#c) you get the keys and get outside where you manage to hobble to the truck before you hear a noise

[dvchvnde]

You let the thoughts pass by as you reach for his old bible amongst the stack of books he left for you. You pick it up gingerly, the cover tattered and worn. The spine is broken, snapped beyond repair. You're not much of a believer in pristine book collecting, but the state of it leaves you feeling an odd assortment of pity and intrigue. 

The scent of him is thicker on the cover. Robust. You hold it to your nose and inhale. It smells ashy, of old cigarettes and charcoal. Pine. It makes you feel a little dizzy. The potency of it is strong, gluing to the fibrils of your lungs where it soaks, stains them with the sticky tar of his masculine smell. 

The cover is made of old leather. You peel it back, and run your fingers along the inscription inside. To our boy, it reads, the scratch of ink pressing hard into the soft give of the hide. May he always find the answers he seeks. 

This seems to be a hope he'd taken to heart. Blue lines bleed through the thin pages. Underlines, highlights. Sections smeared with oil and ink, blurring the words together as he thumbed across them over and over again. The margins are filled with his own notes. Doodles. Insights. He fills space with ink. Musing over his own questions, and underlining the answer he finds.  

It almost feels intrusive. Voyeuristic. Had he not left it amongst the pile, you might have closed the book and put it away for the sake of his own privacy. But it draws you in. Ensnares you. His questions grow broader, the subject evolving. The answers he finds in the pages become less and less frequent. 

It feels—

Lonely. 

His despondency shows vividly when he covers the words in art. An entire page bears the face of a woman. The likeness is shaded around the eyes, in the arch of their nose. It must be his mother, perhaps. Maybe a sister. You turn the page, marveling at the artistry line in dark charcoal. A rifle. A bird. A skull. Cigars, scotch. Dog tags. A cross. Bible passages with toiling lines circled around them. Notes. Little insights stenciled into the margins. 

Another page speaks about head trauma. Brain injury. Bullet fragments. Low caliber. tbi is circled in blue with lines branching out from the side of the curve. impaired thinking. memory issues. personality changes, depression. 

remarkable the cognitive recovery is stenciled in between the passages over and over again, as if he was reinforcing this notion to himself. 

It's jarring. Uncomfortable. 

The next several pages are even moreso. It screams its loneliness into the thin paper and you read each divot until you can't anymore. Until the words run together, and stop making sense. It's all nonsensical. Scribbles, doodles, and numbers that mean nothing to you at all. Unnerved, you go to put it away—

Something catches your eye. 

It's a photograph. 

A younger version of Johnny, maybe. Shaded in black and white. He's barefaced, too. Beard shaved down to a thin dusting of stubble, an odd sight compared to the thick tangle of hair you're so used to seeing on him. His hair, too.

A mohawk. The shorn sides cropped as close to the skin as he could get. The top coiffed and styled for the photo. His asymmetrical hairstyle makes sense now. You trail your finger down the slope of his jaw.

You deep an indent underneath. Ink pressed tight to the thin page, bubbling up from below. You tuck the photo of him, all cocksure and rough around the edges, back into the seam before turning the page.

And it doesn't make sense. Not at first. A series of small sketches cover the page, littered across it like small pondstones leading to the bottom. Nahanni, you know. Recognise the magesty of this gorgeous park. You follow the trail, thinking distantly of your old art teacher in school and the magnetism of the gaze, and—

The bottom is a black circle. Needlepoints cutting through the curves. Sitting in the centre is woman. She sits in the valley watching a moose graze at the bottom of knoll, and in her hand sits an apple—

"What'd ye got there?"

[suginami-division]

Sazanka Zombeez Drama Track 1 - Rise from the Grave

Part 1

【 KAPPA Animation Studio 】

Inside a big, messy office building, a slew of workers sit in their cubicles. Some appear to be drawing onto tablets, some are sketching onto sheets of paper, and some loiter around the office, chatting with their fellow employees. Alone in his cubicle the former yakuza thug Ryuko Umemoto sits hunched in his office chair, flipping between his own sheets of paper, trying to check on each frame of the animation he had been assigned to. He is suddenly interrupted by a person, calling his name.

Coworker 1: Umemoto-san?

Ryuko: Hah? Oh, Mx… W-What seems to be the problem?

Slamming onto the desk, the coworker slapped a giant folder filled with papers, the word "Fix" scribbled hastily over the yellow parchment in black ink.

Coworker 1: The supervisor said that your part wasn't good enough. Correct it by the end of today, alright?

Ryuko: C-Correct it? Wait, I-

Before Ryuko could get a word in, the person began to walk away, muttering a good luck to the silver-haired man. Leaning back in his seat, Ryuko could only stare at where the person had once stood, before glaring at the giant folder that had been so graciously dropped into his cubicle.

Ryuko, muttering: Son of a bitch, dropping this shit on me… How the hell did I mess up all of this? I don't even do this much wor-

Once the folder was opened and looked at, Ryuko turned deathly silent, turning over one page, then another, and another, until Ryuko had violently shut the folder closed again in pure frustration.

Ryuko: (This shit isn't supposed to be my problem!!!)

Jumping up from his seat, several of his coworkers jolted at Ryuko’s violent movements, eyes staring as they watched him pace around the office with the giant folder in hand. It took awhile, but finally one of Ryuko's colleagues got Ryuko to stop stalking around the office floor and ask him.

Coworker 2: U-Umemoto-san? Are you looking for someone…?

Freezing in place, an aura of murderous intent clouded Ryuko. Slowly, his face turned, the intimidating vibes no longer surrounding him, expertly masked by a professional smile.

Ryuko: Yes! Do you know where [Worker Name] is? These inbetweens got dropped at my desk by mistake.

Coworker 2: Oh! They already left for the day. Said they weren't feeling too well.

Ryuko: Really~?

Gritting his teeth, Ryuko could only giggle at the news. An unsettling giggle, but it's not like the coworker noticed.

Ryuko: That's a problem, huh? Guess I gotta stay late to fix his errors!

The coworker could only stammer at Ryuko's heavily sarcastic words, as the albino man marched onwards back to his desk, sitting down to open up the folder of mistakes he had to complete.

Ryuko: (If I see that motherfucker in the streets, I'm going to run him over with my goddamn bike…!)

【 Ryuko's Apartment 】

A jangle of keys breaks the silence of the small apartment, followed by the husk of a man shuffling into the entrance. After lazily chucking his shoes off, Ryuko hobbled down the cramped hallway, into his living space where he immediately crashes into the floor. Distantly, a muffled yell from a neighbor could be heard, but at this point Ryuko could care less. Turning his head to the wall, he manages to catch the time of 4 AM before everything went dark.

ー Following Morning ー

The combination of Ryuko's phone alarm and the doorbell draws the man out of his slumber. Sun filters through his curtains to hint at the wonderful day that awaited outside. Ryuko could care less about the lights or sounds of the day calling for him, but with how persistent this stranger was, there was no way Ryuko could continue to ignore it.

Rolling over to his back and sitting up, the artist struggled to stand up, the aftermath of sleeping on the bare floor after a long day at his desk job hitting him all at once.

Ryuko: Okay, okay! Calm down, will ya?!

Slamming the door open the former thug is greeted by a deliver person, who looked peeved by the time it took for Ryuko to answer the door and the attitude that was given. Still, the worker thrust a clipboard and package at him.

Carrier: Package for a Mr. Umemoto. Sign here.

Ryuko: Hngh… Fucking pushy, are we? And so early too.

Carrier: It's 10 AM.

Ryuko: I got uhh… Jetlag. Fucking… Lay off.

Hastily scribbling his signature, Ryuko shoved the clipboard at the stranger, quickly slamming the door into his face. Tossing the box aside on his tea table, Ryuko grabbed his phone to text his absence to his work, not wanting to deal with anything or anyone today after the late night he had to endure.

Ryuko: Calling out sick… Worked too hard last night… Finished the folder from yesterday so let me know if it looks good now… Thanks… And sent.

Blipping it off, Ryuko flopped onto his back staring at the ceiling. That was his last sick day for awhile and there really isn't anything for him to do aside from relaxing. Then, Ryuko looked back at the package that sat on his table. It hadn't settled in until now, that he remembered he wasn't expecting a package. It wasn't like he could afford to buy something outside of basic necessities anyways, so…

Ryuko: What the fuck is in there?

Sitting up to grab the box, Ryuko began to read the packaging labels on it. It was certainly addressed to him, but reading the sender suddenly shook Ryuko.

Ryuko: …Chuuoku.

Without hesitation the box was torn violently open, the contents of the box flying in every direction of the room. Snatching up the letter within, Ryuko began to scan the words, only for the tension that rose within his shoulders to sag ever so slowly.

Ryuko: This… Isn't it.

Crumpling it up and chucking it away, the man curled back onto his floor, not caring about the microphones that now lay on his floor in a mess. A deep sigh rumbled through his chest, seemingly bummed about the package.

Ryuko: It wasn't her… Of course it isn't her.

Getting invited into a fight was the furthest thing that Ryuko could want from Chuuoku. The mic, the invitation, the opportunity all wasn't what he needed to hear from the government. An invitation, in fact…

Ryuko: Wait a minute.

Frantically crawling over to the crumpled ball, Ryuko began to look at it over again. It took a minute for the words to settle in, but once it did, a sense of urgency stirred in the man, prompting him to look around his apartment for his belongings.

Ryuko: Shit, wait, I can't just show up or I might get kicked off the campus again. Ugh…

Snatching his phone, he quickly began to dial for someone, changing his clothes and packing a backpack with the microphones so that he could make a journey out of his apartment. In the middle of him getting his shoes on, the person on the other side finally answered.

Ryuko: Oi, Maki! Shut up real quick and listen!

After a moment, Ryuko had gotten the other person's attention and took a deep breath.

Ryuko: I think I know a way to get in touch with ma.

To be continued…

[arcticdementor]

I recently had Robin Hanson on the CSPI podcast to talk about futarchy. It’s one thing to spread knowledge on a particular issue, it’s another to invent a new technology to create more knowledge in the world, and help apply it where needed. That’s what I see Robin doing. He convinced me that although it may take a very long time, one day humanity will give less of a role to systems like peer review and unaccountable bureaucracy in determining how we understand the world, and more of a role to prediction markets. The logic is just too compelling. But sooner is better than later, and if you want to be involved, please reach out.

…

The first step towards this glorious future is convincing people that a world where more decisions are made based on prediction markets is desirable and achievable. In that spirit, below is a transcript of our conversation, lightly edited for clarity. To read more about futarchy, see here.

…

Robin: Right. This conditional market mechanism hasn't actually been tested out in the world outside of the laboratory tests in that we haven't been able to get people interested enough to try it. We've had a lot of tests of speculative markets that aren't conditional in the sense that we've had markets on deadlines, whether you make a deadline in sales and things like that.

We've probably had 100 different trials like that over the last few decades. Typically what happens is that if there's enough support for the market in order to induce an affectivity then again the price is about as accurate or more accurate than the status quo and most users are satisfied. The costs are modest. That's been the history for many decades.

However a key problem is usually the market gets killed in the sense that an organization says to stop and doesn't continue it. The main reason is that it's relatively disruptive. These markets are politically disruptive. The way they are disruptive is analogous to, imagine you put a very knowledgeable autist in the C suite, that is somebody in the C suite that knows a lot about the company and they go to the meetings. They just blurt out when they know things that it's relevant to the conversation but they have no political savvy.

They have no sense of, what does anybody want to hear, or who will be bothered by anything they say. That sort of an autist would not last long in the C-suite. They would be shunted aside and become an advisor to someone perhaps, trusted advisor to their side but they wouldn't be allowed to speak in the boardroom. But that's what a prediction market is. It has no idea who wants to hear what it has to say.

It will often say things that people do not want to hear, and that embarrass them, and that contradict what they've said. Then all the worse of course it will be proven right.

Richard: Yeah. But what's stopping the autist, or I guess what's stopping them is nobody has just done this yet? But theoretically you could imagine the autist setting up the rules for the corporation, right?

Robin: You might if they were in charge at the beginning sure.

…

Robin: Now we move to the question of like, what fraction of companies out there are actually maximizing profits?

Richard: Yeah.

Robin: It’s a very basic question in economics and in our world. We economists tend to assume as a simple initial working model that organizations that are for profit actually do maximize profits. That's the thing they usually do. If you give them a choice of A or B, and B is higher profit they'll choose B.

Here if you apply that model you say, “Well, this looks like it would give them key information to make key decisions like, ‘Will we make the deadline,’ and it will be valuable. The cost is relatively low so of course they would do it.” That's what you would say if you were applying that theory. Then here we have a case where it looks like, well it hasn't happened yet.

You might think, “Okay, innovation is slow. It takes a while,” but we’ve been waiting several decades. Honestly if I look across a wide range of other areas of corporate behavior I can't fully support this profit maximizing theory. I think I can find a lot of other places where what they do does not maximize profits.

I could give you a long list of examples. We could go through some of those but then the question is, “Well, how do I come to terms with it? What theory do I have affirms in the absence of profit maximizing to explain the behavior?”

…

Robin: I mean I think in fact the correct response is to say the free market version is probably the best. You just have no idea how much worse things can be. People often look at the status quo of a business world say that is relatively free market. They look at this up close and they go, “This looks terrible how could you possibly be defending this?”

The argument has to be, “Well, it would just be so much worse without this.” And in fact often if you look to large stable organizations like universities and government agencies, or churches that have been around for a long time it is in fact worse. I think that's roughly right. Another story might be we've hobbled some of the competition between firms that might solve some of these problems.

I honestly think one of the biggest wins we could do is to just allow stronger hostile takeovers. The laws at the moment make it harder to do hostile takeovers. They require a substantial tax on them in essence. If you see a badly run company and you have an idea how it could be run better the problem is how are you going to profit on that? But if you could just buy up the company, change its management and then sell it again after it was better that would be a big, powerful engine for making it better.

There have been times when that mechanism has been allowed to do more and it has made huge changes. That's what inspired people to lock it down and prevent those changes because they were scared it was coming for them.

…

Richard: I've seen stuff like who will win the tip off in basketball, and who's going to win the coin toss in a football game? Who's going to win first quarter?

Robin: I once looked onto doing this for war college war games. As you may know many war colleges have war games where they put teams on different sides and give them various equipment in a simulated war. They have them go to war. You could imagine, well letting everybody else who’s watching the war game give advice about particular strategies in the war game. That seemed plausible to me but then when I talked to people at war colleges I found that most of these war games are kind of fake.

Richard: Yeah.

Robin: They have a predetermined outcome that’s some lesson they want to tell, and so they aren't really letting it be open to winning one side or the other.

Richard: No, that's funny because you'll see headlines every now and then that'll say, “Oh, my God. The US loses to China in a war game,” and yeah I always thought that that’s…

Robin: I’m sure there probably are real war games somewhere. They just aren't at the war colleges. That's where I was thinking I could convince somebody to try this sort of thing.

…

Richard: What is the advantage of the blockchain? What is the difference between a blockchain say market versus just something like PredictIt?

Robin: Well, that's an excellent question. Initially the story was that blockchain was out of control, that it couldn't be regulated so you could set up a system on a blockchain. If the regulators didn't like it they didn't have anybody to go to stop it. The blockchain just kept going regardless of who didn't like it.

That was a big selling point. People said, “Well, look at all this financial innovation we can do because we are free from existing regulations on the blockchain.” That's what they said, and then a lot of companies formed on this basis.

But these companies didn't take personal strategies to match that rhetoric. You would think if your plan was to put a product on the blockchain and that you were going to say nanny nanny to the regulators because, “You can’t get me,” you wouldn’t have a big public presence with the headquarters, and your picture in the magazines, and show up in person at conferences right? Because…

Richard: Yeah. Sure.

Robin: ...well, that makes you more obviously a target right? That's what they did though, and then they sort of back pedaled and said later, “Oh, we're following all the regulations.” But you know people don’t really believe that. It's been this big question, to what extent will governments crack down on these blockchain things that at least from the government regulators point of view are not following their rules?

Richard: Yeah. Do you have in mind the Coinbase news that had come out the last few days, or was it today or yesterday that-

Robin: This is just a continuing issue. I don't have any particular recent event in mind but there are lots of stories about regulators thinking of doing a lot more regulating and cracking down more. This is a big question about blockchain is how far will they crack down, and what will be the consequences? Of course people say, “Well, in principle Bitcoin can keep chugging along even if they do crack down,” and no doubt that's true to some degree.

But the question of how much activity there'll be is still somewhat open. You could have it chugging along with a far lower activity because a lot of people have been discouraged.

…

Robin: Let me at this point admit what I would say is the biggest problem with futarchy and with some of these other decision markets, which is that they make hypocrisy harder, which is actually a problem. You might think, “Well, hypocrisy is a bad thing. Making it harder is good right?” Well, let’s walk through that.

At the moment, say ordinary people can claim to love trees and they just care a lot about trees. Trees real estate wonderful and they certainly wouldn’t want to have fewer trees. But then they elect politicians who have to make choices about trees versus other things. Those politicians can probably read the public and say, “Well, they say they like trees but they don’t really like trees that much, so I’m not actually going to go save some trees by interfering with something else.”

Then if the public ever finds out that somehow not everything was being done to save trees, the public can complain and say, “That damn politician! They’re corrupt! They were bought out and I sure hate them. Let’s throw them out of office,”right? Because the politician is allowing the public to be hypocritical, to pretend they care more about trees than they do.

…

Robin: The pandemic was not a big enough crisis that we fired people who did badly on it. Neither was Afghanistan. We’re in a world where we have these big things we do wrong but they somehow just aren’t bad enough to really scare us into trying different things. The question is where will we ever see some nation or big organization that’s scared enough about losing to be willing to roll the dice and try some big changes?

Richard: When you look at the American Military established under World War II I mean the military establishment was a new thing. You were building basically something from scratch. Now you have all these vested interests. You know it’s funny. The places, the countries with the most US Military… the most military personnel in the world are actually Italy, Germany, Japan, and South Korea right?

Robin: Those are risky, dangerous spots. You’d want troops there wouldn’t you?

Richard: Yeah. Well, maybe but if you notice they have something in common. Those are the Axis powers and the Korean War right?

Robin: Right.

Richard: Basically they’re the exact same place they were in 1945 to 1950 and so-

Robin: Hysteresis right? Enormous path dependence?

Richard: Yeah, exactly. Enormous dependence. Yeah, Italy. Is that obvious? The most dangerous place in the world. Maybe, maybe not.

Robin: No, and it’s not remotely obviously the most dangerous place in the world.

Richard: Yeah. Do you look around the world, and right now do you see variation in the extent to which countries are willing to not only take risks but take risks specifically along the path that you suggest?

[thatwhumplife]

Promise

Whumptober 2020 Prompt 10: They look so pretty when they bleed...

Fandom: Chicago Med/PD

Summary: Someone uses Will to send a message to Jay.

Words: 1662

Will parted ways with everyone at Molly’s a little earlier than usual. He was tired. It had been one of those days in the ED.

He only had about three quarters of a beer before he decided that it was best to head back to Jay’s to get some sleep.

Jay and Ruzek razzed him a bit for it but Will brushed it off. He had another 12 hour shift in the morning and he’d gotten better at knowing when his body needed rest.

Will got outside and cursed the Chicago wind and the fact that he had to park three blocks away. He pulled his jacket tighter, wishing his scrubs were better at holding in the heat, and picked up his pace.

As he approached an alley where the streetlight had gone out, he felt someone yank his jacket. Within seconds he was pushed up against a brick wall by two pairs of strong arms, his face scraping across the rough surface.

“What’s up, doc? Where you going this fine night?”

Will didn’t waste any time. “My wallet is in my back pocket, cell phone and keys are in my jacket pocket, right side.”

“Well aren’t we compliant?” one of the men sneered. “If only that was what we were here for.”

Will was flipped onto his back and finally the suspects came into view. All three were outfitted in balaclavas and dark clothing. Of the two restraining him, one was large, both in weight and stature. The other was smaller but appeared equally as strong. The third man stood back, watching Will squirm in his men’s tight grip.

“The great Dr. Halstead. Funny running into you here.”

“How do you know who I am?” Will asked cautiously, after glancing down and seeing that his jacket fully covered his name stitched into his scrub top.

The man standing back sent his knee flying into Will’s abdomen. Will attempted to curl in on himself but was unable to due to the tightness with which he was restrained.

“Courtesy of your brother of course. Detective Halstead.”

The man stepped forward again and Will resisted the urge to flinch.

“You see, that brother of yours has been sniffing around places he has no business sniffing around. He’s causing some problems for me. I need you to bring him a message.”

Will bit back a laugh. “Oh yeah? Who do I say it’s from?”

The man laughed. A deep, unsettling chuckle. “Oh, he’ll know.”

Without any further conversation, the man let loose on Will. Punching him repeatedly in the head, the stomach, any place that was exposed with his position pinned against the wall. It felt like the assault went on for an eternity.

Will was left unable to defend himself. By the time the blows stopped and the hands released him, he didn’t have enough strength in his legs to support the rest of his body. He crumpled to the ground and reflexively covered his head with his arms.

He heard laughs above him before the man leaned down and patted his shoulder. Will jumped back like he had been shocked. “You make sure that message gets to him now, you got it?”

Will grunted in response.

The men left Will in the alley, bleeding and cold.

Will waited, trying to inventory his injuries and gather the strength to move.

He managed to move a shaking hand to his pocket and get a hand around his cell phone. He pulled it out but lost his grip the phone clattering to the pavement about a foot further away. He sighed and again gathered the strength the reach for it.

He grabbed it tightly and quickly unlocked it, finding Jay in his ‘favorites’ list and tapping to call.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. Will groaned and hung up, then immediately redialed him.

This time an answer came in the middle of the first ring.

“What’s up, Will? You change your mind?” Molly’s was loud. Jay was shouting into the phone.

“Jay,” he gasped out. “Need your help.”

“What?”

Will swallowed a mix of blood and saliva and repeated himself. “Need. Help.”

Will heard Jay curse and after a few seconds, it was quieter. He assumed Jay had stepped outside.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Two blocks south. In the alley.”

“Hold on, Will, I’m coming. Stay on the phone.”

Will breathed a sigh of relief. Jay was coming. Will began to shiver, the adrenaline falling away and shock setting in.

Jay reached the alley and raced over to the figure laying on the ground.

“What the hell happened?! Who did this to you?!”

Will’s face was cut up and bleeding, one eye beginning to swell severely. He had a trail of blood coming out of the side of his mouth. Jay worried about the injuries he couldn’t see.

“Need to get to Med,” he choked out between breaths. “Pretty…sure…I broke a…rib or two.”

“Can you walk? Should I call an ambulance?”

“I’ll be fine… just help me up.”

Jay helped pull Will into a sitting position and Will tried his best to hold in a groan as his body was jostled.

“You ready to try and stand?”

Will nodded, wanting to conserve his breath and energy.

Jay heaved him up, taking on most of his weight. Will pointed him in the direction of his car and together they slowly hobbled over.

Jay fished the keys out of Will’s pocket and unlocked the doors, settling his brother into the passenger seat.

Jay sped off for Med, making it there in record time.

He carefully got Will out of the car and through the ED doors. “I need help here!”

“Will!” It was Connor. “What happened to you?”

Jay shook his head. “I found him like this. Someone beat the shit out of him. I have no idea who or why yet.”

Connor ushered them into a trauma room. Monique, one of the ED nurses appeared quickly to assist.

Jay helped Will out of his jacket and onto the gurney. Will continued breathing heavily before he started coughing. Thick red blood sprayed from his mouth.

Connor cut off Will’s scrub top and found an irritated chest covered in red splotches.

“Monique, start a line and I need a CBC, ABG, chest x-ray, and a CT c-spine, chest, and pelvis. And someone get me the fast scanner!”

“Connor,” Will gasped out, “my chest is killing me. Pretty sure it’s a hemothorax.”

Connor nodded reassuringly. “Just let me do the diagnosing, Will. I got you.”

Jay had no idea what any of that meant. He stood off to the side, frozen, as he watched the Med staff move around his brother at a rapid pace, inserting needles and taking samples.

A portable x-ray was brought to the room and Jay was made to step out for a few moments. This was not supposed to happen. Will was supposed to work in the hospital, not be a patient in it.

“Yup, a sizeable hemothorax. Looks like one of those broken ribs did some damage. Set me up for a 28 french. Will, I’m gonna put a chest tube in and drain that blood to get you breathing better. Then we’ll work on the rest.”

Will nodded and tried to bring as much air into his lungs as possible. He put in chest tubes all the time. He knew it was no big deal. But being on the receiving end of one made him uncomfortable.

Connor lifted Will’s arm up over his head which caused him to groan loudly.

“I know, buddy, we’re gonna work on getting that pain under control too.”

Connor splashed some betadine over the side of his chest and readied a needle with Lidocaine. Will winced as the numbing agent was injected in various locations around his ribs.

Connor made a deep incision and inserted a Kelly clamp to create a path through the muscle and other tissues. Connor then breached the chest cavity and replaced the clamp with his finger before picking up the large tube to be placed in Will’s chest.

Will’s breathing continued to be labored and was broken by the occasional groan of pain.

“I know, I know, almost there,” Connor said calmly. “Tube going in,” he warned.

“Agh!” Will shouted, trying his best to remain still.

Within seconds, blood began to drain and Will’s breathing eased.

“Better?” Connor inquired, checking his breath sounds to ensure proper placement.

Will nodded, still catching his breath.

“Gonna do a quick scan to check your belly and then we need to get you upstairs to take care of that displaced rib.”

Connor grabbed the wand, which had been prepped with jelly, and began probing Will’s stomach. Will winced.

“I don’t see any free fluid so I’m going to guess you’re in the clear. But we’ll keep an eye on it just in case,” he responds, nodding to Will. “Call upstairs and tell them to prep an OR.”

Connor turned and acknowledged Jay. “He’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna take care of those ribs and get him resting in a room as soon as possible.”

“Jay,” Will called from the bed.

Jay moved at lightning speed to stand next to his brother.

“There were three guys. Said it was a message to you. Something about not sniffing around where you’re not supposed to. Said you would know who they were.”

Realization dawned on him. This was not a mugging or a random attack. Someone hurt Will to hurt Jay. And he knew exactly who.

Tears sprang to his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Will. I’m so sorry. I had no idea it would get out of hand like this.”

Will shook his head. “No, no, no. I don’t blame you. This isn’t your fault. Just wanted you to know. So you can go get the bastards.”

Jay smiled. “I will, I promise. Just get better.”

Will grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Promise.”

[underopenskies]

Buzz Buzz 2/3

((And here’s part 2. Would have been up earlier, but i had to go to town today. I’ll put up part 3 here shortly, once i get it all put onto the word document. e.e

@fontsandsins

The sound of the wood hitting the floor made Hamish jump, he spun sound to look at Sky and his eyes went wide, the stupid wasp buzzed past his face and the look on Skylar’s face said one thing. She had been stung, and this was very, very bad.

Hamish pushed himself to his feet and held Sky's face. This had never happened before; what should he do? His fiancé and baby were in danger.

It took a lot of willpower not to fly into a hysterical panic- doing so wouldn’t help Hamish, herself, or their baby. As it was, her breathing came in shaking gasps, throat rapidly swelling. Dizziness washed over her, and she braced her legs to stay upright- she wasn’t sure if her vision swirling was entirely part of the anaphylaxis, or if it was from the panic she was trying to hold of. “E-epipen,” She rasped, eye lights frantic. “Epipen in my purse. Q-quick.” She croaked.

Like with a snakebite, moving only hastened the spread of the venom from the sting. Holding still was best- and her purse was in their room, which was a fair jaunt from where they were standing. If she didn’t have to move, she wasn’t going to.

The only thing she did was swat at that damn wasp as it came back in for another sting. She caught it with the bone of her hand, and flicked it down to the floor, where it lay, stunned.

Hamish was usually the kind of guy that was all for helping a bug back outside when it got into the house, but in this case, Hamish's brows pushed together. He ran through the house and found Skylar's purse, digging into it and finding the Epipen rushing it back to Skylar, and holding it out to her. He turned to the wasp on the floor and used the small shovel usually used for scooping up coals to pick up the insect and flicked it into the flames.

The small tinder flames were more than enough to eat up the wasp, and the menace was gone with nary a buzz to show it was there.

Skylar fumbled with the cap of the epipen at first, struggling to get it off. It took a precious few seconds, before she managed to pop it off. She held the end of it down against her thigh, pinching her eyes closed as she waited for the auto-injector to kick in.

A quick stab, and Skylar counted a few seconds, before the burn of the injection eased. Once it did, she pulled it out, and put the safety cap back on. She kept a firm grip on the pen- the effects would only last for twenty minutes, but there was more than one dose inside of the pen- and then stumbled over to brace on the couch.

She could feel it starting to help already- her throat wasn’t swelling any more, and the rapid-fire beat of her soul wasn’t getting any faster- though the epipen was making her limbs shake and tremble, and a cold sweat to break out across her body. She knew she needed to be checked out. She could usually ride it out when she wasn’t pregnant- she’d done it before, even if it wasn’t the safest thing to do- but… there was a baby to consider now.

“H-hospital.” Skylar manages to rasp past her swelling throat. She swallows thickly, eyes firmly pressed shut as she tries to breathe. “N-need h-h-hospital.”

Hamish slapped his pockets again and glanced around. He moved back towards the kitchen. His walking boot thudding loudly on the floors. He found his mobile and dialed the hospital, holding the phone to his head. He waited until a voice answered. "Hello, My… my wife was stung by a hornet and she is allergic… She's used her Epipen but… she's pregnant… I- I don't want to put her in the car, I don’t think it will help her being moved around… please… please send someone out here as quick as you can, I need to make sure she’s okay."

The voice on the other end of the line spoke softly, trying to help calm him down. She took his address and told him an ambulance would leave for their house right away.

Hamish thanked her then returned to Skylar, looking down at her with worry.

In the time that he took to call the hospital, Skylar had shifted to sit on the actual couch, instead of bracing against the arm. Her vision swam, and she shivered like she had a fever. Her eye lights focused on her fiancé when he returned into view, and Skylar swallowed faintly, before shakily patting the couch next to her. She’d heard his phone call- an ambulance was coming. They could get here faster than Hamish could drive them there- so all they had to do was wait. Probably thirty minutes- but thirty minutes was a long time to wait.

“It’s g-gonna b-be alright,” she rasped softly to him. “Th’ dose ‘ll last twenty minutes- I c-can t-take another if I n-need to.”

Hamish sat down next to her. He swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. He knew it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't help but feel guilty in a way. He should have checked the wood they bought in; he knew hornets and bees liked to sleep in the wood… and he knew that Skylar was allergic.

He blinked, and let out a shaky breath. He was holding back tears.

Skylar shifted in her seat, and leaned over to curl her arm over his shoulders. She tucked him into her side with an easy motion, and hugged him shakily to her chest. He’d be able to hear the rapid-fire staccato of her soul beating, and the unsteady wheeze of air working in and out of her lungs. The trembling weakness in her limbs meant that if he pulled away, she wouldn’t really be able to stop him- but she made an attempt to offer what comfort that she could. She rubbed her hand gently over his skull, breath wheezing as she inhaled and exhaled. “It’s okay,” she rasps gently. “We’re gonna b-be okay.”

His hand moved up and pressed against her belly while he turned his head to kiss her chest. "I'm sorry Sky… I should have checked the wood."

“S’ not your fault,” she rasped gently to him, lacing her fingers gently over his. Her sockets closed, and she leaned her head back into the couch, focusing on breathing slow and steadily. The swelling in her throat was starting to go down more- but her lungs were still tight. That, she knew, was an effect of the Epipen. Slow and steady breaths- she had to keep calm. “We’ll be more careful from now on, though. Both o’ us. Wasn’t jus’ you doin’ wood this mornin’.”

Hamish turned slightly so he could cuddle Skylar properly but not put too much weight on her. The hand on Skylar’s belly rubbed in small circles, while his other hand reached around to wipe fat tears away from his eyes.

She turned her head to press a soft kiss to the top of his skull, resting her cheek gently on his head. The small circles being rubbed into her belly felt nice, though their little girl didn’t move much beyond a few twitches inside of her. Skylar offered what comfort she could to Hamish, but had to focus mainly on controlling her breathing.

A little past twenty minutes after the first dose of the epipen had her throat starting to constrict again, her wheezing deepening and soul beat picking up once more.

She scrabbled at the safety cap of the epipen again, trying to get it off. The shakes from the first dose had her fingers fumbling, and Skylar struggled.

Hamish sat up and took the pen from her, popping off the cap before carefully handing it back to her, making sure she didn't drop it.

She managed a thankful smile to him, and pressed it shakily to her thigh. The auto injector went off, and once more, she waited a few seconds, before drawing back and taking the cap from him to re-cap it.

Her hands trembled harshly, and she slipped slightly to lean into him, head resting quietly on his shoulder. She was dizzy- oh so dizzy. At least the epipen was helping her breathe again. Skylar coughed against him, head swirling, and groaned softly. She was pale- not necessarily looking very good either. Sitting up wasn’t doing her any good- she was supposed to be laying down, technically, but she always remained calmer if she sat upright.

In the far, far distance, the sound of the Ambulance sirens started to become audible.

“’S th’ gate open f-f’r them?” She wheezed.

Hamish breathed. "Shit." He carefully moved, making sure Skylar didn't just flop over without his support. "I'll be right back okay?" He hobbled to the door and shoved his foot into his boot, and then pushed out of the door.

He was an idiot.

He took in a breath and jogged... attempted to jog. The best jog you could do in a walking boot. He made it to the gate as the ambulance pulled up, he unhooked it and swung it open, letting the ambulance through. He took a deep breath and hobbled back to the house after the vehicle.

The Ambulance parked directly in front of the house, about as close as it could get. As Hamish headed up to it, he would see that two EMT’s were getting out of the vehicle, taking a gurney with them.

Another had ducked into his house without a word to check for Skylar, and poked his head back out to nod at the two with the gurney.

They moved quick, and were up the stairs and into the house swiftly, while the first stepped back out and went down to meet Hamish, while the two with the Gurney got Skylar loaded up. “I assume you’ll be wanting to ride with your wife to the hospital? Time is of the essence- unless you plan to drive down after us in your truck?”

Hamish blinked. He didn't want to leave Skylar’s side. He wasn't taking the truck; he would call one of her brothers to drive them back home or something. He didn't care. He wasn't leaving his pregnant fiancé alone right now. "I'll ride with her." He said, glancing towards the house. "J-just, I need to grab a few things." He quickly rushed back inside and grabbed Skylar’s purse, stuffing both his and her own phone inside. He found the keys and waited for Skylar to be wheeled out of the house before he locked up and moved after her to the ambulance.

Skylar was scarily still on the stretcher, belted down as she was. They’d had to put belts around her middle, above and below, so they didn’t put pressure on the bump. The EMT’s were quick to get her out of the house and over to the ambulance, hoisting her up inside and getting her hooked to several monitors, including a fetal monitor which they had to roll her shirt up for. The baby’s soul beat was steady, much calmer than her mother’s rapid fire one. An oxygen mask was settled over Skylar’s face as they bolted down the cart, and got her started on an antihistamine IV drip.

One of the EMT’s gave Hamish a hand up into the back of the ambulance, and directed him to a seat where he was out of the way, but still able to hold Skylar’s hand. The other was checking the spot where she’d gotten stung, and was taking a set of tweezers to the sting to see if there were any bits of the stinger left inside. Once everyone was inside of the ambulance, the doors were closed and locked tight from the inside, before the rig turned on once more and pulled out.

The sirens wailed noisily.

Skylar’s fingers flexed lightly, showing she was still conscious, despite her sockets being closed.

Hamish slid his fingers against hers. The angle was odd, so the most he could do as he leaned over was gently nuzzle his forehead against her horn. He hoped it was reassuring contact. He closed his eyes and listened to the monitor on Skylar’s soul along with the one monitoring their baby. As long as they both kept beeping they would be okay.

She tilted her head towards him slightly, a soft exhale leaving her as she squeezed his hand. She did take comfort in the touch, even if only the base of her horns were sensitive. She could still feel the weight of his skull against hers, and that in itself was reassuring and comforting in many ways. Her thumb rubbed over his knuckles, taking and giving comfort as much as she could.

It was a long ride. The baby's soul monitor remained stable, showing that their little girl wasn't in any distress despite Skylar not doing so well. Skylar's monitor fluctuated, speeding up and slowing down, and skipping once or twice. Her brows would furrow any time it did that. But it stayed beating, and began to stabilize as they reached the hospital.

The antihistamine did its job, and the swelling of her neck was going down. The oxygen mask was helping her breathing, the pure oxygen better for her and the baby than non-straight oxygen was.

Halfway through the drive, Hamish shifted slightly and pulled out his phone. He dialed the number for Vera's house and waited.

It picked up on the second ring. "Hello?" It was Vera herself that answered, voice warm and light. She took a moment to check the number. "Hamish? What's up, sweetheart?"

Hamish let out a breath. "Skylar got stung by a hornet. S-she's uhm...she's okay, but we’re in an ambulance heading to the hospital. We need someone to pick us up.” His hand curled slightly tighter around Skylar's

Skylar's hand tightened just a little bit around his, rubbing his knuckles gently as his fingers made hers creak just faintly.

Vera's voice paused, and took on a serious tone. "It's gonna be okay, sweetheart." She soothed softly, having heard the tremble in his voice. Vera could be a hardass from time to time, but he was going to be her son in law. He was afraid- rightfully so. He probably hadn't had to deal with someone with a deadly allergy before. The sound of jangling came over the receiver, and it was obvious the older woman was on the move. "I'm gettin' m' keys now. I'll meet ya there t' take ya home, alright? Focus on keepin' yourself n' my baby girl calm. 'S been a while since she got stung, but it's not her first rodeo. Just keep calm n' talk t' her- don't panic if she sleeps a lot while the hospital has her under observation. Anaphylaxis 's exhausting. How's th' baby, sweetheart? Soul still beatin' strong?"

Hamish looked up at the monitor and nodded even though Vera couldn't see it. "She's okay, her soul best is normal, it's Skylar’s that's going crazy." He nuzzled his head against Sky's again.

Skylar tilted her head and nuzzled him back, coughing faintly into the oxygen mask.

"It's going t' do that. It did that last time. S' how her body reacts t' fighting both th' bee sting and th' epipen. It'll eventually even out- it's not pleasant though." Vera kept calm, her voice even and steady. "Hamish, ya got my cell phone number, right? Gimme a call on that. M' gonna head out, n' ya on my house phone."

"Okay. Thank you Vera." He whimpered and hung up. The doctor in the back of the ambulance with them gave him a pat on the back then turned back to monitoring Skylar. Hamish waited a short while then dialed Vera’s mobile this time he put her on speaker so Skylar would be able to hear her.

Vera answered almost immediately. She too had put her phone on speaker, since driving while talking on it was technically very illegal. "Alright, 'm back, Hamish. How is- whoa, a'right, you put me on speaker. Tha's a loud siren. How long 'till ya get t' th’ hospital?"

"Hey Ma..." Skylar croaked softly. She rubbed more firmly at Hamish's knuckles when he whimpered, and trembled again. Her eye lights appeared as she peeked her sockets open, flicking over to Hamish's face. For all of her calm, her eyes were very moist. Skylar was terrified, but hiding it well for her fiancé's sake. "S' good t' h-hear ya..."

"You focus on breathing, baby girl. It's good t' hear ya too, sweetheart, but ya should conserve ya air."

Hamish swallowed then looked around. "We've been driving for a while. We should be about 10-15 minutes away."

"And you've probably got a seven t' eight hour stay at th' hospital, 'f not longer because of my granddaughter, to make sure nothing crops up again." Vera murmured. "I can make the drive in nine if I push my truck. You're gonna be a'right, sweetheart. All three o' ya. If th' baby ain't in distress, m' sure it's gonna be smooth sailing- an' I'm here for when ya need t' call while ya waiting, a'right?" Hamish was family- or going to be- and Vera tried to take good care of her family.

Skylar coughed harshly, her hand tightening over his as her lungs seized and spasmed. "Nnn..." Cold sweats broke out again, once more thanks to the epipen she'd taken, and she shivered faintly. Honestly- dying by bee sting or suffering by epipen- there just was no winning.

Hamish pouted at Sky; he just wanted her to be okay again. The guy with them dabbed a cloth against her forehead to get rid of the sweat.

The ambulance turned, getting closer and closer to the hospital.

"Ya cute when ya pout." Skylar rasped lightly. The dabbing of the sweat felt better, and a shaky sigh left her. She rotated her skull slightly so she could see him better, and then closed her eye sockets.

Vera snorted over the other end of the phone line. "Watch her breathing I tell her, and what does she do? Flirts with her cute lil' cowboy instead. If she's feeling good enough to flirt with ya, then she's gonna be alright I think."

This made Hamish’s mouth turn up into a smile, he kissed Skylar’s skull. "We're almost there, so I'm gonna hang up okay? I'll text you where we are as things happen."

Skylar smiled at the kiss, sockets crinkling slightly as she did so. "No fair... Can't kiss ya back..."

"Alright, sweetheart. Keep me updated- I'll let ya know when I'm in town. Text me th' address for th' hospital while ya at it too. I don't know much about ya home town." Vera hummed. "N' be safe, both o' ya."

Hamish chuckled at Skylar, she still looked terrible, but she was looking better. "Okay Vera, we will see you soon." He said then hung up. He spent a short moment texting the address to Vera then his full attention was back on Skylar.

Skylar claimed his hand again once he wasn't texting her mother anymore, and rubbed his knuckles. Her breathing was clearer- still a faint wheeze, but most of that was mucus in her lungs from their reaction to the anaphylaxis. She'd be coughing that up for days. Ugh. Her neck mostly hurt where the sting had been, and knew she probably had some bruising or discoloration there. "How ya holding up?" She asks softly, peeking open her sockets again to peer at him.

He lent over so his face was close to hers and frowned. "I'm okay… just want you to be okay."

She couldn't lift her arms to touch his face, and she couldn't kiss him. So Skylar lifted one side of her lip, wiggling the odd prehensile prong shape she'd gotten from her father at him, hoping he'd see it through the foggy oxygen mask. "I can breathe easier now." Her words were clearer, supporting this. Her chest still rattled faintly, but that was the mucus buildup. "'M gonna be a'right, sugar. They're gonna put me on observation for th' next while t' make sure I don't relapse... Ya did good, helpin' me."

"How long do you think we're going to be in for. Might need to call one of your brothers to feed the animals." He said, playing with her fingers in his hand.

"Six hours, at the least?" She turned her hand for him to play with her fingers. "That's... About what m' other observation times were. Might be seven or eight more likely though, because o' our baby girl... N' it'd be a moot point t' call them. It's a nine hour drive at high speeds, n' Ma already took th' truck... We'll feed th' animals a late dinner when we get home."

Hamish shook his head. "I'll feed them. You're going to rest on the couch. I'll get a fire goin and you're gonna lay down." He huffed, snuggling against her.

She leaned into him as best she could with the straps holding her down. "Okay... Okay, Hamish. I'll lay down when we get home, alright?" The fact that she wasn't fighting being told to go lay down spoke measures as to what she was feeling. She might have been doing better, but she wasn't a hundred percent better. She was exhausted. "Mm... Never got t' finish my cocoa..." She muses with a sudden idle thought.