendrils climbed his forearm like steadily growing cracks in a pane of glass. He could do nothing but cradle the arm in breathless anguish as he waited for the defeating blow.

TAKE HIM, TRIPOD. TAKE HIM NOW!

His Master's command screamed through his mind and was just enough to mask his terrible pain. The nearing sirens would explain the urgency: not much longer before the opportunity was lost. Clutching the throbbing limb to his side, Killian responded to the order and struck out blindly with his blade.

The shock wave of steel against steel raced up his arm, jolting even the fiercely complaining wrist on the opposite side. Somehow taken by surprise, Jones lost his sword and stumbled back into the outstretched arm of a downed slave.

The Master's exultation as the detective hit the ground was short-lived. The crunch of gravel announced the arrival of backup, and though Jones was unarmed and struggling against the grip on his ankle, Killian would not have enough time to secure him and drag him away. The Master knew it too.

TOO LATE, it growled. DISPOSE OF HIM QUICKLY AND RETREAT.

Killian could not bring himself to look at the resignation on his friend's face as he readied his blade. In fact, the only reason he managed to watch at all was because he might miss and cause serious harm otherwise.

A car door slammed. His sword stabbed down into flesh.

GO, howled the Master.

"Killian!" came the frantic cry from behind.

It was her--Hope kidnapped--it was--Hope tortured--oh gods--Hope dead--Hope DEAD--Swan. His Swan. He only had to turn and she would be there. Right before him, in the flesh, not a bittersweet memory seen through a haze of pain--HOPE DEAD!!!

Killian was staggering away before he was even aware of it, desperate to preserve the illusion, to keep his resolve from crashing to the ground like all of his groaning comrades around him. If he saw her... if he met her eyes…

She was calling him, begging him to stop, and just hearing her voice again was enough to bring him to tears. He missed her so much; their separation rivaled the worst of the tortures, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he abandoned their plot--HopeDeadHopeDeadHopeDead--

He heard the pistol discharging at the same instant as a crippling pain burrowed its way into his back, knocking him forward, flat on his face in the grass. But dazzling lights exploded in his brain and zapped in scalding waves along every single nerve path in his body, and he did not even feel the jarring landing.

Present (Friday, continued)...

The guards in the surveillance room were considerably more alert than the one at the armory. Perhaps due to their proximity to their Master--they were, after all, in the same building--or the fact that it had reason to visit more frequently. Whatever the explanation, they’d leapt to their feet the instant Killian had pushed the door open.

They weren’t armed and probably could not fathom ill-intent from a fellow slave. Still, the moment they saw his sword, they must have known he was up to no good. Two charged him recklessly, no thought for their own safety, while the third managed to lift her wooden chair to use as a shield-slash-weapon.

With the sword hilt, Killian quickly felled the first two assailants, every single movement tearing at the screws in his neck. He growled and stumbled over their unconscious forms just as a set of chair legs swiped at his midsection. A fragmented pair of wooden rods clattered to the floor as Killian brought his blade down hard. The remaining slave staggered and snarled, but she did not back off. Lurching forward, she swiped the still-vibrating chair in the other direction, forcing Killian to dodge the splintered edges coming for his face. One of the intact legs caught him in the abdomen, driving the breath from his lungs and doubling him over.

Blindly, through darkening vision, mind-numbing pain, and the desperate panic of not being able to breathe, Killian lashed out with his sword. There was a thunk as the blade contacted wood, and he only barely managed to hold on through the shock wave. The chair flew upward, the seat back slammed into the woman’s forehead, and she crumpled backwards in a heap, the damaged chair on top.

Killian clutched at his belly and finally managed a small breath. Eyes watering, heart racing, he limped to the row of monitors even as stars twinkled in his peripheral vision. He had no time for recovery, no time to secure the temporarily stunned guards. His Master would have sensed the threat. It could be here at any time. And there was no clinging to the charade of obedience anymore.

“Swan,” he wheezed, praying she’d had enough time for preparation. He squinted at the first screen. “Entrance to the hospital Emergency Department.” He sucked a deeper breath, held it, grimacing. Screen two. “Holding cells in the sheriff station…. City Hall auditorium…” The fourth and fifth cameras were in locations he could not identify, possibly outside of Storybrooke. Gritting his teeth, Killian hobbled to that side of the desk, noting that the first two feeds had already been replaced by other images. Emma was ready! They may have a chance after all.

Killian had little clue how to switch the feeds of the last two cameras, but he began clicking randomly in the program regardless. He had to find one which Emma could control. The image changed. A slave collar, overseeing the destruction of property. Then someone’s bedroom from their webcam. A random front porch. Killian battled rising urgency. There was no time. There had to be… there!

“The cemetery,” he barked, already moving to the final screen. “Turn them on, love! My Master could be--”

The inside door swung open with a crash. And into the room, wearing an expression of pure malice, scuttled the imposing shape of the scream-eating monster.

His Master. They were too late.

[newstfionline]

Headlines

The true spread of the coronavirus (Los Angeles Times, Google Maps)​ In the weeks since the novel coronavirus outbreak has squelched daily life in America, researchers have struggled to assess the true spread of the virus. But initial results from a Northern California study on coronavirus antibodies suggest it has circulated much more widely than previously thought, according to a report released Friday. The preliminary study, conducted by researchers at Stanford University, estimates that between 2.5% and 4.2% of Santa Clara County residents had antibodies to the new coronavirus in their blood by early April. Antibodies are an indication that a person’s immune system has responded to a past infection. Though the county had reported roughly 1,000 cases in early April, the Stanford researchers estimate the actual number was between 48,000 and 81,000, or 50 to 85 times greater.​

The essential workers are mostly women (NYT) Millions of women have became the most essential workers in America ​From the cashier to the emergency room nurse to the drugstore pharmacist to the home health aide taking the bus to check on her older client, the soldier on the front lines of the current national emergency is most likely a woman. One in three jobs held by women has been designated as essential, according to a New York Times analysis of census data crossed with the federal government’s essential worker guidelines. Nonwhite women are more likely to be doing essential jobs than anyone else. The work they do has often been underpaid and undervalued—an unseen labor force that keeps the country running and takes care of those most in need, whether or not there is a pandemic. Women make up nearly nine out of 10 nurses and nursing assistants, most respiratory therapists, a majority of pharmacists and the overwhelming majority of pharmacy aides and technicians. More than two-thirds of the workers at grocery store checkouts and fast food counters are women.

Stimulus checks and other coronavirus relief hindered by dated technology and rocky government rollout (Washington Post) The national effort to get coronavirus relief money to Americans is at risk of being overwhelmed by the worst economic downturn in 80 years, as understaffed and underfunded agencies struggle to deliver funds. Three weeks after Congress passed a $2 trillion package to lessen the economic impact of the coronavirus pandemic, millions of households and small businesses are still waiting to receive all the help promised under the legislation, according to government data and firsthand accounts. The bulk of the challenges have occurred with three initiatives designed to get cash to struggling Americans: $1,200 per adult relief payments that launched this week, $349 billion in Small Business Administration loans, and $260 billion in unemployment benefits for the more than 22 million people—and growing—out of work. The SBA ran out of money to make small business loans this week, almost no unemployment aid has reached eligible self-employed and gig workers, and a significant number of Americans who were due to receive relief payments this week went on the IRS.gov website only to see this message: “payment status not available.” Current and former government officials say it would be a tall order for any president to execute massive new programs in a matter of weeks, and tens of millions of Americans did receive direct deposits worth $1,200 or more this week. But the Trump administration’s promise of swift and effective action—President Trump called the small business program “flawlessly executed” this week—is colliding with a federal and state apparatus not well designed to deliver so much money so fast.

Here’s What You Do With Two-Thirds of the World’s Jets When They Can’t Fly (Bloomberg) The skies are eerily empty these days, presenting a new challenge for the world’s embattled airlines as they work to safeguard thousands of grounded planes parked wingtip to wingtip on runways and in storage facilities. More than 16,000 passenger jets are grounded worldwide, according to industry researcher Cirium, as the coronavirus obliterates travel and puts unprecedented strain on airline finances. Finding the right space and conditions for 62% of the world’s planes and keeping them airworthy have suddenly become priorities for 2020. Aircraft can’t simply be dusted back into action. They need plenty of work and attention while in storage, from maintenance of hydraulics and flight-control systems to protection against insects and wildlife—nesting birds can be a problem. Then there’s humidity, which can corrode parts and damage interiors. Even when parked on runways, planes are often loaded with fuel to keep them from rocking in the wind and to ensure tanks stay lubricated. According to Anand Bhaskar, chief executive officer of New Delhi-based Air Works, a plane repair and maintenance company, “Parking space is a problem. These are logistics nightmares which we’re trying to work around.”

Wary of public transport, coronavirus-hit Americans turn to bikes (Reuters) Add fear to the list of reasons people ride bikes. “I’m 51 and healthy, but I don’t want to get on the subway,” said John Donohue, a Brooklyn-based artist who bought a bike two weeks ago. Donohue, who doesn’t own a car, says he’s not sure when he’ll be comfortable on mass transit again. The coronavirus pandemic has sparked a surge in bike sales across the United States, according to a major manufacturer and a half dozen retailers interviewed by Reuters. Many of the purchases are by people looking for a way to get outside at a time of sweeping shutdowns and stay-at-home orders aimed at containing the virus: Even the worst affected states are allowing people out to exercise. Still, a portion of the sales, especially in urban areas, are to people like Donohue who also want to avoid the risk of contagion on buses or subways.

Europe thinks it is past the peak of the first wave of the coronavirus (Washington Post) All across Europe, the numbers are coming down. In Italy, Spain, France, Germany and Britain, public health officials—their faces often drained by exhaustion—are now expressing cautious optimism that the first wave of Europe’s devastating pandemic is ending. From Ireland to Greece, officials are seeing hopeful signs that coronavirus infections are peaking and have begun to plateau or recede, pointing to intensive care beds that are slowly opening up and a daily reduction in the number of new hospitalizations. In Paris, Milan and Madrid, hospitals and staff that were stressed to their limits just a few weeks ago, as thousands of coughing, fevered, breathless patients surged through their doors, are now reporting empty beds in their ICUs. There are ventilators to go around.

France Weighs Its Love of Liberty in Fight Against Coronavirus (NYT) As France sought clues last month on how to tame the coronavirus, experts looked at one tool that has been central to the strategy of some Asian nations: digital tracking. Citing threats to “individual liberties,” the powerful interior minister dismissed it as alien to “French culture.” But three weeks—and a tenfold spike in deaths—later, French culture could be changing, along with those of other Western democracies as they struggle to adjust the balance between personal privacy and the public good while attempting to reopen their societies and economies without setting off another wave of coronavirus infections. In Italy, politicians have proposed blood tests to detect antibodies to the virus before licensing people to leave their lockdowns. President Trump may push for hiring hundreds of people to perform contact tracing as part of his effort to allow Americans to go back to work and school. And in France, as President Emmanuel Macron extended a nationwide lockdown by at least another month this week, he said his government was considering using a smartphone tracking app that would inform people if they have come in contact with an infected person.

China’s economy contracts (Wall Street Journal)​ Since the Cultural Revolution ended in the mid-1970s, China’s economy, fueled by market reforms, has notched up more than four decades of unbroken gains, enlarging the domestic economy by roughly a hundredfold and transforming the world. That winning streak is over. China on Friday reported a 6.8% year-over-year contraction in its economy for the first three months of the year—the first quarterly decline in gross domestic product since official record-keeping began in 1992 and likely the first since Mao Zedong’s death in 1976, economists said. “The scale and breadth of China’s economic contraction are staggering,” said Eswar Prasad, an economics professor at Cornell University and the former head of the International Monetary Fund’s China division. “There is little prospect of China driving a revival of global growth.”​

New wave of infections threatens to collapse Japan hospitals (AP) Hospitals in Japan are increasingly turning away sick people as the country struggles with surging coronavirus infections and its emergency medical system collapses. In one recent case, an ambulance carrying a man with a fever and difficulty breathing was rejected by 80 hospitals and forced to search for hours for a hospital in downtown Tokyo that would treat him. Another feverish man finally reached a hospital after paramedics unsuccessfully contacted 40 clinics. The Japanese Association for Acute Medicine and the Japanese Society for Emergency Medicine say many hospital emergency rooms are refusing to treat people including those suffering strokes, heart attacks and external injuries. Japan lacks enough hospital beds, medical workers or equipment. Forcing hospitalization of anyone with the virus, even those with mild symptoms, has left hospitals overcrowded and understaffed.