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mudaship39 · 5 months

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Character bio of the Asian Pasifika demigod and Afro Latine Native alien hybrid superhero main character part 9

Citizenship:

Kingdom of Hawaii. Kingdom of Tonga. Citizen of mythical Mu and Hawaiki as an Oceanic demigod and alien hybrid. Earth. Europa. Titan. Sol System. Milky Way Galaxy. Intergalactic Federation of Ethanxiia. Planetary Confederacy of Iuyumania. Polaris System. Andromeda Galaxy.

Marital Status: Married.

Education:

High school grad

Principal's Honor Roll

High school Salutatorian

College dropout because of work conflict and taking care of their biological and adoptive kids. Later went back to school to complete their degrees.

College graduate.

College Valedictorian

Science major who graduated from a four year university with an Associate’s Degree of Science in Xeno Zoology with a minor in Magi Paleontology.

Bachelor’s degree in Magi Marine Biology and Xeno Anthropology

Graduated from the Earth Naval Academy. Master’s Degree of Science in Oceanography with a minor in Ocean Engineering.

Science major who graduated from Sol System Ivy League University with a Doctorate in Science. Dual Major in Xeno Biology and Magi Archeology.

High school sports:

Swimming, Golf, Volleyball, Baseball, Tennis, Water Polo, Track, Wrestling, Basketball, Soccer.

College Sports:

Cross country, Volleyball, Ice hockey, Skiing, Baseball, Snowboarding, Basketball, Lacrosse, Soccer.

Club:

Fencing, Kendo, Archery, Kickboxing, Equestrian, Fishing, Judo, Shooting (pistol and rifle), Weightlifting, Rock climbing, Taekwondo, Karate, Sailing, Mixed martial arts

Occupation:

College:

A Administrative assistant. App Designer. App Tester. Babysitter. Bank teller. Barber. Bar Bartender. Beach Lifeguard. Blogger. Bookkeeper. Bookstore Owner. Bus driver. Cab Driver. Camp Counselor. Car Wash Attendant. Cashier. Coffee shop barista. College tutor. Commercial actor. Concierge. Content Creator. Customer service representative. Dance Instructor. Delivery Driver. Dental Assistant. Dishwasher. Dog Walker. Electrician. Fan artist. Fanwriter. Fast food line cook. Fast food cashier. Freelancer. Freelance Writer. Firefighter. Fitness Instructor. Former child actor. Former Teen Star. Gardener. Gas Station Attendant. Golf Caddie. Grocery Store Clerk. Hairdresser. Host. Hover Car mechanic. Independent Contractor Driver (Hover Car Uber). Influencer. IT Support. Janitor. Journalist. Librarian. Mall security guard. Manual Laborer. Mover. Movie Theater Projectionist. Movie Theater Usher. Nail Technician. Nanny. Newspaper Delivery. Office receptionist. Pet Sitter (Specializing in birds, cats, spiders, lizards, & dogs). Pest Control. Pharmacy Technician. Photographer. Podcaster. Pool Lifeguard. Post office worker. Referee. Reporter. Research Assistant. Resident Advisor. Retail Sales Associate. Restaurant server. Roadie. Secretary. Social media assistant. Social Media Community Manager. Social media influencer. Sport team brand ambassador. Swim Instructor. Tattoo Artist. Television actor. Umpire. Valet. Waiter/Waitress. Web Designer. Video game streamer. Video Blogging/Vlogger. Virtual Assistant.

Sciences: He/she/they are a life scientist who studies anthropology, anatomy, archeology, biology, botany, conservation, ecology, genetics, linguistics, marine biology, paleontology, psychology, physiology, sociology, and zoology

He/she/they are a physical scientists who studies astronomy, astrophysics, chemistry, cosmology, earth sciences, engineering, geology, geography, oceanography, meteorology, nanotechnology, planetary sciences, and physics

Mom and dad of the Asian Pasifika and native Afro Latine Native superhero are native of color scientists in stem

Mom is a physical scientist who studies astronomy, chemistry, cosmology, engineering, geology, oceanography meteorology, nanotechnology, and physics

Dad is a life scientist so anthropology, anatomy, archeology, biology, botany, ecology, genetics, marine biology, paleontology, and zoology

Their child, the main character, is a life and physical scientists but on other alien planets of xeno sciences and other magical realms of magi sciences

He/she/they are a life scientist who studies on alien worlds

He/she/they are also a scientist who studies magical worlds

He/she/they study life across the planets, star systems, & galaxies across the universe, multiverse, & omniverse.

Gym Rat. Street Fighter. Pit Fighter. Underground Fighter. Martial Artist. Mixed Martial Artist. Athlete. Sports Coach. Team manager. Celebrity.

Supermodel. Fashion Designer.

Singer. Rapper. Musician. DJ. Spoken word poet. Songwriter. Actor.

Verified Video Game Streamer. Pro Gamer. Video game Voice Actor/actress. Game Designer. Podcaster. Influencer. Content Creator.

Stage Actor. Animator. Director. Producer. Set Designer. Costume Designer. Screenwriter.

Playwright. Author. Illustrator. Literary Agent. Editor. Publisher.

Business person. Mogul. Grill Chef. Fry Chef. Pastry Chef. Fish Chef. Junior Chef. Station Chef. Deputy Chef. Head Chef. Executive Chef. Master Chef. Gourmet Chef. 5 Star Restaurant Owner. Mixologist. High End Bar Owner. Proprietor.

Civilian (Colonist). Exterminator (Extradimensional Fauna).

Agent (Intelligence). Intelligence Officer. Intergalactic Law Enforcement, Intergalactic Intelligence Officer, Intergalactic Secret Agent,

Assassin. Professional Assassin. Militant Assassin. Contract Assassin. Master Assassin. Hired Killer. Hitman. Contract Killer. Ninja. Shinobi/Kunoichi Ninja Assassin Recruit (C- rank). Genin (B+ rank). Chunin (A+ rank). Jonin (S+ rank). Spy. Informant. Double Agent. Triple Agent.

Child soldier. Enlisted Soldier. Dauntless. Soldier. Academic Soldier. Conscript. Military Conscript. Recruit. Grunt. Infantry. Rifleman. Private. Corporal. Lance Corporal. Cook (Mess Hall). Field Cook. Mechanic. Medic. Field Medic. Combat Medic. Nurse. Surgeon. Doctor Scientist. Field Scientist. Sergeant. Drill Sergeant. Commissioned Officer. Second Lieutenant. First Lieutenant. Captain. Support. Machine Gunner. Sharpshooter. Marksman. Sniper. Scout. Recon. Demolitions. Grenadier. Disciplined Soldier. Combat Engineer. Intelligence. Military Asset. Spy. Double Agent. Assassin. Militant Assassin (Spy, Saboteur, Double Agent, & Contract Assassin). Assault. Heavy Weapons. Squad Leader. Officer. Military Officer. Intelligence Officer. Specialist. Commando. Airborne. Paratrooper. Pilot (Captain). Military Pilot (Spy). Exploration. Military. Military Officer. Intergalactic Paramilitary Operative, Intergalactic Supersoldier, Intergalactic Private Soldier. Black Ops. Special Ops. Covert Ops. Spec Ops Officer. Paramilitary. Major. Colonel. Field Marshal. General. Veteran. War Veteran. War Hero. Decorated. Disabled Veteran. War Hero. Honorably Discharged. Retired Soldier. Veteran Who Can’t Let Go. Haunted Veteran. Officer Who Came Out of Retirement.

Science Officer. Geneticist. Xenologist. Xenobiologist Consultant. Ancient Texts Interpreter. Xeno-anthropologist, Mutation Expert. Planetologist. Xenoecologist. Xenolinguist. Cryogenics Laboratory Assistant. Laser Beam Operator. Hologram Designer.

Communications Officer. Cultural Facilitator. Cultural Integrationist. Cultural Interpreter.

Doctor. Nurse. Medical Officer. Medical Officer.

Administrative Officer. Diplomat. Political Officer. Ambassador. Customs Official. Station Admin (Space Traffic Controller). Dock Worker (). Station master. Traffic control. Gate control. Supply Officer.

Asteroid Prospector. Deep space construction. Exo Suit Welder. Orbital Junkyard Worker. Hazardous Materials Handler.

Broker. Free Trader. Merchant Marine.

Scout. Helmsman. Navigation Systems Expert. Navigator. Space fighter Pilot. Space craft pilot.

Technician. Engineer. Droid mechanic. Ship mechanic. Armorer, Cyberneticist. Robotics Officer. Simulations Specialist. Robot Design Repair. Artificial Intelligence Scientist. Biotechnology Specialist. Nanotech Engineer. Robot Supervisor. Terraforming Engineer.

Customs Security. Station Security. Private Security. Tactical Officer. Weapons System Expert. Security Officer. Weapons Specialist. Ordinance Officer. Ground Support Specialist. Starship weapons officer.

Smuggler. Scrapper/Junker. Scavenger. Space pirate. Space pirate captain. Space pirate fleet admiral.

Federation Academy Teacher. Federation Military Academy Teacher.

Hacker.

Nanotech Printing Engineer.

Simulation Designer.

Used Spaceship Salesman. Licensed SpaceShip Rental Agent. Starship Insurance Company Agent.

Space Traffic Controller

Ship Interior Designer/Decorator

Biotechnology Specialist.

Nanotech Engineer. Nanotech Ethicist

Professional Psion. Combat Psion.

FTL Drive Engineer

High King/High Queen of the Principality of Federation of Kingdoms of Ethanxiia of an alien planet Ethanxiia

Paramount Chieftain and Warchief of the Confederacy of Nations of Iuyumania on the planet of Iuyamania

High King/High Queen of Mu or Hawaiki. Imagine Mount Olympus, Asgard, or Themyscira but for Indigenous Pasifika demigod metahumans and Indigenous Pasifika alien hybrid superhumans. A series of floating, terrestrial, & underwater kingdoms that was a federation or empire. It was created because of strong mystical, esoteric, arcane energies intrinsically tied to the sea, air, & land. It was built with the help of alien technology, divine help from polytheistic pagan pantheons, and arcane human magic. It was a magical focal point and is the strongest in power. It is an utopia dedicated to the free exchange of information and ideas of diverse and inclusive communities.

Through the influence of the government, military, scholars, & monarchs the empire or federation flourished and grew into an advanced realm unlike any other on the planet. Science, technology, & magic were the dominant means of power throughout the aquatic, terrestrial, & air supercontinent. They were already developing highly advanced technological wonders even in antiquity. Since its inception technology and magic were in sync and made the empire or federation both magically, scientifically, and technologically advanced. A terrestrial federation of kingdoms similar to its rival Hyperborea.

An underwater federation of kingdoms similar to its rival the technologically advanced Atlantean empire. A floating empire of kingdoms similar to its rival Asgard. Actually the size of a supercontinent. It is one of the earliest and most highly advanced cultural, technological, scientific, and magical societies on Earth.

It is an empire or federation that is further divided into kingdoms with each its own settlements, villages, towns, cities, counties, states. It is an oasis of civilization in prehistory, modern day, & the future. Although the arial, terrestrial, & aquatic federation or empire grew and prospered.

The civilizations of the outside world remained largely ignorant of Mu or Hawaiki for many decades, centuries, & millennia. In recent years however, it has found itself pushed to the forefront of public awareness. They are now considered the most technologically advanced federation of the planet.

The underwater throne room defended by sea elves riding dolphins, palace defended by merfolk and tritons riding sea unicorn, capital defended by weresharks riding (tiger, mako, & great white) sharks, & kingdoms are defended by Atlanteans riding whales (beluga, narwhals, & orcas). Their throne room is decorated with the skeletons of a megalodon, a mosasaurus, a plesiosaurus, a basilosaurus, & a livyatan. For Hawaiki the federation of kingdoms of Pasifika alien hybrids and demigods there were several kingdoms on land hidden by magic, several kingdoms floating in the air hidden by magic and technology, as well as several kingdoms underwater hidden by technology.

Their scientists develop a means so that their people could survive underwater, in the air, & on land. The experiment was a success and the serum transformed the citizens from normal human beings into a metahuman and superhuman species who could survive anywhere in the empire. The denizens of the empire or federation were changing to evolve new biological, emotional , intellectual, spiritual, and magical functions in order to better thrive. They altered differently from baseline homo sapiens due the high concentration of magic, technology, & science flowing throughout its vast territory. It's people gaining the ability to survive anywhere on land, sea, & air. Due to this habitual alternation all Hawaiki'an citizens of every nation of the empire or federation of demigods and alien hybrids are physically superior to baseline humans. As a result of being stronger, faster, tougher, smarter, and longer lived.

Chairman and CEO of Dynamic Sciences, Research, Development, Engineering, & Technology. It is a research organization, charity/philanthropy organization, and business corporation. It is the world's largest and most diversified multinational corporation. Complemented with a national and international chain of research laboratories. That is unconnected to the government or the military. It specializes in A.I., genetics, disease control, medicine, research and technology, nanotechnology, bionics, bio-engineering, pharmaceuticals, security, paramilitary weaponry, defense, aerospace, computer hardware and software, robotics, and metahuman and superhuman studies.

It was officially created in the 16th century. It is one of the oldest companies in the world. It began as a merchant business, an artisan guild, and trading company. As the company became more successful more branches were opened. Soon other companies were bought and absorbed. This was when expansion of the company turned into a global conglomerate with numerous headquarters, branches, & businesses in different countries. This turned it into a business conglomerate and corporation. It is a high-rise building as its own corporate headquarters.

It soon became a green company under new regulations and reforms and became environmentally conscious. It is known for its accessibility for disabled staff, employees, consumers, & visitors. It has been a forerunner in many fields of science, engineering, inventions, research, development, & technology. Its main headquarters are in California, Kansas, Ohio, South Carolina, & New York in America.

The tower was designed by its founder with the intention to serve as a beacon of modern human architecture. It was completed after a few years of excavation and construction. The tower itself cost several hundred million to build, update, & maintain. It was later redesigned by the current chairman and CEO to be a beacon of futuristic alien and human architecture.

It employs hundreds of thousands of people both human and alien of base human, superhuman, & metahuman origin with hundreds of buildings around the world. It employs hundreds of thousands of people of different diverse backgrounds. There are branch offices and headquarters all over the world. More than simply a superhero lair.

It is officially an advanced research, development, inventing, technology, science, engineering facility, a philanthropic/charity organization, and international business corporation. It is a multibillion research organization and business corporation. It is an advanced sciences, inventing, engineering, research, development, & technologies company with worldwide interests.

There are several lead scientists that work at the organization and corporation. They each have their own individual labs. The labs are equipped with the best and most advanced scientific equipment. Each of them are allowed to create whatever they think will help the company and technology advance. In the future it is a leading company in creating the most advanced technology in the world, star system, galaxy, & universe. He/she/they is their chief scientist. He/she/they are a life scientist who studies anthropology, anatomy, archeology, biology, botany, conservation, ecology, genetics, linguistics, marine biology, paleontology, psychology, physiology, sociology, and zoology. He/she/they are a physical scientist who studies astronomy, astrophysics, chemistry, cosmology, earth sciences, engineering, geology, geography, oceanography, meteorology, nanotechnology, planetary sciences, physics, & robotics.

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localizee · 5 months

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juancarloscarlos861 · 9 months

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fence installation college station tx

Best fencing contractor in College Station Texas. We provide top-quality fence installation, repair, and maintenance. We provide a variety of residential and commercial fence-building services. Get in touch now.

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maroonfencingtx · 1 year

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rhubarbplants · 3 years

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DSMP suburbia au

Phil, retired rich dad whose oldest son lives in his basement and whose youngest son moved out and lives with his best friend in a house across town. Neighbors with Ranboo and Techno. Syndicate book club.

Wilbur came back from college and is now staying in his fathers basement. He is starting his second food truck startup, he cannot cook. He and Tommy no longer get along because wil got tommy involved in a scandal of his last truck and tommy got shot.

Ranboo (18 y/o with the personality of a wine mom) nosey gossip on the board of everything in town, people pleaser but people don’t hate him because they know he isnt spreading twisted rumors. Rich bc parents died, takes care of Michael at home. Book club. He and Tubbo are married because Tubbo is head of town council and Ranboo wanted to go to the events but also they love eachother/p. They adopted michael together.

Tubbo is the head of town council, and he runs the ice cream parlor. Takes care of michael, married to ranboo. Roommates with tommy sometimes but sometimes lives w/ ranboo. He is very political and people sometimes take a bit to realize how smart he is. Stressed af, cannot drive.

Eret runs the historical society (president of the society) and is on town council. Took in fundy he was a part of the gov when dream was mayor and filed info about health concerns for wilburs truck. He hates how that hurt his friendships and blames himself.

Karl runs town archives. He works a bit obsessively to have accounts of all of the things that happen in the town. He also is a people person and likes starting events and getting the town together.

Technoblade is the librarian and leads a protest group (not against town council bc that's a citizen org but the mayor and stuff but also kinda against the council). Book club, neighbors with Phil and Ranboo. He is antisocial and thinks a lot less town orgs are needed.

Jschlatt is mayor, no one likes him. He took over after dream since he was assistant and so just filled the power vacuum. Pro giving money to the strip malls and doesn’t want to fund the town council.

Hannah is the community planner/runs community garden (she is very pro reggs) she wants to help improve the beauty of the town and focus money on that and reggs.

Puffy is a radio journalist - on the historical society board she keeps track of current events. She is related to foolish but not parent child. She often works with the people in the book club when they do more activist things because she believes that more money should be spent on non profit services.

Niki owns the bakery/cafe - in the book club she is not on any of the boards but she is upset that mayoral gov doesn’t disclose any policy before it is put into effect.. She and Puffy flirt but they are not dating. She and jack are also friends

George: insomniac works in the cafe part of Niki’s business. Worked with dream and now wants nothing to do with gov.

Sapnap is a fireman

Quackity owns the Las Nevadas park and shop strip mall and law agency. He is the town financial chair.

Foolish, architect and contractor, his business is in Las nevadas park and shop.

Charlie: runs Meat Burgers he's from the city and doesn’t understand the suburbia life.

Fundy: tired and lives off of coffee fresh out of college with a fancy fine arts degree and he work at the parking station in the Las nevadas park and shop.

Purpled: project manager, office in LNPAS

Sam: electrician and computer man

Punz: park ranger and the closest thing the town has to police, never around because he barely has a job.

Dream: used to be mayor but after a scandal where it was uncovered that he was using possession of Tommy’s discs to try to get incriminating info on Wilbur and others he was removed from office, he now owns dream burger, everyones least favorite burger joint.

Ponk: runs a restaurant called lemon life (used to date sam before sam made him fall off a fence and break his arm, he now flirts with foolish)

Bad: Runs Reggs Benedict a breakfast place and diner.

Ant: Runs the pet rescue

Skeppy: jewler

I wrote it too! so READ IT HERE :D

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33068917

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creativitytoexplore · 4 years

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Forward: March by Mike Lee https://ift.tt/3flTpur Mike Lee tells the story of two American political refugees in the South American country of Antanzia, with a complicated personal history; by Mike Lee.

"How exhausting all this was. In fact, if only people knew how madly tiresome it is to be a criminal!"

- Hermann Hesse, Klein and Wagner

The question was resolved with an answer I steadfastly refused to accept. My hands became putty in this memory of a profoundly painful aspect of my past. That is, doing something that seemed a good idea at the time, but really never was to begin with. This fact was laid out before me while with my old camp mate Stefan at a table at the beach in Antanzia City. We sat under a fuchsia umbrella chatting over some business regarding his novel and likely temporary employment writing copy for a public relations firm I had an excellent connection with. I am his literary agent; managing his often-difficult navigation through the publishing trade in the country we now call our home. As refugees coming to grips with the truth that we may never return home, Stefan and I carve out our own palos in this new garden in South America, channeling our lives in a manner where we have a sense that we no longer have to look over our shoulders in the street, or listen for the baleful knock on the door by the national police. Having said that, living in Antanzia is a struggle, and today's business meeting was no exception. Being in a new land, though with us having now spent three years for me, and coming up on one for Stefan, has its issues once you get over the relief of escaping a dictatorship and finding room to breathe and hopefully thrive. After that sense of relief passes, one is confronted with the difficulties of being accepted. Antanzians are outwardly welcoming, but we certainly have collectively been grating on their nerves since the United Nations negotiated for political refugees to come to this country. The Antanzians tire of being a dumping ground while we weary of being treated like shit by our hosts. This creates an impasse that is an abyss to traverse in what can best be described as a politely passive-aggressive manner. Yet for some reason that none of us could quite put our hands on, they were indifferent to our plight, and often angry. We were an inconvenient presence, often ghettoized in Briklin, the slums in the inner part of Antanzia City, or sent off to the mountains, or worse yet working in the steel mills and iron ore mines in the northern border areas around the city of Bataille. It was sometimes hell. Shopkeepers threw change at us at the markets, and landlords overcharged for rent. Employment services usually shifted Americans into construction, and contractors consistently violated the labor codes regarding wages and work conditions. We took it, though, because in these transactions both parties knew we had no power to complain. We could not go back, unless you saved enough money and moved on to Brazil and Argentina, which treated us a little better. Not by much, but there were better opportunities and a modicum of respect that was lacking in our hosts. But I was a literary agent for non-citizen writers, namely my fellow Americans, and a subeditor for a refugee journal and website. I had a visa and permanent work permit, and citizenship was on the horizon. My Portuguese was good, and I got respect from my indigenous peers. Stefan was a dreamer. Isolated in a house in the far mountains of the O'Doul Range, writing his novel, and churning out book reviews and literary essays for print and online journals catering to our growing community. I thought of him as a man trying to erase memory. This was reflected in his writing: scribing dreamy parables influenced heavily by Hermann Hesse and Ernst Junger that I believed had more appeal for the locals than it did for exiles. We liked words that tasted of the whips we endured. Fiction that threw us against the wall, sentences that burned like the cattle prods. Shoved face down in toilet seats, sitting hungry in isolation cells, martyrdom with a bullet was what appealed to us, because it was all we knew. In America, political conflict eventually was settled by the crack of gunfire and people dragged into darkness at four in the morning. That's our game. In this country, you can spot one of us by the look of past incarceration. We have a post-traumatic stare. We do not look at you, but through. Looking at Stefan I saw something lacking in his expression. He was direct and steady. He was not one of us. It was becoming apparent during the conversation, I made a mistake befriending this man. I did not trust him. I long ago learned not to.

Today is a Thursday late morning in March, the end of the Antanzian summer. I am older now, and I like fitting in so I dress my age, and try to look local in my tan linen suit and black oxfords. I began sporting a wide-brimmed straw hat, my vanity too much to show my receding hairline. Fitting in is something I didn't do well back home, but here I found it easy - to a point. As I sat across from Stefan my nascent disdain began to slowly percolate. Dear Stefan in his blazer and ill-fitting slacks. He needed to dress better, and I know he could, so I decided to keep our encounter on the beach, but intended to tell him to dress better when I took him to the editorial meeting. The work I had for him was simple enough. After countless delays, the RSA had planned the first human mission to Mars. The Gagarin mission was cobbled together under Russian/Indian leadership, using whatever resources were left in the now-collapsed European Union, and American technicians who no longer had a country willing to engage in anything other than staring at their navels. The international crew was mainly Russian, and Stefan minored in Russian in college, so it was a fit - somewhat - mainly because he spoke the language and knew Soviet history. But there were no Soviets, only Russians again, and the lot of them seemed to be blissfully unaware that being the last nation of any technological might left standing after a political and economic collapse does not leadership make. But, they did enough to launch for Mars, with grandiose plans to planet hop through the solar system and on to the stars. Considering the Antanzians had the tracking station in the northern mountains near the border, it was planned to boost their national pride by playing up their role in the Gagarin mission. So he was tasked to find someone who could write something for the local papers. Who better than an American? Why not us? We kicked the whole thing off with a few dreamers such as Goddard, a few weirdoes like Jack Parsons, and a slew of Nazis to work on releasing humanity from the taut bounds of Earth. We were the dreamers, with the means and spirit to get it done. We were Americans, and after World War II ruled - well, half the world. But we had a competitor with a knack to beat us. They got a satellite up first, shipped up a dog, a man, then a woman in space, did the first walk outside of a space capsule. Then we got serious, using the improved rocket design developed by our Germans using the fuel that Parsons invented, and set out for the big prize: the Moon. The other half withered and eventually crumbled, canceling their planned missions. Eventually we worked on a joint project, and then the other side totally collapsed, unable to keep up economically. The vastness of space before us was an American opportunity. At that moment, we were the only ones. The problem was, we lost our faith, distracted by events and an innate ability to stare at our navel and question ourselves endlessly. Dreams soon ceased to be. Sure, we managed to send out and land various craft, and launch exploratory vehicles which kissed the planets and several moons of our Solar System, but when it came to human exploration, as we had done with the Moon decades ago, we stayed with both feet on the ground. Then, due to events unforeseen, the balance of power shifted. One empire that had collapsed regenerated while the other - ours - crumbled into tertiary status. So, who better than an American? We still loved our country, though neither of us at this table liked it for what it had become, and America hated us to the point where we had become landless individuals cast out to at a table under an umbrella on the shore, under azure southern skies, marking time with all the other exiles, dreaming of a home that no longer was. So I did not trust this man. Not in the least. But I needed someone for the job.

The camp was situated in the desert outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. The stark, treeless mountains framed our landscape beyond the wire fence. I found out after my arrival that communications to the camp headquarters was by landline telephone only and all radio and wireless communications were jammed by satellites. This was complete isolation, but we made do with the Saturday visits from relatives who drove on the single two-lane blacktop leading to the main gate. We furtively did our work there. Our resistance was to the banal, and our enemies were in the main rather boring. They dumped us in camps, fed us the three square meals consisting of aging meat and stale potatoes, and when in the mood occasionally kicked the shit out us, usually without warning. In that regard, their neglect gave us an internal freedom that quite often at times gave us a false sense of fearlessness. We could talk amongst ourselves, and communicate messages to our loved ones visiting us at wire beside the front gate. That went on for a year. Then things suddenly transmogrified into horror. It began when the camp commander issued orders to forbid the visits. The posting was announced at morning roll call as we watched a detachment of reserve units guarding the fence perimeter. They also announced that the road to the camp was ordered as a secure military zone with shoot-to-kill orders for any nonmilitary personnel. Mail and packages were now to be confiscated. Guards ransacked our huts while we stood in the high desert heat. That night came the first raids. Units of five soldiers each entered at both entrances and their commanding officer ran off names from a computer printout. Sometimes only two or three were taken from a particular hut; other times far more. Most were members of the camp resistance. The others known personalities from the old days, former elected officials, military, writers, professors. Anyone who had been in a position of power before the onset of the current regime. They were loaded on buses and taken out of the camp. We only heard the trucks move out because we were ordered to stay in our bunks. Two soldiers stood at the doors, their guns pointed in our general direction. The raids continued nightly for a week, until the entire active membership of the resistance was removed. Those who remained were the cursed lucky, the noninvolved and suspected informers. Stefan, of course, was one who remained. Before the camp lockdown and the raids, I never paid much attention to him. I do remember that because of his journalism background he was approached by the resistance to do occasional writing. He wrote a few minor efforts that were passed through the fence, but as far I knew was not involved more than that. Stefan usually sat at a bench, reading his novels. He liked Hermann Hesse, which made sense because before the camp he taught German literature in a university. At first, I thought he was lucky like me. I was into the resistance a bit deeper, certainly enough to be taken away into the night to unknown destinations. I kept caution from the wind and figuratively burrowed further underground. The remaining members of the resistance did the same, exchanging furtive glances in the yard, in our huts, and during muster, like gangsters in a French film noir. We did not know which from whom anymore. All of us were innocent, or a traitor. Or a bit of both. One cannot separate in these stressful conditions. We passed each other as the dead to one another. The triumph of the regime over us was clear to all. Take a few of us, and leave the remainder to quietly question their worthless place in our universe, was the message we received. Paranoid, and remaining silent while waiting out our lonely days and nights in the desert camp. I did talk to Stefan during this time. Nothing much in common except for a shared interest in academia. I was a journalist and found him an interesting companion regarding book recommendations. I kept the conversation to that, and the miserable desert heat in spring and summer, and equally wretched cold in winter. I thought those conversations were unrevealing. Sometime I lay awake at night trying to remember everything we said. My memory of those days is still shot. All I can recall is fragments of mid-century European literature and the desperate need for shade from May to October. But like in Melville's Army of Shadows, there would be a reckoning once we put together another resistance unit in the camp to find the traitor. That never happened, unfortunately. A second early morning raid followed, and this time I was unlucky. Yet in torture I gave no one up. This last time was a week in a basement, somewhere. My knees ache in the wet winters, and the burn scars from the cattle prods still mark my back and upper thighs. I also came close to a heart attack in the experience. At the conclusion I learned who ratted me out. It was a phrase I overheard at the end, while lying on the concrete floor. The man in the blue serge suit, looking for all the world like a dandy, oversaw my interrogation. He had clean, well-manicured hands, and as he stood over my prone body, he told the brute with the cattle prod that there was nothing else to get from me. The man in the suit was a big chief. He told the guy to quit, and ordered over his cell phone for medical personnel to collect me. As I was loaded on the gurney, I heard the suit say, "Yet again, the scribbler is more wrong than right. This one is of no use to us." He looked at me, grimacing, and I detected a mere smidgen of mercy. "Yes, that man is a Klein, not a Wagner," he said, sighing. "Well, enough of him. He's got his walking papers and out of our hair." I immediately recognized the reference. That was the book Stefan read. I had read it, too. Klein and Wagner was a novella in Hermann Hesse's Klingsor's Last Summer. This was the only book I read completely through while imprisoned at the camp. I knew it was Stefan who betrayed us. All of us.

My erstwhile betrayer asked for another coffee, for which I had to pay. I do not have a problem with covering his expenses, viewing it as a means to fatten the cow, gaining his trust. Stefan also needed me to provide him a job. I willingly - happily - complied. I motioned for the waiter and ordered two American coffees. As we sat in our seats under the fuchsia umbrella, we concluded our plans, relaxing quietly before taking our leave for the appointment. I had already called ahead. Goltz, the senior assistant public relations director at the firm, was expecting us. During the coffee I studied Stefan's face as we conversed. It was light speak. He talked about his girlfriend, a photographer he knew in the years before the regime, and of his writing cabin in the mountains. He was deep in the forest, and it dawned on me that this made perfect sense. I suspected he assumed we would be looking for him if we got to Antanzia. But what surprised me is he searched me out for work. I wondered if he was mad, clueless, a sadist. Innocent never entered my mind. He was guilty as hell. We spoke of writing. I dared to mention Herman Hesse. Without registering a reaction Stefan talked about the Hesse novels, from Peter Camenzind to The Glass Bead Game. I mentioned I particularly enjoyed the novella collection he produced relatively early in his career. "My favorite is Klein and Wagner. I love the story of a normal family man, who commits a crime and flees to Venice under an assumed identity. Eventually one identity takes over another and this dooms the character." Stefan paused before responding. "I don't think that was the motive for Klein's suicide. I believe guilt did him in. Hesse was going through a marriage breakup at the time, and his feelings of guilt were worked through on the pages of that story." That got him. I already figured out what his code name was. I fantasised of that man in the blue serge suit, sitting behind his desk looking at Stefan's file, and probably laughing his ass off. "Yes," I said. "In the end, the truth will tell." "What do you mean by that?" "Just that the truth wins out over all the subterfuge." I sipped my coffee. "We had those hopes in the camp that the truth wins out. In a manner, it happened. We exist. We live." I swung my arm across this beach. "We have all this beauty that surrounds us. Sure, this isn't home, but we are safe." "Yes," Stefan's gaze was a little glazed. He shifted nervously in his seat. "We are safe." Stefan straightened up and refocused his attention. I believed he knew what I implied. "I love my mountains, and the forest passage I walk in the morning with Patricia." "Yes, I understand," I said, wanting to reach out and strangle him. I sucked in a breath. "How is she doing with finding work? I read in NdM that she will be exhibiting at the Refugee Center in May." Patricia wasn't one of us, having been fortunately stuck on assignment in Australia when the regime came down on us all like sleep in the night. She had the reputation, though, to be seen as not one of us. I noticed her upcoming gallery show at the center was about us refugees. There was a certain irony to that. Engineers digging ditches, doctors as restaurant doormen, professors working behind the counter at gas stations. We, like everyone else in similar circumstances throughout the world, were exiled to a country that doesn't like us, begrudgingly accepted with sneering caveats, and starting again from the bottom up. Yeah, isn't this ironic? Goltz and I were among the lucky ones. Or clever - pick one, or take both. As for Stefan, he had his house with the artist girlfriend deep in the woods, yet so desperate for cash he relied on people he'd sold out for a passport out. That's the way I saw it. Maybe he saw it, too, and in his desperation he was taking this risk with me. He had to know one of us figured his game out. This was only a matter of time and I didn't understand it. For now, I think several motives were running through his mind. I settled on sadism: being represented by the guy who spent a week being beaten, his head shoved in ice water, and struck with a cattle prod. Getting a problem resolved by someone who nearly had a heart attack while writhing on a cold, damp concrete cellar floor. And here we were talking about Klein and Wagner. The character of Klein could no longer live with his guilt and the person he became. So he got in a rowboat, paddled out and drowned himself. Klein could no longer bear to be Wagner, and it killed him. Stefan kept his name, and was the same erudite, quiet and distant man he was at the camp. I paid for the lunch, and the coffee. I was getting him a job. He sat there across from me, enjoying the scene, hopeful for a potentially big payday, a favor from an old camp comrade. When the waiter looked in my direction, I raised my index finger. "A conta, por favor." Nodding, the waiter moved toward the wait station to fetch our bill.

The auditorium was in the Neuenschwander, built in the style of neo-Brutalism architecture favored by the Antanzians. The eggshell-white concrete windowless skyscraper loomed over the northern part of the central city, casting its shadow over the Bricklin neighborhood. We took a cab from the taxi stand by the beach and avoided the old neighborhood. While the driver took the fabled short cut around the Cathedral Plaza to avoid the congested main avenue, I pondered what I intended to do with Stefan once I had the chance. The problem with murder in Antanzia is that it gets the death penalty, and a crime of revenge doesn't cut it around here. The justice system in this country views these acts as a personal insult to their hospitality. In tandem with the driver, I instinctively cross myself as we pass the National Cathedral. I say a silent prayer for guidance. This never works, but I never give up trying. A higher power will eventually hear me, or at least give me a nudge. Stefan stared out the window, his hands carefully folded across his lap. I stared out the window of the taxi and looked for familiar landmarks. We were skirting the edges of Bricklin. I see the American-style diner where I used to take breakfast before starting my first job at the newsstand, standing behind a counter selling cigarettes and beer, watching his neighbors reading the newspapers instead of buying them - with few exceptions. He tolerated it, because back then everyone arrived broke and out-of-work while waiting for their permits. Beyond the scraps provided by Catholic Charities and the Refugee Center, we received nothing in terms of support. A work permit - a permiso - was what you received if you kept your nose clean and didn't scare the locals too often. Some had to wait months to receive one, depending on the waiting list. In the meantime, you existed on rice and beans and the housing was predicated on the kindness of strangers. It was a hard life. Stefan arrived and received a cottage gifted by one the leaders of the resistance, who was his friend and admired his writing. He was the one who insisted I take him as a client, citing loyalty to the cause and the brotherhood of experience in the camps. In that conversation, I never mentioned Klein and Wagner. Instead, I said yes. I didn't have a choice. After the meeting, I felt betrayed again, this time by myself. Stefan and I sat in the darkened auditorium and listened to the lecture. The main speaker was one of the cosmonauts returning from the first mission to the Mars colony. He was the chief engineer of the mission, and spent a year at the colony working mostly in near-isolation in the pod that provided access to the computers that kept the colony going. I could identify with the solitude he described in relating his experiences. I'd been alone for many years, now. Stefan sat in rapt attention, taking notes on his electronic pad, filling the screen, scribbling. He took to this with the intensity that only an artist of words could. Yes, he did write very well. I recall the polemics he wrote that later were smuggled through the fence. Yes, messages of hope and defiance. Pretty little words that eventually landed us all here. On Mars, I suppose. The speaker was familiar. He was one of the two mission participants from the Western Hemisphere. The cosmonaut was from Trinidad, and talked about his childhood, raising horses with his family. Talked rather wistfully of riding a pony along the surf. While listening, I smiled, thinking of ponies on Mars. The cosmonaut talked of the dust storms that blew from the mountain range into the deep valley where the colony was situated; describing the dangers the colonists faced as the high winds buffeted the small, hardened pods that dotted the valley. They had been spread out in distance far enough for a quick walk in full gear in the thin Martian atmosphere. He explained this helped lessen the wind speed associated with a tunnel effect found in urban areas during storms. A good-sized piece of titanium used in the unsecured heavy equipment at the colony could pierce the pod walls. Even with the sophisticated weather gauging instruments at his command, it was often too soon to see a windstorm before they were able to move all the equipment into the hangers. As he talked, I continued to feel sympathy for his loneliness in performing his duties. He told that at times he was alone in the engineering pod for as much as a week, checking on life support, energy and above all, the weather. His only contact was with his commander, who remained at the colony. He spoke of her with a certain longing. I could tell by the change of tone in his voice. It was softer, poetically heartbreaking as he described their intense relationship during times of crisis, and the languid longer-than-Earth hours when there was little to do. He obviously loved her. I was moved by his words. Yet, this cosmonaut had to be the one to return. The commander was due to leave in six months. I wished their future well.

After the question time, where the gathered reporters asked the cosmonaut dumb questions about sustainability, terraforming and the like, I motioned for Stefan to follow me. The interview with Goltz was in a conference room at the end of the corridor behind the auditorium. Goltz waited at the door as various individuals, including the cosmonaut, passed through. After I introduced Stefan, Goltz took Stefan gently by the shoulder and led him through the door. Goltz turned to me before the guard closed the double doors. "I already got the call from upstairs. He's got the job." I shrugged. "Cool. So how long is this?" "He should be done in two hours. If it is longer, I will call." "Okay then, I will wander. Good luck." I wandered through the park near the Cathedral, brooding about the choices I made. I made my way to a bench far from the granite fountain, a gift from the French Third Republic dating from 1880, honoring the 50th anniversary of Antanzian independence, citing its commitment to the principles of liberty. I read the inscription often when I stop in the park. I do not do it as much anymore. The words are written in four languages, and reading them helped me learn two of them, and the third a little better. Carved on the granite is a quote by Jose de San Martin. A military leader, he played the decisive role in the liberation of Argentina, Chile and Peru. Late in life, San Martin assisted the Antanzians in negotiating their own freedom, using words as his saber in a complicated series of negotiations with the Argentines, Brazilians and the British. If not for that, I would not be here, and so I look at those words a little differently on this day. This line always struck me as apropos, particularly more so in the moment I am living in: "The conscience is the best and most impartial judge that a righteous man has." A few blocks away sits a cosmonaut waiting for a woman on Mars, while being interviewed by a man who betrayed me. Caused me pain. Destroyed others. Yes, he is being protected, and I believe I will never know why. This is a terrible piece of judgment, but people above my rank made a decision. My conscience is torn between choosing whether I will be Klein, or be Wagner. Both drowned. I would rather not be either. Stefan likely faces the same contradiction from the decisions he made. Perhaps he isn't mad, sadistic or stupid. There is something else at play in that man's mind. It struck me then that there is the possibility he is capable of feeling guilt. That will do. I can accept that. I have a life I do not want to lose. When I was told to help Stefan out and be his agent, I am left with no choice. I did not like the decision I struggled to reach, finding it personally immoral, but wisdom prevailed. I stare up. As I scan the sky I try to find Mars. I cannot see it, but the planet is there, behind the cumulus formed at the left. I will pick Stefan from the Neuenschwander, give him an advance check for the project and drop him off at the train station. He returns to his house in the woods to his Patricia, either as Klein or Wagner. Whoever Stefan comes home as matters nothing to me, because I will collect my fee. Goltz is quick with the paperwork. I'll get the check by the end of the week. I return to my home with my conscience intact.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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maizeofloverp · 7 years

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Full name: Jason Aker

Age: 36

Birth date: March 15th, 1982

Gender & pronouns: Male, he/his/him

Affiliation: Law Enforcement

Occupation: Computer Forensics Specialist/IT

Faceclaim: Ryan Reynolds

B i o g r a p h y »

Jason comes from a very large and very loud extended family in Boston, Massachusetts. His immediate family is made up of just his parents and younger brother but their plethora of cousins were always like siblings to them. They moved to Muddy Waters in the middle of Jason’s freshman year of high school, an unexpected move across the country to the middle of nowhere that Jason was adamantly against.

Jason went to college in Chicago for an education in computer science and software engineering, working as an independent contractor for the years after he graduated. He married his college sweetheart and settled down at thirty, making the decision to start taking government contracts for more financial security. Despite his flighty personality and preference for winging everything, Jason truly believed that he wanted a ‘white picket fence’ life. He ended up taking the 9-5 job, bought the house and the lawnmower, married the right girl... but in the end Jason and this life never seemed able to hit a truly harmonious frequency. He and his wife tried for several years to start a family but their lack of success only served to drive them farther apart. Jason had an extramarital affair through work and the fallout from it ended their marriage. His life feeling turned upside down, Jason made the decision to sell the house and move back to Muddy Waters.

Jason got a job with the local police station in Muddy Waters, arriving there to find their network and equipment woefully out of date. Since arriving in Muddy Waters he has made it his mission to bring the Muddy Waters police department into the year 2018, constantly baffled by how they’ve made it this long without a hero like himself.

P e r s o n a l i t y »

Jason has very high intelligence and very low wisdom. He doesn’t do well with strict rules and regulations. He rarely makes plans for the future, a flaw that has become increasingly ominous the closer he gets to his fortieth birthday. Since separating from his wife and coming back to Muddy Waters, Jason has felt like he’s starting all over again. Luckily the museum that is the Muddy Waters Police Department keeps him busy, and leaves him with very little time to dwell on how pathetic his life has become. He hasn’t dated since the divorce, genuinely struggling to accept that he blew up his own marriage in the way that he did.

Played by V

#taken #male #technosavior #jason aker #law enforcement

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maroonfencing-tx · 3 months

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janicecpitts · 5 years

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nextstepelectric · 5 years

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localizee · 1 year

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We specialize in Custom Residential Fencing, Commercial Fencing, and Custom gates, and we work with Wood, Iron & Aluminum, Vinyl, Brick and Chain-link.

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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Federal Shutdown’s Uneven Toll: Some Americans Are Devastated, Others Oblivious https://nyti.ms/2H7Oly0

Government workers are dedicated public servants who don't want a hand out, they just want to provide for their loved ones. In Trump's mind, they're just democrats or the hired help at Mar-a-Lago, therefore expendable. The more I read their #shutdownstories the angrier I get. As a former federal /state employee I know the sacrifice they make to serve the public interest. Having to serve under Donald Trump is doubly offensive. #EndTheShutdownNow #GOPShutdown #trumpshutdown #potus #Impeach45 #impeachtheMFNow

Federal Shutdown’s Uneven Toll: Some Americans Are Devastated, Others Oblivious

By Julie Bosman, Patricia Cohen and Julie Turkewitz | Published Jan. 11, 2019 | New York Times | Posted January 11, 2019 |

ST. LOUIS — Andrea Caviedes and her friend, Ximena Gumpel, live in the St. Louis suburbs, have two children and helped plan a Christmas party together, but when it comes to the partial federal shutdown, now finishing its third week, they might as well live in different countries.

Ms. Caviedes, 42, a furloughed bilingual loan processor in the Agriculture Department’s rural development program, spent the week visiting her church’s food pantry, applying for unemployment insurance and job hunting at Walmart and Walgreens.

“It has been terrible,” said Ms. Caviedes, a single mother whose 10-year-old son is partially blind and autistic. “My rent bill is due, my electric bill is due, my water bill is due, and I have medical expenses.”

For Ms. Gumpel, 46, whose husband works at a chemical company, the shutdown is no more than a recurring segment on the nightly news. She feels for her friend, but “it hasn’t affected me at all,” she said. “You kind of push it aside and figure it will pass, that it’s just political bickering.”

After all, the schools are still open, the mail is still being delivered, the trash is still being picked up, the buses are still running and, most important, her family’s income is uninterrupted.

The shutdown’s day-to-day impact on Americans — both federal employees and the people who depend on the services they provide — shifts radically from workplace to workplace and neighbor to neighbor. On one side of the divide, the shutdown is inescapable; on the other, it is all but invisible.

Some large-scale ordeals, like a recession, are pervasive, quickly gumming up the economy’s gears and seeping into the national psyche. But the fallout from this stoppage is wildly uneven, zigzagging across communities and workplaces in unexpected ways, and fracturing Americans’ reactions to the shutdown as well as the ways they experience it.

Some reverberations depend on location. The shutdown touches one quarter of the federal government. The District of Columbia, Maryland and Virginia have large concentrations of federal employees, but about four-fifths of the roughly 800,000 of them who are not being paid live and work outside the capital’s orbit. Thousands are in crowded urban areas in populous states like California, New York, Texas and Florida. Thousands more are in smaller cities and remote areas, where they often power the local economy, spending their paychecks at restaurants, gas stations, nail salons and stores.

The scattershot nature of what is funded and what is not is also varying the experience of public-sector workers and private citizens. Agencies including the Pentagon, Veterans Affairs, and Social Security are operating because of appropriations bills that already passed. Others like Homeland Security, Justice, State, Interior, Agriculture, Housing and Urban Development, Environmental Protection, and Commerce are not.

So military bases are open, Social Security checks are going out, and G.I. benefits are being processed. But farmers affected by the tariffs are unable to apply for emergency aid; tenants who depend on federal housing subsidies to cover their rent are facing eviction; private contractors working for the federal government are not getting paid, and rural homeowners and businesses who need a mortgage extension or guarantee cannot get one.

In Boulder, Colo., where hives of researchers, engineers and scientists are variously funded by universities, private businesses, nonprofit organizations and the federal government, the effects can diverge from one desk to the next.

Depending on who is providing the cash or sponsoring the research, colleagues who normally work side-by-side have vastly different prospects like the rows of numbered steel briefcases on the game show “Deal or No Deal” that can contain a disappointing penny or a million-dollar jackpot.

Consider the Cooperative Institute for Research in Environmental Sciences, a partnership between the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and the University of Colorado, Boulder.

The staff there falls, in essence, into three camps, explained Waleed Abdalati, the institute’s director.

Worst off are people employed directly by the federal government who cannot work and are not getting a paycheck.

Then there are those paid by the university whose income is intact but who are locked out of their federal offices and may even be temporarily cut off from their research data.

The last group comprises university professors, researchers, students and others who are unconnected with the government’s work. For them, Mr. Abdalati said, it’s: “Shutdown? What shutdown? I am not feeling anything.”

The first days of the stoppage in late December had the discouraging but familiar feel of previous short-term budgetary standoffs between the president and Congress. Many private businesses were also closed or operating with skeleton staffs through the holidays. But as the work world revved back to life after the new year and many federal offices remained dark, the ripples extended further.

Twenty-six miles from the Boulder campus is the sprawling Denver Federal Center in Lakewood with 28 agencies spread across 44 buildings. Its low-slung buildings, ringed by wire fence, were abnormally quiet this week.

Across the street, at a barbershop called Sports Clips, April Guerrero, 47, said business was way down, because so many people were now on furlough.

This has meant a pay cut of several hundred dollars for employees, who receive minimum wage and count on bonuses to pay rent. “The majority of girls this week didn’t get bonuses,” she said. “I’m trying to push it to the back of my mind, but eventually it’s going to affect all of us.”

One of the few customers that day was Lauren Kramer, 33, a furloughed microbiologist for the Food and Drug Administration, who brought her son Wade, 10, for a haircut. After Wade had climbed into the black leather barber chair, Ms. Kramer put her face in her hands, clawing nervously at her chin.

She had turned down high-paying jobs in the pharmaceutical industry for what she thought was a “stable” job with the federal government.

Now Ms. Kramer, a single mother, found herself picking up food provided through a county program, unsure of when her next paycheck would arrive. “I felt demoralized,” she said. “I felt like a lot of the efforts that I have made in my life, the hardships I have had to endure to get to where I am, was just kind of taken right out from under my feet.”

When she told her best friend, Jessica Rasmussen, 31, about her situation, Ms. Rasmussen was initially unsure what getting “furloughed” even meant. “It hasn’t affected me at all, it makes me feel terrible,” said Ms. Rasmussen, a vocal teacher who is struggling with the thought that as she considers buying her first home, her best friend is worrying about feeding her son.

The shutdown — propelled by a dispute between the president and Congress over building a border wall — is splitting the nation, she said.

“It’s very frustrating,” Ms. Rasmussen said, “that wall is going straight through the country, not between us and Mexico.”

Those divides continue to shift, blur and deepen — between friends, neighbors, family members, and co-workers — as the shutdown was expected to reach into record territory on Saturday after 21 days.

Idled workers spoke of intense stress, anger and boredom.

In St. Louis, furloughed employees at the Agriculture Department’s rural development program coped in different ways. Patricia Battle, an accountant, was keeping the thermostat down in the home she shares with her husband, a veteran; her college-age son; and her 10-year-old grandson. “I’ve been wearing layers in the house,” said Ms. Battle, who earns about $70,000 a year. “Sweaters, warm clothes and two pairs of socks.”

On Thursday evening, Ms. Battle attended a meeting of her college alumni group, whose other members, unaffected by the shutdown, were surprised to learn that she was out of work.

“When they come into the knowledge that we’re not being paid, it’s like, ‘Oh my,’” she said.

At one point, two members of the group took her aside and murmured a quiet prayer, asking God to keep her covered. “I really appreciated that,” Ms. Battle said. “It made me feel like someone had a heart.”

And Rick Willenberg, 31, who earns $41,000 a year as a loan processor for the rural development program, is worrying about how to pay his own mortgage bill. “It’s so arbitrary,” he said. He had never before applied for unemployment insurance, but when he heard President Trump say the shutdown could go on for “months or even years,” he said, “I thought I better go ahead and file.”

Both he and his older brother, Steve Willenberg — who lives in a nearby suburb with his family — were drawn to work for the government out of a sense of civic duty, nurtured by a mother who is a nurse and a father who worked for General Motors. “We live pretty identical lives,” Rick said.

Except that the Department of Veterans Affairs, where Steve works processing benefits, is funded. So while his younger brother protested the furlough outside the federal office complex in wind-whipped weather, Steve was enjoying the last day of his scheduled paid vacation in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, where he swam with dolphins and drank piña coladas by the beach.

“For the months of January and February, my department is on mandatory overtime of 20 hours a month” to correct widespread delays in benefit payments caused by computer glitches, said Steve Willenberg. “Compare that to my brother not knowing when his next paycheck is going to come.”

Correction: January 11, 2019

An earlier version of this article misidentified the Mexican resort where Steve Willenberg was on vacation. It is Playa del Carmen, not Carmen del Playa.

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