#and then your children become a cop and a secret agent who has Definitely Killed People before and might possibly be an assassin

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Juliet and Ewan would never team up for a mission because Juliet frankly doesn't want to be involved in Ewan's work and it definitely doesn't fit in her sense of Right and Wrong and outside of definitely not having the right clearance, Ewan probably also doesn't want to drag her into it

BUT

if they did I would love to see them go undercover and Juliet pull her typical move of getting waaaaaaaaaayyy too into character

[bevioletskies]

all the stars (are closer) [1/5]

summary: Scott is a washed-up comedy actor and an ex-convict, unable to find enough work to pay child support. Hope is a famous action star and the daughter of one of Hollywood’s most beloved couples, still struggling with the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death. When Hope’s estranged father casts them in his directorial debut, a romantic drama with a script that’s more truth than fiction, they find themselves tangled in a mysterious conspiracy that just might explain what really happened to Janet Van Dyne all those years ago.

a/n: Fic title is from the song All The Stars by Kendrick Lamar (with SZA).

word count: 4.4k | ao3 | tag

To the surprise of practically no one who’d known him in his childhood and his awkward adolescence, Scott went into comedic acting soon after graduating university (with a master’s in engineering, no less), having spent many of his late nights doing stand-up instead of studying for exams. To the surprise of nearly everyone, however, he then went on to become moderately famous.

“He was always better at making me laugh than making me cry. Well, until the end,” his ex-wife Maggie had said with a bittersweet smile on a morning talk show once. She was an actress as well, often erroneously underappreciated in supporting roles, and was now engaged to a man who was known for guest-starring on every cop procedural that was still airing long beyond its expiry date.

Maggie hadn’t been talking about their divorce, exactly, but rather, the cause of it - Scott had spent three years in jail for trying to expose a crime ring inside the film industry that no one wanted to admit existed, three years of their daughter’s life he could never get back. His career had also come to a complete standstill ever since, and though he’d made half-hearted attempts at a comeback, he never seemed to be able to make it to where he had been.

“You gotta do something different here, Lang,” his agent had said to him after the third movie premiere in a row in which he’d spent most of it mulling over how much of his paycheck had gone to child support. “Look, there’s a director who’s been chasing me down, wants you to read for a part. It’s not your usual, though - romantic drama, Oscar bait, whatever you wanna call it. He’s already got his lead actress. You know Hope Van Dyne?”

Scott promptly jolted out of his apathy-induced haze. “What?”

Hope was the result of a rare Hollywood happy ending, the daughter of two silver screen icons who had been staples of drama films in their prime and had gotten married after working together and discovering a mutual secret love of science. They later started a scientific research foundation together as an anniversary gift for the world, focusing on funding biological innovation and children’s education programs. It was declared the Hope for Science Foundation during the opening ceremony, where the two of them posed for pictures and talked to reporters while cradling their newborn daughter in their arms.

It hadn’t all been picture-perfect though, as her mother had died in a plane crash when she was seven. Her father’s last role had him playing a surly but well-intentioned detective, with one particular scene that critics loved where a six-year-old Hope had appeared as his character’s daughter. No one had heard from him ever since. When Hope started appearing in action movies in her twenties with a dozen martial arts credentials and her mother’s last name instead of her father’s, rumors followed her everywhere she went. In short, she was the last person whose name Scott had expected to hear.

“Be careful when you meet her, alright? Everyone says she’s...intense.” His agent made a face. Scott was too stunned to make any sort of face in return.

For one reason or another, Scott found himself standing outside the director’s house a week later, debating whether to ring the doorbell, knock on the door, or turn right around and never come back. The decision was made for him when someone walked up beside him, rapped their knuckles sharply on the door, then stepped back and promptly directed their attention to their phone. He turned to stare incredulously at Hope herself, dressed in a smart pantsuit far nicer than his button-up shirt and jeans, making no attempt to acknowledge his presence.

“Hello,” he said rather stupidly. She didn’t respond. “I’m, uh, I’m Scott. It’s nice to...nice to meet you.” More silence. “Y’know, my agent didn’t even tell me anything about the director or the movie, so I don’t...really know what I’m doing here?”

“Is that a question?” she said shortly. Her voice was softer than he remembered from the handful of movies he’d seen her in, but there was a bite in her tone that made him wince.

“No, I really don’t know what I’m doing here,” he admitted, chuckling awkwardly. She seemed unamused. “But you gotta know something, right? And that was a question,” he added at her pointed eyebrow raise.

She suddenly shoved her phone in her pocket and pushed past him to open the door, which had apparently been unlocked the whole time, barely waiting for him to follow. “Hank is waiting for us in the sitting room.”

“Wait,” Scott called after her, hastily shutting the door behind him once he’d stepped inside. “Who?”

The first thing he noticed was how eccentric the house was, looking every bit as old-fashioned as its exterior had been, with Victorian-style furniture, elaborate wallpaper and wainscotting, and dimly-lit lamps in every corner that made it feel more like an atmospheric showroom than an actual home. It took him another few seconds to notice that Hope clearly knew her way around, striding down the hall and through a series of doorways until they finally came to a stop in a room occupied by another man.

Scott did a double-take at the sight of the man - he was notably older than any director Scott had ever worked with, well-dressed in a wool sweater vest, slacks, and a tie, peering at them through his translucent-rimmed glasses with a piercing gaze. What was most notable, however, was the fact that he was definitely Hope’s estranged father.

“Hank,” Hope said neatly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Hope. Would it kill you to call me ‘Dad’?” Hank let out a world-weary sigh, sinking into the plush armchair behind him and gesturing for them both to sit on the fainting couch opposite. Hope immediately sat down; Scott was still looking at him dumbfoundedly. “Mr. Lang, I see you’ve already met my daughter.”

“Yeah, uh, she’s great,” Scott said, turning to look at her. She was already back on her phone. He turned back and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Pym, huge fan of your work - ”

“It’s ‘Doctor’ now, Scott. Spent my early retirement putting my mind to good use.” Instead of accepting Scott’s proffered hand, he gestured toward the bookcases behind him, practically bursting at the seams with volumes on things like quantum physics, time displacement, and other topics far beyond Scott’s master’s degree. “Sit down.”

Scott finally took a seat, sheepishly tucking his rejected hand away. “Sorry - Dr. Pym, I didn’t realize you were directing now.”

Hope scoffed. “You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Tell me - ” Scott glanced between them, but neither seemed interested in making eye contact with each other. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

“To make a long story short, I need more than just a good performance out of you.” Hank leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at Scott so intently he could feel his ears burning. “What can you tell us about the Ghost conspiracy?”

Scott groaned, leaning back to rub his eyes; he could feel a headache coming on already. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me. No disrespect to you, Dr. Pym, but I left all that behind me the second I got out of jail. Besides, they had me sign a bunch of agreements not to talk about it, it was all very legal. Even if I wanted to talk about my theories, I can’t.”

“But it’s not just a theory, is it? It’s real, all of it,” Hank insisted. “People were disappearing and - ”

“Almost thirty years later and you still can’t let this go.” Hope finally put her phone away so she could narrow her eyes at her father. “We have more important things to be focusing on, Hank. Dragging in a has-been who might know something about this stupid cult theory just to feed your obsession over Mom’s death is a new low, even by your standards.”

“Don’t you talk about your mother like that,” Hank growled, suddenly rounding on her. “Show some respect.”

“Fine. Then we can go back to not talking at all,” she replied. She got to her feet and promptly turned to walk right out of the house, her heels clicking sharply against the glossy wood floors. Hank sighed, sinking further into his chair, making no move to go after her.

Scott, who was trapped in an unpleasant combination of feeling utterly confused, awkward, and shocked all at once, slowly stood as well. “There’s no movie, is there?”

“There is,” Hank said resignedly. “And I need both of you, more than you could ever know.” ______

Scott barely slept at all that night, staring up at the ceiling with everything he knew and everything he thought he knew rolling around in his brain. He had only stayed at Hank’s house for another few minutes, hoping to get a clearer picture of what exactly he was expecting from him, but Hank had only said that he would get in touch when they were ready. Scott wasn’t sure if “they” really included Hope, given that her car was long gone by the time he walked out of the house. She seemed about as interested in entertaining Hank’s schemes as she was in...well, just about anything else.

Still, Scott found himself on a sunny San Francisco backlot three weeks later, sitting in a hair and makeup trailer with the air conditioning blasting comfortably through his unwashed hair. He had signed a contract after it had been extensively combed through by his lawyer, and a script had finally been mailed to him last night, though he knew its importance was secondary to Hank’s true intentions.

If Hank and Hope were even just a little bit less intimidating, Scott would have turned down both the movie and the mystery, but he had to admit - if nothing else, he was intrigued. Neither of them seemed to be able to talk about Janet beyond using her as a weapon against one another, and he couldn’t blame them. He remembered how he could barely bring himself to talk about Cassie during the first few months of his incarceration, how he couldn’t bear the thought of how much he’d disappointed her. He had wondered if she would want to see him after he got out, if she would want to remember him at all.

The sharp bang of the trailer door being flung open startled Scott right out of his thoughts (and his chair). He glanced in the mirror to watch Hope walk in and sit down in the seat beside him. The assistants immediately began to panic, scrambling to dig through their kits and find what they needed for her. Hope remained as disinterested as ever, silently sipping on her coffee and scrolling through her text messages.

“Morning,” Scott chirped. She side-eyed him over the rim of her cup. “Hey, don’t you think it’s weird that we haven’t done a table read or pre-production or...y’know, anything?”

“Hank invests his time and money into what he wants, not what’s actually needed,” she replied, her tone dry. “If you were expecting this shoot to be like anything you’ve ever done before, you clearly don't understand what’s really going on here.”

“I don’t, because neither of you are telling me anything,” he pointed out. “And I’m not an expert on this stuff. There are probably a dozen people out there more qualified to help him than me, why can’t he just ask around?”

Hope glanced briefly at the makeup assistants still rooting around the bottoms of their bags for products, then leaned in close, her mouth nearly brushing against Scott’s ear. He shivered. “Hank hasn’t been focusing on the real problem that I went to him for. There’s a man determined to blacklist him permanently from every connection and every social circle he’s ever had, ruin his reputation, and deplete my family of the fortune that my parents built. He only knows this because I told him, which is why he has to be discreet. He also thinks solving the conspiracy will somehow stop this from happening. I think he’s really lost it this time.”

“So who is this guy?” Scott asked quietly. “Why does he have it out for Hank?”

“Darren Cross was a would-be protégé of his. Child actor he met during the filming of his very last movie...the one that I was in, too.” Hope leaned back in her chair to look at her own reflection in the mirror, eyes glazing over as she became lost in thought. “When...when Mom died, Hank left everything behind, including his promise to Darren that he’d take him under his wing. He couldn’t handle being abandoned.”

“What happened to him after that?” Scott pressed.

She let out a quiet, harsh laugh. “Among other things, he became the CEO of my parents’ foundation. It was poetic to the public, but what it really was? It turned out that a mutual spite for Hank was a negotiation point for starting a business relationship between us, and so I made it happen. I was the one who put Darren in that position.” Her head bowed. “I made us vulnerable.”

Scott blinked. “I’m so confused.”

Hope sighed, rolling her eyes so hard he suspected she would have pulled something had she not likely done it thousands of times before. “Try to keep up, I’m not here to babysit you. I’m here to help Hank.”

“Really? Because it kinda sounds like it’s the last thing you wanna do.”

“He abandoned me right after Mom died. Since then, he’s only come back into my life a few times, and usually not by choice.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to believe the things he believes, but...part of me wants to entertain the idea that somewhere, somehow...she’s still alive.” ______

The end of the fourteen-hour shoot left Hope half-collapsed in the driver’s seat of her car, completely and utterly drained, both physically and emotionally. She knew Scott was familiar with her work, but she knew nothing of his - comedy had never been a draw to her, not when her life had been so deprived of it. Her expectations for him had been low, and she’d made that obvious from the beginning, but what actually happened in front of the cameras left her silently impressed. Still, it didn’t make his presence any easier to accept.

She had been eighteen when she’d agreed to meet with Hank in person for the first time since her mother’s death, with every other encounter being expertly maneuvered by lawyers or assistants or any other number of sneak tactics he’d used to attempt reconciliation, to no avail. He’d told her about the Ghost conspiracy, showed her all the news clippings and redacted documents and photographs he’d collected, telling her it was likely Janet had gotten too close to the truth and had been taken from them as a result. Hope then spent the rest of her life holding steadfast to the plane crash that everyone believed to be true, mostly out of spite. However, six months ago, she ended up calling him with a new proposal, because now, they were racing against the clock.

“Darren wants to cut off all program funding and shut down the Foundation, start it from scratch with his name on the side of the building,” she had said to him over the phone. “He wants to discredit you, blame you for Mom’s death, and...he’s been siphoning money elsewhere. Offshore bank accounts, shell companies, things I can’t trace myself, but I know it’s happening. We have to stop him before this turns into something bigger than just us.”

Hank had paused; even after all their years apart, she could still picture him narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “What is he up to?”

“I wish I knew.” Hope had pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers in agitation. “I’ve caught glimpses of his phone and his work desktop - emails, invoices, redacted documents - but I don’t know where to begin. I...I need your help, Hank.”

Another pause. Then, “I think I found a guy.”

She had blinked. “...who?”

A sharp knock-knock-knock on the passenger door window promptly pulled Hope out of her reverie. She flinched further when she realized who it was. “Oh, god.”

Scott shot her a bright smile, though even he was starting to look exhausted as well. “Hank wants to do a nightcap at his house, said he wanted to go over the details.”

“Of course he does,” she said bitingly. “Fine, I’ll meet you there.”

“I, uh, I don’t suppose I could get a ride with you, could I?” he asked, his grin turning into something more sheepish. “I’m still not clear to get a driver’s license yet, I’ve been taking ride services ever since - ”

“ - ever since you got out of jail,” Hope interrupted. Her eyes were narrowing more and more by the second. “Just get in before I change my mind.”

The drive to Hank’s was uncomfortably silent for the first few minutes, though she could tell he was itching to talk, his fingers drumming an irregular pattern against the windowsill. “So that was, uh...that was something.”

“What was?” she said shortly.

“O-kay, never mind,” he mumbled to himself. For the first time since she’d met him, he almost seemed embarrassed.

She cleared her throat, feeling a mild sense of pity for him that she was sure would pass. “It was definitely...different. But we both know the movie isn’t what matters here.”

“Right, but we still have to do the whole - ” he waved his hand aimlessly “ - the shoot, post-prod, press, y’know, the usual. Unless Hank decides to shelve the project if we get this done first.”

Hope suddenly slammed on the brakes without warning, causing Scott to jolt forward. All the air was knocked out of his lungs from the tug of his seatbelt, causing him to wheeze; she ignored him. “Why are you even getting involved? You could’ve easily walked away from all of this.”

“Well…” He paused for a moment, partially to think about what he felt and what she wanted to hear, but mostly to cough and catch his breath. “...you have to understand, Hope, I don’t get a lot of options or opportunities these days. It’s hard to find work of any kind as an ex-con, let alone in an industry as messed up as this one. So, after listening to Hank and listening to you, I mean, how could I not help, especially if I’m the only one who can? That’s how I felt the first time I got involved, and that’s how I feel now. If I can figure out this weird conspiracy that’s been haunting me for the last six years, I can prove to my ex and my daughter that I didn’t do what I did for nothing.”

She made a quiet noise in the back of her throat, so low that Scott nearly missed it. It almost sounded sympathetic. “I...almost forgot about your daughter. I know all about Maggie, but...I guess you both kept her out of the public eye. That’s not what my parents did with me.” She lowered her gaze to the steering wheel, unable to look at him. “What’s her name?”

“Cassie.”

“It’s a pretty name.” Hope, to Scott’s surprise, cracked a small smile. “If you want what’s best for Cassie, you might want to start by protecting yourself first. You may be sure about what happened to you in the past, but you have no idea what’s about to happen in the future. None of us do.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like an adventure.”

Hope snorted, shaking her head, though it seemed more playful than it had before. She let go of the brake to step on the gas again, still smiling as she pulled the car back onto the road. ______

After the excessively long discussion at Hank’s house, where, to Scott’s disappointment, Hope fell back onto her stone-faced stoicism and strong contempt for her father, Scott took a car home, not wanting to bother her further. His mind was still reeling from everything they’d talked about, all the (legal) details he’d shared, all the information Hank had, all the interruptions Hope made to remind them of the more immediate issue at hand. Ten minutes into the ride, Scott leaned forward to gently tap on the plexiglass and request that the driver make a detour.

He found himself standing on the doorstep of a house far nicer than his, in a gated community he had once known. It was only a few blocks over from where he and Maggie used to live when they were together, a step-up from the crappy apartment they had when they were first starting out, young and fresh-faced and naïve. He took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell.

A moment passed before someone answered, the door swinging open sharply. To Scott’s dismay, it was Paxton, Maggie’s fiancé, staring him down in complete disbelief. Scott grimaced. “Hey, man. Is my daughter home?”

Paxton scoffed. “You’re not supposed to be here, Lang.”

“I know, I know. I just...it’s been a long day, and I thought I would stop by and say hello. Can I at least do that?” Scott pleaded.

The decision seemed to be made for Paxton, however, as there was a sudden pattering of a little girl’s footsteps thundering down the hallway, and she practically barreled right into Scott’s side with a delighted squeal. “Daddy!” Cassie shrieked.

Scott let out a sigh of relief, crouching down and melting into her embrace, instantly soothed by the feeling of her face burrowed in his neck. He then pulled back a little so they were eye-to-eye. “Hey, peanut,” he said softly. “Been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“For good reason,” Paxton coughed, though he stepped aside so Scott could cross the threshold and get into the house. “I’ll tell Maggie you’re here.”

“Wait, no, don’t - ” Paxton disappeared up the stairs before Scott could stop him. Scott groaned, looking back to Cassie, who merely shrugged. “So what’ve you been up to? All kinds of trouble, I bet.”

“No way,” she protested. “I’ve been super good. Mommy said so.”

“That’s good,” Scott murmured, cupping her face in both hands so he could push her hair out of her face. She was a little taller than she’d been the last time he’d seen her, though her eyes were just as big and round and expressive as ever. He then realized she was wearing the pyjamas he’d bought and sent her last Christmas, which he had wrongly assumed Maggie had just thrown out before Cassie ever realized they existed. “Hey, uh, I’ve been working on a new movie. I’m not really sure if you’ll be old enough to watch it when it comes out, but it’s different than the stuff I usually do. And I’ve got some...interesting people I’m working with.”

“Int’resting how?” she asked.

“It’s a father-daughter team. Just like you and me,” he replied, poking her playfully in the stomach, causing her to giggle. “What do you think, peanut? You wanna act with me someday, too?”

“Scott, let our daughter have a normal life, please.” He glanced up to see Maggie standing at the top of the stairs, her arms folded across her chest defensively. Paxton was hovering at her back, glancing between them like he was watching a tennis match.

“How can I? Have you seen the house you guys live in?” Scott remarked. “What’s the mortgage like?”

“I’m not here to argue with you, Scott. I am here to remind you that you can’t just come by whenever you feel like it,” she said, furrowing her brow at him. “And it’s late. Cassie has to be in bed in fifteen minutes, she has gymnastics tomorrow.”

“Wait - I brought you something.” Scott pulled out an envelope from his back pocket and held it out to her. She made her way down the stairs to take it, eyeing it suspiciously as if she expected it to explode, and carefully pried it open. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was.

“Scott, this is - ”

“Six months’ worth, yeah,” he nodded. “I know it’s nothing compared to what you guys make, but I just wanna do my part. I wanna do what’s right.”

“But where did this come from?” Maggie sputtered.

“I got an advance payment for the project I’m working on,” he explained. “Just started today, actually.”

“Daddy’s doing a movie. He says it’s diff’rent from his other stuff,” Cassie informed her, smiling toothily.

“Scott, if you’re getting involved in something immoral again - ”

“Illegal, even,” Paxton interjected. Scott couldn’t help but think he tended to forget that he only played a cop on TV.

“ - then I want no part in it, and I don’t want a single cent,” Maggie finished, turning to shoot Paxton a dirty look.

“I promise, it’s honest money. I’m going straight. I’ve been going straight for the past year,” Scott insisted. “I just meant ‘different’ as in ‘different genre’, okay, it’s nothing to be worried about! I’m turning it around, Maggie. I swear.”

“Well…” She sniffed, carefully tucking the cheque back into the envelope. “I’m not cashing it until I know you’re in the clear. So go home, Scott. I’ll call you later this week, we can talk more about this movie of yours then.”

“I’m shooting all week, so I’ll text you when I’m free instead,” he suggested.

“Fine,” she said, pursing her lips. Scott knelt to give Cassie a hug goodbye, sneaking in a quick kiss on the forehead despite knowing he was already pushing his luck. “Can you at least tell me the name of one of your co-stars or something? Just to, I don’t know, make it sound more legitimate?”

Scott paused, straightening up. “Hope Van Dyne.”

Maggie scoffed incredulously; Paxton made an odd choking noise in the back of his throat. “Hope Van Dyne, are you serious? Everything I’ve heard about her, all that stuff about her parents, I mean...she seems...intense.”

Scott glanced down at Cassie. She grinned, reaching to squeeze his hand. He squeezed back, chuckling mostly to himself. “So I’ve been told.” ______

a/n: I've been wanting to write a multi-chapter AU for Scott/Hope for ages, but could never quite think of a concept that would suit them specifically. Then this popped into my head after watching the trailer for Once Upon A Time In Hollywood and remembering how much I enjoyed The Nice Guys, and here we are! I started a post-Endgame fic focusing on the Ant-fam a long time ago as well, but that'll probably come after this one is complete.

As you've probably noticed, this fic is going to mash up elements of both Ant-Man movies in different ways. It'll also go back and forth on the film industry aspect and the conspiracy hunt aspect, with some chapters focusing on one more than the other. Next chapter will be posted next Friday and I'm hoping to post this weekly. Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I'll see you next time :)

[world-of-the-wielders]

Yo V, i saw this on your DA page and thought it should also get put in the group on here. (nice worldbuilding you two. always so good at it!)

~S

Okay  so we also discussed the origins of the atds and their parts in the stories, and this was what Jon suggested: "There are several ways we can explain the devices and/or their frequency without it being TOO much like the series we borrowed the idea from. We could use multiple, even, depending on the characters' backstories. 1. Diplomatic- in some sort of alien U.N., representatives are given these devices to turn into another species to communicate with other representatives, to show respect, or to make them feel more at home. 2A. Militaristic- used for conquest by an alien empire. Perhaps this tech is studied/spied on/stolen by other alien planets/nations who either fear attack and want to be able to properly defend themselves should the time come, or to use it for their own gain. 2B.- Stolen Tech- at one point, a shipment is attacked by a gang or crime syndicate who steals the weaponry for their own use(much like how some gangs or terror groups on earth have military/military-like automatic guns or explosives), the technology is hacked and figured out, and a similar product is produced by the gang, for the gang, possibly/probably eventually spreading to other criminals. 3. Police- a special branch of police, specially trained like the SWAT or a bomb squad. are given devices to better deal with alien criminals. Once another race/species has made a presence on another planet, it makes sense that such a device would be needed to handle them. For example, lets say an alien is definitely causing or threatening harm, but has a very fragile body. Tasing or shooting the alien may kill it, and is considered a last resort, so members of the force with devices can turn into that species/a like one to try and talk them down or engage them while causing as little harm as possible. On the flipside, there may be another alien causing havoc that tasers and guns may be completely ineffective against, and they'd need to use the devices to take them down. 4. Toys- a line of toys created by an alien company puts out a line of these devices, coming in a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, and with varying forms. Perhaps they advertise, "the more you play with it, the more you can do with it!" This would leave an explanation for why some devices time out- most toys require batteries or at least the occasional charge if used or otherwise left on for a long time. Of course all forms are "child-safe" (perhaps an "Earth" edition would allow the child to be a dog, a cat, a horse, a parrot, and a lizard, or something to that effect) but still allow the interesting experience of being another species, speaking a new language, having different/better senses, et cetera. As in the Stolen Tech proposition, eventually someone hacks it and inputs the DNA of "bigger"/"better"/"faster"/"stronger" aliens, which leads to more teenagers and young adults buying them. It becomes similar in popularity to jailbreaking an iPhone, and the company responsible for the "toys" reacts similarly- all warranties are revoked upon "jailbreaking", and said company claims no legal responsibilities for the device breaking, or and harm caused to or by the wielder upon or after "jailbreaking"." And, based on that, this is what I proposed for a type of origin/backstory/background type o' thing: "I would like to propose the following: ((I redirect you to 1.)) There is a system of planets at peace with one another, I feel inclined to name said system Aurora, and each planet has four representatives in The Council. The Council is the diplomatic situation which decides laws and creates actions. Each member of The Council is equipped with an ATD (if we are infact still calling them that?) which, ideally, would help them to understand the lives of the other species' that live among them. This works, but only to a point. They can see their basic needs, but not much more. They can see what it is that their 'people' need to survive, but not what they need to live. The Council's ATDs are installed only with creatures known to inhabit Aurora. ((I redirect you to 2A.)) The military is highly advanced, seen as imperialistic to outsiders. It's a often a quick and simple procedure Plant a seed, an impostor. You invade first, unseen, undetected, destroy the from from the inside. Usually this is not definitive, and it takes extra action to follow through. Weapons of mass distraction, explosives, guns, world enders, all at Aurora's command. Follow throughs are dealt with quickly. There is a specialized team of invaders, just a small squad, each equipped with their own ATD. Holding only a select number of species, their forms or programmed manually but can be traded for others remotely while in the field. They are professional impostors. ((I redirect you to 2B.)) Plain and simple, there's a market for this. More than guns, more than bombs, it's the ATDs. As much as people want their weapons, they need their escapes. ATDs are both an unseen attack and a clean get away. They're rare, but not unheard of. Especially prototypes and damaged ones. ((I redirect you to 3.)) It's the job of the authorities to keep Aurora clean, and when push comes to shove it's handy to have an edge. ATDs a strictly speaking last resorts to the officers that have them, the Military had overflow and they were divided up evenly among the precincts on each planet. These equipped officers are so spread that it's rare for more than two to ever come into contact with each other. ((I redirect you to 4.)) They did it, and it was a mistake. The ATDs, before even truly being utilized by the military, were mass produced and sold openly. On the market for little over a year, they were outlawed thirteen years ago and Aurora is still recovering. Remnants of what were only supposed to be toys remain fused to scarred children, on the black market, and fused to scarred children on the black market. Now, this is where it gets interesting: Over the years, a small group of people were collected here and there. Children saved from a doomed planet, kids picked out of the streets, babies snatched from the most fortified of upper class homes. Secretly, by an unknown person (or persons) they were each given ATDs and growing up in entirely different lives. Made refugees with no choice, some of them not even knowing it, and for no obvious reason. And THAT is where our story starts." To which I received back a "OHHHHH I LIKE THAT HOLY SHIT YES" and I'm hoping everyone else agrees, at least to an extent, and we can indulge on this universe together. Edit: This was my original response to Jon's suggestions as to why the 'atd's exist--- "1. Not the worst of ideas, but I feel that it doesn't fit the weilders we know and have in mind. Not to mention, I feel as tho changing forms is not as ideal as it should be for changing perspectives and would prove insufficient for that single cause. 2A. Militaristic is probably the most plausible, in my opinion. HOWEVER, the thing with weapons is the necessity of efficiency, now why focus so much of these little shape shifting devices when you can drop bombs, you know? ESPECIALLY if we're toning the aliens down, to make them more realistic or what have you. It reminds me of how Steven's redesign on the Talpaetrix or whatevs also supposedly doubled for mining, when punching your way through mountains seems like a hell of a lot more hassle than say, driving a big ol' drill thru it. Which brings to mind subtlety, which COULD ask for such a branch of people in a military. Secret agents. Spies. That sort of thing. But an entire army of wielders would, i think, prove inefficient compared to any other weapons they may possess. 2B. Goes hand in hand, as you mentioned. While not the biggest use for an army, they could have countless uses for petty criminals and outlaws A tool for some, an entire new life for people on the run. Endless capabilities there. 3. I refer you back to 2A, I think the spies are the closest option. I feel as though the 'cops' in this universe should already be trained or training in ways to disable other aliens. Seems like a mess to throw ATDs in there with them, plus a shitty idea to trust authorities with. I might just be biased there though, idk. 4. Toys. I don't know. It makes sense, and I understand what you're saying with it but I dunno. I just don't really feel it you know? Like, it would be a reckless move to begin with to mass produce these especially knowing fair well that they CAN BE hacked. But then just handin them out to kids? Lik eI'm not even talking worst case scenario or anything, just SO MANY kids would go missing/get hurt/get killed its just I dunno. I feel like it's a stretch to make that scenario seem ... legitimate ... I guess?" In case ya'll were uber curious or somethin'

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Back in the heyday of the old Soviet Union, a phrase evolved to describe gullible western intellectuals who came to visit Russia and failed to notice the human and other costs of building a communist utopia. The phrase was “useful idiots” and it applied to a good many people who should have known better. I now propose a new, analogous term more appropriate for the age in which we live: useful hypocrites. That’s you and me, folks, and it’s how the masters of the digital universe see us. And they have pretty good reasons for seeing us that way. They hear us whingeing about privacy, security, surveillance, etc., but notice that despite our complaints and suspicions, we appear to do nothing about it. In other words, we say one thing and do another, which is as good a working definition of hypocrisy as one could hope for. — John Naughton, The Guardian “Who needs direct repression,” asked philosopher Slavoj Zizek, “when one can convince the chicken to walk freely into the slaughterhouse?” In an Orwellian age where war equals peace, surveillance equals safety, and tolerance equals intolerance of uncomfortable truths and politically incorrect ideas, “we the people” have gotten very good at walking freely into the slaughterhouse, all the while convincing ourselves that the prison walls enclosing us within the American police state are there for our protection. Call it doublespeak, call it hypocrisy, call it delusion, call it whatever you like, but the fact remains that while we claim to value freedom, privacy, individuality, equality, diversity, accountability, and government transparency, our actions and those of our government rulers contradict these much-vaunted principles at every turn. For instance, we claim to disdain the jaded mindset of the Washington elite, and yet we continue to re-elect politicians who lie, cheat and steal. We claim to disapprove of the endless wars that drain our resources and spread thin our military, and yet we repeatedly buy into the idea that patriotism equals supporting the military. We claim to chafe at taxpayer-funded pork barrel legislation for roads to nowhere, documentaries on food fights, and studies of mountain lions running on treadmills, and yet we pay our taxes meekly and without raising a fuss of any kind. We claim to object to the militarization of our local police forces and their increasingly battlefield mindset, and yet we do little more than shrug our shoulders over SWAT team raids and police shootings of unarmed citizens. And then there’s our supposed love-hate affair with technology, which sees us bristling at the government’s efforts to monitor our internet activities, listen in on our phone calls, read our emails, track our every movement, and punish us for what we say on social media, and yet we keep using these very same technologies all the while doing nothing about the government’s encroachments on our rights. This contradiction is backed up by a Pew Research Center study, which finds that “Americans say they are deeply concerned about privacy on the web and their cellphones. They say they do not trust Internet companies or the government to protect it. Yet they keep using the services and handing over their personal information.” Let me get this straight: the government continues to betray our trust, invade our privacy, and abuse our rights, and we keep going back for more? Sure we do. After all, the alternative—taking a stand, raising a ruckus, demanding change, refusing to cooperate, engaging in civil disobedience—is not only a lot of work but can be downright dangerous. What we fail to realize, however, is that by tacitly allowing these violations to continue, we not only empower the tyrant but we feed the monster. In this way, what starts off as small, occasional encroachments on our rights, justified in the name of greater safety, becomes routine, wide-ranging abuses so entrenched as to make reform all but impossible. We saw this happen with the police and their build-up of military arsenal, ostensibly to fight the war on drugs. The result: a transformation of America’s law enforcement agencies into extensions of the military, populated with battle-hardened soldiers who view “we the people” as enemy combatants. The same thing happened with the government’s so-called efforts to get tough on crime by passing endless laws outlawing all manner of activities. The result: an explosion of laws criminalizing everything from parenting decisions and fishing to gardening and living off the grid. And then there were the private prisons, marketed as a way to lower the government’s cost of locking up criminals. Only it turns out that private prisons actually cost the taxpayer more money and place profit incentives on jailing more Americans, resulting in the largest prison population in the world. Are you starting to notice a pattern yet? The government lures us in with a scheme to make our lives better, our families safer, and our communities more secure, and then once we buy into it, they slam the trap closed. It doesn’t matter whether you’re talking about red light cameras, DNA databases, surveillance cameras, or zero tolerance policies: they all result in “we the people” being turned into Enemy Number One. In this way, the government campaign to spy on our phone calls, letters and emails was sold to the American people as a necessary tool in the war on terror. Instead of targeting terrorists, however, the government has turned us into potential terrorists, so that if we dare say the wrong thing in a phone call, letter, email or on the internet, especially social media, we end up investigated, charged and possibly jailed. If you happen to be one of the 1.31 billion individuals who use Facebook or one of the 255 million who tweet their personal and political views on Twitter, you might want to pay close attention. This criminalization of free speech, which is exactly what the government’s prosecution of those who say the “wrong” thing using an electronic medium amounts to, was at the heart of Elonis v. United States, a case that wrestled with where the government can draw the line when it comes to expressive speech that is protected and permissible versus speech that could be interpreted as connoting a criminal intent. The case arose after Anthony Elonis, an aspiring rap artist, used personal material from his life as source material and inspiration for rap lyrics which he then shared on Facebook. For instance, shortly after Elonis’ wife left him and he was fired from his job, his lyrics included references to killing his ex-wife, shooting a classroom of kindergarten children, and blowing up an FBI agent who had opened an investigation into his postings. Despite the fact that Elonis routinely accompanied his Facebook posts with disclaimers that his lyrics were fictitious, and that he was using such writings as an outlet for his frustrations, he was charged with making unlawful threats (although it was never proven that he intended to threaten anyone) and sentenced to 44 months in jail. Elonis is not the only Facebook user to be targeted for prosecution based on the content of his posts. In a similar case that made its way through the courts only to be rebuffed by the Supreme Court, Brandon Raub, a decorated Marine, was arrested by a swarm of FBI, Secret Service agents and local police and forcibly detained in a psychiatric ward because of controversial song lyrics and political views posted on his Facebook page. He was eventually released after a circuit court judge dismissed the charges against him as unfounded. Rapper Jamal Knox and Rashee Beasley were sentenced to jail terms of up to six years for a YouTube video calling on listeners to “kill these cops ‘cause they don’t do us no good.” Although the rapper contended that he had no intention of bringing harm to the police, he was convicted of making terroristic threats and intimidation of witnesses. And then there was Franklin Delano Jeffries II, an Iraq war veteran, who, in the midst of a contentious custody battle for his daughter, shared a music video on YouTube and Facebook in which he sings about the judge in his case, “Take my child and I’ll take your life.” Despite his insistence that the lyrics were just a way for him to vent his frustrations with the legal battle, Jeffries was convicted of communicating threats and sentenced to 18 months in jail. The common thread running through all of these cases is the use of social media to voice frustration, grievances, and anger, sometimes using language that is overtly violent. The question the U.S. Supreme Court was asked to decide in Elonis is whether this activity, in the absence of any overt intention of committing a crime, rises to the level of a “true threat” or whether it is, as I would contend, protected First Amendment activity. (The Supreme Court has defined a “true threat” as “statements where the speaker means to communicate a serious expression of an intent to commit an act of unlawful violence to a particular individual or group of individuals.”) In an 8-1 decision that concerned itself more with “criminal-law principles concerning intent rather than the First Amendment’s protection of free speech,” the Court ruled that prosecutors had not proven that Elonis intended to harm anyone beyond the words he used and context. That was three years ago. Despite the Supreme Court’s ruling in Elonis, Corporate America has now taken the lead in policing expressive activity online, with social media giants such as Facebook, Twitter and YouTube using their formidable dominance in the field to censor, penalize and regulate speech and behavior online by suspending and/or banning users whose content violated the companies’ so-called community standards for obscenity, violence, hate speech, discrimination, etc. Make no mistake: this is fascism. This is fascism with a smile. As Bertram Gross, former presidential advisor, noted in his chilling book Friendly Fascism: The New Face of Power in America: Anyone looking for black shirts, mass parties, or men on horseback will miss the telltale clues of creeping fascism. . . . In America, it would be super modern and multi-ethnic—as American as Madison Avenue, executive luncheons, credit cards, and apple pie. It would be fascism with a smile. As a warning against its cosmetic façade, subtle manipulation, and velvet gloves, I call it friendly fascism. What scares me most is its subtle appeal. The subtle appeal of this particular brand of fascism is its self-righteous claim to fighting the evils of our day (intolerance, hatred, violence) using the weapons of Corporate America. Be warned, however: it is only a matter of time before these weapons are used more broadly, taking aim at anything that stands in its quest for greater profit, control and power. This is what fascism looks like in a modern context, with corporations flexing their muscles to censor and silence expressive activity under the pretext that it is taking place within a private environment subject to corporate rules as opposed to activity that takes place within a public or government forum that might be subject to the First Amendment’s protection of “controversial” and/or politically incorrect speech. Alex Jones was just the beginning. Jones, the majordomo of conspiracy theorists who spawned an empire built on alternative news, was banned from Facebook for posting content that violates the social media site’s “Community Standards,” which prohibit posts that can be construed as bullying or hateful. According to The Washington Post, Twitter suspended over 70 million accounts over the course of two months to “reduce the flow of misinformation on the platform.” Among those temporarily suspended was Daniel McAdams, Executive Director of the Ron Paul Institute. Rightly contending that tech companies are just extensions of the government, former Texas congressman Ron Paul believes that social media networks under the control of Google, Apple, Twitter and Facebook are working with the U.S. government to silence dissent. “You get accused of treasonous activity and treasonous speech because in an empire of lies the truth is treason,” Paul declared. “Challenging the status quo is what they can’t stand and it unnerves them, so they have to silence people.” Curiously enough, you know who has yet to be suspended? President Trump. Twitter’s rationale for not suspending world leaders such as Trump, whom critics claim routinely violate the social media giant’s rules, is because “Blocking a world leader from Twitter or removing their controversial Tweets, would hide important information people should be able to see and debate. It would also not silence that leader, but it would certainly hamper necessary discussion around their words and actions.” Frankly, all individuals, whether or not they are world leaders, should be entitled to have their thoughts and ideas aired openly, pitted against those who might disagree with them, and debated widely, especially in a forum like the internet. Why does this matter? The internet and social media have taken the place of the historic public square, which has slowly been crowded out by shopping malls and parking lots. As such, these cyber “public squares” may be the only forum left for citizens to freely speak their minds and exercise their First Amendment rights, especially in the wake of legislation that limits access to our elected representatives. Unfortunately, the internet has become a tool for the government—and its corporate partners—to monitor, control and punish the populace for behavior and speech that may be controversial but are far from criminal. Indeed, the government, a master in the art of violence, intrusion, surveillance and criminalizing harmless activities, has repeatedly attempted to clamp down on First Amendment activity on the web and in social media under the various guises of fighting terrorism, discouraging cyberbullying, and combatting violence. Police and prosecutors have also targeted “anonymous” postings and messages on forums and websites, arguing that such anonymity encourages everything from cyber-bullying to terrorism, and have attempted to prosecute those who use anonymity for commercial or personal purposes. We would do well to tread cautiously in how much authority we give the Corporate Police State to criminalize free speech activities and chill what has become a vital free speech forum. Not only are social media and the Internet critical forums for individuals to freely share information and express their ideas, but they also serve as release valves to those who may be angry, seething, alienated or otherwise discontented. Without an outlet for their pent-up anger and frustration, these thoughts and emotions fester in secret, which is where most violent acts are born. In the same way, free speech in the public square—whether it’s the internet, the plaza in front of the U.S. Supreme Court or a college campus—brings people together to express their grievances and challenge oppressive government regimes. Without it, democracy becomes stagnant and atrophied. Likewise, as I make clear in my book Battlefield America: The War on the American People, if free speech is not vigilantly protected, democracy is more likely to drift toward fear, repression, and violence. In such a scenario, we will find ourselves threatened with an even more pernicious injury than violence itself: the loss of liberty. More speech, not less, is the remedy. http://clubof.info/