#manila in the claws of light

[389]

Thanks @sleepythug for tagging me to share fav first watches of May!

La Chimera, dir. Alice Rohrwacher God's Own Country, dir. Francis Lee The Burning, dir. Tony Maylam Manila in the Claws of Light, dir. Lino Brocka

tagging; @mrsterlingeverything @dorfs @elixir @kristina100000 @symmetryofemptyspace @capacity2 @ax-ky and anyone else I missed get tagged xx <3

You can follow me on Letterboxd!

[wetgeliscasualinterval]

Manila in the Claws of Light (1975) by Lino Brocka

[sacredwhores]

Lino Brocka - Manila in the Claws of Light (1975)

[keeptheemptinessaway]

Maynila, sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag, Lino Brocka (1975)

Cinematography: Mike De Leon, Clodualdo Del Mundo Jr. | Philippines

[fnipoli]

[theartofhamartia]

julio madiaga - maynila sa kuko ng liwanag (1975)

❝ hinalughog ko ang buong maynila, pero wala si ligaya. ❞

A boy from the province faces chaos, labor, and injustice in Manila in his search of his aptly-named lover named Ligaya, who was the first to move to the city after being promised a better life. Manila in the Claws of Light (1975) captures Julio Madiaga's discovery that Manila isn't all it's cracked up to be, and that the Ligaya he has been searching for in the city has been damaged by & prostituted to the rich, kept captive & hidden by greed, and murdered mercilessly. Fed up and fully consumed by having his happiness taken away, he kills the powerful Chinese man that ended her life, only to be hunted down by a horde of his fellow man within "the city that consumes its own people".

Though the trailer above sufficiently summarizes Julio's journey as a tragic hero from naïve innocence to an awakened fury, the scene that perhaps best captures the peak of his arc is the last few minutes of the film when he commits the pivotal murder, some clips of which are included in the latter part of the trailer. The shots of Julio's pace becoming quicker being interspersed with scenes driving his anger, the background noise growing progressively louder as a parallel to his steadily intensifying anger and inner chaos, and the extras being involved in growing civil unrest are all symbolic of the rapid descent to tragedy amidst the never-peaceful realization of the hero being driven to the point of murder and his rude awakening to the bitter reality that his cathartic demise will be at the hands of the people of the city itself.

Julio's character arc is almost that of a classical tragic hero's, simply with the step of taking responsibility for the result of his fatal desire (that is, pursuing Ligaya and what she represents) taking on the form of accepting the opportunity for vengeance as a way of obtaining justice and his final chance to reach Ligaya — happiness — again. He is also the archetype taken a step further, having been used as a symbol of today's tragic hero found within every working-class Filipino who has grown disillusioned with the corrupt Manila (and by extension, the country itself) that once offered promises of prosperity but now only has people turning against one of their own. Today's tragedy lies no longer exclusively in the flaw of the hero, but now also in the environment that has molded him into what he has become.

[baby-tini]

help because i can’t stop thinking about being in takemichi’s place when he met manila mikey my brain is literally rotting

y/n goes to the philippines to find her ex boyfriend at the one place she knows he’ll be… mikey, who sent the letter out to takemichi to visit him, wasn’t expecting her arrival and pins her to the floor with a gun to her head

fast forward, now we’re having hot sex and takemichi accidentally walks in 💀

This is so real, because Manila!Mikey had no right too be that pretty. Also for him too literally manhandle Takemichi like that had my brain all fuzzy because he just did it so effortlessly and if he can throw Takemichi around like he doesn't way shit... what else can he do? He is so fucking strong for no reason and it's just so- ahhh it's intense ok? When you go and see Mikey, hoping too grasp an understanding as too why he took the lives of all of his friends- and by default your friends. He doesn't look too happy too see you, in fact he looks pissed, if you will. As he walks down the pile of rubble and steps closer to you- it's like he's sizing you up, like a predator would and you know you should run because everything in that screams danger but you can't. This is the man that you've grown too love and care about and he just up and abandoned you, never told you he was leaving- never gave an inkling, he just did and you want too know why. Before you can even ask- talk to him, he's on you with a gun in your face as he stares you down, there's no more light in those beautiful black eyes of his as he leans down, his warm breath hitting your face. You genuinely can't breath when he decides too put all his weight on your chest, he's not heavy but there's quite a bit of muscle on him and your chest feels it in full, you can't even move and just stares at you, no emotion on his face as you plead with him. You don't really realise what he's doing until he starts too tug at your shirt and it rips in the process, you don't really know what too do in this moment because while yes, you love this man with everything, but you also know that he's a serial killer.. he killed all of your friends and he doesn't even seem the slightest bit of apologetic. You don't even know what he means when he leans down and whispers, "let me have you one last time, ok?" None it makes sense to you but you don't care because his hands are all over you and they feel like ecstasy as he grabs at your tits, pressing soft kisses to your lips and he tastes just how you remember; dorayaki. It's all a blur and in the future you'll really wish that it wasn't because you'll unknowingly never get too talk with him again as he'd lay bleeding in your arms, but you don't know that as his hips smack against yours and you're brains pooling in ecstasy as your nails claw at his shoulders but Mikey knows, as soon as Takemichi steps into the broken down rubble and he meets Takemichis eyes just as you cum for him; Mikey knows this is the last time he'll have the pleasure of being so deeply and intimately connected to you.

[aloysiavirgata]

Fisher King prompt: dark crescendoing to light. Daniel Waterson and his baggage come back into her now-married life; maybe by way of the autopsy table. A dark case comes across Mulder’s desk. You pick. A happy surprise at the end to bring them both out of it?

Thanks, lady.

It is the dead nurse that catches his attention. Two days back from his honeymoon, attaboys and filthy jokes and cigars and a stack of manila folders on his dust-rimed desk.

Pendrell whistles when he sees Mulder, makes a predictable playing-doctor joke. He leers as though it obscures the soulful puppy wetness of his face. As though he hasn’t noticed Dana at crime scenes before, the autumn bonfire of her hair. Her tourmaline eyes.

Mulder thumbs the band on his left ring finger, spins it a little in the cool morning light. Flips them all off with good-natured grouchiness as he makes his way to the elevator. He thinks it might be fun to be an old man, to listen to the slap of his bedroom slippers on the grocery store linoleum.

The air in his office smells like cardboard boxes, like ghosts of lo mein and forgotten pizza. Copier toner. Pencil shavings.

His wife says, “Honestly, Mulder,” and makes chicken sandwiches from dinner leftovers, makes him salads with salmon and almonds and avocados and says he needs to gain eight pounds. He’s taken to her demands like a stray cat adjusting to life indoors. He’s growing glossy and sleek, full of essential amino acids.

Full of life.

***

There is no congestion in any of the organs. No petechiae in her eyes, no blood clots in the fragile slices of brain. Lips, mouth, esophagus free of corrosion, not an aneurysm the size of a poppy seed. The bruises and claw marks on her gray throat are her own doing. There are over a dozen witnesses.

Her nails are clotted with her own crumpled skin.

Dana pokes her finger into the aorta, sniffs the dead, butcher-shop air of Ludovica’s mouth. She prods at the lungs and hunts for lesions and surfactant. The nurse’s stomach contains a half-digested bagel and tuna salad. The muscular walls are in the very pink of health. She has lungs like freshly chewed bubblegum.

Dana huffs a strand of hair off her lip. She does not want to call him.

***

“What killed her?” Mulder asks, around a mouthful leftover quiche. God it’s good. She caramelized the onions, used two semesters of organic chemistry on the pastry and can declaim on the Maillard Reaction in a voice fit for Showtime.

“I’m working on it,” his wife says, brisk. “Thus far it seems to be nothing, which is a bit of a problem, medically speaking.”

“How embarrassing,” Mulder says, hunting around for another chunk of broccoli. “To die of nothing. You talk to this Waterston chappie yet?

Silence.

“Dr. Scully?”

A sigh.

Mulder’s brow furrows. “Dana Katherine, what gives?”

She sighs again. “You remember that med school professor I told you about? Funny story…”

***

He gazes at her the way tourists gawp at the Mona Lisa; not with a particular appreciation, just a bit awed that they can check it off their bucket lists.

Twice, for Daniel. A certain chumminess. A hint of inside jokes and favorite restaurants and that-lovely-inn-we-stayed-at. Of possessiveness. Territoriality.

Mulder shakes his head, just a twitch. Just enough to clear Daniel’s smug carnal knowledge of his wife away. Mulder’s fucked people’s daughters as well. People’s wives. There was one at Oxford, Honora, her husband a full professor and he -

Mulder doesn’t say this. He doesn’t say anything as Daniel stares at his Rossetti wife, undoubtedly thinks about the determined twitch of her twenty-one year old ponytail and her scuffed Keds and her slipshod Navy brat graces and her body like Artemis bathing by moonlight.

But Daniel’s alone and Mulder isn’t.

Dana isn’t alone either because, against all reason and karma, she’s married him, married Fox Mulder, like it was an absolutely sane thing to do, and her family simply went along with it.

“Tell me what you saw,” says Mulder, with the gentle absolution of a priest. “No judgement here,” he lies. She was hardly more than a girl, she was an innocent, she trusted you, you fucking asshole, you predator, you-

Daniel looks at Dana. Looks down at his surgeon’s hands. No ring on any of his fingers.

Daniel closes his eyes and looks at nothing.

“We began a midline sternotomy, absolutely routine, Suddenly Ludovica - Nurse Giordano - grabbed her throat and said she couldn’t breathe. She…she screamed Diavola! Said there was sulfur, said it was mustard gas, but none of the rest of us smelled a damn thing. But she was thrashing on the floor of the OR and our patient was-“

He looks around then, catches Dana’s eye, shyness in his expression. Shyness in his fatherly face. Dana had looked up at it for approval, no doubt. In what she probably thought was passion. Maybe even love.

Dana nods encouragingly and Mulder feels it then, the weight of years. He understands in that moment that time really is the fourth dimension; that it has a hot, heavy plasticity into which you can sink. He understands the realness of an event horizon, that they are all being pulled towards the unfinished thing between Daniel and his wife, Ludovica Giordano’s corpse included.

His wife was a physics major, his wife rewrote Einstein with the ebullient narcissism of the young.

He understands that his wife and Daniel speak the same primal, arcane language of science. He is a lowly psychologist, the major you pick when you can’t get into dental school but still want to Help Others.

Kepler’s Third Law tells us that intensity equals the inverse of the square of the distance from the source.

And he’s brought Daniel back into her orbit.

***

“I can’t believe you fucked him,” Mulder gasps into her tender seashell ear. An inch from her extraordinary brain.

“I was a child,” she hisses back. “Essentially. Don’t stop, Christ, don’t - I was a child, I-“

She was, she was, she was Eos newly born, she was radiant and young, she was Persephone to Daniel’s Hades, she was fresh milk at Ostara, and a sunrise over the Atlantic.

“Did you love him?”

Her thighs so taut and pale and quivering. Her wedding dress, her misty veil. Her palimpsest skin, on which he can rewrite himself.

“I thought I did but but it wasn’t this, it was never this, it was never you, I-“

Mulder comes in her, groaning, feels the tiniest sting of shame at how good it is to reclaim her from this other man.

***

“Dana,” Daniel says, heavy-tongued for Mulder’s consecrated, Catholic wife. He is hard; he shifts in the uncomfortable chair.

Mulder knows and Dana knows and the air is thick with this knowledge but strangely not unpleasant. The air is July just before a thunderstorm. The air is dense and verging. Primal, fecund, cataclysmic.

Hot.

Green.

Alive.

The air tastes like a 9-volt battery. He wants to put a baby into his wife.

“You were there,” Mulder says, his buckskin hands woven and laced. “What did you see?”

Daniel looks at Dana, Daniel is here for Dana, because he believes she is cold and lonely and alone in the way of the outer planets. He still thinks only he can warm her.

(He doesn’t know, Daniel, not really, that there is a solid core beneath the icy mist.)

She’s too distant and abstruse and Daniel doesn’t know.

***

Daniel smirks at Mulder, this old man who felt briefly alive in the hot juncture of his wife’s thighs; smirks as though he’s done anything real at all. They view the human heart so differently, he and Daniel.

Dana - Dr. Scully - rests her palms against her sharp tweed knee. She only wants to know what stops any human heart from beating. What shuts the brain down, from prefrontal cortex in a cascade to the lowly lizard stem.

“What did you see, Daniel?” She is poised and tensed. She is waiting. She is untouchable.

Mulder - Fox - is disarmed by the chill of her haughty face. Her Plutonian eyes are so very, very cold . So very, very far.

Ice could never be so warm.

***

“‘Maggie,” he breathes, into her amber light. Into her aura, in her husband’s office, after Mulder went out for their lunch order.

“No,” Dana says. “I don’t care. Tell me about the nurse.”

Daniel huffs. “I don’t know, it was nothing, Dana, Maggie said-“

“I don’t care,” Dana says, crisp. “I don’t care about your daughter. You certainly didn’t, when you brought me to your bed.

Daniel is appalled. “Dana, you were-“

“I know what I was,” she replies. “I knew what I was doing and I don’t regret it, not really. But I didn’t understand what you were, not then. And you should regret me, Daniel.”

He looks at her, his brows drawn.

He looks away, back through the years. Dana, all sharpened Ticonderogas and her mouth an unplucked apricot. Skin like fresh-churned butter.

“She was…she was gasping,” he says to the wall of of clippings. To the Flatwoods Monster and wendigos and little lost girls and stills from the Zapruder Footage. “She was clawing at her throat, she…diavola.”

Diavola.

Daniel looks at the ceiling. “She clawed her throat to ribbons,” he says. “She said our patient was full of demons, she said…” He shakes his head and looks at Dana again.

Dana knows. Dana has seen. Has read and wondered and wondered, considered the Gerasene demoniac in the synoptic gospels. Tooms at her belly on the chilly tile of her bathroom…

It will do no good. Whatever her husband says, the truth is not always a panacea. The patient has lived and Ludovica has died and all anyone wants is official paper with Dana’s name at the bottom.

A reckoning, now. A choice.

“Anaphylaxis?” Dana murmurs, in the perfume and cashmere of a different rich man’s wife. She puts a little throatiness in her voice now, like she did after Dr. Waterston spoke to her in private about Starling’s Law. She can give him this. She can give Ludovica’s family this.

Diavola.

Mulder is right, Mulder is almost always right. But Mulder is right in his own time and Ludovica’s family needs her home.

Daniel catches the lifeline she throws, grateful.

Humbled.

Daniel, when his gaze returns, is a bit smaller in her eyes. “Yes,” he says. “It must have been.”

***

They’re eating dinner at the Peruvian chicken place on the corner because Dana is hollow and Mulder has moderately weaponized his own culinary incompetence.

“Ansel died today,” she says, poking at her rice.

Mulder nearly chokes on a mouthful of black beans. “What?!”

“Died. Massive coronary at his desk. Dead within seconds.”

Mulder gapes. Ansel Jordan, Chief Medical Examiner in DC; the alpha and omega of the unexpectedly dead in the District. “He ran marathons.”

Dana nods into the middle distance. “He ran marathons. He had a treadmill in his office. He was 57 and he was my boss and I split his chest apart with a Stryker before his body had even cooled this morning. My god, I forgot what warm tissue feels like.”

She looks up with her wide, delphinium eyes. “They asked me, Mulder.”

They asked? He is appalled. “They asked you to autopsy him? That’s really fu-“

She shakes her head. “No, nobody asked me that. No one would ever. I volunteered, it was the right thing to do, for my colleagues. For Ansel. We were hardly close but I had tremendous respect for the man.”

Ansel was a runner. He ate well and drank in moderation. He cared for his body like a classic car; starting to slow down but with lots of miles left.

The human body is strange and unpredictable.

“Are you okay?” How do you cut open a man you know? He cannot believe she didn’t call this morning but also of course she didn’t call this morning. She is an eternal riddle, a beautiful enigma.

“I’m surprisingly fine,” she says. “I mean, it’s horrible and pointless and tragic. But the process of an autopsy…it soothed me. I knew what to do and there was a…a checklist.”

He smiles, soft. “You’re always a doctor first.”

Dana shrugs, fluid and dismissive. “I guess.”

He realizes then, awed. Adoring. “They want you to… to step in, to be Chief. Dana, that’s incredible, that’s a huge honor. I’m sorry it’s come at the cost of Ansel, but Christ. It’s tremendous.”

He will never achieve this in his own career and is delighted that she can.

Dana nods slowly, a blush creeping up her fine, pale cheeks. She spears a plantain and examines it on the end of her fork. “It’s obviously not a formal offer yet, my god, he’s only just been released to the family, but yes. It’s tremendous.” She bites into the plantain.

He thinks back to that feeling of wanting a baby, wanting her to have it, and knows that the new Chief Medical Examiner of DC will have other pressures, other concerns.

She’s expressed interest in babies in a vague sort of way, but doesn’t want them like he does. Dana grew up with hand-me-downs and home haircuts and spaghetti the last week of every month. She knows that babies grow into scraped-kneed children who need lunch money and trombones and French tutors and football uniforms.

He’s rich enough for it all, for night nurses and nannies, but he knows her body is not a rental property. He wants a baby, he does, but he also doesn’t care if it means this for her. He doesn’t care if her star can rise.

“I love you,” he says, raising his plastic cup of horchata. “And I’m so goddamn sorry about Ansel.”

She lifts hers back, his wife, her old-master face and her slapdash smile. “Thank you,” she says, still pained. “And slaínte.”

“L’chaim,” he replies. To life.

[oldfilmsflicker]

new-to-me #29 - Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag (Manila in the Claws of Light)

[gael-garcia]

Harris Dickinson picking Manila In the Claws of Light on Criterion? I see, I see

[lunatic-harness]

Manila in the Claws of Light (1975) dir. Lino Brocka

[sacredwhores]

Lino Brocka - Manila in the Claws of Light (1975)

[projectcruise]

Chapter 1

“More than meets the eye”

The following morning, the sun remained absent. The grey, cloudy coverings of the sky hadn’t moved an inch. It almost felt as though no time had passed.

Soon enough, a petite coffee colored rabbit girl arrived at The S.S. Iris in full investigator’s attire. She donned a mid-length, tan trench coat, some sturdy, brown lace less boots, and an iconic detective’s hat with a flowery pattern. She was as cute as a button, yet her face told an entirely different tale. She didn’t take any time to stop and admire the view. The cruise ship’s impressive size and extravagant decor were meaningless in her eyes. There was nothing fascinating enough to distract her from the mission at hand. With a steady gaze, the lagomorph hastily made her way towards the steam ship. This detective meant serious business.

Upon entering the terminal, the Captain came out to greet her. He was a particularly well composed gentleman. Penelope watched as he disembarked from the ship. He had a striking appearance. The shark-like being, dressed in a dark blue uniform greatly contrasting his snow-white, wavy hair and light grey fur. He was tall and long with icy blue eyes, sharp claws, and four horns on his head. He extended his arm and gently shook Penelope’s soft small paw.

“Penelope, Correct…?” said the captain.

“Yes sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Replied penelope with her usual professional attitude.

“Wonderful, You’re right on time. I’ve been awaiting your arrival” the captain said to her in an inviting yet serious tone of voice. It was obvious that he had high expectations for Penelope.

“Punctuality is always my top priority.” She replied. It was true, she always made sure to arrive exactly as scheduled wherever she was needed. Never any sooner nor later. She made sure not to waste any time.

“Very well, let us discuss this inside,” he said as he escorted Penelope to the bridge of the ship. They walked along the gangway into the vessel and passed through the massive lobby decked with large chandeliers hanging from the lifted ceiling. Surprisingly , the ship seemed smaller on the inside than from its exterior. It was a private cruise. While the boat was still an impressive steamship, it was small in comparison to more commercial cruise ships, yet still kept a luxurious appearance. It had vast open spaces and important areas such as a large lobby and banquet style ballroom diner.

Once they arrived, the Captain sat down at his chair in the wheelhouse and turned towards Penelope. The technology was incredibly impressive. Each button and switch performed its own small function. How did anyone manage to learn what it all does? There was so much to take in. The detective was admittedly rather impressed. However, she didn’t let this distract her from the mission at hand.

Near the window sat a manila folder, a couple of sticky notes with various memos or short poems written on them, and a small, framed photograph of a young Captain and his sister. They appeared to be at the beach. The captain wore a smile while his sister was bursting with laughter. The photograph was old and rather faded. Penelope caught the captain staring at the image.

“What was she laughing about?” she asked.

“Well, the truth is, I can’t seem to remember. “I used to recall this day so vividly, I remember we called it the summer of the century. Now, I can’t even tell what my sister was laughing about. First, I lose her, now I have begun to lose her memory...” replied the captain defeatedly.

“Please Sir, don’t feel bad.” replied Penelope. “Perhaps it’s just your mind’s way of coping with everything going on. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.” she said, attempting to reassure the captain. It was not uncommon for people to suppress memories of lost loved ones.

“Enough about that.” Said the Captain, turning his focus away from the image.

“As you might already know, I’ve called you here to investigate the murder of my dear sister, Marigold Seashine. It pains me to even speak of it, but, alas, I must...” The captain said while gazing at the window. He looked out towards the horizon where the deep lapis colored sea and grey sky collided. He turned his attention back to Penelope. Slowly, he picked up the manila file folder and handed it to her.

“Here is the file containing the details of the case… it’s important.”

“Yes, of course Sir,” she replied and then paused before following it up with her next statement. “I apologize for your loss… I promise I will do the best I can.”

“Very well. I admire your determined attitude.”

She remained attentive to the captain. It was clear how heavily this event had weighed on him. He was a man of great composure, yet it was easy to see right into his broken soul.

“Well, the first thing I’d like you to do is to meet the suspects and conduct an interview with each one. They should all be located in their cabins on the lower deck. Only Marigold’s Cabin and D3 should be empty,”, He said as he reached towards the pocket on his uniform and pulled out a fancy golden keychain. Each key was engraved with its respective room number in a calligraphic font.

“Here are the keys in case you aren’t able to access a cabin. I instructed the passengers to unlock their doors after hearing a specific knocking pattern but knowing these folks, they can sometimes be difficult…”

He gently handed Penelope the keychain.

“Here is the pattern I came up with since I do believe knocking first is the polite thing to do.”

*double tap* *triple tap* *single tap*

“Thank you, sir, I’ll keep that in mind” replied Penelope, making a mental note of it.

The Captain once again pulled an object out of his pocket. This time, it was a small piece of paper containing the complete layout of The S.S Iris. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Here is a map of the ship. This will make it easier to locate the cabins.” he said as he handed it over to Penelope.

She took a quick look at it and turned her attention back to the captain.

“Once you’ve finished, please return with the keys. I have another important tool that may aid you in this investigation once you’re done with the interviews

“Yes sir,” replied Penelope. This seemed like a simple task for someone with her experience, yet she proceeded with caution.

“Very well. Best of luck detective, I’m counting on you,” he said as the young lady waved farewell and made her way towards the cabins. She knew there’d be more to this case than meets the eye.

[obsessioncollector]

hi peyton <3 19 & 20 🎬💗

hiii celia!! <3 i just answered 19 here :)

20. What movies do you have on your current to-watch list?

sooo many but some i want to prioritize: hour of the wolf dir ingmar bergman, the handmaiden dir park chan-wook, manila in the claws of light dir lino brocka, more chantal akerman!!

[warriorsofsplatsville]

Vulture pulled the bird mask further on his face as he descended down a dark alleyway behind the giant lobby tower. It was late at night, no one would be able to see him, or LJ.

LJ...such a big mystery to him. The mastermind behind the golden egg drama, hoarding them from him, and also giving them to those rebel Salmonids to power their invasions on Inkopolis. What was his goal? Was it a power trip to him? Or was there a greater purpose to his actions.

That was something he would try to discern tonight.

He was finally at his destination. He leaned casually against the wall, staying in the shadows in case someone besides LJ would show up. Maybe LJ would send one of his subordinates instead of going himself?

...No, he can't have. They agreed to meet face-to-face. No gimmicks, no tricks. Just the two of them.

He watched as a small creature crawled into the alleyway with him. It was a tiny thing; it only went up to the middle of his shin. It's fur was unruly, puffy and not combed at all whatsoever.

When it came closer to him, it was revealed to be...a small kitten?

"A....a cat?" He mumbled to himself, tilting his head. "What's a little fellow doing here...you must be a stray." The man crouched down to get a closer look at the little thing.

The kitten looked up at him with its small, black dots for eyes. It looked incredibly similar to...Greg's old cat, actually. The tail, the fur pattern, except it was a light grey instead of black. He heard that his cat has gone on to officiate turf wars....

Wait, wasn't it supposed to be bigger?

And wait, weren't most cats extinct??

Before he knew it, the kitten stood on its two hind legs, jumping up and slashing its claws at his cheek.

"Wh- Ouch!!" Vulture shouted in surprise, staggering back and holding his face. The kitten had drawn blood- red liquid began trickling down his face and dripping onto the ground below. The claws also left a stinging pain.

"Mew. (So we finally meet, Vulture. Or should I say...Professor Trevor.)" The cat spoke up.

"Wh...." He stared down at the cat with wide eyes. It...speaks. More importantly, it meowed and he understood it?? What was...this?

"Mew mew. (I suppose you don't recognize me. Understandable. I am who you call...LJ.)"

"Wait...you...you're...LJ? But...you're a cat..." he sputtered, trying to get his mind in order. There was absolutely no way this kitty cat was a golden egg evil mastermind.

"Mew. (I bet you're thinking that there's no possible way for me to be the elusive LJ. But it's the truth. My code name, LJ, are initials. They stand for Lil' Judd.)"

"L....Lil' Judd..." Why did that sound familiar...wait...come to think of it, there were two cats that judged in Turf Wars weren't there? And one of them went by that name...

Wait, of course! It was that weird clone of Greg's original cat, Judd!

"Now, looks aside, do you have what I have requested?" The kitten open and closed his paws in a grabbing motion, wanting the human to hand them over.

"Um...y-yeah. Everything we have on one Mr. Grizz..." Vulture handed the manila folder to the cat. The folder was much bigger than him; it covered Vulture's entire view of his body when his paws held onto it.

The cat set the folder on the ground and flipped through it, nodding as he scanned over the info. "Mew mew. (Perfect. This is just what I need. You've done your job well.)"

"...Thanks." Vulture squinted. Now wasn't the time to be put off by his appearance! Ask him your questions! Get some answers!

"Um...LJ- er, Lil' Judd..." He began. "I wanted to ask something, now that you have what you desire..."

"Mew. (Speak.)"

"Right...why are you doing this? What's your motive? I must know."

The cat pondered the question for a brief moment before looking up at the man with soulless, beady eyes. "...Meow. (Perhaps I want to watch the world burn. That's how'd I describe it, nya...)"

"Why would you want to-"

"Mow. (Everything is so pathetic. You, that Tara chick, and the inhabitants of this world. Feckless, lousy beings.)"He stated in a cold tone. "Nya-nya mew mew meow. (I couldn't care less about any of you. All I do is be a judge for these worthless Turf Wars. No initiative to be anything greater, or to move one from past quarrels...and worst of all, being nothing but a clone to that lazy bum.)"

"So...you ARE a clone of Judd...but how? Why?"

"Nya. (That's enough information for the likes of you. I'm positive you'll go blathering about my identity. Do it. I don't care." The cat spun around, walking away with folder in hand. "It's not like they'd believe you. And if they did, would they really try to harm a small kitten? Hah.)"

Vulture walked the kitten walk off, standing there slightly confused and anxious.

Well, he wasn't expecting ANY of that.