#disinfection tunnel gate

[fastcardotmp3]

truman show esque "trapped in a reality you think is The reality when it is, in fact, just an experiment in which you are the subject" situation except when Steve gets dragged through the gate at Lover's Lake, when the rest of them follow him into the Upside Down, it's like the place has been adapting since the last time any of their people were here.

The Upside Down made itself into a mirror of Hawkins for a boy who it wanted to keep, but it didn't do so great the first time around. Vines and thick air and cold, it may have memorized the map of the place it was emulating, but it never quite got the details right.

The thing is, it's had time to learn. It was in Will's head, for fuck's sake, took over the bodies of countless Hawkins residents during the Starcourt fiasco of '85, so by the time Spring Break of '86 rolls around, the Upside Down knows.

It's a living thing and it knows better how to be a mirror, how to maybe better keep that boy here next time it gets ahold of him. Only before Will Byers has the chance to stumble his way back through one of the gates being created just for him, just for him and his sister, there are four others who are maybe a good trial run.

It's confusing for them, on the other side of being dragged to the bottom of a lake. It's confusing because it actually looks like Hawkins, smells like it, the water is the same in the lake and the mud feels the same on the shore.

It's less like being dragged to the bottom at all, actually, because the water makes them weightless, makes the transition disorienting rather than a clear crossing between worlds, so when they resurface and it looks the same it's. It's not the Upside Down the way Steve saw it in the tunnels, it's not the Upside Down the way Will or Joyce or Hopper or El described it.

Maybe there are hints and clues out and about-- unnatural chill for the season and tree roots that kick up out of the earth a bit more frequently, a haze to both nighttime and daylight that makes it feel gray and-- artificial almost? But none of that is enough to combat the sense of disorientation, the knowledge in their heads of what the UD actually looks like, and there's this fog in their heads...

There's this fog...

Their people aren't on the shore waiting for them under that starless night sky, but that's actually-- were there people waiting here for them at all?

It was just the four of them, right? It was just--

There are people here, when they decide to, um, "how did you hurt yourself, Steve? We need to-- shit, that needs to be disinfected, like, yesterday."

Robin's worried about rabies but Steve reminds her, "that's an animals thing, I just, like, fell on, uh-- those rocks at the lake? When we were swimming?"

It's too hard to question why they all went swimming in their clothes when it's this cold and dark. The fog is-- it's thick but also untraceable, it's like trying to make a logical decision in the middle of the most absurd of dreams.

It's like darkness encroaching in on your vision when you're involuntarily losing consciousness...

There are people here, when they decide to go find a first aid kit at Nancy's place because it's closest. There are a handful of cars driving around town, Mrs. Brady putting out her trash down the street when they sneak past.

Mrs. Brady, she was-- she is-- she-- but last summer during the-- the issue with-- there was a whole thing and she di--

Nancy's parents are out.

Steve's bites scrapes are oozing and painful and Nancy slaps at Eddie's hand when he tries to snoop at her diary.

The sun rises. The sun only just set. There are people here but they're-- were there people waiting for them on the shore?

There was something, some reason, why they were at the lake and that's important. That has to be important, somewhere beyond the fog.

When they fall asleep in the light of a too-quick morning, like the sun turned on rather than rose, it's not weird that there's no one else in the Wheeler house.

"Stop looking at me, I can feel you," Robin mutters as she dozes off to sleep on the bed beside Nancy, the boys on a spare mattress on the floor.

Everyone else is already asleep.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

It’s so hard to pick from your WIP list!!! Can I hear more about nightmares, diamonds, and bdhb-fairground date? (And bdhb-smut if you wanna 😂)

It seems greedy to ask about FOUR options for the WIP game (that is more than a third of the options on offer!) but seeing as @probadbatch also asked about the Beach Days and Hair Braiding series, I shall indulge you :P

Nightmares is your own request anyway, so you know the premise! It's based off a throwaway line in "Forget I asked", and will eventually result in Hunter being there when Crosshair wakes from his nightmares, even if their own relationship is still rocky at the time. But you can't have Crosshair being comforted by Hunter without contrasting it with the time he has spent alone...

Crosshair woke with a flinch, arms instinctively coming up to shield his head. Protect his eyes. His enhancement made him useful, an asset. It was the only thing keeping him from decommissioning. No. Wait. This wasn't Kamino. Panting to full wakefulness as tremors of adrenaline shot through his limbs, Crosshair peeled himself up from the hard cot and steadied himself with a palm on the wall. The sleek rasp of durasteel scraped under his clawed fingers. Breathing through his mouth, he tasted the chemical tang of disinfectant in the recycled air. If he listened, he could hear the erratic night-cycle breathing of other prisoners in cells out of view of his own. Blinking away the last vestiges of the nightmare, his vision cleared enough to focus on the barred gate that sealed him in. He let his gaze track over the scuffs and pits he knew by heart, those small details intimately familiar to him. He’d had nothing to do all this time except stare at the wall, trying to stay sane even as despair eroded his will to do so.

TechPhee Diamonds is inspired by a conversation/challenge to find a way to feature my own Specialist Subject in a fanfic somehow! So what better way than to have Tech and Phee debating the merits of natural vs synthetic diamonds?

Of course Tech is arguing that chemically, physically, optically, a synthetic diamond is identical to its naturally occurring counterpart. Phee just doesn't see the romance in it - not compared to a natural treasure of the earth, grown millions of years ago under the ground, then brought to the surface in a volcanic eruption and weathered from it's host rock for some lucky person to find.

In the end, she promises that if he gets her a big enough diamond, she won't even ask where it came from :P

Beach Days series below the cut! (Cloneshipping here, don't like? Don't click!)

I mean firstly credit also goes to my co-creator @ninjadeathblade because you wouldn't have had this series at all without them!

I was asked about the BDHB series last time this game went round so you can find a bit more info Here :)

As for my current WIPs? We're half way through Fairground Date; the rest of the planned chapters are 5: Drop Tower, 6: Splashdown/Sideshow Games, 7: Tunnel of Love and 8: Fireworks. Sneak peek for upcoming chapter 'Drop Tower' below :P

“Remind you of waiting to drop into a combat zone?” the other clone asked, his voice a low rumble, Hunter could only pick his words out thanks to his enhanced senses – this was clearly a comment Crosshair was making for his ears alone, not as general conversation. He shivered as Cross’ long fingers skimmed across the skin of his palm, sensitive despite years of callouses. Despite how small the point of contact was, it set up a delicious feeling throughout his entire body. “That’s how I felt… waiting to come and see you today,” the sniper continued, lips barely moving. He was facing straight ahead, but the gentle action of his hand tracing Hunter’s told him he had his full attention. “How I’ve felt every time I thought about you since… that night.”

Interlude (505) and Laundry Day are officially in development as the next 2 stories after Fairground Date. It's probably going to be a while before any of the disparate snippets in the WIP doc currently titled 'BDHB smut' reach the story but I certainly don't plan for it to stay as cute hand-holding forever...

"Fuck." Hunter bit out the oath, tears welling and beading on his lashes as he scrunched his eyes closed. "Cross, it's too intense..." Crosshair stilled their bodies, waiting for a moment as Hunter gasped. "Do you want to stop?" "No," he whispered brokenly, pressing his forehead to Crosshair's. Fighting the urge to move, Crosshair stayed where he was, long fingers pressing divots into Hunter's hips but waiting for the signal to continue. After a moment Hunter hiccoughed something that sounded on the edge of a sob, and Crosshair drew his head back in soft horror. "You're crying," he rasped, voice curling with guilt. "Hunter, we don't have to do this-" "I want to." Hunter cut him off, a laugh shuddering through him as he lifted his arm from Cross' shoulder, swiping his forearm across his face to dry his tears. "I want you." There was a note of self-frustration as he shook his head. "It's just..." He trailed off, lifting his face to fix Crosshair with a gaze that glowed with devotion. "It's you. It's really you." After a moment Crosshair moved his hands on Hunter's sides, a soothing stroke. "You're okay. I've got you."

Listen smut is just a vehicle for two characters to have a really strong connection to each other, by the time they reach this point the boys have been through a lot together to get this far. I have been staring at this for far too long agonising over what to share from this wip; there's definitely *sexier* stuff than this but their eventual, emotional, long-awaited first-time seemed like the best option :)

[pretentious-art-love]

Steven Wilson Fan Fiction One Shot!

I once suggested to my friend that having Steven Wilson as an enemy would be more fun than having him as an ally or friend and that I could make a fan fiction about it, he then said "do it and I'll share it with my Porcupine Tree friends" he never shared but here it is! Feedback is welcome!

I finally arrive at the studio. The front gate is locked, the back gate is locked, but I see a vent and I go for it. I remove the lid with enough force and I enter through it. Dozens of labyrinthine pathways and suffocating tunnels afterwards, I manage to make it inside.

The night is dark, only the light of the moon creeping through the windows helping me see, the air is cold and it smells of disinfectant. I find my way to the stairs and I start walking up, I don’t trust the elevator in these circumstances. Finally, I get to the 96th floor. I open Steven’s office, I look for the desk and try to force the locks of the drawers, after 20 long minutes, I manage to open one of them, I look for the CD and thankfully, I find it. I read the label “Unreleased Collab Album – Work Print #7.”

“Sweet, this is the one! The fan club is going to be so happy when I tell them about this!”

With the treasure in my hands, I put it inside my bag and I leave the room as silently as possible. The album in question had been rumored to be a myth for practically two decades. The story says that one time, both Hawkwind and Ozric Tentacles met and decided to collaborate in a monstrous jam session together. The result had been way too powerful. A gigantic mix of space rock, psybient, jazz-rock and psychedelic rock so massive, so incredibly shocking and mind-blowing, that once released, it could change the world as we knew it. One version of the story said that if it was played by enough people around enough, it would threaten to move the tectonic plates even further to the point of destruction, another version said that it would push all the continents back together to form Pangea back together, needless to say, my mission was to secure the disk before Steven could release it to the world.

The stairs ended abruptly on the 68th floor, but I knew there was still much farther to go. I would have to cross the building’s vast, industrial belly to find another set of stairs leading further down. With no other choice, I pressed on, the grate beneath my feet clanging with every step. I ate my last oreo and continued walking. The 68th floor was filled with industrial machinery endlessly working and the whole room was filled with steam, my shoes made noise on the grated floor and if it wasn’t for the gigantic glass wall that showed the lights of the midnight of the never resting city, the whole place in that floor felt more like a monstrous factory of some kind than an actual studio, I wondered what the hell all that equipment was even for.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave with what you are carrying right now.” A voice so quiet and cold reached my ears, making me shriek in shock, I turned around.

“S-Steven!” I saw his face, but his eyes were covered by the darkness of his glasses. He stood at the top on a metal platform clung to the side of the towering structure, barely wide enough for two people. His figure outlined by the sickly light filtering through the high ceiling, casting his face in shadow. Every word he spoke echoed off the hollow walls, reverberating in the silence like a command. I must have been going insane because I could no longer her the noise of the machines around me.

"I will ask once nicely, give me back that album,” his right hand was being supported on the railing while his other hand was on his hip, it was as if he was enjoying the moment, not even bothering to look at me.

“Never!”

“You know what it has to be done.” I could see the freezing air coming out of his mouth, how was he even able to bear that freezing chill? He was dressed with a single t-shirt and some jeans; it was almost as if he were… more than human.

“I will never let you mix that album Steven, your mixes… your mixes are terrible!”

“Oh please, you know that you love them, the clean, sharp sound of the music, it will soothe your being and silence your doubts.”

“This is madness, Steven, it had been enough when you started changing your music!”

“Oh, and didn’t you love my music?”

“I did not! It was all… all… bad! You keep overproducing things!”

“Oh yeah? Well, I do remember something different… back when I released The Raven that Refused to Sing…”

A memory I had blocked in my mind flashed through my eyes. The Raven that Refused to Sing… that album… so beautiful… so haunting and devastating. The Raven had pushed me into a spell, songs about supernatural beings drenched in a maddening sense of melancholy, every time I played, it felt as if I was brought back to life into an ethereal mantle that wrapped around me, soothing the raw edges of my broken heart, when the only thing I had to my possession was the loneliness of the night.

I remember that I had been so dominated by its spell that I had been left to Steven’s mercy and his commands. That time, we spent a whole night together…

“That was just one time!” I shook my head trying to get the memory out of my mind. “You know I don’t agree with this!”

“Oh? And what exactly is… this?”

“Your…. Your way to make music Steven! You keep trying to tame the monster, the monster of prog cannot be tamed! You are doing irreparable changes to the ecosystem! You have to stop!”

“Oh no, I don’t think I will.”

“This conversation is over. Deadwing sucks ass by the way.”

I turned around and directed myself towards the door, unable to bear the cold anymore.

“Bad choice.” I heard him say, a metallic noise I couldn’t decipher filled the whole room, as if some heavy machine had been dropped, I turned around to look back where he had been a few seconds ago, but he was gone.

“Did you know?” I heard a chilling voice behind me, whispering into my ears. “Xbox is still a God to me.” Before I could turn back and face him, everything turned into darkness.

[furiousstarfishphilosopher]

Road Sanitation Spray Tunnel & Gate UAE

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[sanitsafety-blog]

Disinfectant Tunnel/Gate.

Sanit Safety is your sanitization partner in Kolkata, West Bengal. We are a team of professionals, expert in disinfection and sanitization work. We will surely break this chain of the current pandemic by providing complete sanitization work for home, corporate office, factories, beauty salons, schools etc. and also arrange for your personal equipment like the sanitizer spray, sanitizer machine, Disinfectant tunnel or gate.

[facility-management-services]

In search of Disinfection Gates & Tunnels Services in UAE? Etisalat Facilities Management is one of the leading facility management service providing companies in UAE that offers Disinfection Gates & Tunnel services. Book your Tunnel today.

[summerwang]

If you purchase an intelligent disinfection temperature measuring door, you can use it directly. So as to save labor and time. Human disinfection gate is suitable for schools, hotels, stations, shopping malls and other crowded places.

At the same time, YG has low price automatic disinfection channel for sale.

[tektron]

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[qsphyxias]

sticker

if you fetishize mlm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; light fluff, light angst with bruce wayne

warnings ; male!reader, beating up, blood, bruising, some humour, i need to work on my writing a bit—i don't put enough detail rip

note ; i feel like it was a bit out of character seeing as how i didn't expand on how bruce would feel like it's too dangerous for s/o and bruce to be together, but then again it's fan fiction ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

words ; 1.5k+

⊱ ────── {⋅.on the street - good morning.⋅} ────── ⊰

You chuckled underneath your perspiring breath, your elbows using the railing as leverage as you gave yourself some well-needed rest after the fight.

It was maybe around midnight, you were exhausted and bruce was stiff, standing next to you. As usual, he had that strange look on his face that almost resembled one of someone who had left the stove on and just realized—yet he was just standing there.

"Gotham city, saved again." You spoke with withering sarcasm, eyes darting over to Bruce's bruised knuckles with a small wince. "Y- you need help with that?" you got off the railing and offered a hand, reaching into one of the many pockets in your utility vest for some gauze and disinfectant.

He waved you off, stepping away from you with his heavy shoes against the green tinted and wet floor. "We can do this back at the cave, we should get out of here."

You felt guilty; not for being swatted away by the man whom you've pined over for months, but for feeling mad at him for it. "Y- yeah, you're right." You dropped your arm and put away the supplies, stuffing your sore hands into your pockets.

Curiously, yet cautiously, you glanced at him, trying to read his expression underneath his cowl—he either didn't notice you, or was aware but indifferent to your gaze. However, it did get uncomfortable.

"You go on ahead, I need to..." He paused. "I need to be alone... for a bit."

You frowned, realizing something he may have realized years ago; he's been alone by choice for a while, hasn't he? Despite the slight feeling in your heart that you may never be as close to him as you wish to be, you respected his wishes nonetheless, and left the station to head back.

On your way back, your frown seemed to worse as you wondered if Bruce's responses had been getting more robotic in nature. 'Maybe I've disappointed him somehow?' That idea alone had caused you to stumble and nearly fall to your death from a cliff above Gotham's skyline. With a pause and a shake of your head, you snapped out of it and focused your mind on getting back to the manor; hoping Bruce had already gotten back to the manor safely. He did look upset.

A couple lengthy swings and a small jog into a maze-like tunnel later, you finally made it to the bat cave. Although slightly out of breath from the way there, you seemed to light right back up the moment you saw Bruce standing there with his cowl off, messy matted hair standing up in every direction possible. It made him look beautiful.

Perhaps you were the odd duck for thinking his afterglow of beating a group of men up was beautiful, but— oh, never mind he's taking his armour off, and suddenly you feel very justified.

You had to bite back a giddy smile as the man before you turned around, revealing his painted face, which always seemed to have an expression of disgruntlement. As if 24/7, he was just constantly constipated. Even so, you've grown to like his face; despite seeing it covered by a cowl half the time.

"What took you so long?" Was the first thing he said to your face that seemed to drop a little. "Ah... You know, traffic, birds in the sky and whatnot." You gave a lopsided smile, hand raising up to scratch the bridge of your nose; something you always did when you lied. A habit you didn't know Bruce had taken note of during the period of time of knowing you.

Rationality seemed to knock on the gates of your brain too late, as you let yourself lie for no big reason, you just didn't want Bruce to know he was the reason you took longer than usual.

His eyebrow twitched but nothing was heard except for a small noise of doubtful acknowledgement and the turn of his head back to the screen in front of him. "Come here," he beckoned you over, moving to the side as you approached the table with gadgets and notes scattered everywhere. Eyes narrowing on the red tinted focalized image of a tattoo on one of the men you both had fought.

"Does this logo look familiar to you?" he pointed at the dark ink of the goon's arm. You hummed, uncertainly, trying to think of where you recognized that logo from. "Yeah, but I can't pinpoint where I know it from... You think it's something to be worried about?" You faced the bat in thought, to which he met your stare with his dimmed ones. "No... at least not yet."

He paused, seemingly lost in thought before he broke out of it the moment he saw your footsore, yet smiling face. "He looks tired." A thought followed by a twinge of guilt shot through him like a dart as he realized he may be keeping you from your bed.

With a quick stretch and a sigh, he broke the short silence with his voice as soft as sidewalk chalk. "You should get some rest... S/o."

You nodded, turning to leave before unknowingly letting your eyes fall to his hands; a bruised one being cradled by the other. "Oh right," your eyes lit up in realization as you fished through your pocket for the small med kit, walking into Bruce's personal bubble to reach for his bloody hand with one hand and med kit in the other.

Bruce suppressed the pain of his hand moving into yours with a sharp inhale, "I can do it mysel-" You interrupted him, "I know you can do it yourself, Bruce. You've done so much by yourself, just let me bandage up your hand? Please?" You pleaded, awaiting his answer despite already having your mind fixed on his hand anyway.

With his lips pursed, and a small nod, he let you sit him down and fix his hand up for him. "It's not much to fret over, S/o. Plus... You should've seen the other guy." You failed to stifle a laugh, "I did. His face was more broken than my humour." You stole a glance of his face to see if he had given you even the mercy of a smile to your joke, flushing when you were met with a little lop-sided grin.

"Hey, about earlier when we were in that alleyway, um, what was that about?" You had a rough idea of what he may be brooding about, but you wanted to hear it from him. His eyes flickered up at you, before settling back onto the gauze used to wrap his hand.

He bit his lip, unsure if it was really worth expanding on. "It was just about what you said... 'Gotham saved again'; I wonder if things will change for the better, or if… I even want it to change." Not knowing why, Bruce seemed hesitant to look at you.

You had to muffle your surprise at Bruce sharing his feelings with you, subsequently giving him a little pat on his hand for assurance. With the raise of your eyebrows and the tilt of your head, you settled for encouragement; but even so, at that moment you really did mean it. "Gotham will change. I'm sure of it; because it has you to protect it."

In a timely manner, Bruce's hand was all cleaned and wrapped up, tied with a little bow and a small buzz light year sticker, a little speech bubble above his head saying, 'You're my entire galaxy!'

"What's this for?" He looked up at you, unable to take even the sweetest of hints. "Well, I was going to settle for a kiss, but I felt like that would've been too much." You said in a half-joking tone, giving yourself an exit route in case he takes it the wrong way.

For a second there was an unreadable look on his face, eyes following your every move, studying your expression and body language before he rose from his seat. The colour seemed to drain out of yours as he wordlessly took his hand out of yours, lips sealed— you had no idea what he could possibly be thinking, but even before the ever-present that was a rare occurrence.

Taking his actions the wrong way, you backed out of his space, ready to leave and shoot yourself to mars, only to be pulled back forward by your chin. With his thumb grazing your cheekbone, and his gentle eyes grazing your features, you only seemed to get more terrified of him; this was frightfully out of character yet not a single bone in your body was protesting.

There was a second of hesitation, a second where he realized he wouldn't really know what would happen after he kissed you. The truth was, there was an entire future of uncertainty and danger ahead of you both… but even so— "Bruce-" He couldn't help himself.

"Mmph!" Wide-eyed at the sudden sensation on your lips, you struggled to find the composure within you as your hands awkwardly hovered around him, shakily settling on the nape of his neck.

He pulled away after a while; funny how he was more out of breath when it comes to a kiss from you rather than an actual fight with 28 grown men. "Well, now we have the best of both worlds."

⊱───── ❝ thank you for reading! ❞ ─────⊰

[wwalkingdread]

Heya sweetie! welcome to the TWDG fandom <3 I'm glad that more people join and that you want to write about the characters, you will surely do a great job ^^

Btw, I hope you don't mind that I'm one of the first to make a request (of many more, I hope) >:3

How about some headcanons of the guys from season 4 (James, Louis, Marlon, Aasim, Mitch) reacting to seeing their darling (fem reader) risking her life to save someone from a horde of walkers, and getting badly hurt for it (not dead, ofc, I don't want to see my babies suffer ... for now TT) Plus if the person she saved tries to attack her

❥ Ericson Boys’ S/O Running Into a Horde

Characters: Marlon, Louis, Mitch, Aasim

Description: Reader finds out the hard way that saving somebody isn’t always worth it.

Warnings: Violence, death, swearing

Notes: I don’t write for James unfortunately </3 I’m not too confident about writing for him, sorry about that!!

I’m not sure how they got badly injured, so I just didn’t explain how. They just did, shit happens. These kids grew up in the apocalypse, they’ve got cereal bars for bones and they are crumbling.

I hope this is alright!! Sorry if they’re ooc </3

Marlon

♥︎ Marlon was stern. He told you no, he couldn’t risk losing you. You’d get torn apart out there.

♥︎ But you couldn’t let somebody else get torn apart instead. You disobeyed his orders and sprinted out there, weapon in hand, ignoring the way he tried to grab you.

♥︎ You were selfless, something we wished he could’ve been. Usually, he’d sit there, basking in adoration and jealousy, but he was horrified, and Marlon’s fear manifests into anger.

♥︎ When he saw you run out of the gates, he yelled after you, saying you had a death wish.

♥︎ He wanted to stew in his anger, but he didn’t. He just clenched his jaw, looking around at the rest of Ericson with a thick scowl.

♥︎ “Why are you all just standing there!? Go after them, dammit!”

♥︎ Marlon shot at dead-heads from a distance, nailing every shot. Every skull the arrow pierced through, his anger went down a tick.

♥︎ But Marlon was getting tunnel-vision, narrowly close to missing the way a walker had your forearm in its hands, fighting against you to take a chunk out of your flesh.

♥︎ You didn’t get out there unscathed. Despite Marlon managing to shoot away any stray walker you missed, you were still bruised and cut up. He scoffed at his own carelessness for not realising sooner. He should’ve either stopped you altogether or done more to help.

♥︎ He looked at who you brought back. A woman in her mid-thirties. He snarled, looking her up and down. He couldn’t help but hold resentment toward adults for abandoning them six years ago. He nodded toward a select few people, who told her they’d take her away to check for injuries.

♥︎ He kept Ruby close by. You were getting the attention first, not some grown-up.

♥︎ You had a deep gash in your forearm that needed stitches. After a close inspection, you had even more slices that would need cleaning up and disinfected. You lost a lot of blood, but Ruby reassured Marlon that it was nowhere near enough for it to be fatal, but you might be feeling a little light-headed. You’d need some rest.

♥︎ Marlon sat in his office chair, head in his hands, his anger left to fester. His eyes were dry, staring into his own mind, imagining everything wrong that could’ve happened, everything that still could.

♥︎ He was going to pay her a small visit, the paranoia not leaving his veins. He needed some sort of idea of just who you brought back if it would’ve somehow been worth it if you gave it up for if it’s what you would’ve wanted. He went to go to see.

♥︎ You had the same idea. Lightheaded and weak, you still wanted to introduce yourself, welcome her on behalf of Marlon. You knew he wasn’t exactly… In the right mental spot right now to greet anybody. Not politely, anyway.

♥︎ You didn’t expect to see her rummage around drawers, angrily cursing and slamming things shut.

♥︎ When she noticed you, her face burned red,

♥︎ “Bringing me to a fucking school, bringing me to a shit-hole ran by children. Fucking children. Do you expect me to live like this? Doing jigsaw puzzles and colouring in the lines!?”

♥︎ You couldn’t process her rage or where it could’ve come from because she lunged at you, her long, skinny fingers going toward your throat. You were at a disadvantage. This woman towered over you and she was healthy, not getting injured as you took every hit for her.

♥︎ Eventually, your arms started to give in, her hands clamping around your neck.

♥︎ Maybe you should’ve listened to Marlon.

♥︎ The woman’s fighting form suddenly faltered, slumping against you, you pushed against her in surprise and she fell to the floor, an arrow to her temple. She convulsed slightly, to which you just watched, staring wide-eyed, before she was completely still; unmoving.

♥︎ “Holy shit, Marlon…”

♥︎ He walked right up to you, clutching the back of your head and nearing it to his chest. You could hear his heart thump against his rib cage.

♥︎ “I could’ve lost you.”

♥︎ He wanted to be angry, but the way he held you in his arms didn’t let him.

♥︎ “I… I’m so sorry, I…” You clutched at your neck, it felt like you could feel her fingers still there, “I just wanted to help.”

♥︎ “I wish it was that easy.” His eyes glazed over, thinking about what he walked in on, the images flashing in his mind, “Fuck. Nothing is that simple anymore.”

♥︎ After the cleanup, after the consolation and the frequent checkups from everybody, Marlon insisted you slept in the office with him, worried you’d somehow not be there in tomorrow. He was a wreck.

♥︎ Although, so were you. You admittedly didn’t want to be alone either.

♥︎ He slept with you in his arms, not letting go.

♥︎ He didn’t want you to run off on your own again.

Louis

♥︎ Aasim called from the front that there was a horde in the usual hunting spot. Previously, they were getting really lucky there, but it seemed their luck had run out.

♥︎ “There goes hunting for today…” Louis said, trying to force the saddest voice he could muster, but Aasim just glared at his lack of care.

♥︎ That was when they watched a walker drop dead, with a yell to accompany it. Somebody was in there, right in the middle and they were being completely swarmed.

♥︎ “Holy shit, we need to help him.” You clutched onto your bow and pulled your usual kitchen knife from its rightful place, getting ready to charge in there.

♥︎ “Are you crazy? Sorry to say, but your friend over there is as good as dead.”

♥︎ You scolded Louis for his pessimism, and he just raised his arms in defence. As much as he rejected this idea, he always trusted you. You were a lot more capable than he was, stronger and braver. If you thought it was the right thing to do then he was inclined to think the same.

♥︎ Aasim tried to stop you from rushing toward the horde, berating Louis for the fact he did nothing to stop you. Aasim told Louis to get ready as he readied his bow.

♥︎ Louis hesitantly followed along behind you, but he and Chairles were hardly needed. You single-handedly cleared an opening, pulling an older man out with you. He was exhausted, tired from the constant swinging of the hammer. You all rushed out of there, bringing the survivor home.

♥︎ The adrenaline made you not even notice your leg, your calf was completely torn open. You could see the muscle twitch from the inside, and Ruby rushed to you, Louis helping carry you to a suitable place for stitches.

♥︎ Aasim’s words ran through his head. You were fine, you would be fine, but he should‘ve done more to stop you. There was going to be at least one time where your selflessness will get you killed, and Louis knew he would have a hand in it.

♥︎ You could hardly walk, your calf being stitched up and your foot having a nasty slice right down the middle. You only had one good foot.

♥︎ “That man you brought back… He don’t seem right…” Ruby said while disinfecting your wounds, and you had to agree.

♥︎ Louis didn’t want to say it, a little nervous to go against your idea to bring somebody back, but he did.

♥︎ “He was talking to himself the whole time. I couldn’t make a word out, but he’s nuts.” He looked at you, feeling guilty in case you felt that your efforts were wasted, “But let’s just hope after a meal he’ll be back to normal. Otherwise, we might have a problem…”

♥︎ Louis helped you to your dorm, gently laying you down. He kissed you on the nose, laughing as he pulled away.

♥︎ “We might have an update on ‘Ol Crazy by the time dinner rolls around.” He said, the back of his hand stroking the withered space beneath your eye, you suddenly realised just how tired you actually were.

♥︎ Your eyes were already closing as he made his way out the room, telling you he’d get you up for dinner.

♥︎ Louis, unfortunately, didn’t get to update you. You woke up to see the old man standing by your doorway, mumbling to himself.

♥︎ Maybe bringing him back was a bad idea…

♥︎ Nervous and feeling vulnerable, you forced yourself out of bed, losing balance when applying pressure to your injured leg, hissing through your clenched jaw.

♥︎ “Can… I help you…?” You were very nervous, reaching for your weapon, completely forgetting it wasn’t on your person right now.

♥︎ The bearded man rushed toward you, hammer raised above his head, quickly losing balance, you fell against the chest of drawers you have next to your bed.

♥︎ You let your sliced foot flop forward, to which the older man tripped on. Feeling his muddy boots press into your open wound made you yell out in pain, but the adrenaline didn’t allow you to lose concentration. You grab the man as he fell forward, your fingers tangling amongst his hair and slamming him into the corner of the dresser, the sharp edge going straight into his eye socket.

♥︎ Louis only got there when you held the hammer above his bloodied body, already have taken a strike to his face, but you both froze when you locked eye with one another.

♥︎ He was already on his way up to bring you something to eat when he had heard the commotion.

♥︎ “Louis!” You exclaimed, limping as you turned your body to face him, “Are you alright?”

♥︎ “Wh-!? Me!?” He blinked, taking the scenery in. Even after fighting for your life, you still worried about everybody but yourself.

♥︎ He rushed over to you, wanting to envelop you in a hug, but he didn’t feel safe doing that with a man still flailing around on the ground. He held onto your sleeve tightly.

♥︎ “He cannot stay here.” He said the obvious, waiting for your reaction. You simply nodded, silently wrapping your arm around his shoulder so he could assist you in telling the others.

♥︎ You threw the bearded man out the gates, everybody brandishing their weapons. He babbled incoherent curses and threats, clutching his caved-in nose. Nobody said anything and waited for him to walk away, which he eventually did.

♥︎ He eyed you, looking at your angered expression, his palm found itself entrapped in his hair as he exhaled a sigh, “I wish I could’ve got there sooner…” He confessed, “Anything could’ve happened… Fuck.”

♥︎ “You wouldn’t say I handled myself pretty well?”

♥︎ “Oh, you were fucking great!” He exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. Louis picked you up and bridal-carried you back to your room, saying you deserved a break and he’s been trying to gain enough strength just to do that at least once, and now was time to put that work to good use.

♥︎ He could always trust you to be the strong one, the tough person in the relationship, but right now he wanted to give you a break. He wanted to care about you as much as you thought about taking care of others.

♥︎ And he did.

Mitch

♥︎ “Eh, fuck ‘em.”

♥︎ It was simple and a careless answer. Mitch didn’t care about some random guy that Willy had spotted from the watchtower. Mitch even started making bets, mocking the poor man fighting with a crowbar.

♥︎ “I bet in only a minute he’ll go down.”

♥︎ Willy snorted, flashing crooked teeth Mitch’s way, “I’ll bet less than that!”

♥︎ You couldn’t stand to hear it. Sliding down the ladder, you rushed out. Mitch didn’t even hear you leave, but he could see you running straight toward the horde from his position. His eyes widened, yelling at you to stop, that you were an idiot.

♥︎ He told Willy to stay where he was and called for the others.

♥︎ Mitch and the others didn’t even get a chance to get near the horde before they saw you pulling the man away, his eyes were wide and fearful, not being able to process the situation he was just in.

♥︎ He was mostly silent. Some wanted to know how he found this place, some insisted to give him space. At the end of the day, they gave the man a dorm to sleep in until he mentally recovered.

♥︎ You, on the other hand, haven’t recovered. You somehow injured your chest, Ruby speculated you could’ve broken a rib, but she wasn’t sure.

♥︎ Even though you doubted it, Mitch disagreed. You had gotten yourself seriously hurt, all for some guy you didn’t even know.

♥︎ “If you keep caring about everybody out there, you’ll die trying to save them all!” He yelled at you.

♥︎ It hurt when you sat down, it hurt when you lay down. Getting rest almost seemed impossible, plus your boyfriend was screaming at you. Not very fun.

♥︎ You half-heartedly apologised, but Mitch could see right through it. He sighed, looked down at your bandaged body with pity. He opened his mouth to speak, but he just left instead. He wanted to be alone.

♥︎ The thought of something happening to you and you not caring drove him crazy.

♥︎ You woke up early, pain shooting through your body.

♥︎ You felt useless laying in bed. You hated people bringing you things instead of you being able to get it.

♥︎ You decided to check up on your new friend. It was early, surely they wouldn’t be awake, but you were… Curious.

♥︎ It hurt to sit up and it hurt to stand, but you were determined. You weren’t going to let an injury stop you. It never did before and it wasn’t going to now. You were just going to crack the door a smidge, take a peek and then leave.

♥︎ Admittedly, you just wanted an excuse to walk around.

♥︎ When you got to the door you did just that, but you didn’t see a presence in the bed. Surprised, you pushed the door open beer further.

♥︎ “Hey, buddy… Are you in here?”

♥︎ You remembered how shaken up he was before, maybe he was hiding.

♥︎ But your eyes adjusted to the dark as you saw him in the corner, facing you.

♥︎ The man you saved had paled significantly, his eyes had turned a vacant, milky white, his lower jaw hanging open.

♥︎ “Oh no…” You whispered, the jolt of fear you were feeling sending a burning to your chest. You hissed and wrapped your arms around yourself in pain, the man coming right for you.

♥︎ You fell out the door and against the hallway walls as he reached out toward you, a deep and guttural groan emitting from his chest, completely inhuman.

♥︎ You grabbed the man by the head, trying desperately to push him away. You called for somebody, anybody, but the first name that came to you was Mitch.

♥︎ You cried in desperation as you saw him emerge from his dorm room, pulling out one of his wooden knives, he hastily ran over to you, shoving the walker to the ground, stabbing him in the head multiple times.

♥︎ “What…?” He breathed out, catching his breath, “What the fuck happened?”

♥︎ You shook your head, clutching your ribs, “I don’t know I… I guess he was bitten, I…”

♥︎ You whined in agony and Mitch completely forgot about the man-turned-walker that lay spouting blood on the floor. He softly embraced you, careful to not touch your chest.

♥︎ “That was so fucked…” He said, not knowing what to even do. He did his best to help you to your feet, you breathily crying out in pain.

♥︎ “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” You whined, sobbing. Mitch shushed you, telling you it’s over.

♥︎ Mitch told everybody about what had happened and they all took pity on you. You just wanted to help and almost got yourself killed and had to fight off a walker with a painful injury.

♥︎ Mitch refused to leave your side for days. He knew you were getting bored of the same scenery so he was constantly bringing you things to change the room, even if it was just a cool rock.

♥︎ When you finally fell asleep, despite the pain, he’d brush the hair out of your face, watching the way your chest would rise and fall. He liked it when you were peaceful and calm, it was so different from the fear you were feeling prior.

♥︎ Mitch had started falling asleep on the floor with his head on your mattress. He didn’t want to leave you alone for a second.

Aasim

♥︎ “Well take a look at all that.” Louis’s hand rested at his hips, whistling at the horde, to which Aasim promptly shushed him.

♥︎ “Shit.” Aasim, crouched down, not wanting to be seen by the horde.

♥︎ Huddled alongside him, you waited to see where they were going, but it seemed the small horde had a target. You managed to catch a glimpse of objective, a woman trying her best to separate herself.

♥︎ “There’s a fucking person in there!” You whisper-yelled, your hand tightening around your weapon. Aasim perked up, trying to crane his neck so he could see what you could, but he heard the desperate grunt and pleads of a person.

♥︎ He could see you begin to stand out of his peripherals and he reached his arm out in front of you, signalling you to wait, which you did.

♥︎ Aasim eyed you, wanting to help, but his brain told him it wasn’t worth it.

♥︎ Noticing his hesitation, you scoffed at him, saying you’ll do it yourself, before rushing behind the walker and taking a knife to their skulls.

♥︎ Aasim wasn’t able to stop you, so he readied his hunting bow and did his best to shoot at any walker that was way too close to you for his liking. You were eventually engulfed by the wall of corpses, which made him call out for you. He’d completely lost sight of you, that was until you returned with a woman, one you were clutching to more than she was you.

♥︎ “There was too many, I couldn’t have done anything…” She panted, eyeing the remaining few nervously.

♥︎ He sent the woman a quick look of sympathy but didn’t say a word. You staggered down onto your knees, moaning in pain. Aasim was quick to assist you, holding you close as you all swiftly made your escape, not caring about the left-over walkers.

♥︎ He wanted to berate you for being so careless, but your pained breathing made him hold it in. It could wait.

♥︎ Both of your legs were bruised. You could hardly walk, your knees buckling from under you after only a few seconds.

♥︎ There was nothing that could be done, you’d have to rest for a while. He assisted you into bed, hearing your whimpers every time his arms got tired and you put slightly more weight on your legs.

♥︎ Eventually you made it to your dorm.

♥︎ Aasim sighed, sitting at the end of your bed, his hand on your leg with his thumb gently rubbing itself against your shin.

♥︎ “You have to be more careful.” He sighed, “You can’t risk it all just like that… Fucking running in there, you could’ve…”

♥︎ His breathing was rickety, anxiety overwhelming him. For a brief second, he thought you wouldn’t emerge from the horde. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

♥︎ He pressed a kiss to your hand and told you to get some rest, his touch lingering on your skin before he felt comfortable letting go.

♥︎ He slipped out of his dorm during the night, not able to sleep. He was going to walk in the courtyard, look into the sky. You two typically did it together, but he didn’t have the luxury as of right now.

♥︎ He didn’t expect to see the woman already out in the hallway, creeping her way to another room. Aasim grabbed his hunting bow, the one he didn’t put away, and followed closely behind.

♥︎ His heart stopped when he saw her go into your room.

♥︎ She was quick to your bed, standing over you with a gun in her hand.

♥︎ “I’m sorry…” Her finger inched its way toward the trigger, a small wavering in her action, “It’s complicated.”

♥︎ He didn’t give her a chance, adrenaline pumping through his veins, he drew his bow and shot her straight in the neck.

♥︎ She gurgled out, clutching the arrow’s shaft, aiming her gun at Aasim.

♥︎ She thankfully missed, her body declining against the wall, she shot into the wall behind Aasim instead, which woke you up immediately.

♥︎ She woman tried shooting again, more stable sitting on the ground compared to on her feet, but her barrel was seemingly empty as the gun only clicked instead of firing.

♥︎ It was harder to kill a person, somebody with the light still in their eyes. Aasim knew he had to go for the head, and you exclaimed in shock when the arrow zipped across the room and into the front of her skull.

♥︎ “Wha…? What the fuck…!?” Part of you thought you might’ve been dreaming, but the shock of it all made you feel more awake than ever.

♥︎ “I don’t know…” As furious he was in the moment, something pecked at the back of his brain, maybe it was a misunderstanding.

♥︎ But he quickly shook it off. He had no idea what she was planning and now he never would, but he didn’t care. He was glad to see you without a bullet hole in you.

♥︎ Aasim quickly explained what happened and you felt yourself cry out. The woman you tried to save, the woman you almost died for, tried to shoot you while you slept.

♥︎ “It isn’t fair…” You sobbed, Aasim gently scooping you up into his chest.

♥︎ “I know… I know it isn’t.” He felt himself give in too, burying his head into your hair. You were warm, alive.

♥︎ He held you close, afraid to let you go.

♥︎ He didn’t help the others dispose of her body, not when it could’ve been yours instead. He remained put, stroking your hair, savouring any skin-to-skin contact he had.

♥︎ Everyday that you got better, every second you could stand just a little longer, another layer of fear washed away. You two would be back out there together, silently agreeing to not help another survivor trapped in a horde, despite the pain that came with it.

[saif-ul-burhan-tm]

#SURGICAL NEEDS #MASKS #KN95 WITH #FILTER #KN95 WITHOUT #SANITIZERS #PROTECTIVE SUITS #IR THERMOMETER #GUNS & #NEW #MODEL #DISINFECTANT #TUNNEL #WALKTHROUGH #GATE #COVID-19 #RAPID #TESTING #KITS #karachipakistan https://www.instagram.com/p/B_GxJ8OHPQE/?igshid=1okqgby2ist8x

[spiritualgateway]

The crisis virus

written by Steven Black:

While you look around and get the impression that the whole world has gone crazy and is going nuts, you have to realize: This is all perfectly normal and has happened over and over again. With the pest plague, the cholera and the Spanish flu – people reacted with unreasonableness, resentment and rebellion, against ordered measures.

With the plague, people selectively believed that bad winds, an unfavorable constellation of Mars, Jupiter and Saturn or the contaminated water were to blame because the Jews were poisoning the wells. As a logical consequence of such thinking, persecution of Jews throughout Europe occurred. Entire Jewish quarters were burned down and their inhabitants murdered.

Oh yes, a punishment by God was also possible. Even then, in the early 14th century, quarantine and isolation were ordered – as a very late measure.

In the case of cholera, 1831, quarantine and isolation were also applied. From the chronicle of the german city Stettin of this time, one learns:

„The burial of the deceased, buried in a special newly built churchyard […] aroused fear and horror, especially among the lower classes of the inhabitants. These precautions were made even worse by the complete blockade of traffic, which deprived a large part of the inhabitants of their livelihoods and probably also their means of subsistence. The lower classes could not bear this state of affairs and, believing the most absurd rumors, saw in the precautions taken only the means to their perdition.

„The prolonged duration of the cordoning off increased the bitterness, the excitement grew with each passing day, so that the workers most affected were finally inclined to use force to overturn the hated coercive rules.

„…because the agitated crowd, misled by some troublemakers, was under the delusion that cholera and security measures were only being used „to exterminate the common rabble.

The Spanish Flu, 1918 – 1919, rolled over the globe in three successive waves and claimed millions of lives. Conjecture and conspiracy theories arose among the most diverse peoples. Some saw the disease as the devil’s work of German agents, and Germany was suspected of either using insidious biological weapons or poisoning aspirin tablets from the pharmaceutical manufacturer Bayer in order to win the world war. Another theory, widespread at the time, was that the flu had been imported from Spain in tins, which had been poisoned by the Germans who had brought the Spanish canneries under their control. Or it was oraculated that the cause was consequential damages of the war by poison gas missions, which were caused by the exhalations from the mountains of corpses of the battlefields. And of course there was also the evergreen that it was a punishment from God …

First with the second wave, the danger was really recognized and flu alarm systems were introduced, quarantines were imposed over ports and railroad stations, isolation stations in hospitals were set up. „Social Distancing“ was ordered, mass gatherings were prohibited. Schools, theaters, markets and churches were closed. The use of face masks and disinfectants was recommended and in some areas made mandatory by law.

Those who refused to wear face masks were fined. By the way, later studies proved that the prohibition of mass events and the requirement to wear a mouth-and-nose mask reduced the death rate in American cities by up to 50 percent. Where it was not prescribed by law, i.e. only announced as a recommendation, there were many more deaths. The same thing is currently happening in Sweden.

The Corona Virus – today

100 years after the Spanish flu, a new medical crisis is entering the global stage. And just as with the plague, cholera and Spanish flu, where fear and uncertainty accompanied the daily events, the most colorful rumors and theories are flourishing. There seems to be a lid for every pot.

Some political party sees the Corona virus as an obvious foreigner epidemic. Logically, migrants must be to blame for it too. Within the extreme right groups the old perennial argument is active that the Jews are to blame for Corona.

Many vaccination critics freak out at the name Bill Gates, who allegedly wants to decimate humanity and enslave it with microchips. He has the WHO, the media and Angela Merkel personally in his pocket. Then there are people who believe that the new 5 G technology is the real cause of the Corona virus. The Qanon community believes that the virus is merely an excuse for Donald Trump to free thousands of poor, tortured children from underground tunnels.

There are an ever increasing number of people who believe that the virus is nothing more than a normal flu. There is also the idea that this Corona virus does not exist – it would all be just an excuse to get rid of cash and have a controlled financial crash. The usual suspects also know exactly from whom and why – of course to enforce the infamous New World Order, either by the „Deep State“, the „Kabale“ or the „Illuminati“.

A few fundamentalist church officials also took up the same cause:

In a text entitled „A Call for the Church and for the World – to Catholics and all people of good will“, signed among others by the German Cardinal Gerhard Ludwig Müller and initiated by Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, former Pontifical Ambassador to the USA, the Corona measures were sharply criticized. The signatories had previously spoken out against bans on worship because of the corona virus and they are all arch-conservative opponents of the current pope. The text stated: „It is a fact that under the pretext of the Covid 19 epidemic, in many cases inalienable rights of citizens have been violated and their fundamental freedoms have been disproportionately and unjustifiably restricted, including the right to freedom of religion, freedom of expression and freedom of movement.

It was further stated that there is reason to believe „that there are forces that are interested in creating panic among the population. Their goal is to permanently enforce „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom and the associated control over persons and the persecution of all their movements“. „These illiberal attempts at control are the disturbing prelude to the creation of a world government that eludes all control“.

Personal note: By the way – dear church idiots: What about the „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom“ of my mind, by your religious doctrine? Or „the associated control over persons“, where you let people slide around on their knees and establish a sense of sacrifice by having a figure nailed to a cross worshiped? But a „God’s world government“ would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?  

Anyway, I don’t really expect an answer to that. But what else you should know – the signatories represent an arch-conservative, right-wing current within the Catholic Church. They fervently hate the current pope because he accepts homosexuality and divorce as facts of life and is open to pro-migration and capitalism-critical positions. It is also no coincidence that these clerics of all people are waving their fear of a „new world order“ around. The whole thing is organized by a notorious ultra-right-wing populist – namely Steve Bannon. The man who brought Donald Trump to power through tons of fake news and conspiracy theories.

By the way, there are strong indications that the art product „QAnon“, a fictitious Internet personality, is a product of Steve Bannon. He is the thinking head and mastermind of the so-called new right.

The American government, led by Donald Trump, sees itself as the victim of a Chinese conspiracy initiated either by a mysterious „Deep State“ or preferably by the Democrats – which is one and the same thing in his case. Evangelical clerics see the Corona virus as a punishment from God for homosexuality. A handful of doctors contradict the official statements and believe that the Corona virus is little more than a common flu. The population would get scared over nothing and wearing masks would be very unhealthy. And in the chest tone of conviction, many an empathy-free idiot rambles that it would only affect pre-existing patients who would have died soon anyway.  You know, just collateral damage …

In the USA, the president himself is the main accelerator of emotional states. There were protests against the curfews in several US cities and about 3000 demonstrators, some of them armed and wearing Trump campaign caps and flags, took to the streets in Michigan. Encouraged by Donald, who tweeted „Free Michigan,“ dozens of gunmen entered the parliament building in the city of Lansing.

In Germany and Austria, people suddenly took to the streets and demonstrated against the corona measures of their government. Against an alleged panic-mongering, against an allegedly intended compulsory vaccination, against the curtailment of their basic rights, against an allegedly threatened freedom of opinion, against the obligation to wear masks, against an alleged „Corona dictatorship“, against a „New World Order“ by Bill Gates and much more. What one would not have thought possible before, happened now:

People who call themselves „leftists“, right-wing conservatives, neo-Nazis, people of the freeman movement, spiritual people, and also people who had never been involved with any of the groups mentioned before, stood together in a public square and chanted „We are the people“. And of course they did not wear masks, and of course they did not keep a „minimum distance“. With righteous indignation they held flyers in their hands where „The Basic Law“ is written on them and lamented a loss of it. Although the basic right to personal liberties was only limited due to the situation and receded into the background in favor of the basic right to personal integrity of EVERYONE, suddenly not only the Corona virus seemed to mutate.

A wide range of people suddenly mutated into virus specialists and health experts, legal luminaries and political insiders. It was not at all helpful if individual physicians and virologists publicly held different views, which are not in accordance with the scientific consensus. These people were suddenly elevated to „heroes of „truth“ and made anti-witnesses of the establishment.      

Like moths to a flame, all the discontented, angry opponents of the system, critics of capitalism, right-wing populists pouring oil on the fire, bawling bald-headed people and „Merkel must go“ yellers flocked together and mingled with yoga practitioners, meditators, as well as people who simply wanted a „better system“. Emotional fire accelerators like KenFM, Sven Liebich, Lügenstöckl, NPD offshoots and various AFD supporters moderated the „happening“ and it did not take long until this situation led to the foundation of a new party – called „Resistance 2020“. Founded by Victoria Hamm, the Sinsheim swindle doctor Bodo Schiffmann and the Leipzig lawyer Ralf Ludwig.

The appeal of „Resistance 2020“ continued as long as Covid 19 and the restrictions imposed by governments were highly active. In the meantime this has abated. First the chairwoman Victoria Hamm stepped down from the party (because of internal differences of opinion), her replacement, the chairwoman of the supervisory board of „Humanimity“, Sandra Wesolek, also threw in the towel soon after. And now also the founder and vice-chairman of the party, Bodo Schiffmann, has left Resistance 2020. Only Ralf Ludwig remains, who keeps the coma patient „Resistance 2020“ alive.

In conclusion – it will not yet be completely silent about the topic Covid – 19, but it slowly fades in its importance. At least for the moment. If we are lucky and there will be no 2nd or third wave, it will stay that way.      

Crisis intensification

Another topic has now captured the attention of the world, people and media – a topic that has never been completely absent: racism and police brutality in the USA.

The violent death of the African-American George Floyd, after a police operation, was followed by peaceful protests in the USA, but there were also riots and looting. And as in dealing with the corona virus, Donald Trump shifts to denial of the structural problem, puts the blame on others and does just about anything to pour even more fire into the heated atmosphere.

Under the hashtag #blackllivesmatter, which has been known since 2013 and is a name for an African-American civil rights movement, people are gathering again to demonstrate against state arbitrariness, police brutality and unfair treatment of dark-skinned people. Previous slogans of the movement, such as „Hands up, don’t shoot“, „White silence is violence“, „No justice, no peace“, „Is my son next?“ are being used again, including the now popular „I can’t breathe“ and „BlackOutTuesday“.

It is no longer just a movement of the „black community“. Within just a few days, numerous politicians, celebrities and large companies have raised their voices and spoken out in favor of the BlackLivesMatter movement. More and more representatives of the video game industry are also joining in. Sony, for example, has refrained from presenting the new Playstation 5 due to the current situation. But also companies like Microsoft, Activision, EA, Massive Entertainment, Square Enix, Bethesda, Naughty Dog, Disney, Marvel, Warner Bros, and many other global big players made clear statements against racism and expressed their solidarity. Over 50 influential companies have donated large sums of money to the movement.

Yes, Soros‘ Open Society Foundation is one of them (about $33 million), but is rather outdone by all others, especially FORD Foundation and Borealis Philanthropy (about $100 million). Also worthy of mention are the Hill-Snowden Foundation, Solidaire, the NoVo Foundation, the Association of Black Foundation Executives, the Neighborhood Funders Group-Funders for Justice, Anonymous Donors, and many more.  

It is already becoming apparent that this issue could potentially break Donald Trump’s neck and prevent his re-election. „Poor Donald“, after his mismanagement in the Corona crisis became visible to everyone, now police brutality and racism challenge him. And here again he reacts headlessly and impulse-driven instead of showing presidential leadership. Instead he meets the problem in the familiar perpetrator-victim reversal tactic.

Incidentally, the same thing happens as in the Covid 19 demonstrations in Austria and Germany – extreme right-wing „withe supremacy“ agitators mingle with the demonstrators. They incite people and loot, start brawls and set fire to buildings. Incited by Donald Trump, who simply claimed that it was „the ANTIFA“ that was firing up the demonstrations, his followers do everything in their power to discredit the movement and make it look bad in the eyes of the public.

In a series of messages, a Twitter account called „Antifa US“ had called on protesters to march into neighborhoods and „take what is ours“. Twitter itself had cleared up the fact that behind this account „American Identity Movement“ is the extreme right-wing formerly known as „Identity Evropa“, that was behind the protest and deleted the account.

Blacklivesmatter is a movement that I wholeheartedly endorse. What I find less good about it is that this conglomeration of people is happening on the streets while the corona virus is still highly active in the  world. There is also no question of keeping a distance, a large majority can be seen wearing masks during the protests, but not all of them. I fear that this will have some unpleasant consequences. But the German demonstrations against a „Corona dictatorship“ and against police arbitrariness and brutality by blacklivesmatter could not be more different.

The sense of demonstrating against a world domination by Bill Gates and an alleged forced chippings or because one is forced to wear a mask temporarily stinks against blacklivesmatter. This is about addressing really important issues of the human species. The core statement of „Blacklivesmatter“ is – “ stop treating us like shit!“

It did not take long, of course, for the rumor mill to start bubbling on this topic as well and the „usual suspects“ went peddling „THE truth“ about it to everyone. You know, from „it’s all a government diversion“ to George Floyd wouldn’t be dead. It would all be a false flag operation and George Soros would be behind the protests. Xavier Naidoo also tells his followers about it and although the man from Mannheim had his own experiences with racism, he is not too stupid to devalue the blacklivesmatter movement. He described the demonstrators who are now taking to the streets against racism and police violence as hypocrites. And ends with a whataboutism rant – „anyone who comes up with an organization called Black lives matter is a divider“.

Naidoo justified his statement by saying that for him all lives count. Sounds plausible on the surface but clearly demonstrates that he did not understand the fundamental problem at all. Naidoo parrots something he has probably read or heard from Alex Jones or another opponent from the disinformation movement. The blacklivesmatter movement has been struggling with such whataboutism arguments from the beginning, since 2013. Not surprisingly, „All Lives Matter“ is often used as a counter-argument by the racist „white supremacy“ groups.

Barack Obama found good words for this: „I think the reason why the organizers use the term „Black Lives Matter“ was not because they wanted to imply that other lives do not matter. They are saying that there is a specific problem in the African American community that does not exist in other communities. This is a legitimate problem that we need to address.

Sounds logical, right? It is. Let’s say you broke your arm and you go to the doctor. He won’t tell you – „all bones count“, but will turn to the current problem. The bone that is just broken. If your house is on fire, the fire department will not tell you “ all houses caunt“ – they will simply put out the fire.  

If you come to blacklivesmatter with alllivesmatter, you are part of the problem not the solution. This tries to ignore or disguise the problem by directing the criticism behind it to another topic.

It is definitely crisis – and virus time

A virus form that is completely unknown to most people is going around and is at least as infectious as Covid 19. They are mental and emotional viruses. Positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. Created by humans every day and they influence all humans, more or less.

We are usually not used to accept the idea that our thoughts as well as our feelings and the words we utter have substantial meanings. Substantial is literally meant here – both thoughts, emotions and words contain substances that act as carriers of their expression. Through which the respective content of thoughts, feelings/emotions and words is transported, which always involves an ��inaudible“, complex bundling of frequencies and takes on form, sound and tones. We do not „just think“, we generate a thought form for it, depending on the intensity of our respective thoughts – a kind of „pale being“.

And we do not „just feel“, we generate emotional signatures that can be perceived, „read“, felt and recognized by other people, consciously or unconsciously. We do not „just talk“, our words always convey a large context of mental and emotional content. Whoever listens carefully can often discover contradictions in the words, because the transported feelings are not in harmony with them.

As the person we are, we resemble a piano. We are a musical instrument with many keys and tones, with which the most diverse vibration frequencies can be expressed. Depending on how well we have learned to handle our instrument and how the individual tones are tuned, it will decide how harmonious or disharmonious our personal sound, our own melody, is. Everything we think, feel, say or do sounds through us and creates sounds that are received by others.

The more sensitive a person is or the better he can listen, the more contents of his counterpart he will be able to perceive. How aware someone is or is not of these levels, however, is basically irrelevant. The thought forms, emotional content, sounds and frequencies of other people are also perceived unconsciously. Basically, we all speak through individualized codes – the spoken or written words mean nothing in themselves. The linear arrangement of symbols (letters) that form words has a meaning for us because they are charged with emotional and mental sounds that form a kind of overall picture. We all encode such images on a daily basis and send them out from us. And we all decode every day a huge accumulation of sent consciousness images – which we have either seen, heard or read.

How much we are influenced by the opinions of other people or media – their generated images – depends to a large extent on our own identity structure. And on the respective topics that are founded in it.

Our exchange of information and images becomes a virus – either constructive or destructive – when it spreads in wide circles and becomes more and more emotionally charged. Our thoughts, emotions and the words we speak not only influence ourselves, but also other people. This means we infect other people with our ideas. And other people infect us with their ideas. If an idea or assertion fascinates, impresses, captivates or outrages us, it can go so far that we forget the origin and, spurred on by the charge of an idea, run amok with it.

All of us together are embedded in a collective frequency field, which is reflected in personal, national and global situations. None of us is virtually „an island“, we all manipulate and influence each other. We can hardly escape this, unless we have no contact to other people anymore. But even then it would probably be difficult to escape the collective astral field.

The collective field contains positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. We encounter emotional and mental viruses all the time, but nowhere in such a concentrated form as in the „social media“. In this respect, the Internet is a single, gigantic virus slingshot. And all of us who make use of it cannot get away with it.

The opinion of others

The technical development of the Internet has made it possible for us to be exposed to a storm of opinions and views on a daily basis in a way that has never been possible before. About 22,510 GB of data are fed into the Internet every second. That is about 2 billion GB per day (exactly 1,944,864.00 GB [2015]). YouTube has a monthly data volume of about 16 Exabyte (Exabyte = 1018 Byte). About 3 million videos per hour are consumed on YouTube. There are 1. 012 315 000 websites on the net. About 16 million of these websites are hacked annually.

About 4 million new blog entries are written every day, 80 million photos are uploaded to Instagram, 618 million „tweets“ are posted – that is 7130 tweets per second. Facebook processes 2.5 billion pieces of content, 2.7 billion likes and 300 million photos every day. All in all, this adds up to a daily data volume of more than 500 terabytes, just for FB alone. About 4 billion search queries are made daily via Google and 10 billion videos are viewed on YouTube. And these numbers will increase, the rush on our inner senses will become more and more intense.

One drama after the other is being chased through the internet every day. An ever-increasing number of bloggers and websites vie for our daily attention. And hardly anybody takes the time to ask themselves, is it really true what I hear or read? What is it really about? And what would be even more important: Does it really have anything to do with ME? Is this really MINE? Or did I just get infected with an emotional virus that is related to a personal topic?

Although we humans generally assume that we have reasonable opinions and justifiable arguments, or that we see the world with clear eyes – this is rarely the case. Each of us lives in our own reality and we all believe that the world is as we secretly assume it to be. The perspective of how we see the world is largely based on the filter of our own beliefs.

One of the effects that has come through the Internet is the amazing development that many people have become aware of how the mainstream press often reports manipulatively or at least with omission – and sometimes doesn’t present the whole picture. By the way, this is not the fault of the press. Nobody can cover all sides of a story, and certainly not in a single article. If you want to know halfway exactly what’s going on, you have to make an effort yourself and look at different perspectives. But the same people then believe every shit that somebody says on YouTube. Actually, many people today don’t believe anything anymore.

But „alternative facts“ to the corona crisis, you believe them. Doctors who are not virologists or virologists who have not been up to date in this field for a long time, we listen to them more than to the top specialists.

We believe that a statesman who uses victim reversal as a means of perpetration. People who lament with a chest sound of the conviction that the Basic Law is in danger – we let ourselves be influenced by that. We reject a black civil rights movement because we allow ourselves to be persuaded that this means that not all lives count. One encounters „BlackLivesMatter“ with WhiteLivesMatter or „AllLivesMatter. Or if someone once again complains – „you’re not allowed to say all this anymore“ – we agree with indignation. Not realizing that he/she has just said it on Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, blogs, etc. Which of course leads the statement ad absurdum, but somehow we don’t really notice it anymore.

A youth movement for environmental awareness, „Friday for future“, is met with „Friday for poverty in old age“. Renewable forms of energy, such as wind turbines that generate renewable electricity, are met with „but they kill innocent insects“. If you read somewhere, in any newspaper, that right-wing extremist violence has increased again in the last year, you don’t have to wait long for someone to comment „hey, what about left-wing violence? A women’s movement for sexual abuse and violence is countered with the argument that there is also abuse of women against men. An African-American movement against police brutality and structural racism is countered with „and what about racism against whites? Particularly deep-seated – „what about racism against Germans?

What is actually wrong with us?

Why do we let „whataboutism arguments“ manipulate us? Why can’t we see through the transparency of such cheap maneuvers and recognize that they distract us from the actual core of a situation or a justified criticism and divert our attention to another area?  

Besides all the positive and constructive things the Internet stands for, there is also a dark side to it. Among other things it is misused for a modern form of witch hunts and witch burning. Angela Merkel, Greta Thunberg, Barack Obama, George Soros, Bill Gates, the Rothschilds, Rockefeller and many other public figures are burned at some Internet stake every day, applauded and cheered. And this comes not only from the right, but from all sides. If you look at the comments on such postings, you can observe the violent reactions, where a storm of indignation, anger and hatred is unleashed, which is then projected onto the designated persons.

The art of differentiation seems to have become a lost art.

There is such a variety of information and opinions, often colored by interests, sometimes just imaginatively lied about and only partially true, that it would basically take some time and energy to separate the facts from rumors and lies. A personal effort that hardly anyone is willing to put in, or perhaps doesn’t have the time.

But that is what we all have to learn.

Media competence

Without media competence, we run the risk of drowning in the flood of information. Not only reading texts, but also watching YouTube videos or films today requires more and more critical discernment. The critical filtering of information, comments, text content and the images offered in addition, is proving to be an ever increasing challenge. Today, for every x any topic, completely different and often contradictory opinions are in circulation. And we are experiencing the phenomenon that people often only read the headlines of articles and not the whole article. The attention threshold has become extremely low for some people. Headlines alone can lead to emotional convulsions …

It is important that we learn to understand how communication works and how information affects us. When we read or hear words, we don’t just sort the meaning of the words and sum them up in a particular context. We also record all the unsaid, the energetic, mental and emotional signatures that the speaker or writer gives to their words. It is already scientifically known that in communications, brains are synchronized. To a synchronization of brain waves that goes beyond mere speech processing. It will not be long before we discover that this synchronization does not only occur in spoken communication, but in any kind of communication, even when the information is transported via screens.

If we identify with what someone writes or says because something within us resonates with it, then synchronization occurs with the mental, intellectual and emotional content that is presented to us. Emotional content of all kinds affects the heart field, the glands and the electrochemical energies of the body, i.e. the energetic environment in the body, which causes either an increase or decrease of the personal energy level.

The question that arises is, what do I focus my personal attention on? And can I think for myself or do I simply take over every piece of information offered to me, which includes concepts and perspectives from other people that I usually don’t even know? If we take over everything that strangers prepare for us, we are condemned to walk around with concepts that are not our own.

But the only person who has a responsibility here, what kind of information he lets into his system, is me. The only person who is able to differentiate between the information and my personal feeling about it is me. The only one who can learn to check the opinions of others is me. Nobody will do that for me.

Nevertheless, it is also true that constant effort, investigation, checking and research is no guarantee for a secure knowledge – sometimes you are simply confronted with the fact that you cannot know at the moment! But you can learn to endure that.

What we see is in my eyes, in many respects, an expression of a massive crisis of orientation and a resulting upheaval. Humanity is beginning to define itself anew, once again. We are moving from an age where people were rather „prisoners of their consciousness“ and their experience, to an epoch where people understand that they are NOT their consciousness. But that his consciousness is an attribute, a quality, his very own being and his creative power. And how this is expressed, lies in his very personal responsibility.

The old psychological self of humanity, which accepted oppression of the weak, predator capitalism, perpetrator-victim conversion, wars, exploitation of earth and humanity, will be replaced. But this old energy is struggling for survival. Hard and fierce. We are far from being through this.

One thing can be sure – the next crisis is waiting. And again it will be driven through the Internet village in an over-dramatized way. Where will you stand then? To which side will you then give your spiritual support? What will you be guided by? Your reason and your own views after you have dealt with the situation to some extent or will you follow the emotional pull that was triggered by the opinions of others?

What kind of sound will you add to the overall melody?

Until next time same station

DISCLAIMER: Nothing you read here is THE truth. It is my truth. My perception and how I see things – now, in this moment.

THE INFORMATION SPACE

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Part 31 - Choice

“I want you now,” she hisses into your ear.

“One of those rooms,” you say from her neck between kisses, “we can-“

“No, I want you now,” she says, her tone strong, adamant. You watch the passion and need burning strong in her eyes as she breaks apart from you and takes you by the wrist, leading you to a secluded corner of the thankfully deserted parking garage, one out of sight of the main routes and covered at least partially by shadow and large parked vehicles.

When you reach the rear of an expensive looking sedan she finally turns to face you, and you waste no time resuming your fierce kiss, your lips crashing against each other once more. She cups your face in her hands and you reach down and cup her cute, firm ass with both of yours, giving her butt a squeeze before lifting her up and quite literally dropping her onto the trunk of the sedan.

Jeongyeon lets a yelp of surprise out as she is deposited on the vehicle, and you return her smile as you watch a devious, lusty smile appear on her cute features. She spreads her legs to allow you between them, and she grabs you by your collar before pulling you toward her and crushing your lips with hers. You quickly tear yourself from her mouth to resume your work on her neck, your hands finding and squeezing her thighs, her short dress quickly riding up her waist to reveal more of her perfect, long legs.

---

 "What the hell are you doing here, Momo?"

 Hirai Momo doesn't seem to have heard your question. Her eyes - those large, expressive eyes of hers - are glued to the large navigational screen embedded in the front console of the van as she tries to find an escape route in Seoul's complicated downtown road grid.

 "Left here. Lose them in the tunnels!"

 "On it," answers the driver, a small, youthful looking girl that would've looked right out of high school were it not for the multiple small tattoos decorating her left arm. She changed lanes and jerked the van in and out of Seoul’s rush hour traffic with an ease that seemed at odds with her appearance - where exactly did such a girl get experience with getaway driving?

 "They're in a black SUV, a block behind us," calls out another occupant of the van - the flight attendant that had been on your flight from Hawaii, "we've almost lost them!"

 "Try to keep us still, goddammit," chirps the third newcomer, another youthful looking girl, as she tries her best to disinfect and bandage the gash on Yoo Jeongyeon's cheek despite the constant rocking and turning of the vehicle. Jeongyeon winces as an alcohol pad is applied to her face. The wince turns into a grimace as the third girl does her best to wipe away the blood running down the IT specialist's face and onto her neck.

 "Is she okay?" Momo snaps, turning to the third girl and watching as she places a bandage on Jeongyeon's cheek.

 "I'll be fine," Jeongyeon answers through gritted teeth.

 "She'll be fine," the third girl echoes with a sarcastic smile as she finishes placing the bandage. Jeongyeon's face scrunches in pain as the bandage is pressed against her wounded cheek.

 "Watch our rear. And jam their comms! I don’t want them calling for backup,” Momo shouts, not once taking her attention away from the traffic in front of her. 

 "On it!" replies the flight attendant, looking away from the rear window of the van to operate a laptop. The third girl takes over her position at the rear of the van as the flight attendant types away at a terminal with admirable concentration given the instability of the vehicle.

 "They're blocked, but not for long," she announces a moment later.

 "Get us out of here, Chaeyoung," Momo says once more to the driver, her tone a little more insistent now.

 The driver - evidently named Chaeyoung - doesn't answer immediately, but the rapid jerk of the vehicle, and the loud honk from what was probably a recently cut-off commuter, tells you she was doing her best. The van weaves between lanes, Seoul's downtown core flashing by outside the tinted side window in a blur of concrete and glass that suddenly turns into the darkness and artificial light of a tunnel. 

 "They're gone! They didn't see us go into the tunnel. We've lost them!" announces the third girl from the rear of the van.

 "Take us home," Momo orders the driver, letting out a sharp breath of relief.

 "Gladly," the driver replies, her driving slowing down somewhat to a more normal speed as she tries to blend into the mass of commuters.

 "Momo!" you say once more, eager to finally get her attention, "What are you doing here?"

 Finally satisfied that you were no longer being chased, Momo sits down on the floor of the van and faces you, giving you her attention at last. There is a look of frustration and anger on her face, as though the act of rescuing you and Jeongyeon was the last thing on Earth she had wanted to be doing.

 "I'm here saving your ass," she hisses, before crawling along the floor of the van to join the flight attendant in the rear of the vehicle, where they both quickly begin to discuss something on the screen of the laptop. The third girl busies herself with putting away the medical supplies she had been using on Jeongyeon, offering you a soft smile as if in apology for the brusqueness of Momo's reply.

 Momo's cold reaction to you stings more than it should - you'd been relieved beyond belief that she was there to rescue you and Jeongyeon from potentially being captured by SM, but you certainly weren't a reception like this. You weren’t expecting her to treat you like she was your girlfriend again, but you certainly weren’t expecting the cold shoulder she was giving you, either.

 Jeongyeon crawls next to you, looking like a little bit of a mess given her bandaged cheek and scuffed knees. She manages to give you a weak smile as she rubs her sore knuckles, which were beginning to bruise after their recent forceful introduction to an SM guard's jaw.

 You take her hand in yours and rub her knuckles for her. The both of you sit in silence for the rest of the ride.

 ---

 When the van stops, it is in what appeared to be a middle class residential district of Seoul, filled with massive, soaring apartment blocks that each looked almost exactly the same from one another. Space was at a premium in the South Korean capital, and such large scale apartment blocks were a common sight. They also made for an ideal way to lose any potential pursuers, given each building’s identical appearance and large, often labyrinthine layouts.

 The van parks in a vast, gated underground parkade beneath one of the buildings, finally coming to a stop on the third level down. As soon as Chaeyoung puts the vehicle in park Momo and her team exit it and gather up their gear with practiced precision, as though they had done so a million times before. 

 Jeongyeon and you hop out of the van last, trying your best to stay out of the way of the four girls as they pack up various electronics and cameras into large duffel bags and plastic bins. You try to help one of them, the flight attendant, with a large black plastic carrying case, but she refuses your help by hefting the large container on her own, not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Only the third girl, the one that bandaged Jeongyeon, offers any glimmer of friendliness, giving Jeongyeon a short bow and a quick thank you as Jeongyeon helps her retrieve a large black duffel bag out of the back of the van.

 Jeongyeon approaches Momo, her arms spread as though she were intending to hug the Japanese girl.

 “Momo, thank yo-“

 "We have a few safehouses in this building," Momo says quickly, interrupting Jeongyeon as she tosses you and her each a key fob, "You two can use those for tonight. We'll talk more in the morning. Be at the cafe across the street at 9am."

 Without further word Momo and her team head towards the nearest elevator with all of their gear and equipment in tow, leaving you and Jeongyeon in the cold darkness of the parkade.

 —-

“Jesus,” Jeongyeon says once Momo and her team are out of earshot, “what the hell is her problem? You’d think she didn’t want to rescue us.”

 “I don’t know,” you answer, similarly dumbfounded. 

 “What do you wanna do now, boss?” Jeongyeon says, rubbing at her wounded cheek as she faces you. You move closer to her, and without thinking you bring your own hand to her cheek. Her hand covers yours as you cup her face and she nuzzles her wounded cheek into your palm. Your eyes catch hers, and you are overwhelmed - with gratitude for her and the way she put herself on the line for you. She gives you a soft smile.

 “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 “I’m fine… we’re both okay, that’s all that… matters…”

 Jeongyeon’s words trail off as you step closer to her, your eyes locked on one another as your faces drift closer and closer together, your lips so close you can feel the exhale of breath from her nose. You weren’t quite sure what brought you two together so quickly - perhaps it was the leftover adrenaline rush from the day’s events, perhaps it was thankfulness and gratitude that you were both safe, perhaps it was relief that you at least weren’t alone in a strange and unfamiliar place under radical circumstances. 

 Regardless of the reason, when your lips finally press against each other you both feel yourselves give in to what was eventually about to occur. The first few kisses are soft and gentle, but they quickly become more passionate and heated as the leftover adrenaline from the day’s excitement, from having so narrowly avoided extreme physical danger, is redirected into physical desire.

 Your hands wrap quickly around her tall, slim body, and she reciprocates by wrapping her arms around your neck as the kiss deepens and continues to heat up, your tongues quickly duelling now, exploring each others’ mouths with reckless abandon, passion and need quickly blinding and overruling your judgement.

 You break the kiss and quickly place a few pecks on her sharp jawline before reaching her ear and placing a soft kiss there. Not able to resist any longer, you quickly dive into the warm, perfect skin of her long neck.

 Jeongyeon lets a wordless sound of desire escape her lips as you devour her neck, her hands curling up the back of your head, her nails digging almost painfully into your scalp. She pushes herself against you, and you delight in the feel of her soft breasts and wide hips pressed against your body as if she is trying to melt herself into you. She stands on her tiptoes and tilts her head in an attempt to present more of her neck to your exploring lips.

 “I want you now,” she hisses into your ear.

 “One of those rooms,” you say from her neck between kisses, “we can-“

 “No, I want you now,” she says, her tone strong, adamant. You watch the passion and need burning strong in her eyes as she breaks apart from you and takes you by the wrist, leading you to a secluded corner of the thankfully deserted parking garage, one out of sight of the main routes and covered at least partially by shadow and large parked vehicles.

 When you reach the rear of an expensive looking sedan she finally turns to face you, and you waste no time resuming your fierce kiss, your lips crashing against each other once more. She cups your face in her hands and you reach down and cup her cute, firm ass with both of yours, giving her butt a squeeze before lifting her up and quite literally dropping her onto the trunk of the sedan.

 Jeongyeon lets a yelp of surprise out as she is deposited on the vehicle, and you return her smile as you watch a devious, lusty smile appear on her cute features. She spreads her legs to allow you between them, and she grabs you by your collar before pulling you toward her and crushing your lips with hers. You quickly tear yourself from her mouth to resume your work on her neck, your hands finding and squeezing her thighs, her short dress quickly riding up her waist to reveal more of her perfect, long legs.

 Her dress may have left most of her legs bare but it was annoyingly high cut, stymieing your desire to move your kisses down her chest. Jeongyeon lets out a little giggle as she realizes what the cut of her dress is keeping you from doing - she cups your head in her hands and quickly gives you a peck on the lips before placing one hand on the top of your head and pushing it down her torso, and between her spread legs.

 Jeongyeon is wet, to say the least, the dark dampness on the tiny, thin black thong she is wearing evidence of her arousal - you were a little surprised by the level of her desire, but given the circumstances and the intense desire in your own body you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised at all. It only heightened your own need to taste her, devour her, and make her yours.

 You quickly pull the front of her thong to the side, revealing her moist, wanton flesh, and while you usually took your time when pleasuring a girl with your mouth you knew this wasn’t one of those times - no, this was quick, “thank God we’re alive” sex - it was no time for slow, gentle lovemaking.

 The long, drawn out sigh that Jeongyeon makes when you give her a broad, wide lick from the bottom of her slit to the top is evidence that she, too, wants it quick, and fast, without any further delay between her and the pleasure she so desperately needed. She leans back and spreads her legs even further, her eyes drunk now with need as you delve back between her soft thighs.

 Savouring the bittersweet taste of her juices on your tongue, you slowly move your tongue to her dripping clit, the tip of your tongue reaching out and giving her another broad lick, and then a third, until she is a squirming, writhing mess atop the car trunk. Satisfied that she was ready, you quickly plunge in, capturing her engorged clit with your lips, using the tip of your tongue to swirl around it in soft but consistent circles.

 Jeongyeon is a mess now, all vestige of decorum or patience long having fled from her. There was only need, and pleasure, and the desire for an outlet to the adrenaline fuelled lust in her young body.

 You savour the feel of her hot, wet, squirming flesh beneath your tongue as she gives in to her pleasure, continuing the pace and strength of your pressure on her clit. You bring your right hand to her opening, your fingertips finding and teasing her splayed, drenched lips before slowly entering her body with one, then two fingers.

 Jeongyeon lets a long moan escape her lips - evidently the entire apartment’s population could have showed up to watch her turn into a mess as you ate her out on the trunk of a stranger’s car and she wouldn’t have given a damn, wouldn’t have wanted you to stop. Her hands press tightly against the back of your scalp, her hips and thighs quivering, writhing back and forth on the cold metal of the car as you work your magic between her thighs. Your fingertips are one knuckle deep inside her, playing almost lazily with her slick folds.

 “Put them.. put them deeper in me,” Jeongyeon hisses, her words light on the air as she struggles to maintain her composure.

 You aren’t one to deny her, and you slide your fingers deeper into her body, curling them so your palm is facing upward. When you find the rough patch of flesh at the front of her pussy she lets out a sharp exhalation of breath, her fingers digging almost painfully into the back of your scalp.

 “Fuck… fuck!”

 You continue your work on her clit, upping the pace just a little bit, enough to make her want more, enough to bring her to the edge. Your fingers swirl in circles inside her, rubbing and pressing and teasing that patch of flesh.

 “Oh… Oh god!”

 Jeongyeon climaxes, and her body jerks almost uncontrollably as the orgasm courses through her body, her legs closing tightly around your head and covering you in the warm softness of her thighs. Her juices flow freely from her slit and onto your open palm, drenching it in slick wetness - it was the strongest orgasm you’d ever seen her have, likely fuelled by the day’s events and the circumstances that you found yourselves in.

 You wind down your work on her clit and your fingers inside her give her a few more lazy touches before you slowly withdraw them from her body, her walls clenching around your fingers as though not wanting to let them go. You savor the taste of her on your tongue, lapping up her freely flowing juices with one last lick before finally rising from beneath her flushed thighs. You bring your right hand, absolutely drenched with her, to your mouth, licking her wetness from your slick fingers, swirling the slick juice in your mouth like a fine wine.

 Jeongyeon is an absolute mess, lying there with her legs spread on the trunk of the car. She lets herself rest for a moment as she lies back on the rear window, her chest heaving as she struggles to regain her composure. You smile devilishly at the sight, and you bend to give her a kiss, her tongue entering playing with yours as she tastes herself in your mouth.

 “Fuck me,” she whispers, and you weren’t one to delay any further, quickly unbuckling your belt and pulling your jeans and boxers down, finally freeing your stiff shaft. As luck would have it the car is a sitting at the perfect height - perhaps the suspension had been lowered? Either way, Jeongyeon reaches down, just as impatient as you, and gives your cock a few quick strokes before placing it at her wet, dripping opening with one hand and pulling aside her saturated thong with the other.

 You enter her quickly, not wanting to delay the pleasure for a moment longer. There would be a time, hopefully soon, when you could take your time with her, truly make love - but this was not it.

 Jeongyeon is wet and slick and hot around you, her body so perfect in every way inside and out. Her pussy, slick and wet from recent orgasm, tightens around your shaft like a vice, quickly adjusting to your girth and wrapping it with hot flesh. After just a few strokes you quickly find a rhythm as you pump in and out of Yoo Jeongyeon’s body.

 “Harder, fuck me harder,” she hisses, disapproving of your pace, “fuck me hard.”

 You submit to her demands, and soon you are fucking her with hard, stiff strokes, your shaft pumping out to a little more than halfway before driving once more inside her body. Nothing else exists save for her pussy wrapping tightly around you as you fuck her on the trunk of the car, the squeaking of the car’s suspension, the slap of your hips against hers, and the quickly rising gasps of pleasure from her lips that are quickly filling your ears.

 Your left hand clutches her right thigh, but you are desperate to have more of her, and so you reach down with your right hand and squeeze her left breast through her dress, cursing again how it was keeping you from truly having your way with her body. Jeongyeon senses your frustration and squeezes the back of your hand as it plays with her breast, a devilish look in her eyes as you continue to fuck her.

 “Oh, fuck, fuck that feels so good!” She says, uncaring now about how loud she was being or whether you would both be caught here, fucking openly on the trunk of a stranger’s car.

 “You’re so fucking tight, Jeongyeon.”

 “You’re so.. so fucking big inside me… fuck… you’re stretching me so wide!”

 The dirty words spilling out of her mouth only heighten the lust in your body, and you step up your thrusts, releasing your palm from her breast to bring both hands to her thighs and using them as leverage to drive yourself deeper and deeper into her pussy. You watch intently as your shaft spears in and out between her legs, her juices absolutely drenching your cock, her moist, glistening lips pressed tightly around your hard flesh.

 Drunk on lust, you want more, want to have more this young woman’s body, want to take the pleasure from her body that you so needed. And so you quickly pull all the way out of her before pulling her off the trunk as well and turning her around, pressing a palm on her back before pushing her down and bending her over the trunk.

 Jeongyeon quickly catches on to what you want, and she is perfectly happy to let you have your way with her if it meant more pleasure. She bends over the trunk, spreading her legs and arching her back to ensure the right angle. You push the hem of her short dress over her hips, pull her annoyingly still-present thong to the side, and once again enter her hot, wet pussy, your cock spearing into her body with such force that it drives her against the car’s trunk.

 “Fuck yes!” She yelps, dismissing any fear you may have had that you had entered her too deeply, or that your thrust had hurt her in any way as she is pressed against the vehicle. Taking that as license to continue, you reach down and squeeze the firm cheeks of her cute butt before beginning to fuck her to your heart’s content.

 You’d had Jeongyeon from behind before but never like this - never after a day when you both had looked danger in the eye and laughed and just barely escaped from its clutches - and she is tighter and hotter and wetter than you remember, her body feeling absolutely heavenly around your cock as you pump in and out of her pussy.

 You watch as Jeongyeon’s hands search for something, anything on the trunk of the car to squeeze and keep a hold of. You smile wickedly as you slap her right cheek with an open palm, delighting in the red mark it left there. The deviousness of your smile deepens when you notice the puckered opening of her ass between her round cheeks, and you tease her other opening lightly with your thumb, earning a yelp of surprise from Jeongyeon’s lips that soon turns into a sultry moan when you slowly press your thumb tip into her anus, not penetrating - just teasing.

 All the while you are fucking her harder than you ever had.

 This was sex at its dirtiest, at its most filthy - there was no room for feelings or emotions here; just two people wanting an outlet for the energy and adrenaline in their bodies and finding it in each other. There would be a time for dealing with the fallout; for now, the only thing that existed in the world was Yoo Jeongyeon’s body, bent over the trunk of the car, and the wonderful sheath of flesh between her spread legs.

 You savor every second of it, even looking up and out the roof of the parking garage in an attempt to distract yourself from the pleasure that was quickly overwhelming you, but you couldn’t do so for long - not when the sight below you and the feeling of pure pleasure radiating from your loins was so powerful, so impossible to fight.

 “I… I’m gonna cum again!” Jeongyeon yelps, and almost immediately she does just that, her body trembling and shaking as her knees give out momentarily and her body slouches against the car. You slow but don’t stop your rhythm, giving her deeper thrusts as the orgasm overtakes her and her pussy tightens deliciously around your cock, pulsating and squeezing as Jeongyeon’s orgasm courses throughout her tall, slim frame.

 “I’m gonna fucking cum inside you,” you hiss - not even caring to ask her where she wanted it. You wanted to cum in her, wanted to fill her with your semen - no other option even presented itself in your mind. Usually you would ask out of politeness. This wasn’t one of those times.

 “Yes!” Jeongyeon answers, as though you had spoken words she’d wanted to hear for awhile, “Yes, please! Cum in me… fill me up, baby. Fill my pussy with your cum. Cum in me!”

 “You want it, Jeongyeon? You want to be fucked like this? You want my cum deep inside this hot little pussy?”

 “Yes! I want it… I want it all! I want it inside me… filling me up… Cum in me! Cum deep inside me!”

 With three more final thrusts into her slick, hot pussy, you bury yourself in Jeongyeon’s body as you cum. Thick, hot semen erupts from your cock and into the welcoming walls of her body, your shaft quivering and pulsating with each burst of cum that leaves it. 

 Once you are done you give her a few more shallow thrusts, your still hard shaft pushing the cum deeper and deeper inside her. Every thrust earns a low moan of lust from Jeongyeon as she feels the warm, thick seed being pushed further into the depths of her pussy.

 You hold onto her hips as your orgasm winds down, and you find the strength to keep thrusting a few more times, savouring the feel of the hot mess you’d made inside her. A dark part of you wanted to fuck your hot semen even deeper inside her body, and you give her a few final strokes to ensure that it was as deep inside her pussy as you could put it.

 When your strength finally gives you, you fall forward, still inside her, bracing yourself with your hands on the hood. Jeongyeon is reduced to a weak puddle, breathing heavily as she is pressed against the car. The two of you stay there for a long minute, chests heaving as you slowly recover, both of you savouring the warmth that was still present where your bodies met with you still inside her. Eventually Jeongyeon turns her head just enough so you can watch as she taps the bandage on her cheek with a finger.

 “I guess that was worth this scratch,” she says with a smile.

 ---

 "We're fine, Jihyo. A van pulled up and got us out of there. Momo was in it. She's got her own team now, it looks like."

 "...what?" Jihyo answers, her disbelief plain even on the phone.

 "Yeah, I don't get it either. Momo wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details aside from sounding pretty pissed off that she had to rescue us. Either way, she's brought us to their safehouse. We'll be fine for tonight."

 "Okay," Jihyo answers, still sounding like she was still processing what was going on.

 "What about the data? What about Nayeon?"

 "We have her. I picked her up after you two split up. We're going through the data and the files now. It's pretty... crazy stuff that's in here."

 "Cole's notes?"

 "Lots of stuff on SM's involvement in the YG case. There are other things too, things I should probably show you in person. I don't think we should be on this line right now, we don't know who could be listening."

 "I agree. We're meeting with Momo tomorrow morning to find out what the hell she's been up to and what she was doing at SM today. We'll drop by JYP afterward."

 "Sounds good. I'll send Tzuyu to pick you up in the morning. Be safe."

 "We will."

 With a sigh you hang up the line, dropping your cell phone on the coffee table in front of you and burying your face in your hands. You were sitting in the coffee shop across the street from Momo’s safehouses. Jeongyeon had decided to head to her own suite to shower and rest up, but you weren’t quite as tired and so found yourself grabbing a bite to eat at this cafe.

 There was so much to take in and process - the SM operation, Nayeon's escape and Jeongyeon's decision to put her safety on the line to help you, and of course Momo's reappearance - you could barely make sense of it all.

 It was all going so well; Nayeon had retrieved the data and files she needed and it was only the overly cautious receptionist at the SM office that kept her from achieving her objective without any further fuss. The rest of the mission played out like a movie scene, complete with a run through a crowded mall while being pursued by suited thugs and a getaway car chase through rush hour traffic.

 You were glad that at least the central objective of the operation - retrieval of Irene's files - was complete. You were looking forward to getting the rundown tomorrow from Jihyo as to what they contained and were hopeful that you could find something, anything, that could contribute to bringing down Irene.

 The data and files were certainly a coup, something to be happy about, as was the fact that you and everyone on your team had escaped SM’s clutches with relative safety. But you nonetheless found yourself thinking back to two moments from that afternoon - when Jeongyeon put her own safety on the line to help you, and when Nayeon did the opposite and ran.

 You knew that Nayeon was a consummate professional, and that she always put her job first. You knew that her getting away and making sure the data and files got to Jihyo was the central objective of her operation. She was only accomplishing her objectives, even if it meant leaving you and Jeongyeon to hold off the SM thugs; moreover, you had actually ordered her to run away. She was acting in line with her character and her job.

 So why, then, did it hurt so much to see her run?

 A small part of you, you knew, wanted her to stay; wanted her to say fuck you to completing the mission and instead remain there, with you, subjecting herself to potential capture because she wouldn’t leave you behind, wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone, even if it meant losing the files she had worked so hard to obtain.

 And perhaps that was why seeing Jeongyeon there, standing next to you, ready to put her own safety on the line for your sake, warmed your heart as much as it did. She could have stayed in the van with Jihyo, could have run away at any point in the pursuit - but she stayed. And when the time came to fight, she was right there next to you, a wooden plank in her hands and a glare in her eyes, ready to go down swinging.

 She had asked you that morning to make up your mind about her - to not leave her waiting. She was probably waiting for you now, alone in her apartment room.

 You stand and leave your room, not wanting to have her wait a second longer.

 —-

 Fate, it seemed, had a way of appraising your plans, and, after some deliberation, throwing wrenches in them.

 At the moment fate took the from of Hirai Momo, whom you quite literally ran into as you exited the elevator that took you to the floor of Jeongyeon's apartment room. She is wearing a nondescript black hoodie with the hood up, likely to stay under the radar - but her pale skin and bright eyes were difficult to hide, even despite her best efforts.

 "I was just making sure she was okay," she mutters under her breath as she walks past you to press the elevator call button on the wall. She stands there facing away from you, pulling out her phone in what was obviously an attempt to blatantly ignore the fact that you were standing right there.

 You stand there for a moment in shock. How could a woman you'd once been so close with, one you had loved so dearly and had loved you in return, been reduced to what was now effectively a stranger? Your breakup wasn't perfect - few of them are - but even you were surprised, and a little upset, about the way she was treating you.

 "Momo, we need to talk."

 There is a moment of silence, and then a sigh, as though she too were cursing fate for having her arrive at the elevators just as you were leaving them.

 "About what?" she answers, not bothering to turn to face you.

 "I don't care about the rescue. I don't care about why you were at SM. I just want to know why you're so damn pissed off at me right now."

 Again there is silence. After awhile Momo drops her arms to her sides in a gesture of exasperation. She tilts her head backward, and even though you can't see her face you imagine that she's looking skyward and cursing her luck for having run into you when she did.

 Finally she turns around to face you. And again, you are struck by how a simple thing such as hairstyle can utterly change a person's appearance. Was this really the same Hirai Momo you'd known for almost a decade, the same one you'd been on countless business trips -and just as many passionate nights - all over the world with, the same one you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with, up until just a few weeks ago?

 She seemed like a completely different person - and not just in terms of how she wore her hair. Everything about her seemed different, and it hurt you to witness it.

 "I'm pissed off at you because I didn't ask to have you back in my life. I wanted time away from you. So I bottled up the way I felt about you and put it into a locked box and threw that box into the ocean."

 There is a look of anger in her eyes now, the same one she'd had in the van.

 "But," she continues, "you had to go and do something stupid when I was minutes away from finally accomplishing something on my own. And I was forced to save you. And now you're back in my life, and I don't know how to handle it."

 You aren't quite sure how to react to her abrupt confession, and so you don't do anything at all, your mind failing to make sense of the way you felt, never mind coming up with words to articulate it.

 "I thought things were okay between us, Momo," you manage to say.

 "They were," she replies, rubbing her forehead with a hand as though she were fighting off an impending headache, "I was doing fine. I guess...I guess I didn't know I wasn't okay until I saw you again today."

 "We can talk-"

 "No. I don't want to talk. You know me. Words were never my strong suit."

 Silence returns, the seconds passing like hours, the both of you staring intently at the floor as though the answers to your questions were to be found somewhere amidst the patterned tiling. The bell that announces the arrival of the elevator breaks the silence. Momo steps inside and looks back at you.

 "I'm in 31D. If you want, we'll have one night. We can fuck just like we used to. No strings attached. Maybe we talk about you and me. Maybe. Either way, tomorrow you go back to that locked box at the bottom of the ocean."

 The elevator door closes.

 The door to the second elevator opens and an apartment dweller steps out, offering you an awkward nod of greeting which you return. The open and waiting elevator they have just vacated beckons - as does the hallway to Jeongyeon’s room, where she was surely waiting for you.

 You listen to the apartment dweller’s steps fade away down the hallway, leaving you alone to make a choice.

[furiousstarfishphilosopher]

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[debu-neko-kun]

Amon

https://www.deviantart.com/whiteknucklewhiskey/art/Amon-the-Jailor-825780217 Wrote a thing for https://www.deviantart.com/whiteknucklewhiskey of his General/master interrogator/bemuscled squishy Amon, who can be viewed at the link at the top. He’s a really neat character with a very interesting fantasy/sci-fi world going on around him, and it was a blast writing this. Thank you for the opportunity to depict him this way :3 A bit darker than normal (a little warning there for the folks just here for the softs), but a nice challenge nonetheless. Content below  includes descriptions of chonk, brief violence, and a dash of dourness.

“General ger Reizenghest: step forward.” The voice of The Leader echoed through the lengthy room, smooth but strong, deep but biting; it reminded Amon of the stones on the shelled-out volcanic beaches near the primary front. He did as he was told, the floor of the private meeting room creaking beneath his boot steps, a thin layer of perspiration plain on the bulge of his thick neck. ”Two successful captures conducted in the last 24 hours, sir.” he began, instinctively squeezing one hand into a tight fist, the silver-beaded necklace in his grip making a soft *crk* against the polished leather of his glove. “One expired today at 0600, following interrogation. The other-” “You didn’t *fall* on him, did you?” the Leader spoke, the corner of his lip curling ever so slightly into a semi-bemused smile. The others in the room— medal-clad captains, the hulking Surgeon, svelte assassins— remained unerringly stone-faced. “…No, sir.” He replied, feeling that void rising up in his flabby stomach like antimatter. A whisper of a whisper, echoing back and forth through his core, growing in intensity. Amon swallowed it down, his collar suddenly choking, and continued on, “Exsanguination. The information he released will be tested by a reconnaissance team. The second prisoner will be interrogated upon the termination of this meeting today.” “Very well. Send me the results as soon as they are ascertained… oh, and Amon?” “Yes, sir?” “Cut back on the sweets, will you? You’ve set the standard for unwavering dedication to this country, but that compulsion of yours… unsightly. Do better.” The void was in his throat now, choking him like a stone. “Yes, sir.”

The train ride to the prison was his second favorite part of the day. It gave him a chance to rest, collect himself, remove these goddamn tight boots… and most importantly, have lunch before the real work began. A short, boyish waiter did his best to maneuver two meal carts into the spacious train car, sweet and savory scents carried through with him. “Your meal, General. Should I call you General? Oh, dear, I never remember…” Amon took a draw from his cigarette, blowing the acrid puff in a smooth stream across the train car, and put it out in an ashtray by the window. He never looked at the waiter, too busy at a low table, plotting pins on a map centered between stacks of papers all stamped “Confidential”. “Leave the carts.” he ordered, pointing back at the connecting door. “I’ll ring you if I need more.” “I-I, uhm-” the waiter stammered, a bit taken aback by the sudden request. He set two platters back down and bowed, quickly shuffling back to the door. Before he left, however, he turned back and mousily chirped, “You’re looking very fine today, General. I hope you enjoy your meal.” And with that, Amon was left alone. He took in a deep breath, reached down, and undid the large round belt buckle on his front. Instantly, it practically burst out of his grip as his belly spilled forward unfettered like a fat sack jelly, soft and supple rolls of flesh surging into his lap. The polished leather of his waistcoat creaked with the strain of holding it all in, equally shiny pants doing the same. He felt both lucky and cursed that his uniform was primarily leather; lucky that it was sturdy and a bit stylish, cursed that it hugged the twin globes of his vast ass and squeezed his blubbery belly into one great obsidian ball. Sure, his back was covered by the tail of his coat, and his chest was partially disguised by the multiple layers of his upper uniform, but his gut… it bulged out for the world to see, squished around belts and buckles and pushed the zipper of his jacket up. It was unavoidable, but at least it made him seem more imposing… at least, he hoped. The bulging muscles of his arms didn’t hurt in that aspect, anyway, though even they seemed to have a tinge of broad softness about them these days. None of this was of any concern right now, however. The only concern he had, he thought, pulling the lid off one of the covered trays next to him and bringing the dish to the top of his belly… …was how flaky the butter cake was today. The rest of the ride was spent with little else but the savoring of fine flavors, each dish as decadent as the last. Silky ganache truffles were plucked from polished trays, their intricate chocolate patterns appreciated only momentarily before being sent down to his hungry belly. Latticed pies with dustings of freshly cultivated sugar were consumed with little fanfare while he perused the marks on the map ahead of him, mind split among rich flavors and front lines, travel routes and creme fillings. He only brought his attention fully back to the food when the sky outside vanished; the neon glow of the low-energy tunnel lights filled the cabin with an unearthly atmosphere and bathed the map in shadows. “Ah well,” he sighed, taking a bite of eclair. “For the best.” He’d need to build up his energy for when he reached the prison, he reasoned. Interrogations always left him a bit tired, after all, and he had plans for the night beyond. And what better source of energy than a hearty breakfast and a quiet moment? So, with one hand on his half-packed gut, he leaned back, finished the eclair, and declared it time to move onto the main course.

Amon was waiting by the door when the train pulled into the station. He adjusted his vest— feeling twice as tight as before the trip— and straightened his collar in the reflection of the door windows. Satisfied with his appearance, he drew a cigarette from his chest pouch and lit it, the orange glow from the lighter mingling with the red light of the security checkpoint. He loved the way the colors mingled; if only they’d let him add some of that color to his uniform. Sure, he was allowed a bit of red here and there, and his medals offered a patch of vibrancy against the black, but he wanted something that was really *him*. He made a mental note to get with his tailor tomorrow. The doors slid open in front of him, the train car rocking ever-so-slightly as he stepped onto the platform. Just as he did, four soldiers rushed up to him, each clad in the same drab uniform: white shirt, black tie, black pants, all wrapped up in a militant black trench coat. They regarded him with hesitation, or what seemed to be hesitation; it was a little hard to tell how they were feeling, as every common soldier had their head wrapped in featureless black fabric. “Well?” he huffed, glancing around at each of them. They each turned their heads to eachother, shuffling gently. “Clear me, you goddamn fools, and open the gate!” he snapped, growling out at them with fists clenched at his sides. The all jumped simultaneously, two rushing to his wide sides to give him a once-over scan. They had to spiral around him to capture the full breadth of his form, something that frustrated him every time. “Quickly.” Amon spat, venom seething from between clenched teeth. The two by his sides gave thumbs-up signs to the other two soldiers waiting on either side of the large subterranean entrance to the prison, who each pressed buttons in their respective booths. The screen above the huge gate flashed a green checkmark, followed by a scrolling “Welcome, General!” in the swirling text of his native tongue. He left them with darting glares, but they didn’t seem too bothered; they just regarded him with salutes as he passed into the corridor beyond, the large iron doors grinding back together behind him. A cold wind wrapped around his wide body, a welcome comfort on the long walk through the halls beyond guard offices, captain’s quarters, bunk rooms and resting areas. By the time he reached the elevator, his feet already ached and he had to rest against the wall of the elevator to catch his breath. He’d said it before, and he’d say it again: the interrogation room was much too far from the entrance. Why bury it so deeply? They were already deep beneath the earth, and nobody’s ever screamed loud enough to be heard through a mountain. “It’s good for you,” The Leader had once said after he proposed a relocation of his working space. “Perhaps if you walk it long enough, you’ll lose that gut.” Only after a long grumpy silence had he said he’d think about it, and the work order was sent out only to be lost between the wall and filing cabinet belonging to an overworked desk boy. The elevator doors opened at the bottom level, beneath even the normal prison cells. The hallway was well lit, cobbled floors glistening gently from the daily mopping, disinfectant strong in the air. Amon walked slowly to the door at the end of the hall, boot-steps reverberating strong and brief along the walls. He produced a key, twisted it in the lock; he’d always insisted on the old-fashioned nature of the interrogation quarters, down to the heavy wooden door and candelabras. It almost made the spacious room feel displaced from time. A place plucked out, made solely for pain. The prisoner was waiting for him beneath a swarm of hanging chains that clinked gently above. He looked strong, all bulging muscles and squared features. He had a cloth wrapped around his eyes, and shackles on his hands and feet, holding him fast against the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Come to kill me?” the prisoner asked, leaning his head back. “Not if you talk.” Amon breathed, placing his coat on the hook by the door. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, contemplated taking his gloves off for this one. “Then you’re just gonna have to kill me, ‘cause I’m not feeling chatty today. Say, you mind taking this blindfold off, though? I prefer to look death in the face.” Amon said nothing, just wandered slowly behind him to untie the bow of his blindfold. And just as slowly, hands behind his back, he stepped out in front of him. “Aw shit.” the prisoner gulped, suddenly presented with the hulking jailor. Eyes darted across the glaring, blue-eyed visage above him, from the devilish inverted red pyramid on his lower lip to the bullish golden ring in his nose to the high cheek bones that gave his face a snake-like sharpness. Amon could see his stomach collapse, the air— and courage— rushing right out of him. “W-Well,” he gulped, trying to regain his composure. “Aren’t you a pretty one.” Amon swiped him across the cheek with his fist, shallow enough to just graze his teeth. He needed him to talk, after all. “Enough.” Amon barked, leaning in close. “Battle details only. Give me something useful.” The prisoner clenched his eyes shut, wincing away the pain. “Fuck, okay,” he said through clenched teeth. “Details…” Amon grabbed him by the jaw, squeezing his face painfully. “Now.” “Okay, here’s one: it feels like a marshmallow.” Amon’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Your gut, on my knee, feels like a fat, warm, squishy goddamn marshmallow. How’s that for details?” The grip held a moment, tightening ever so slowly around his jaw. And then, Amon released, turning to take slow steps toward a polished wooden cupboard just beyond the sight of the prisoner. “What’s the matter? Can’t take the truth?” the prisoner laughed, throwing his head back. “Thinking.” Amon pulled the cupboard open. On one side, a tidy row of records shelved just above a little boxy record player he’d received from his mother for his birthday. “What?” Slowly, he pulled open the other door, mind still wondering what to listen to after he was done, what could possibly wash away what he was about to do. Behind this door, similarly tidy, were a number of instruments; whips, surgical instruments, knuckle dusters wide enough for his generous hands. Strong but soft hands moved across the tools, fingertips ghosting past metal and wood and stone. He stopped when he reached a simple iron-core baton, the surface painted with a thin layer of protective rubber. Not for safety, of course. “Thinking,” he repeated, wrapping his hand around the baton, glove creaking with the force. “Of how I’m going to hurt you.”