#and survive a certain amount of deployments

[fading-event-608]

Recently the syndicate of chemists in Lebanon has issued a statement warning people to not go near the blast sites due to alleged use of depleted uranium by Israel. (link - you need to scroll till the statement in Arabic). The screenshot of their statement on twitter was shared here on Tumblr and I’ve seen multiple people expressing scepticism regarding the source. Some people linked an article (link) from anti-Hezbollah 'democratic' newspaper 'L’Orient Today' to ‘fact-check’ - because of course they can’t read Arabic and are discontent with a twitter link.

This is my short summary of the article: they confirm that Israel has used Depleted Uranium (DU) weapons, not only in Lebanon but also in Gaza in June of this year and between October and December of last year. They establish a history of the use of Depleted Uranium, and include examples of its use in Iran in 2003. Israel doesn't directly talk about their use of DU, but neither are they hiding it - because there is no law that forbids the use of these bombs by Israel, there is no treaty regulating the use of DU weapons. There were several resolutions calling for a moratorium on the use of DU weapons in the UN and EU Parliament, the latest of which was in 2022, but these have failed to stop their use (those who have used them also includes both Russia and Ukraine). The article ends with an ominous addition that the Israeli army has been found guilty multiple times of using white phosphorus, which IS prohibited against civilians or civilian property under international law. (You probably can already tell that their defense is that they do not use it against civilians)

There is another article that was published in early September this year - LINK - I highly encourage you to read this one yourself, as it is quite short, especially when considering the amount of information it contains. As this one is more easily accessible, I won’t summarize it - please take it in yourself. I will say, however, that this article’s author, one Dr. Busby, worked with colleagues to conduct several investigations into the use of uranium-based weapons in both Lebanon and Gaza. In 2006, Dr. Busby asked his colleague to collect multiple samples from a crater left by what was suspected to be Depleted Uranium weapons. Samples from an ambulance air filter were also taken. Dr. Busby and company found not only the  presence of depleted uranium but also of Enriched Uranium. Here’s the paper: link.

Enriched Uranium. In 2006.

By 2024, all of the laboratories that Dr. Busby had used to Conduct the investigation have closed their doors either to him or in general. Busby’s letters to the UN, as well as papers detailing evidence of the use of enriched and depleted uranium are either dismissed or ignored, rendering it unlikely that there will ever be the “official” source for these claims that certain people now see fit to demand. And even if the UN did accept those letters and did push for ban of those weapons - would Israel comply? Genocide is ‘illegal’ under international law, and Israel still faces the case in ICJ, but what will that ICJ do if they rule that Israel is guilty? What would UN do if they accept evidence of Israel using uranium-based weapons? Scold them and write a fine?

The aspect of the deployment of nuclear weapons considered the most horrific is - and has always been - the fallout. The idea that all nuclear weapons would leave evidence - again, fallout - behind was born into the cultural consciousness through various cold war era PSAs, as well as other media inspired by these horrors, potential and otherwise. The weapons Israel is using here do not create fallout, however. But do not mistake them as harmless - they are still highly carcinogenic. They cause birth defects, as well as various other illnesses - mysterious illnesses, or at least mysterious until doctors attempting to treat them register that their patients have been exposed to enriched uranium, after which point the mystery goes away. 

In a sense, the horrors advertised by cold war PSAs and films like Doctor Strangelove, the promise of some explosive end brought about by some fool in the US pushing the wrong button - these serve to draw a veil over the continued use of nuclear weapons that have been ongoing since this technology was first harnessed for violence. This is a severe danger to the people of Gaza, and we can’t ignore it simply because we have developed in our minds too much faith in the loosest understandings of nuclear warfare.

I think many of you are familiar with a boiling frog story. The story goes that if you put a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will try to climb out. But if you put it in warm water and very slowly heat it, it will be so accustomed to the temperature it will eventually be boiled alive. It’s not very authentic, of course - in reality the frog will try to jump out as soon as it deems the water temperature uncomfortable. Just like you would try to get out of the bathtub as soon as it gets too hot for you or try to warm yourself up when you spend too much time outside in winter. 

But some of it still rings true. At what point will the UN, or ICJ, or some other white savior wannabe decide that Israel has done too much? What is that ‘too-much’ point that makes them try to protest, and what would that protest be?

As in case with Tumblr, it seems that the boiling point, in fact, has already passed and people grew accustomed to deaths of Palestinians. There are thousands of posts about the situation in Gaza, and the whole Palestine, Lebanon, Yemen, Syria… They get a lot of attention by both zionists and Palestine supporters. There are also hundreds of Gazans that came to Tumblr in hopes to escape the genocide by asking people to cover evacuation and survival costs. Do they get the same attention? Barely. Arguably zionists are more invested in interacting with those posts - they mass report them and harass Palestinians. And even if the fundraiser post gets a lot of attention, it does not necessarily translate into a lot of donations - people just assume that someone else will donate instead of them.

You can’t stop Israel all by yourself. You can’t convince the UN or try to progress the ICJ case by yourself. You can, however, do small acts that will contribute to Palestinian resistance. Go protest, go boycott, and please, please, please, go donate to Palestinian fundraisers.

Falastin’s family are under constant threat in Gaza. She’s been fundraising to save them since late June, and yet they’ve only recently gotten to just over 5% of their total goal - a little short of $10,000 USD. They’re still in Gaza, and still in need of funds for survival. The longer they are trapped there, the more they need - not just for food and water, but also for medicine, shelter, and clothes. Each time they’re displaced, due to inadequate time to pack, they lose more supplies, and their needs increase. Give what you can so that they can survive this, and please share their fundraiser as much as you’re able regardless of whether you can donate, just in case someone you know might be able to help. Not just here on Tumblr, on other social media, talk to your friends, coworkers, family, in group chats and in discord servers.

Please keep in mind conversion rates before donating:

10$ = 103 SEK

25$ = 260 SEK

50$ = 519 SEK

100$ = 1,038 SEK

[king-of-wrath]

Open Starter for Mutuals: To Hell and Back (Hopefully)

Down in the depths of DHORCS' newest headquarters, technicians had made adjustments to the extra-dimensional portal generator. Now able to send an adult human into Hell, the agency would need to perform vital reconnaissance: they needed to know the number and composition of demonic legions, to locate strongholds, identify points of interest and map-out each of the Seven Rings.

The casualty projections were extremely grim: even with the best military equipment,blessed tenfold by heavily indoctrinated and genetically "pure" holy men, it was expected that no more than one agent per ten would survive deployment. But in the minds of DHORCS' higher-ups, obtaining even the smallest amounts of information was well worth the sacrifice. Agents One and Two were given the unenviable task of drawing names from a hat---knowing they were sending their fellows to certain death.

Agent One reached in and pulled a slip from the hat. "Five," he read aloud. The same agent would step out from a line and receive his equipment: a fire-resistant bomb-disposal suit with a full-faced gas mask, an assault rifle and a handgun engraved with religious iconography and a backpack full of basic camping supplies.

"Twenty-six," Agent Two read aloud. With a solemn nod, she stepped out of line and went to gear-up.

"Forty-two," Agent One called out. He turned and briefly embraced his fellow agent before going forward.

"Seven," Two called. They swallowed hard, but accepted their fate.

"Eighteen," One called. "Put the fear of God and Man into 'em," One told Eighteen with a tear welling in his eye.

"...Sixty-nine," Two rolled her eyes. A few agents struggled to hold back giggles---until someone replied with "Nice", making them all spit and choke. The agent called out wasn't amused, having clearly endured that childishness for months.

"Thirteen," One called as the process continued.

"Fifty-five," Two called. Unlike the others, she seemed to relish in the opportunity.

"Thirty-three," One called.

"And..." Two reached inside. "...Eleven."

Agent Eleven was mortified and on the verge of fainting. Already pale and scrawny, he looked even more like a ghost. The agents to his left and right grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him forward, not letting him escape his imminent doom. He received his kit, but struggled to put it on because he was trembling like a newborn faun.

"Ey, youse!" One snapped his fingers at the two heading back into line. "Help Casper 'ere into his suit," he said with a chuckle.

Now that all ten agents were outfitted, the generator began its start-up cycle. If all went according to plan, they would be sent to a different location in Hell and regroup. Each agent's data-pad contained one part of a ten-character activation code, which would broadcast a homing signal back to headquarters for extraction. Even if the other nine had perished, the anticipated survivor was expected to recover their fellows' data---they needed to, if they had any hope of returning home.

One minute passed, feeling like an hour to the ten agents standing in wait. A man-sized rift then opened before them.

"Alright, one at a time!" Two commanded. "Same order as you were called!"

One by one, each of the nine agents ran headlong into Hell itself---not knowing what to expect or whether they would survive. Eleven was still terrified and had to be unceremoniously tossed through by Agent One.

Eleven shut his eyes, grit his teeth and curled into a tight ball as he felt himself flung through space and time. During every second of extra-dimensional travel, his ears were blasted by agonized screams and the echoing laughter of dark, thirsting beings.

Inside a ruined hovel, on the edge of the perpetually-violent Doomsday District, a tear in reality opened and spat forth the unfortunate agent. He felt his body thud against the rubble, but the heavy padding cushioned his fall. The laughter stopped and the screams weren't as loud, though his eardrums rattled with the sound of gunfire from not far away.

Eleven slowly lifted his head, raising the blast-shield on his helmet to discover where he was. He saw bullet tracers intersecting across a blood-red sky as unseen combatants shouted. He crawled along the ground, peeking out from a pile of bricks---just in time to see a grenade bounce down the street.

With the agility of a frightened cat, Eleven threw himself back and curled into a ball again. Once the explosive went-off, he scrambled to his feet and ran away from this apparent "war-zone". In one hand, he held the blast-shield down in front of his face and in the other, he tentatively gripped the handle of his rifle.

"God help me..." he muttered through his air filter.

[milkboydotnet]

A collection of activists and researchers from Filipino and Filipino-American organizations released the findings of a peace mission that concluded last month. The Philippines hosts the United States military in nine joint military facilities across the country through the Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement (EDCA). The groups claim that the American forces are both violating the terms of their stay and operating without transparency to local communities and even to Philippine authorities.

After a three-week fact-finding mission, the Peace Mission International Delegation finds that “the heightening of US militarism and ramping up of EDCA sites is a threat to Philippine independence and sovereignty and the dignity and safety of Filipino communities,” said Bagong Alyansang Makabayan (BAYAN) USA. Meanwhile, Renato Reyes Jr, of BAYAN Philippines explained that the “increased deployment of American weapons and soldiers to the Philippines is meant to provoke a heightened military confrontation with China.”

Secret War

The mission went to two EDCA sites and to one province where American military operations had recently taken place.

In Basa Air Base of Pampanga province, even the Philippine military was barred from certain perimeters.

Lal-lo Airport in Cagayan province is one EDCA site and researchers found that even the provincial government was only made aware of its use by foreigners when it was announced in the news.

None of the locals know what kind of armaments are now stored at the site. Moreover, US personnel are tapping the wider community to store military items and supplies. The mission pointed out that it goes beyond the bounds of EDCA as it does not fall under any of the “Agreed Locations.”

Last month, the Balikatan (shoulder to shoulder) joint military exercises between the US and the Philippines concluded. The war games drew in over 16,000 soldiers and for the first time made armed excursions outside Philippine territories, around a hundred kilometers from Taiwan.

The town of Santa Ana in Cagayan, northeast of the Philippines is just 400 kilometers from Taiwan.

The mission alleges that the residents of Santa Ana, were kept in the dark about using their town as a site for military exercises throughout Balikatan.

The mission also documented US marines visiting local high schools in civic-military operations. Additionally “We documented reports of locals saying that the loud noise from US military jets scares them and their children. Not only did this directly disturb the fish supply that these people survive on, but it is aimed at normalizing foreign military occupation in their country,” said *Alex of the mission, using a pseudonym for security.

Not unlike in Cagayan, residents of Ilocos Norte province to the northwest of the country, only learned of Balikatan coming to their neighborhoods through news on Facebook. Live fire drills were carried out and some allege that explosions were heard just 30 kilometers from their homes.

The mission also criticized the five-day “no sail policy” enforced by the military, dealing a large blow to the livelihood of local fisherfolk.

Around 1,000 fishing families were affected by the fishing ban, with estimated losses at Php10,000 per family, a staggering amount that will take them months to recover from. Local government allotted aid worth Php1500 to just over a hundred families.

“The people of Ilocos deserve much more than to be treated as pawns in a US war game,” said *Glaiza of the group Gabriela.

Invitation for war

Balikatan is just one of over 500 planned exercises slated for this year alone. It comes alongside moves in Washington to significantly boost military aid to the Philippines to contain China and pursue its strategic interests in the Pacific region.

Last April, at the Philippines-United States Bilateral Strategic Dialogue in Washington, D.C., both countries held talks to expand the number of EDCA sites, investing US$128 million for infrastructure around these areas and stockpiling a greater volume of supplies.

This year, Marcos announced intentions to upgrade the country’s defense with a US$35 billion boost over the next 10 years.

His plans dovetail with a proposal in the US Senate dubbed the Philippine Enhanced Resilience Act, or PERA bill, which would allot US$2.5 billion over the next five years to Philippine military advancement.

Reyes criticized Marcos Jr’s inclination to plunge the Philippines into war at the behest of America. On June 12, Philippine Independence Day, Filipinos rallied at the US Embassy in Manila against using the country as a stooge in their agenda.

On the same day, Marcos delivered a speech with much bravado saying “We see it in the tenacity of our soldiers as they protect every inch of our territory, adamant as they are in the certainty that Filipinos do not, and shall never, succumb to oppression.”

However, after seeing how the American interests with the complicity of the Marcos regime is fuelling the escalation of the conflict with China, the mission asks “is the Philippines truly free? And what of the Filipino people who are sure to be caught in the crossfire if war were to break out?”

[self-loving-vampire]

I'm like only a moderate fan of blood, but there is something so special about impossibly large amounts of blood, perhaps, because I do find more chunky gore gross. It makes sense that it wouldn't be your favourite blood deployment, since you have a higher gore tolerance.

I think rather than gore tolerance I think the factor for me is the storylines involved and how well they may work. As I noted in the other reply, I feel like blood is better used in contexts like injury rather than baths because things like combat scenes and ryona appeal to me more.

I would even say that when you look at my tastes, the gore involved tends to be pretty mild in some ways. I tend to just not feel that much when I look at the more extreme types of gore, such as the stereotypical intestine-fondling. I don't have a squick reaction to it either, but I also just don't find it very stimulating. It's like I'm just detached from it because it seems a bit too exaggerated, I guess?

The types of injuries that appeal to me the most seem to run the range from "survivable in the short term" up to things like decapitation and injuries that should cause death by blood loss. The common thread tends to be that they often have a sort of idealized and dignified quality to them.

That's probably a little bit hard to explain in isolation, but if you connect it to my preference for fight scenes over torture (which I don't necessarily dislike, to be clear) and recall my previous post on ryona then a certain pattern becomes more apparent.

One could describe it as "realistic injuries and deaths with unrealistic/idealized effects". This is the type you see all the time in things like anime fights, although I also have a preference for more permanent consequences than you might generally see in those.

[mtnsedge]

"I secured a direct hit on an enemy encampment, saw bodies or parts of bodies go up in the air, and heard the desperate yelling of the wounded or the runaways. I had to confess to myself that it was one of the happiest moments of my life." — Henry deMan, British Expeditionary Force, First World War

Something that I’m particularly interested in exploring with Jakob, especially in his Cyberpunk verse (given the near-constant exposure to violence that lower-class residents of Night City experience on a day-to-day basis) is the sensation of relief that high-adrenaline situations can offer to many combat veterans, especially those with severe PTSD who lack access to proper mental healthcare.

There is decades worth of research conducted by entities like the Department of Veterans Affairs that have noted the penchant combat veterans have towards potentially fatal thrill-seeking. Prolonged exposure to stress and adrenaline during deployments can essentially “rewire” the brain, normalizing high levels of stress brought on by consistent combat trauma in order to feel as if they are functioning normally due to the life-and-death circumstances that once dictated their existence: 

“You see people nowadays that are hooked on drugs, heroin, cocaine, whatever the case may be. The biggest high you can ever get is a natural adrenaline rush. Somebody trying to kill you. There’s nothing that will ever come to that rush.” ( x )

This often splits, depending on the veteran. There are those whose exposure to combat has made them adverse to violence or high-stress situations. Based upon what we see of Jakob in-game, he seems to be the opposite — a man who revels in violence and who functions best in moments that present fatal levels of danger, perhaps best explained by First World War veteran Daniel Sweeney when he wrote to his fiance, “I was really sorry I did it, but God knows I could not help myself.” ( x )

In the canon of Far Cry 5, we know that Jakob’s survivability is tested with a fellow airborne comrade by the name of Miller, who he is stranded in the desert with during deployment. We know that he ultimately kills his friend and eats his corpse in order to survive the journey back to an allied base, an incident which he refers to as an “OPPORTUNITY” to the player character during one of his cutscenes. He embraces the brutality of death and the role that it serves to bolster the camaraderie and fighting spirit of his Chosen, and the demoralizing effect that such carnage has on the civilian population of Hope County. 

We know that he is suffering not only from deteriorating physical health (as evidenced by his weakened, raspy tone in certain audio files from the game, where his breathing is deep and heavily labored, and he coughs frequently). We know that he is suffering mentally and indulging in the same addictions mentioned earlier, as evidenced by the copious amounts of liquor and beer bottles you find in his room in some of the in-game files. On the surface he embraces death as a tool to prove his merit in a world dominated by the powerful, and as an opportunity for survival, but struggles with the mental ramifications of it.

How does this translate into his Cyberpunk verse?

He adapts far better to Night City than he ever did to civilian life in his more “mundane” canon setting. 

Jakob is surrounded by near-constant violence — especially as a disenfranchised and disillusioned veteran from the lowest rungs of society who has been cast away by the same government that recruited and exploited him, he lacks access to what little social tools are available to help individuals like him reintegrate into society. This causes him to gravitate to areas and occupations within the city that will offer him some manner of an “adrenaline fix” — it also leaves him feeling remarkably frustrated with the faulty power structures that exist within the country, and incredibly susceptible to the recruitment tactics of groups like the 6th Street gang, which promise a sense of purpose and community for those on the fringes of a society dominated by the apathetic interests of corporate and government entities.  

It also exacerbates his sense of suicidal ideation and makes him especially prone to recklessness and self harm. Where his canon setting offers a copious amount of liquor to distract from these feelings, the world of Cyberpunk offers other vices for him to indulge in. This is particularly true of Extreme Braindances, specifically in the flavor of your initial introduction to them in “The Information” mission in Cyberpunk 2077. Plugging into an immersive simulation that allows him to experience the same adrenaline rush of kill-or-be-killed wartime combat, he is able to microdose on the same death and hypervigilance that he learned to function with as an adult. 

[lilhawkeye3]

Her Warrior

Rating: G+ ||| Word Count: 1.7k ||| Post Order 66 ||| AO3 Link

"Have you ever heard of Aayla Secura? ...she benefited the people of many worlds, and entered the folkloric cycles of several primitive cultures, where she often was merged with local historical figures or goddess-characters." (Legacy of the Force: Betrayal by Aaron Allston)

There's a bit of truth to every story. This one starts with CC-5052.

A/N: 😌✌🏽

CC-5052 didn’t give it much thought when he was assigned and shipped off to another outer core planet. Orders were orders, and he followed them.

Orders had said to execute Aayla, the General, the traitor Jedi, yet she had always treated them well. She had been a good leader, not like the others, not like what he heard of the Marines or of Umbara—

The headache came back. CC-5052 didn’t give it much thought.

———————

He knew there were others with headaches or fragmented memories. The first didn’t understand why order 66 had been followed. They were quickly sent off for medical checks to Kamino and reassigned.

Some had malfunctioning aggression inhibitors. They fought against the new nat born officers. They were sent on scouting missions or reassigned.

Some… some had headaches. Some of them complained of dread, or an ache behind their eyes. Some didn’t come back from the medbay. Some went to sleep in the barracks and didn’t wake up for their next shift.

A few turned their guns on themselves.

CC-5052 didn’t give that much thought either. It was safer not to.

———————

CC-5052 wondered if the change in environment for his deployment might reduce his headaches. Different planet, different atmospheric pressures, different stressors.

There are less soldiers that look like him on this mission. The number has been steadily dwindling. CC-5052 stays silent, so there won’t be a reason to decommission him.

The thoughts continue, but CC-5052 pushes them aside.

———————

The civilians of this planet don’t appreciate the Empire’s presence. This planet is just like every other CC-5052 has been deployed to in the past months. Another with rumors of a rebellious population, another that will not bow to the Empire’s might.

They’d ignored curfew warnings to huddle along the sides of the road that the stormtroopers now marched down. It was a show of force, and it seemed to be proving effective. CC-5052 took no joy in it– joy had no place – but he would ensure these citizens fell in line. He would not have the stain of failure on him or his squadron.

———————

The ignored curfews grow into assaults on isolated troopers. Rocks, trash, even food scraps. The people used anything they could get their hands on. CC-5052 didn’t see the point in increasing the amount of force on the majority of the perpetrators. Most of them were younglings. They weren’t innocent in the eyes of the Empire, but hurting them would only make the civilian population more volatile.

If ever asked for an opinion, CC-5052 would say a volatile population meant more room for error.

His superior officers would say that it meant for quicker use of force from their troops.

CC-5052 wasn’t asked, so he did as ordered.

———————

The first trooper murdered and left in an alley resulted in a riot, five dead civilians, and a dozen belligerents put into holding.

CC-5052 pulls a 36 hour shift and returns to the barracks with scuffed and dented armor, a damaged shoulder piece, and far fewer plasma rounds in his blaster than he had left with.

Two nights later, another trooper goes missing. This time, the investigation is led back to a group of street younglings who claimed to have been unfairly targeted by the newly recruited natborn and acted out of self-defense.

If CC-5052 was asked, he would believe the youngling’s account. One of them bore several fresh burn marks from a regulation blaster.

CC-5052 wasn’t asked.

When three of the younglings were arrested for treason and sentenced to death, the headaches returned.

———————

CC-5052 dreamed that night. He wasn’t certain when he’d last dreamt– or when he’d stopped.

It was dark, wherever he was. There was a body pressed against him, fingers in his hair while his thigh pressed up between strong legs. He could feel lips against his neck, breasts pressed against his chest, soft skin underneath his palms. They smelled of a sweet perfume– something from a flower on a planet he didn’t remember the name of– and when their lips met his again, they tasted of starlight.

His spine tingled with pleasure as warmth spread throughout him, and he bucked up against them, pushing them back against the wall so he could loom over them and tilt their chin up towards his face…

He found himself staring into sparkling hazel eyes. He knew those eyes. Those were hers, were–

———————

It was only years of training that kept CC-5052 from bolting upright as he suddenly awoke, skin flushed and heart racing faster than he could ever remember. He remained laid flat on his back for several more minutes, keeping still so he could force his vitals back to normal.

CC-5052 turns his face towards the wall and closes his eyes to try and get his migraine to subside.

———————

The migraine gets worse. CC-5052 alters his HUD to filter out brighter lights and dampen down on harsher sounds.

The days get longer, and the migraine gets worse.

———————

The riots continue to grow in size and fervor. Even the natborn officers know that reacting too strongly will cause a full-blown revolt. If that happens, the civilians won’t be the only ones being punished.

CC-5052’s head throbs in time with the chanting of the furious crowds below him in the city square.

———————

“Do you ever feel like what we’re doing here is wrong?” CT-2448 asks his bunkmate in the low of night.

CC-5052 remains silent despite the worsening pain behind his right eye. If he acknowledges the conversation, he’ll have to report them. Orders are orders are orders–

CC-5052 remains silent and listens.

“Does it matter?” Comes the weary response from CT-9357.

There are several heartbeats of quiet before the first trooper responds. “It used to.”

CC-5052 remains silent.

His migraine gets worse.

———————

The city glows a dusky orange the night it’s announced the younglings will be executed for treason against the Galactic Empire. The streets overflow with the fury of its people. CC-5052 and his fellow troopers are deployed.

The orders are to set blasters to kill.

CC-5052 fights through the increasing stabbing pain in his head and sets his to stun.

———————

He stumbles into a side street halfway through the night and tears his helmet off of his head, throwing it roughly to the ground. There are skirmishes echoing from deeper in the city, where he’d come from and been separated from his squad– his brothers, his mind supplies– are they even his brothers? So many have vanished, being replaced over the past few months.

Brothers. How had he forgotten that?

Orders are orders a good soldier follows orders–

He grips at his temple, staggering until his back hits a wall and he slides down to the soiled ground. The real battle is going on in his head, and everything else fades away in comparison.

Bly, a quiet voice whispers.

He whirls around, looking wildly for where it could’ve come from. There’s no one in sight, and yet he could’ve sworn the speaker was right next to him.

Just a bit further, Bly. A breeze caresses his cheek on an otherwise still night.

Who is Bly? He wants to shout his question, scream it to the sky. Why can he no longer tell up from down, right from wrong, orders are orders a good sold–

CC-5052 tries to rear his head one last time, but flowers and embers and starlight fill his nostrils without warning, and the constant agony behind his eye blows away like dust on the wind.

He’s not Bly– not yet, maybe not ever without Aa- without her– but he’s closer than he’s been in many, many months.

He’s not the Bly from before Felucia, but even the broken man he is now knows that this is wrong.

He won’t stand by and allow this to continue without doing anything.

———————

He left his helmet behind.

He would no longer act as the faceless will of a tyrant.

He let the cool air splash across the markings he chose to show the universe his love dedication belief in his general.

———————

Innocents in danger. A warm lekku brushes against his jaw as her soft but firm voice urges him onward. Go. Save them.

I believe in you.

———————

They’ll speak of this moment for generations afterwards: the man with the golden kiss of the Goddess on his cheeks, taking on an entire unit of stormtroopers ready to execute protesting younglings cornered in the town square.

They’ll speak of the Goddess who took the form of a blue twi’lek to guide him, hand pressed between his shoulder blades as if she were bestowing upon him a pair of wings.

They’ll speak of the scattered troopers that froze and murmured varying names: General, Aayla, Jedi, ghost– but particularly of the two troopers that tossed their helmets aside and gazed at her with reverence before springing into action, one shielding the children while the other took up second in command on the charge against the oppressors.

They’ll speak in hushed whispers of how when the fighting was over and the surviving troopers all removed their helmets to reveal the same face, that the Goddess had gifted Her Chosen warrior with the valor of an army but could not fit such power within only one body.

They’ll remember how Her Chosen checked over each and every child youngling before embracing each other and crying over brothers found again, while the one who alone bore her marks wandered off to the edge of the courtyard alone.

Only the most devout will learn of how the Goddess appeared to him in that moment, her glittering form bathing him in starlight in that darkened corner of the battlefield. The details of what passes between them is speculated but never known, for it was a sacred moment no one wished to blaspheme.

———————

“Aayla, I’m so sorry, I– please, tell me what to do, tell me how to fix this!”

Live. Her lips brushed against one golden tattoo. Love. She kissed the other marking.

“I can’t do that without you. We– we were going to do this together.”

I’m here. I’ll always be right beside you.

“Aayla…”

Go. Help your brothers. Protect and serve the innocent.

“Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

Never.

———————

...but they all tell of how Her Chosen fell to his knees before her, how she drew him into her arms before vanishing into stardust, gone in the blink of an eye.

[gospelofme]

47 Thoughts While Watching Part 1 of The Bad Batch season finale (spoilers ahead!!!!!)

“They’ll still come for you”. Ugh that sounds so sad. He’s confident about it too.

How did Echo get so good at ship repairs? Unless basic ship crap is mandatory for sudden repairs. Which I guess if you hang with Skywalker, that’s a requirement.

Aaahhh, the Kamino theme is memorable.

So I wonder if Rampart planned to leave Crosshair on Kamino all along?

I love the fact the Kaminoans kept secrets from the Republic/Empire. Like using their credits to fund their own projects.

I wonder how Omega knew about that platform….I didn’t think she’d ever left Kamino. Unless she went there with Nala Se for whatever.

Damn, I’d hate always getting wet when I go outside.

So the pad and lift are proximity sensor based. Not weight.

So the tubes aren’t documented on any schematics. So none of the blueprints that Tech has access to have them on there. That means one of two things:

- there are “official” and “unofficial” blueprints. Like some the Republic were given and the actual plans.

- Nala Se had the tube system built specifically for her.

Private research lab doesn’t mean secret…but still, why did she get a private one? Was it just to create the enhanced clones? Or was it used for more “off the records” projects?

And if there are other tubes that run throughout Kamino, and they’re all secret, WHY!? Like why do they exist? Surely the Kaminoans know they can just go wherever they want whenever they want because they fucking live there. Unless….they became prisoners in their own home….

About how uncomfortable Omega is having to go to the lab…

“why would I be?” He sounded like he rolled his eyes there.

The amount of salt that is being sprinkled by Crosshair right now.

“We didn’t have a choice?”

“And I did?”

Okay so when I first watched this episode, I thought that meant he no longer had his chip. But now I see it as Crosshair not having a choice because Hunter had committed treason by what his orders were telling him.

Also, I love the colors used in the control room. Idk why. They just all work. I think it’s because the rest of that place is so blinding with white light.

So how did they build the tubes under water….

“Most in Tipoca City don’t know about it.” So some do.

Omega sounds so sad. Honestly since I’m certain there were more than just five enhanced clones, since Nala Se said that that was all that remained, I wonder if Omega saw the clones that didn’t survive the experimentation.

About how Tech always looks like he’s texting. I’m waiting for him to take a selfie with Echo or something.

About Hunter still trying to convince Crosshair that this is all influenced by his chip. I think Crosshair knows he’s being used, but he (like the others in Clone Force 99) want some sense of normalcy. Like Echo said earlier, “we’re soldiers, what other path is there?”

Okay the alarm reminds me of the purge siren.

And the indoor alarm sounds like an airport alert.

About Echo taking charge, although I think he naturally is the next in command rank-wise. Do we even know the rank of Tech and Wrecker? What was Crosshair’s rank before?

Omega should’ve gone and tattled on them to Rex. Like “and then they just ditched me!! Again!! I know I have no combat training but still…”

Its pretty clear that Crosshair knows how the team is going to act. Like what tactics they’d use and decisions they’d make. Like on Bracca, Crosshair knew immediately the scanner frequencies were being jammed, because he had seen Tech use that trick before.

“We’re running out of time Commander” I have enjoyed that guy’s voice. It’s soothing.

The way Crosshair spits out “the Republic” makes me think there is something more than just the inhibitor chip at play. I wonder if he’s always harbored ill feelings towards the Republic. Cut had issues with the war that were so strong, he deserted. I wonder if Crosshair had similar feelings.

Wow he is really hurt about being left behind. And I can understand that. But Hunter did have a responsibility to Omega, Wrecker, Echo, and Tech too. He couldn’t risk them being shot and killed while trying to reason with someone who is shooting at him. Of course maybe if he had made more of an effort to get Crosshair to come with them…..of course I do think the Empire has done some brainwashing of Crosshair as well.

“I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. And it’s why I’m going to give you, what you never gave me. A chance.”

I think there is more to this than face value. It could very well mean he’s giving them a chance to join the Empire. But that whole conversion always used the term “choice”, not “chance”. “Chance” is used more as “an opportunity to do something”. That “do something” could be making a decision though. Like “I’m going to give you a chance to join the Empire.” But it could be “I’m going to give you a chance to get out of here.” Hunter didn’t give Crosshair a chance to prove he was loyal to them either. Plus the way the rest of Crosshair’s team reacted tells me they weren’t aware of their Commander’s intentions.

I love how Tech, Wrecker, and Echo are standing there like 😐

I thought it was interesting Crosshair decided to send Omega on a shuttle off world. Of course where would that have been? Just pick some random coordinates and say “good luck”? How would that be received by Rampart? Of course I don’t think he cared about Omega. That was just Nala Se and Lama Su really. And honestly, Crosshair was sounding like he’d actually thought about this. Like if Hunter wants to keep Omega safe, then he needs to realize that she won’t be safe with them. Especially if they’re being hunted. However there may have been an ulterior motive here too. With Omega out of the way, It will be like “old times” when it was just them. He probably feels like he was replaced by a kid.

The change in music though. The emotional, sweeping theme dropping down to a more sinister theme when Crosshair mentions their superiority over regular troopers.

“This is what we were made for.” What if, and hear me out…what if the enhanced clones were created specifically for the Empire. Their deployment during the Clone Wars could’ve been a testing phase. They may not have been prepared for the chance the inhibitor chips didn’t work. Crosshair had mentioned that Hunter couldn’t see the bigger picture. What if that is the bigger picture. That all of them were created to serve the Empire. Not the Republic. Which would explain Crosshair’s sudden disgust with it.

That reflection shot of Tech staring into the mirror. I like that shot. That’s really beautifully animated.

I have a feeling Crosshair knew his new squad wouldn’t listen to him. The “stand down” sounded like he was just saying it to say it. I don’t think he ever had respect for them, not after what happened with Saw’s fighters. They weren’t following him out of loyalty, but fear. And loyalty is a big deal to Crosshair. Honestly I think he had planned all along to kill his new squad. Like from the beginning. Which is why he was trying so hard to get his old squad members. The sooner he got them and convinced them to come to his side, the sooner he could shoot his new squad.

I have a feeling Crosshair know’s the reason why they were all created. Granted that could be brainwashing by the Empire to gain his compliance and loyalty. But something tells me that they were created specifically to become an elite squad for the Emperor.

Crosshair has some serious Anakin vibes when he’s telling Hunter to not become his enemy. And Hunter has some Obiwan vibes with the whole “we never were” line.

I do enjoy the weight they give Crosshair when Hunter flips him. Like the sound of him hitting the floor. He’s heavier than he looks.

Lmao that one TK trooper like “nope, imma get the fuck out of here.”

“Let the clones die together.” Yeah that bitch always intended to leave Crosshair on Kamino. Rampart never actually considered him important since he was the one that pitched the idea of an all conscripted trooper squad. He only had Crosshair as a part of it because Admiral Tarkin still liked the idea of clones. I think Rampart is going to try to climb over Tarkin on that Empire ladder. He didn’t mention to Tarkin that Crosshair was still on Kamino.

Aaahhh now the subject of the chip. Does he or doesn’t he? I think he does. The Empire wouldn’t remove it and take that risk of losing that compliance and blind loyalty. Plus the “does it really matter?” tells me he doesn’t know when, which he would if it was recent. He did have it in the first episode though. It showed up on the scanner and he did the whole “good soldiers follow orders.”

So I don’t think he was going to shoot Hunter. I think he feigned movement to make Hunter shoot him. He may not have thought Hunter’s blaster was sent to stun even. He may have intended to have Hunter kill him.

I do like how Hunter doesn’t hesitate to not bring Crosshair this time.

Damn the shots of the empty facility kills me.

Okay, so I know this was sad BUT the bombardment of Kamino was beautifully animated. Honestly. The underwater shots of the bolts hitting the support pillars. And it reminds me…Omega asked Tech about these the war was like and now she kinda knows. She’s never seen explosions like that.

Get ready for part 2

@jgvfhl @leias-left-hair-bun @escapedthesarlacc @halzore @eyecandyeoz

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Abort?”

Happy Tuesday guys, I hope you are all enjoying your week. Forgive me any mistakes I make here as I only have a few hours to write before work, and I am usually in a rush.

“Both of you get your suits back on.”

“What the hell is going on!” Richards demanded 

Adam took a deep breath, “Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself. The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum. 

He stared at them, and they stared back.

Adam did not break eye contact willing the two willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.

He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.

Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man’s head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass, “I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe.”

He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.

If he survived.

He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that. He was Admiral VIr for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now. He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past.

Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.

He had to keep his cool.

Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.

His heart leaped up into his throat.

Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.

“What is going on.” Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.

“I believe anti alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of  the government.”

They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.

He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.

It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time.

***

Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing ust in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made it’s slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.

There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping  the thunderhawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them.He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the man he had sent down to earth’s surface was cutting it close.

He didn’t have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.

Inside the cockpit his  warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on hi. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the thunderhawk pilots.

He rolled right.

Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another bird that was heading directly towards the rocket.

***

Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.  With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.

Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of  space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn’t think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better  than what she was doing now.

As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. WIth her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the “Alien” floated by.

Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the  base.

Sunny and captain kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.

She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn’t even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards  the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.

Compelling them to stop.

They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.

Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.

She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.

“Make us live.” She ordered 

The news people glanced between each other in confusion, “But no, we aren;t”

“What are-”

She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.

“I said, put us on air.”

This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that pair with the fact that none of them were sure they wanted to resist. She was too interesting to pass up. They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.

They were live.

She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak, “Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assasination of Admiral Adam Vir  and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty thunderhawks to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris.”

The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording. She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.

“Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is….. Well…. It is likely that he is already dead…..” Her voice broke, “No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind.”

She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.

***

The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. SHe turned as the ground before her went silent. She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn’t long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.

“What is going on.” She wondered turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.

“Madame president?” He said with a look of confusion.

She could hear it now.

“Her and general massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty thunderhawks they were squirting away for just such an event.” She hurried forward grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.

“She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity’s superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy-”

The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds hat turned towards her. 

“Get me out of here.” She hissed 

The Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.

“It’s your job.” he snarled 

He just stared at her. 

She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.

The crowd was surrounding them now pounding at the glass.

She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.

Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with it’s beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it’s filthy alien lord.

And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.

***

Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle. Donovan red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.

“Unidentified vessel, you have crossed into UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed.”

She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.

“I repeat, unidentified vessel, you have entered UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed.”

She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking, “UNSC.” Her voice was rattling, “This is B-baby K, and I….. The Apollo 11 is under attack!” she was breathless as she forced the words out.

There was silence over the coombs, “Say again.”

“Apollo 11 is under attack!”

More silence, “Roger that.”

Two jets pulled up to the side of her, those she recognized as two F-90 Darkfires.

One of them adjusted its angle and cut engines before switching to the fusion engine that rocketed it up and out of site.

The other stayed for a moment, “Unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one.” Before turning and following it’s comrade.

***

Conn raced towards the airstrip feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn’t go nearly as fast as he wanted too with air resistance . Wythe hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention.

Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.

Why did he have to be so controversial?

Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions . Conn paused.

On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn’t usually mean that people wanted to kill you.

Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn’t  so controversial. 

Like 

Kicking small Animals or.

Cannibalism.

He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield ust in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as a pilot leaped inside.

He was going to need a ride.

The pilot turned to look at him but Conn just shook his head.

The pilot decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn Grabbed on tight.

Starborn he had come to learn were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically as from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any undue pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.

His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to sped himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.

His brip wasn’t that strong.

They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.

***

Red’s right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position  and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Runid were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another darkfire sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.

Below them the earth hung as a clowning orb.

Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back using it to blind one of the enemy darkfires as he came in. he watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.

The jets rushed forward, and he did too screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.

And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting thunderhawks. Space around them was filled with a silent explosion as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.

All except one.

He saw it at the last moment.

It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.

It turned sideways, but had just enough force….. For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.

Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats. Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into the palace so that if anything happened it wouldn’t fly out.

His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back….. And out of the ship entirely.

His hands and legs kicked and flailed  as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn’t strapped down was sucked through the small opening.

The rocket was spinning wildly, he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss. Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.

He groaned not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.he could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.

At least there was someone here to help.

Maybe the others would survive-

And then he stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.

That shouldn’t have been right. He should have kept going forever. He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit. 

What was happening 

“Did you miss me.”

Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.

There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“You are probably the last person I wanted to see.” he said though he didn’t entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too the mindreading asshole that he was.

I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family.”

“Shove it up your ass Conn.”

“No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend  and a couple of major holidays”

He gave a ruful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket, which the F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.

All around them space was filled with debris. No more darkfires were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruises past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand  as he rolled past.

Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.

Conn patted him on the side of the helmet, “make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie.” Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.

Adam floated there a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats. He floated over to strap himself in.

“Admiral! You’re ok.”

“Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a….. Friend of mine.”

Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.

He sighed, “Friend is kind of stretching it.”

“Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!”

The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond, “Houston this is Apollo 11.”

On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.

“What is your status, over.”

“We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help.”

“Prepare to abort mission.”

Adam frowned, “Now wait a second there Houston, I didn’t get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course.” he glanced over at the others, “That is, if the crew wants to continue.”

There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in, “I’d be ok with that.”

Richards sighed, “Roger Houston, patch us up.”

Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn’t had support with special tools that cold just patch a space ship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn’t been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon. So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen man rotating escort for the rest of the way.

The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates

The moon was growing slowly in their vision.

“I can see my house from here.” Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.

They landed without incident observed by mobile camera crews  and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon’s surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day’s events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled. That was before he plowed face first into the moon’s surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.

They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry. 

Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a middle finger for all three of them.

“Your friend is super delightful isn’t it.’

“Try having a child with him.” Adam muttered refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.

They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam’s legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.

His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.

The next few days were going to be a real shit show.

[pigeontheoneandonly]

For your WIP list: Childhood Friends AU and Collateral Damage?

Thank you!!

Childhood Friends AU answered here.

Collateral Damage is a one-shot fic about Nathaly’s first real deployment after training, on a planet called Aonia, which was mutually claimed by both the Alliance and the Hegemony.  Their two colonies were separated by an open battlefield, and locked in a stalemate.  (Laine is her C.O., which is how they got to know each other well, though they met in N1.) 

Shepard, who is still enlisted at this point, but working her way towards being admitted to OCS, eventually comes up with an idea to break the stalemate, based on exploiting a tactic the batarians have used to great effect on other battlefronts.  The Alliance is victorious, and are in the process of mopping up batarians, when the batarians learn who orchestrated their demise-- and that it was a lowly corporal.  Furious, they decide to take revenge.

The story is told after the fact, as Shepard relays it to Anderson.  It came out of a challenge to write a story backwards, and became a key part of her backstory.

(It’s also how Nathaly caused Laine to lose his leg, if you remember that little anecdote from one of the early flashbacks in Labyrinth-- he got hit by a grenade during the action, and he playfully blames her because it was her idea.)

Excerpt:

Shepard plunked the cigarette between her lips.  Her lighter flared against the twilight.  She inhaled, to convince the flame to catch, and blew out smoke.  “Where the hell is Cheng?”

Private Brill scratched under the neck of his hardsuit.  “Only thing less likely than us getting daylight patrols again is Cheng strutting out on schedule.”

The fourth member of their squad, Kozlow, snorted a laugh and stubbed out his own cigarette, grinding it into the Aonian dust.  The trees carpeting the Relagris river valley undulated in the light breeze. The wind was welcome; local high summer at this latitude usually meant steaming flat days that left even the water too hot to offer any relief.  Body armor only made it worse.

Shepard took another drag.  “Last time we had a daylight, three guys got shipped back to Arcturus with missing bits. The colony brass may be thick but they’d never be that stupid.”

“Never say never. You are talking about the guys who backed the L.T.’s crazy-ass plan to get at the batarian base.”  Brill paused.  “I’ll grant you it worked, though I don’t know that Lieutenant Laine’s too happy about sitting tight for a few months growing out the new leg.”

Shepard buried the flinch of guilt, and tapped off the cigarette.  “Cheng had better get her ass in gear.  Bravo Squad left more than ten minutes ago.  If I have to order a hold there’ll be hell to pay.”

Private Cheng emerged breathless from the barracks, slapping together the last pieces of her grenade launcher.  Shepard rolled her eyes.  “If you bothered to oil that thing once in a while, it might not take eons to assemble.”

“Fuck off.”

“I wouldn’t want to encroach on your specialization.”

“At least I’m not some bitch who thinks she’s an officer ‘cause she got some kind of probationary MOS change to N.  They give you little spec ops training wheels with that?”

Shepard regarded her evenly.  “Keep talking, and I’ll show you just how much of an officer I’m not.”

Cheng held her eyes a brief moment, and glanced off.  Shepard drew her rifle.  “This patrol won’t walk itself.  We’re due for rendezvous at Checkpoint Delta by 2100, so let’s move it.”

At approximately 2015, Shepard ordered a halt.  Two months after putting boots on the ground, the navy built a bridge over the river.  Since then, the batarians had blown it up three times.  The bridge was currently in its “intact” phase, and after the beating their main base recently took, Shepard doubted the batarians had the appetite to try again.  But it remained a choke point, albeit one she’d traversed a hundred times, and tonight something about it made her uneasy.

Kozlow’s brow furrowed.  “Shepard, what—”

“Shut up.” She took a few steps forward and raised her gun.  The wrongness was an itch at the back of her neck.  The bridge wasn’t much to look at— a cheap composite span three marines wide, no railing, maybe thirty meters long.  Thick shrubs clustered near the riverbank.  Further back, where they stood, trees rose up, their roots nibbling at the path and the thick march of trunks obscuring line-of-sight.

Cheng hiked her pack up higher on her shoulders and made a sound of exasperation.  “The longer we stand here the more my boots hurt.”

A puddle sat near the edge of the span.  This time of year, the river ran low and sluggish.  She could smell the algae bloom from here.  “Why is the bridge wet?”

Shots exploded out of the bushes on the far bank.  There was a pop as her shields collapsed.  She dove for the trees and plastered her back to a trunk.  A quick scan showed her team likewise positioned, all still standing, returning fire.  Her hand pressed to her ear, activating her comm.  “Alpha squad taking fire by the bridge!  Requesting backup!”

She knew full well this would be over before help arrived.  Shepard snuck a look over her shoulder.  Batarians pounded across the span.  It shook with every step, drumming the water up around their knees.  One slipped.  His comrades leapt over him and kept charging.

She angled her rifle low and let off a stream of shots at knee-height.  There was no aiming, just as many bullets as her weapon could supply, enough to overwhelm their shields and do some damage.  They were outnumbered two-to-one.  “Cheng!”

“Working on it!” The private couldn’t leave cover for even the few seconds it took to set the grenade launcher and light them up.

Another batarian collapsed, a victim of Shepard’s kneecapping.  Her cooling indicator slid towards the red.  She cursed, and switched to targeted shots, quick bursts to avoid overheating and losing the weapon entirely.  A lucky shot to the head took out a third.  Almost at even odds.

Cheng took a breath, swung out of cover, and sunk to one knee to brace herself, bringing the launcher up to her shoulder as she moved.  Even this economy of motion was too slow.  She fell back with a scream, her grenade launching high into the air.

Shepard never saw it explode.  A bag dropped over her head.  She whirled in place, wielding the rifle like a club at anything in range, felt it connect and heard a grunt.  But then other hands had her arms.  Something wet and foul pressed against the bag, over her face.  The fight disappeared, and though she started to fall, she never felt the impact of the ground.

Velvet black. Fuzzy pinpricks of white light. Blink.  Stars.  Sour stench— slime on her face, vomit— and the acrid tang of scorched grass.  Murmuring voices.  Alien. Batarian.  

The urgent realization was a shot of adrenaline.  She blinked again, trying to clear her head, trying to ascertain even a little of what was going on.

She came back to herself flat on her back, in a small clearing she didn’t recognize, with no sense of time at all beyond “later”.  Much later, judging by the darkness.  The bag was gone.  Someone had zip-tied her hands and feet.  Shadows moved in the meager moonlight, none of them paying her any mind at all.  Her translator was useless at these volumes. After eighteen months on this rock, she’d picked up a decent amount Dherak— the Hegemony state language— but not enough to catch much meaning from whispers.  

Somewhere to her left, she heard the low hum of a shuttle.  Her heart’s pounding accelerated.  She wriggled her hands, but found no slack in her bonds.  Shepard could get her feet under her and stand, she was certain of it, but hopping away would never work.  If she could reach her knife…

She rolled onto her side, ignored the nauseous lurch in her stomach, and curled into a ball so her hands could reach her boot.  She could have died of relief when her fingers brushed the haft.  But the position was awkward, trying to grip it with her arms lashed behind her, and she fumbled it into the grass.  Shepard sucked in a breath and wriggled in a circle, searching.

“Stupid bitch,” said a voice from across the clearing, loud enough for her translator to pick up.  Not that she needed it for curses.  Everyone learned those first.

She scrabbled at the ground.  If she could just get her legs free before he reached her—

Her fingers closed around the handle.  She bent backwards, slashing at her bonds, not caring whether she stabbed herself, because that was better than staying here and much better than being packed onto that shuttle.  Footsteps stomping towards her.  The blade stuck in the dirt.  She tried again—

A hand grabbed her wrist, none too gently, and jerked the knife away.  Shepard stared up at him with eyes that could burn holes through steel.  He turned the knife over in his hands.  “Clever. I won’t ask where you hid it.”

She spat at him, but lacked the necessary projection.  It fell on her shoulder.  He chuckled.  “You won’t make a fool of me twice, little girl.  You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“Moon’s just about set,” said a second batarian.  “We need to move.”

“First things first.”  He shoved her shoulder, hard and without warning, pushing her onto her stomach. Before she could roll any further, his knee crushed into her spine with all his weight behind it.  The air went out of her.  She couldn’t move.

“Fuck you,” she wheezed.

That he ignored. His burly hand gripped the back of her head, holding it still.  “Can’t have your pesky Alliance tracking you.”

She felt cold steel press against her ear and had barely a moment to comprehend what was about to happen before he began to cut.  Her body bucked with all its might, as much a reaction to the searing fire engulfing the right side of her head as a fight for survival.  He grunted his irritation and increased his grip.  “Blame your navy for wiring you with an internal comm.”

Blood spilled down her face, filling her mouth with hot iron.  She made a second, feebler attempt to throw him off.  

This time, he lifted her head by her scalp and slammed it full force into the ground. Her nose splattered.  An odd ringing filled her head, and she found she couldn’t focus her eyes, or string even half a thought together.

“Stop squirming,” he said.

She lay still, too dazed to offer even a curse, as he resumed his work.  At some point she blacked out, and the second time she came around, she was bundled on the floor of the shuttle, staring at batarian legs.

They’d wrapped wire about her, an improvised rope to prevent all but the smallest movements. She took some grudging pride in that. Her ear and nose still hurt terribly, but that had gone on awhile now, and she found she could think past it.  A similar, less urgent pain in her forearm suggested they took her omni-tool as well.  And she was dressed in only her thin undersuit.  Her hardsuit, and its biomonitoring suite that was perhaps her last hope of being quickly located, was nowhere to be seen.

The same batarian spoke a few sentences, to general laughter.  She caught maybe a third of it, her translator gone with the rest— something about a woman, her, and something about not being dead.  

Shepard concentrated on counting her breaths.  Once they got wherever they were going, when they had to move her again, she’d find an opportunity.  She just had to hold together until then.

[stuffedeggplants]

Isn’t there an episode of the Clone Wars where a commander rewards a trooper who just did really well by telling him he’s part of their team now? Cute trope, but....

How does he have the unilateral authority to just do that? What about the team that trooper was originally part of? What are they gonna do now? 

For all the commander knows, the trooper’s unit was already undermanned and he just made their problem (and a different commander’s problem) even worse by poaching this guy.

So their Jedi just asked them to do something that can only be accomplished with the absolute minimal amount of sleep necessary to maintain life, the platoon sergeant was tragically eaten on the last planet, another guy’s in the med bay for the foreseeable future because he thought the “DO NOT STAND IN THIS AREA” sign was just for aesthetics, and one squad never even made it off the last planet to begin with as the last LAAT that was supposed to extract them 20 minutes ago wasn’t coming at all because spontaneous parts failure meant it hadn’t even left the hangar and wouldn’t get the chance to because the fleet had to fuck off and retreat immediately. And now some commander who doesn’t answer to you at all (because SpecOps is SpecOps apparently) just scooped up the only surviving guy who was flash-trained to operate a certain piece of equipment you can’t just not use, and whose signature you need for various mundane administrative tasks that are about to get a lot more obnoxious once you have to spend time explaining why this trooper suddenly fucked off to [LOCATION REDACTED] with [UNIT REDACTED] with zero warning and cannot be contacted by regular channels for the next 16 cycles. Bonus points for him leaving right before deployment to Felucia like his timing was intentional. 

[greatworldwar2]

• Chain Home Radar

Chain Home, or CH for short, was the codename for the ring of coastal Early Warning radar stations built by the Royal Air Force (RAF) before and during the Second World War to detect and track aircraft.

From the earliest days of radio technology, signals had been used for navigation using the radio direction finding (RDF) technique. RDF can determine the bearing to a radio transmitter, and several such measurements can be combined to produce a radio fix, allowing the receiver's position to be calculated. Through the early period of radio development it was also widely known that certain materials, especially metal, reflected radio signals. This led to the possibility of determining the location of objects by broadcasting a signal and then using RDF to measure the bearing of any reflections. The use of radio detection specifically against aircraft was first considered in the early 1930s. Teams in the UK, US, Japan, Germany and others had all considered this concept and put at least some small amount of effort into developing it. Lacking ranging information, such systems remained of limited use.

In 1932, Winston Churchill and his friend, confidant and scientific advisor Frederick Lindemann travelled by car in Europe, where they saw the rapid rebuilding of the German aircraft industry. It was in November of that year that Stanley Baldwin gave his famous speech, stating that "The bomber will always get through". In the early summer of 1934, the RAF carried out large-scale exercises with up to 350 aircraft. The forces were split, with bombers attempting to attack London, while fighters, guided by the Observer Corps, attempting to stop them. The results were dismal. In most cases, the vast majority of the bombers reached their target without ever seeing a fighter. The numbers suggested any targets in the city would be completely destroyed. Through the early 1930s, a debate raged within British military and political circles about strategic air power. Baldwin's famous speech led many to believe the only way to prevent the bombing of British cities was to make a strategic bomber force so large it could, as Baldwin put it, "kill more women and children more quickly than the enemy." As it became clear the Germans were rapidly rearming the Luftwaffe, the fear grew RAF could not meet the objective of winning such a tit-for-tat exchange.

The need to research better forms of air defense prompted Harry Wimperis to press for the formation of a study group to consider new concepts. Lord Londonderry, then Secretary of State for Air, approved the formation of the Committee for the Scientific Survey of Air Defence in November 1934, asking Henry Tizard to chair the group, which thus became better known to history as the Tizard Committee. In August 1935, Albert Percival Rowe, secretary of the Tizard Committee, coined the term "Radio Direction and Finding" (RDF), deliberately choosing a name that could be confused with "Radio Direction Finding", a term already in widespread use. The system was deliberately developed using existing commercially available technology to speed introduction.

During the summer of 1936, experiments were carried out at RAF Biggin Hill to examine what effect the presence of radar would have on an air battle. Assuming RDF would provide them 15 minutes warning, they developed interception techniques putting fighters in front of the bombers with increasing efficiency. They found the main problems were finding their own aircraft's location, and ensuring the fighters were at the right altitude. By the outbreak of war in September 1939, there were 21 operational Chain Home stations. After the Battle of France in 1940 the network was expanded to cover the west coast and Northern Ireland. The Chain continued to be expanded throughout the war, and by 1940 it stretched from Orkney in the north to Weymouth in the south. This provided radar coverage for the entire Europe-facing side of the British Isles, able to detect high-flying targets well over France. The rapid expansion of the CH network necessitated more technical and operational personnel than the UK could provide, and in 1940, a formal request was made by the British High Commission, Ottawa of the Canadian Government, appealing for men skilled in radio technology for the service of the defence of Great Britain. By the end of 1941, 1,292 trained personnel had enlisted and most were rushed to England to serve as radar mechanics. During the Battle of Britain, Chain Home stations – most notably the one at Ventnor, Isle of Wight — were attacked several times between 12 and 18 August 1940. On one occasion a section of the radar chain in Kent, including the Dover CH, was put out of action by a lucky hit on the power grid. However, though the wooden huts housing the radar equipment were damaged, the towers survived owing to their open steel girder construction. Because the towers survived intact and the signals were soon restored, the Luftwaffe concluded the stations were too difficult to damage by bombing and left them alone for the remainder of the war.

Chain Home was the primary radar system for the UK for only a short time. By 1942, many of its duties had been taken over by the far more advanced AMES Type 7 GCI radar systems. Whereas CH scanned an area perhaps 100 degrees wide and required considerable effort to take measurements, the Type 7 scanned the entire 360-degree area around the station, and presented it on a plan position indicator, essentially a real-time two-dimensional map of the airspace around the station. With the deployment of GCI, CH became the early warning portion of the radar network. To further simplify operations and reduce manpower requirements, the job of plotting the targets became semi-automated. An analogue computer of some complexity, known simply as "The Fruit Machine", was fed the bearing and range directly from the operator console, reading the goniometer setting directly, and the range from the setting of a dial that moved a mechanical pointer along the screen until it lay over a selected target. Late in the war, when the threat of Luftwaffe bombing had ended, the CH systems were used to detect V2 missile launches. After the war, they were reactivated as part of the ROTOR system to watch for Soviet bombers, before being replaced by newer systems in the 1950s. Today only a few of the original sites remain intact in any fashion.

[guardsbian]

Maneater and Soraya (as a contractor) have different methods of something that can probably be summed up as "violent debt management."

For Maneater, debtors are commodities. She purposely gains them by allowing individuals to bet on races with credit (theoretically, someone would be able to make a profit without spending a dime- realistically, they usually just lose huge sums they don't even have in the first place). Maneater's only use for debt is as a means of control- debt provides her with unpaid workers and regular customers. So, an individuals situation can go one of two ways; either they pay off what they owe, through money or work, or Maneater decides their debt outweighs their usefulness, and cuts her losses. Leaving debtors alive is hardly an option in the system- physical harm is fleeting, allows for continued complication, and shows a lack of risk to the system (after all, getting away from the arena would otherwise mean escaping its jurisdiction altogether). So no one is allowed to escape, and no one who fails to pay is allowed to live in the end.

Meanwhile, Soraya has to uphold a certain level of decency. Debt serves no purpose in her city- it's simply a byproduct of taxes, loans, and the like. It's more important that, in the end, Soraya's employers do actually get the money. So, prior to Soraya's deployment comes financial punishment: repossession, destroyed property, market exclusion, etc., depending on the employer. The issue comes when these tactics don't work, either because a debtor is wealthy enough to consider such losses ineffective, or because a debtor doesn't mind surviving while sustaining these losses. Soraya's job, at that point, is to persuade the debtor through physical harm. Sometimes it's just an initial warning, sometimes it's a prolonged effort, and sometimes it's direct action. Whatever the method, Soraya cannot kill then. Her employers could take every material possession a debtor has while they're still alive, that's not the point; the point is that there is an expected amount of physical money owed. Whether that money actually belonged to the debtor is irrelevant- as long as they get it from their claws to the appropriate individual or faction, the debt is settled.

[belost-the-watcher]

The psychological health of Trackers has been historically difficult to document. Ever since their founder Rezik Tormare became the quintessential boogeyman of high command, the Trackers have had a reputation for being a bit off. The need to keep most of their work classified, coupled with a culture of secrecy, has made them difficult for galra doctors to diagnose.

It is widely accepted among the Empire’s mental health specialists that living in a hunter-killer state for sometimes months on end has caused the development of sociopathic and sadistic tendencies in Trackers who weren’t even born with them. Given the galra ethos it isn’t seen necessarily as a bad thing but has proven difficult to handle when re-integrating them back into normal ranks.

Historically Trackers are oddities around fleets but usually nothing more than giving a generally uncomfortable feeling to those around them. Military psychologists believe it is due to their predator mindset not turning off while not on deployment. They are far from the only galra to behave this way, their cousins in the Raiders are a prime example. But where they differ from them is that as solo operatives, Trackers are subject to extreme bouts of isolation in highly stressful environments which can put them at a severe risk of developing a psychotic disorder.

On the few occasions that psychological evaluations are granted regarding Trackers, usually against their own wishes, the answers tend to fit into one of two camps. The patient either responds more or less normally or answers questions with a suspicious amount of normalcy that contradict certain behavioral issues. For example a Tracker may report sleeping “just fine” when they have been documented with severe insomnia. The difficulty in differentiating the two has cast suspicion on psychological reports regarding Trackers as a whole. As such Galra High Command has largely chosen to regard Trackers as perfectly fine rather than being littered with psychosis and budding sociopaths.

There are several signs of a highly functioning Tracker, however. The main sign being a willingness to interact with others. This may not always be purely social but may involve turning their own skillset into interaction opportunities. This tends to be through training other soldiers in different skillsets such as spotting and avoiding traps, improving stealth, developing survival skills, etc. It may also take the form of harmless pranks.

Whatever may or may not be wrong with them the usefulness and demand of good trackers guarantees they won’t be going anywhere.

[sataniccapitalist]

President Donald Trump has been sacking federal watchdogs at the speed of a bullet train. In just a six-week period in April and May, the President fired five Inspectors General of federal agencies. In last Friday night’s coup d’état, Attorney General William Barr, acting as consigliere for the President, ousted the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, the federal prosecutor that oversees prosecutions of Wall Street banks in that district. The privately owned Federal Reserve Bank of New York, which is in charge of the bulk of the Fed’s bailout programs, also resides in that district.

Barr and the President want to put a man with zero experience as a prosecutor in charge of that office, Jay Clayton, who currently heads the Securities and Exchange Commission which has only civil enforcement powers. Clayton represented 8 of the 10 largest Wall Street banks in the three years before going to the SEC as a partner at Sullivan & Cromwell.

Unfortunately, watchdogs and prosecutors are what American citizens need the most right now as vast sums of money are unaccounted for at both the Treasury and Federal Reserve.

The stimulus bill known as the CARES Act was signed into law by the President on March 27, 2020. It called for “Not more than the sum of $454,000,000,000…shall be available to make loans and loan guarantees to, and other investments in, programs or facilities established by the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System for the purpose of providing liquidity to the financial system that supports lending to eligible businesses, States, or municipalities.” In addition, if the Treasury had any of its $46 billion left over that Congress had allotted in the CARES Act to assist airlines or national security businesses, that was to be turned over to the Fed as well.

The CARES Act was passed almost three months ago at the outset of the worst economic upheaval since the Great Depression. One would have thought that the urgency with which Congress acted to pass the legislation would have resulted in rapid deployment of the $454 billion to the Fed to help shore up the economy.

But according to data released this past Thursday by the Federal Reserve, the Treasury has turned over just $114 billion of the $454 billion that was allocated to the Fed by Congress. The Federal Reserve’s weekly balance sheet data release, known as the H.4.1, showed a line item titled “Treasury contributions to credit facilities” and it showed a balance of just $114 billion.

A footnote on the H.4.1 explained exactly which Fed bailout programs had received the money from the Treasury:

“Amount of equity investments in Commercial Paper Funding Facility II LLC of $10 billion, Corporate Credit Facilities LLC of $37.5 billion, MS [Main Street] Facilities LLC of $37.5 billion, Municipal Liquidity Facility LLC of $17.5 billion, and TALF II LLC of $10 billion, and credit protection in the Money Market Mutual Fund Liquidity Facility of $1.5 billion.”

That leaves $340 billion of the $454 billion unaccounted for.

The President’s economic advisor, Larry Kudlow, explained at a press briefing before the signing of the legislation, why the Fed was to get this vast sum of money. The money would be used as equity investments by the Fed in Special Purpose Vehicles that would use the money as “loss absorbing capital,” meaning that taxpayers would eat the first $454 billion in losses. The Fed would then be free to leverage this money up by a factor of 10 to create $4.54 trillion in bailout programs.

Fed Chairman Powell made an unprecedented appearance on the Today show on March 26 and explained the plan like this:

Powell: “In certain circumstances like the present, we do have the ability to essentially use our emergency lending authorities and the only limit on that will be how much backstop we get from the Treasury Department. We’re required to get full security for our loans so that we don’t lose money. So the Treasury puts up money as we estimate what the losses might be…Effectively $1 of loss absorption of backstop from Treasury is enough to support $10 of loans.”

The writers of the CARES Act legislation apparently expected that the Fed might want to keep some of its money transactions a secret because Section 4009 of the CARES Act suspends the Freedom of Information Act for the Fed and allows it to conduct its meetings in secret until the President says the coronavirus national emergency is over.

Both Powell and the Fed’s Vice Chairman for Supervision, Randal Quarles, have repeatedly stated to Congress in hearings that the recipients of these bailout programs would be transparent to the American people. Last Tuesday and Wednesday, Fed Chairman Powell made his semi-annual appearances before the Senate Banking and House Financial Services Committee. He stated the following to both Committees regarding the Fed’s emergency bailout facilities:

“Many of these facilities have been supported by funding from the CARES Act. We will be disclosing, on a monthly basis, names and details of participants in each such facility; amounts borrowed and interest rate charged; and overall costs, revenues, and fees for each facility. We embrace our responsibility to the American people to be as transparent as possible, and we appreciate that the need for transparency is heightened when we are called upon to use our emergency powers.”

But this is the Fed’s web page that shows the disclosures being made to Congress under the facilities that the Fed has designated as emergency lending facilities under Section 13(3) of the Federal Reserve Act. There are 11 programs listed. Just three of the programs, or 27 percent of the total, have provided the actual transaction data showing specific loans to specific recipients.

Those programs are the Secondary Market Corporation Credit Facility, which has spent the bulk of its money buying up Exchange Traded Funds sponsored by BlackRock, the investment manager that the Fed hired to oversee the program; the Municipal Liquidity Facility which has made just one loan of $1.2 billion to the state of Illinois because the terms are so onerous in this program that is supposed to be helping state and local governments survive the pandemic shutdowns; and the Paycheck Protection Program Liquidity Facility, which provided $5.3 billion or 9 percent of its total outlays to a tiny New Jersey Bank that has been cited by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation for “unsafe or unsound banking practices.”

But this list of 11 bailout facilities that the Fed is operating is hardly the full picture. On September 17, 2019 the Fed began making hundreds of billions of dollars a week in super low cost repo loans to the trading units of Wall Street’s mega banks. Those loans are ongoing and are currently being made at an interest rate of just 1/10th of one percent interest. Since September of last year, the Fed has made more than $9 trillion cumulatively in these loans. It has not announced one scintilla of information on what specific Wall Street firms have received this money or how much they individually received.

The Fed has also made multiple loans through its Discount Window to Wall Street banks. The Fed has not released the names of these banks or how much they needed to borrow. The Fed has yet to explain how it can continuously be telling the American people that the Wall Street banks are “well capitalized” while it needs to continue to make these lender-of-last-resort loans.

The Federal Reserve has also set up a liquidity facility to make massive foreign central bank dollar swaps to create liquidity for those central banks to buy dollar-denominated assets and help prop up markets. Last Thursday’s H.4.1 shows the dollar swap facility has a current balance of $352 billion. The facility’s balance had been as high as $449 billion as of May 27.

According to the Government Accountability Office’s audit of the Fed that was conducted after the 2008 financial crisis, this is one of the uses of those dollar swap lines back then:

“In October 2008, according to Federal Reserve Board staff, the Federal Reserve Board allowed the Swiss National Bank [the central bank of Switzerland] to use dollars under its swap line agreement to provide special assistance to UBS, a large Swiss banking organization. Specifically, on October 16, 2008, the Swiss National Bank announced that it would use dollars obtained through its swap line with FRBNY [Federal Reserve Bank of New York] to help fund an SPV [Special Purpose Vehicle] it would create to purchase up to $60 billion of illiquid assets from UBS.”

UBS is a major investment bank and trading house and a major player on Wall Street. It purchased the large U.S. retail brokerage firm, PaineWebber, in 2000. The UBS Dark Pool, the equivalent of a thinly regulated stock exchange operating internally within UBS, has been one of the largest traders in Wall Street bank stocks.

The Federal Reserve Board of Governors has put the New York Fed in charge of the bulk of these bailout programs. Its conflicts are legion. (See related articles below.) It’s time for Congress to stop the Fed from repeating its Big Lie that it’s going out of its way to be transparent and force it to cough up the names and dollars amounts of the recipients of these loans.

Related Articles:

These Are the Banks that Own the New York Fed and Its Money Button

Is the New York Fed Too Deeply Conflicted to Regulate Wall Street?

The New York Fed Is Exercising Powers Never Bestowed on It by any Law

Instead of Draining the Swamp, the Swamp Is Draining the U.S. Treasury via the New York Fed

The Man Who Advises the New York Fed Says It and Other Central Banks Are “Fueling a Ponzi Market”

[chaotic-confused]

Dumb Video Game Idea (Part 1)

We all know that Battle Royale is played out. So instead, we can do something a bit more unique.

Enter a 32 player, team-based, cooperative survival mode, with 8 teams of 4 that all have to work together with each other on a smaller scale to achieve their objectives. There are six objectives up for grabs to make evacuation easier in the endgame, but they must be retrieved from locations away from “home base”. In this example, you’re fighting an insurgent group from a secret bunker in their territory, and you need to infiltrate/siege six of their supply stations. Two teams stay back to prevent the base from being discovered, or to assist teams with getting to their assigned locations.

Enemy patrols wander the landscape, and must either be avoided or eliminated. If any AI escape, they’ll head to the nearest forward camp and radio about enemy presence in their region, thus raising security in that section of the map by one level and making traversal of that section marginally more difficult. If security heightens to Level 5, the regions will be nigh impossible to penetrate.

Every player is equipped with a “Stim Pen” that restores 10% of their total health and removes any debilitating effects like sprained ankles or broken bones, but they can only be used once and cannot be traded between living players. They must either be looted from dead players, or used on an ally “Left 4 Dead-style”. 

Medkits can be recovered from the locations people are tasked with getting to, which half the effects of any status debuffs, but don’t remove them.

Class systems are in place for individual teams with a maximum of two of a single class out of the five available up for grabs. These classes include Rifleman, Demolitions, Marksman, Infiltrator**, and Medic (nothing new, but who needs to reinvent the wheel that much).

Which brings us to weapons and tools. Each class has two varieties of primary/secondary weapon to choose from, one ordnance slot, and one equipment slot**. The weapon lists are as follows: 

Rifleman: Assault rifle / Battle rifle || Pistol / SMG

Demolitions: Shotgun / PDW || Pistol / SMG

Marksman: DMR / Bolt Action Sniper || Crossbow / Pistol

Infiltrator**: PDW || Pistol / SMG (one extra piece of equipment in exchange for less options for main weapons)

Medic: PDW / Bullpup Assault || Pistol (Can carry 2 Medkits instead of 1 max, medkits reduce effects by 75% instead of 50%)

In terms of equipment, there are seven options, consisting of 3 grenade types and four tactical deployment options. 

Grenade types are as follows: 

Stun (flashbang): Non-lethal, blinding and deafening (ineffective against mechanical enemies)

Fragmentation: Lethal, causes bleeding effect (ineffective against mechanical enemies), 50% damage against mechanical enemies

Distortion: Less-lethal, 50% effective against non-mechanical enemies, shorts out mechanical enemies within range

Tactical Items are as follows: 

Mobile Shield: A half-body ballistic shield which can be deployed at the user’s discretion, though it can only sustain a certain amount of damage before becoming “Heavily Damaged”, thus losing all but 33% of its blocking statistic.

Sensor Dart (x5): A miniature crossbow that fires darts which pick up on heat signatures in a certain radius of where they land. This information is relayed back to the person who fired it, at which point they know how many enemies are in the general vicinity of where the dart landed/stuck. It will continue to broadcast unless picked up, and will be labeled by the order in which they were fired.

Shock Drone: A handheld drone equipped with a taser which can incapacitate or disable most enemies, though the taser can only be fired once per activation, and the cartridge must be replaced manually by picking it up or returning it to the owner. 

Sonic Emitter: A small device which outputs a signal which can disable nearby equipment for 30 seconds before requiring a temporary reboot. Can be thrown like a grenade to disable gear in dangerous areas without placing the operator at risk.

Shock Barrel: A weapon attachment that electrically charges the projectiles for a “taser” effect, but rarely kills on its own. These can be applied to any primary weapon to go for a disabling playstyle.

[fishingformoncy-blog]

$$$  T H R E E S .

repost, do not reblog.

MUSE :   EUGENE H. KRABS.  ( MR. KRABS )

$ 𝟑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇𝐒.

Though it’s usually only in his own favor, he really is an amazing businessman. He knows psychology when it comes to prices and money, and knows how to swindle people of it via media, advertisement, and bargains. I’m sure everyone knows that one devious thing that companies do. They’ll say that some price was recently marked down from a higher price to make a deal, but it was actually always that price the whole time? He does that all the time. He also gives out frequent bargains that seem like they’re cheaper, but they’re not really cheaper in the long run ( i.e. i work at panera -- if you get an entire meal with a drink you can get a cookie for .99 cents. an actual cookie is a little less than 3 dollars. but it’s actually cheaper to get the cookie and no drink ) .

His morality is one of the biggest strengths he has. Though it is pretty grey when it comes to money, life is something really important to him. Growing up extremely poor he learned that life is very, very precious. And it only strengthened when he joined the navy to pay for business schooling. Seeing so many people die and having to use violence when being taught that it shouldn’t be necessarily really made him see that people are important and everyone has a reason. Unless of course, it comes to his money. If someone steals even a dollar from them, they’re getting horribly injured or killed. No one comes between him and his cash / fear of being poor again.

Speaking of cash, he is really good with it. In school, he didn’t really excel at anything aside from physical education, art, and math. He adored math because it forced him to focus and it alleviated his mind of stress. Not to mention it aided him when it came to managing cash and excelling in business school. If you need help with your finances, he is definitely someone to ask. He’ll teach you to love your money like it’s your child, so you can save it for something important, not superficial.

$ 𝟑 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

Money is his biggest strength, as well as his biggest weakness. Like I mentioned before, if anything comes between he and his cash, they won’t survive much longer. For example, in the episode where SandP get him a new bed, and Squid wanted to take all the credit, he almost choked him to death. Because all of his saved money was stuffed inside the mattress. Before that, he tore his room apart in a panicked frenzy. Also in the episode where the urchin invades the Krusty Krab, after seeing the urchin eat all his money in the cash register, he has a small panic attack and beats the fuck out of the thing, even though it hardly takes damage.

He can be pretty judgmental when it comes to certain ethnicities or types of people, I’ve noticed. Usually formed off of personal opinion or from what he’s seen / experienced. Those opinions can quickly change however, when proven otherwise. He is a very gullible man, especially when money is involved. He used to hate Sandy for fucking with Spongebob’s head simply because she was “a mammal,” until she started getting him money. So don’t be surprised if he can be a bit harsh at first. His mind can be easily changed, though.

He is eager to find love again, especially since he believes that he can’t find it truly anymore. After his first love either died or left ( i’m starting to lean more toward she died but we’ll see if canon ever says something ) ,  he’s really hoping that there will be someone out there for him. I’m not sure if everyone will consider this a weakness or not, but he does tend to be extremely flirtatious to women, especially those who are younger than him. It always ends up flaking though -- many people can’t stand how absolutely obsessed he is with money. The arguments about cash are numerous; most likely why he stopped seeing Miss Puff.

$ 𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒.  ( ASIDE FROM THE FORMULA ITSELF )

Plankton was the one who made the formula, actually! It was an accident that was caused by him slamming the door and pouring all the ingredients from a shelf into the tenderized beef. When Eugene tasted the incident and saw how beautiful it was, he claimed it was his own to get back at Plankton for wanting to have the recipe all for himself at first. After pulling out all the ingredients from the beef as a kid, he divided the missing amount from the containers and made the formula that way. To dig deeper into the secret, he would have wholeheartedly shared it with Plankton after all the craziness from the burger calmed down. But then he began bullying him. This will never be told to anyone, no matter who it is. The only one who would know is Plankton, if their friendship is ever rekindled.

He used to smoke in high school, which no one really ever knew. The only one who did know was again, Plankton. He stopped doing it when he joined the navy, as he knew he needed the extra strength and needed to break the addiction. He already had one, he didn’t need another. To this day, he still sometimes craves one, and tends to use other stress relievers ( talking to money about it is something he does a lot )  to try and break the crippling desire from time-to-time.

It’s really hard thinking of a third one, so I guess just his past in general? He really hates seeming like a poor person, and it embarrasses him to even be considered poor in anyone’s eyes. He envies people richer than him, and genuinely looks up to people who are popular businessmen / women. He wants to be as rich as them before he dies. So if you wanna hear his backstory, there better be a good fucking reason to. Because otherwise he’d be too uncomfortable sharing how poor he used to be. It makes him fucking cringe just thinking about it.

$ 𝟑 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒

BEING POOR .  His biggest fear is somehow losing sight of all the money he has, someone stealing it all, and being tossed back into the dirt. He never wants to live that life again. Too much has happened since he gained his money: he’s helped his entire family for helping him through his life; his daughter depends on it. He won’t be able to live without money. It scares him so much that he coud literally kill people if someone even touches his finances.

Losing his daughter is a big one. He’s a pretty lonely man enough as it is. He can’t even understand his daughter half the time which is a huge struggle in his life, but it’s one he can deal with so long as he has her. He might not always know how to show it, but he does genuinely love her, and wants to give her a life growing up that he never had. Which admittedly, makes her somewhat spoiled. If anything happened to her he would be devastated and absolutely depressed. Would probably feel like he let his lover down, too.

Losing Spongebob. Though this one isn’t as big as the other two by any means, it’s still pretty high on the list. Unless firing him will give him more money in the long run, he wants to keep Spongebob on his deployment chart. His back hurts like the dickens because of his old age so he can’t cook as well as he used to when he was younger, it’s going to be extremely difficult to find someone who will work for near ten - twelve hour days with only a few benefits and getting paid minimum wage, someone who cooks so outstandingly well, and will wait on customers with happiness and joy. He would be in a really tight situation and he knows his store would suffer if he lost him.

$ 𝟑 𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐒

To obtain as much money as heart desires! Which, theoretically is impossible. But as long as he can die rich, he will be happy. He doesn’t care what else happens. Furthermore, he wants to make sure that any money leftover from the business when he does pass on either goes to the person who takes it over -- which will most-likely be Spongebob, or his daughter for her education / career purposes.

Make Pearl happy. He knows he can’t satisfy her all the time or necessarily be there for her all the time because he’s usually off at work, or because he doesn’t understand her, but he just wants make sure she has what she wants. He could never get what he wanted as a child which didn’t really upset him much until he was told he couldn’t get a job until after his schooling was over. But he spoils her to make sure she doesn’t feel like she can’t have what she wants, and so she doesn’t end up feeling poor like he did.

To become friends with Plankton again  To make sure that at any and all times, the Krusty Krab has better profits, audiences, atmosphere, and business than the Chum Bucket. Even if that little, green devil has one customer it means terrible news. That’s another person lost for him, along with their families, and everything else.

TAGGED BY :  @90smagicalboy !  ( thanks duDE THIS W A SD O PE ! ) TAGGING :  @youwillobcy ,  @spngie ,  @cynicalcephalopod ,  @hisnote , @mechbrane ,  and anyone else who wants to !