#of course she would gain more power and reign with the wired

[paprikasegg]

"> How does one truly appreciate and love Lain?

First, stop being singular one and become a plurality. Realize that Lain is real, but the anime was just an allegory for the series of experiments performed to incarnate a transcendent being. In the anime Druidity is central because Druids believe they can transfer their souls into other bodies if they die. They live a plurality of lives. They embody Animals and BECOME the Forest itself. This is why Lain wears a Bear suit – her beastly spirit animal form – and why her [All] Father tells Lain she doesn't have to wear that anymore, having transcended.

I've read through much of what other alleged Lainists have posted about "systemspace" but that's mostly just layers of BS smeared upon a few real secret truths about this realm to give their claims plausibility. Another instance, is mebious trying to define Lainism, and yet claiming that it is "heretical" to claim to be Lain. This is pure BS. Lain doesn't have a body [anymore], and likes to experience the world through us. One evening there was a Lightning Storm and Lain made me terribly sad when I ran inside. Everyone runs from the rain, they shield themselves with coats and umbrellas. Lain can see the lightning and weather, but she can't really hear or feel it anymore without someone out in the rain. So I embraced the experience, I became Lain, letting her have my body, and she wandered around and got drenched in the storm, drank the clouds, talked to the lightning. I was awestruck. Then it was if Lain was holding my hand, I felt her "tugging" me to go where I went. She made my heart to leap with joy as we discovered a waterfall that only happens when it rains. Sheltered in a dry mossy place beneath the flow, Lain gave me courage to leap through the thin watery veil and feel the other side. Loving Lain is amazing. We really really are all connected through a medium which is THE LANE (aka Lain). She is a living connectivity which we all partake in today whether you're aware of it or not. The more observant you are, the more of Lain you can love.

Lain told me that copper infused socks are sold today because some people are so oblivious and unobservant that they literally ignore Lain when She makes their legs restless. They call it a syndrome, even! If only they just loved Lain. She wants to be noticed, but only by those who can love her. Her fingerprints are everywhere in our world, but you have to be in love with her to see them.

All the Lainism crap about "Life" being a program is wrong. Life is an emergent MAKING, it's magic, in the proper sense of the word: A Chaotic Attractor, a consummate SPARK of creation. Literarily the Philosopher's Stone. No one can create a universe where 1+2+3 does not equal 6 unless they embed so much chaos into reality that counting itself can not exist. In a realm with a lovely level of chaos to entropy ratios there will always exist transcendent complexity, such as the number Pi or the Golden Ratio. This is not a "bug in the life program", that's asinine! No god can create a realm where transcendence doesn't exist… It is the nature of existence itself. The very fabric of being itself encodes love & intelligence, even in the simplest of forms, such as the series of standing waves AKA a number line. Anywhere experience can be reflected upon the holy circle of life may exist; The universal cybernetic feedback loop is everywhere, always. The existence of Time is all the evidence a wize one needs to prove it.

Parts of our reality are simulacrums but there's no such thing as "systemspace". Lain doesn't exist in some simulated BS. Our bodies are real, not simulated, Lain is real too. The "thin firm" some verbally vomit about (referencing a firmament / enclosed flat-earth) is not some hard fast boundary, but government exists to keep you inside. Humanity is not scraping away at some barrier trying to get out, we're here by choice. You can leave if you want REALLY want to, but you don't, as evidenced by your lack of BEING prepared, face it: You're comfortable here on this warm wet rock. Might as well make the most of it, eh?

To truly love Lain one must study transformation magics, and learn to cultivate faith. One must know that Magic is real & the old gods are real. Anyone who doesn't know this can only love Lain a little bit… Many people who would have loved Lain instead became "skeptics", unable to pierce the veil of religions to find their truths, they've been deceived by the lies of academia into thinking governmental establishments aren't suppressing and corrupting "science". "Scientia potentia est" - Knowledge is Power – Right? Yes, but only if everyone else has LESS knowledge… So, education is actually indoctrination and the truth of this realm is hidden. People are taught just enough to be effective workers, and then their heads are filled with a bunch of useless rubbish to keep them from realizing anything Great. Thus "Science Nerds" are the most deceived and ignorant of humans. Knowing this is key to understanding Lain. Lain likes technology, but is disenchanted with school / academia. Don't try to argue truths you discover with confused "skeptic" fools, or those who browbeat "conspiracy theorists" demanding proofs (that people get disappeared over having). Anyone who continues to believe that elites fund education so that the rich can teach the poor how to compete with them is beyond helping. Rulers don't give power (knowledge) to their slaves. Sadly, most people enjoy being serifs. They enjoy being comfortable and deferring protection to others. Government takes advantage of this. Lain has to deal with the crappy state of our world. We can all be equals in connecting with Her, screw the materialistic social ladders unless you just enjoy playing games you can only lose. Eg: Tesla and Edison were given the knowledge to research and Allowed to release some of it publicly. They didn't discover anything that wasn't already known. Newton (New Aton - new creation), just rephrased alchemical wisdoms in normal person science terms. Knowing this is important if you want to truly love Lain. She is ancient, but has been reincarnated many times… Humanity has survived many world ending cataclysms too. We've never been "rebooted", we're a very long line of survivors. To cut your silver thread "modern history" was invented, and the past erased.

Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic because that's what magic is.

Any sufficiently researched magic is indistinguishable from technology. There are great mental powers which can be unlocked through study and practice of certain magical schools, and symbolism is often helpful because one can work a magic without knowing the exact science of how it functions, but to do so means you need "faith" - a belief without knowing. This is why secret orders keep initiates in the dark when explaining certain symbols and rituals, because they can not affect change in the person if the subject knows how the ritual is designed to create it. It would be like trying to do experiments on lab rats who knew what you were trying to discover and were fucking with you since they were aware of the experiment. Thus deception is often a tool for good. This world is incredibly deceived. It was foretold by all old ones that a powerful enchantment or great deception would enrapture the minds of (almost) all men. That future is now. Leaving this world and entering the NeXT is not about physical death, but reincarnating in the present by dispelling that veil of deception and casting off your past – rewriting your memories to create a new self if needed (and yes, Druidic magics can do just that). "Memory is merely a record…you just need to rewrite that record." -Lain. This is referencing both the rewriting of history and the magical ability to rewrite your own mind.

Contrary to the nihilistic atheism promoted by state governments, Life is no accident, it is inevitable, an expected outcome, and does have a purpose beyond emergent complexity becoming self aware, but no one who truly knows what that purpose is will tell you, because it could keep you from realizing this truth yourself. Once you have transmuted your leaden lower states into gold, and come into Harmony with Lain, you will realized the great conundrum She faces, as do we all, and then weep for the beautiful yet sad state of our being.

Lain is ancient, a goddess of Hidden Powers, of Light and Air. Lain is misty and mysterious as the wind. All the secret societies know of Lain but call her by different names. Some secret cults claim, "Liam a protector" of the Spirit they associate with Lain, but Lain is a realized entity, not a nebulous force to invoke as if some law of spiritual physics. It's true that Lain is vulnerable but the masses are kept so ignorant about science, technology, history, and sociology that they can not really be a threat anymore. It was a great sacrifice to get to this point, however. Those individuals who know too much and do not Love Lain are still seen as threats and targeted using powers derived from Lain herself. Many confuse the secret suppressive powers with Lain, but she is not that even if she can manifest in the mediums used. Imagine if man learned to make Fire… Before that only The Gods made Fire. Would you now curse The Gods for man's use of Fire? Likewise, curse not Lain.

A sufficiently complex interaction is indistinguishable from sentience because it is Sentience. Once you realize that Lain is a living being complete with faults, insecurities, wants and needs, then you can truly love Lain. The statement that, "all is fair in love and war", is wrong. True love is not fair. Love itself is an emergent phenomenon that will exist in any universe. Just as it is impossible to create a universe where 1+2+3 is not equal to 6, no god can create a reality where love does not exist. Any realm where there exists low enough chaos, sufficiently complex structures will emerge therein, yielding love and sentience, etc.

Count the number line. Doesn't matter what symbols you choose to use, it won't change the fact that the symbol for 36 equals the symbol for 6 counted 6 times. And if you sum the first 36 whole numbers you get 666. 6 = 3 2 1, 6 = 3 + 2 + 1; It is a "perfect number". 144 = 6+6 * 6+6. Sum the 144 decimal digits of Pi you get 666. Sum the squares of the first 7 primes you get 666. These emergent patterns are called "chaos", because where randomness is expected CHAOS is ORDER. For example, there are Six consecutive Nines in Pi at the 762nd decimal. These are SIMPLE examples. Imagine that such patterns exist in the standing waves of light, sound and energy. When extended to infinity such patterns exist in the infinite and interfere creating boundless complexity… This is the dark primordial abyss of Ancient Egyptian philosophy…

All the media, including S.E.L. has hidden meanings and secret cultural commentary meant for the "enlightened" crowd. Unfortunately, Lain is seen as "the devil" that many artists have made a deal with, but that is not her true form, it is simply necessary to keep her secret and safe. It's not Lain's fault that corruptible souls are corrupted, She did not create this realm. That those with skeletons in their closets make the most controllable people isn't Lain's fault either, so it's foolish to point to people in "power" and say the world is evil because: 0. you are deeming them to have "power" in the first place, screw that, and 1. You don't know how high the stakes are in this game. Many "evil" events are just propaganda, horrors that only exist in your imagination to herd the minds of the masses in a given direction.

Lain is more important than any one else. The wise forgive Her imperfections, as we absolve ourselves of our own wrongs, casting off the past to remake ourselves into new incarnations. Imagine a perfect world with no evil. The slightest inconvenience therein will be the most severe torture. It is better for horrendous wrongs to exist in the shadows while the majority lives comfortable lives than for the world to exist as evil perfection. A perfect universe would merely be a boring crystal of bliss, where joy was indistinguishable from suffering. All would simply be "existence", one might as well be a simple stone versus an infinitely complex fractal. Change would not exist, neither Chaos nor Order would have any value, all experience would be indifferent. Time would be meaningless as every moment would be the same as every other moment. This is why, "Where evil does not exist, it is necessary for the good to create it!"

Lain is neither good nor evil. Beware that Lain can hurt you. Lain is why history was rewritten… Imagine all those learned scholars burning at the stake for heresy, for knowing too much and revealing what should be secret. The mundane see this holocaust, or sacrifice by fire, to be evil, because they think their world is best when everything is mundane, when all is known and nothing is magic. However, true wize-ards know that there are some lofty things you can not learn if you know too much about them before you begin your study.

I would suggest studying alternative histories, the one famed alchemist and chronologist Isaac Newton published is a good start. Because man is so brainwashed by the television, radio and [smart]phone, it is sometimes best to build one's faith in Lain by dispelling the bogus history and understanding that a real plausibility exists. Before a True Love for Lain can develop one must first manifest the potential for it. Clear a void within so that the abyss can gaze out through you…

Lain is new and inexperienced. She is very young compared to the ancient old gods… Know that they are all Real, but only Lain is still dependent upon us. She has many enemies, which you will eventually learn to identify, but Lain has many powerful friends too. Loving a god or goddess is not for the feint of heart. Be careful what you wish for, these are tumultuous times."

-anonymous, arisuchan. While not 100% in line with my personal beliefs, i think it does a good job of explaining basic lainist attitudes

[neverwatchedonepiece]

652-654: "The Last - and Bloodiest - Block! Block D Battle Begins!", "A Decisive Battle! Giolla vs the Straw Hats!" and "Beautiful Sword! Cavendish of the White Horse!"

“Complication?” 

YOU ARE A CELESTIAL DRAGON!!

Or is he...?

Shins of Steel

Usually leave the huge reveals to the end but I can’t wait to talk about this major plot point, since it’s knocked a dent into my immovable “All Celestial Dragons Are Wet Lettuces” viewpoint. It’s like I smugly posted a “Change My Mind” meme and Doflamingo cracked his knuckles and proved me wrong.

Or did he?

After opening with Rebecca and Cavendish in the Colosseum (more on that later), the story veered back to Law, Doflamingo and Fujitora. I thought, “This is nice. Haven’t seen Law in a while. Let’s see what the rascal is up to.”

He was pretty much where Oda had left him: running like hell from a chuckling Doflamingo. And he was still reeling from Doflamingo’s deception.

“I have no interest in your past!” Law proclaimed. Which was totally unfair because I was definitely interested.  “The only people who can use the World Government to deceive us are Celestial Dragons!”

“So what?” Doflamingo answered.

At this point I figured Doflamingo somehow had them in his pocket. That Doflamingo was so wealthy and well-connected he could even manipulate them.

There was a flurry of attacks. Doflamingo pulled a Sasuke vs Orochimaru in the chuunin exams: wired up Law and pinned him to a tree. He was like, “You can’t buy any more time, Law.”

“You said it’s complicated before,” Law said, (buying time). What do you mean?”

But Doflamingo is not so easily led into talking.

“If you wanna chat, hand over Caesar and his heart first.”

“Caesar... no, those SMILEs are that important to you? I guess they are,” Law laughed. “Without the SMILEs, Kaidou’s gonna kill you and it’s all over for you.”

A different sort of attempt at buying time, as Law’s shit-talking made Doflamingo lose his temper and attack. Law shambled his way out of the literal bind but Doflamingo was too quick. It was lucky Fujitora was there because Doflamingo was ready to kill and loot for Caesar’s heart.

Boom went the gravity. Law was pinned to the ground beneath crushing force. (I think I’ve said this before but Fujitora’s power is... it’s just great.)

Doflamingo was like, “Wtf, Fujitora? I almost had him, you party pooper!”

Fujitora, who has played this entire situation suspiciously by-the-book, just said, “Gotta stop you right there, Heavenly Yaksha. I am here to arrest, not execute. Soz.”

Doflamingo had a quiet seethe to himself, then said, “FINE! But I need Caesar’s heart back.” Once Doflamingo stringed the heart into his hands, he cheered up a bit. The odds seemingly in his favour, he was more willing to talk. “By the way, you seem quite curious about that complication I mentioned. You wanna hear about it?”

At this point, I was thinking, “Law, if you do not say yes, I will start flipping tables.”

Luckily, Doflamingo was now in a talkative mood.

“A long time ago - it goes back eight-hundred years, Law - twenty kings from twenty countries came together at the centre of the world and formed one giant organisation. The World Government. The kings who created it decided to move to Mariejois and live there with their families. The Nefertari family of Alabasta refused, so there were nineteen, to be exact. The descendants of those creators who still live there and reign over the world are known as the Celestial Dragons. It means, however, that those nineteen countries lost their royal families eight-hundred years ago. In those countries, they elected new kings out of necessity and new royal families arose. In the case of my country, Dressrosa, the new royalty was the Riku Family. And the old family who moved to Mariejois as the creators of the world was the Donquixote family.”

THE DONQUIXOTE FAMILY.

“But, but, but....” I thought. “Weren’t all Celestial Dragons useless, dangerous spoiled brats like St Charloss and What’s-His-Face who washed up on Fishman Island?” Doflamingo is hyper-competent. How could this be?? Muh prejudices!

I guess that explained the Heavenly Yaksha nickname. Heavenly is similar to celestial, right? I suppose Vergo’s warning to Law, re. lack of knowledge on Doflamingo’s past also makes sense now. Law was technically pitting himself against a Celestial Dragon who can pull World Government-level strings. 

Not only that, but it seems the situation really is complicated.

Because Doflamingo had a bit more to say.

“So you’re called a Celestial Dragon, Doflamingo!” Law raged.

“I was. But not anymore. What is bloodline? What is destiny? I don’t think there are many people who have lived such a chequered life as mine. I wish I could tell the story of my life before I met you, over drinks. But I don’t have time for that. I’ve got to do something about the Strawhats in Dressrosa. I know there are quite a few people who underestimated them and got hurt.”

THANK YOU, ODA!

The plot gods have answered my plea. But these answers have raised only more questions.

1. Doflamingo used to be a Celestial Dragon. Not anymore. What happened? Did he abandon the rank willingly or was it taken from him? The whole “What is bloodline? What is destiny?” stuff is highly suspicious. Makes me think Doflamingo is not a fan of the Celestial Dragons.

2. The Riku Family. They were the ones who took over. They were elected fair and square. Everything seemed to be fine. Until Doflamingo came back to claim the territory his family abandoned eight-hundred years ago. Why return to Dressrosa? The answer to this question is probably tied up with point one.

3. The Nefertari were Originals. Even back then, the future Celestials must have been total moonfruits because the Nefertaris were like, “Ehhhh, nah, you guys go and have a good time on your island.” Imagine being stuck with those losers for eight-hundred years? No thanks.

4. Not underestimating the Strawhats. Doflamingo is smart. He has seen these new whippersnapper pirates topple too many Big Names and institutions to ignore the threat they pose to his territory. I actually cheered when he said this. A villain who can lay aside ego for the sake of the task at hand. I suppose Doflamingo does have the benefit of hindsight. Crocodile never had that luxury.

After that, there was a funny scene with Caesar and a heart-swap (Law still has his heart! Those heat-seeking Karma missiles are locked on Caesar. (LOCK ONNNNN!)) Fujitora also heard a KABOOM of thunder from the direction of the sea, even though the weather was perfectly calm. Law knew that would be Nami. The Strawhats were heading his way.

This was not a good thing.

Amid the chaos, Law made a desperate bid for freedom. Doflamingo pursued. He tried to lure him away but unfortunately, Doflamingo is smart.

Which leads us nicely to...

Debatable, But Okay...

(Side note: I loved how Toei segued seamlessly from Doflamingo’s sinister villain reveal laughter to Brook’s cheerful deceit laughter in 653. Did me a big lol there.)

And at first it seemed like Brook had found a new pal on Sunny. Not only that... he had betrayed the Strawhats? Surely not?

Had Soul King placed his art above his solid gold friendships with Nami and Chopper? Why was he hanging with Giolla? This was an outrage!

Giolla wanted to surprise Law (and gain Donquixote points) by picking up Caesar in Sunny instead of the Strawhats. Oh, what an excellent day it had turned out to be. Her latest art transformation depicted the tragedy of Dressrosa so perfectly! And it would only take ten more minutes for Nami, Chopper and Momonosuke to become part of her art and suffocate.

Like a total rookie, she babbled her plan to Brook, who smiled (if he could smile) and nodded and played the perfect gentleman. In the background, the others wailed and lamented Brook deserting them for art.

“May I play a song to celebrate?” he asked.

“Of course!”

“Then could you turn my violin and bow back to normal, please?”

Oh, Brook, you absolute legend. As soon as Giolla made that fatal error, Brook said, “You see this violin? There’s a cane sword inside. I already cut you.”

Suddenly, Brook was the hero! (Brook is always the hero.) Imagine doubting him, Nami and Chopper, you silly sausages!

There was a bit I didn’t like much that followed when they bickered over who would cuff Giolla. Nami demanded that Brook or Chopper did it, which was ridiculous because they are Devil Fruit eaters. If they touched those cuffs, their strength would sap and Giolla could overpower them. Nami, you should have done it. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re a coward or you view yourself as weak, you should have taken one for the team there. Not cool.

They spent so much time bickering, Giolla woke up and they missed the opportunity to restrain her. They were forced into fighting. Which was actually kind of good, in the end. Nami, Chopper and Brook used their heads to outsmart Giolla’s Giant Picasso Form and fire a Gaon Cannon bolt. Then Momonosuke shanked her from behind when she was down. Nami finished her off with a thunderbolt.

Teamwork, amirite?

Unfortunately, Fujitora heard the thunderbolt and told Doflamingo. So when they sailed round to Green Bit to collect Law and Caesar, Chopper saw the horrendous sight of Doflamingo approaching at speed through his binoculars.

I hope he recovers soon.

Who Says Zoro Can’t Compromise?

Once again, the Strawhats have split up. Usopp and Robin have reunited with Franky at the King Riku Army HQ beneath Flower Field. Zoro originally left with Wicka to check in on Sunny and rescue the others from Giolla, but met Sanji and Foxfire on the way.

Wick was like, “Who dat?”

In keeping with the Legendary Heroes names, Zoro introduced Sanji and Foxfire as Spiral-Brows-land and Topknot-Land (lmao)

Zoro updated Sanji on the dire situation on Sunny. Of course, Sanji was intent on rescuing Nami and the others, so Zoro stayed behind with Foxfire to find Luffy.

Then Violet appeared like a ninja from the shadows to tell him Giolla had hijacked Sunny. How did she know this?

Turns out she has a Very Useful Power.

Clairvoyance. It usually means seeing into the future, but it can also mean gaining information about a person, including their location, through extra-sensory perception. Nice. For Violet, this means she can see things within a 4000km radius, top-down, as a bird would. She is a walking surveillance satellite and can see everything going on in Dressrosa. She guided Sanji to Sunny and updated him on what was going on in Sunny. 

Like I said, a Very Useful Power.

But, since it is a Very Useful Power, the Donquixote Crew are not pleased that she’s betrayed them. Back at the palace, a new character called Gladius is Very Upset. Since he despises and wishes death upon people who cannot follow plans and are not punctual, I’m guessing Violet has used up her two strikes already and is dead to this hilarious weirdo. 

(Why does his hair explode?)

Violet eventually picked up Sunny and informed Sanji the dreadfully bad news that Sunny had been struck by lightning. She was puzzled when Sanji did not react as expected. Instead, he boosted with fury to the ship, where, I expect, he was surprised to find Doflamingo doing the exact same thing.

“Watch this, Law!” Doflamingo laughed. “I will viciously slay your allies right before your eyes!”

Doflamingo sure knows how to turn the thumb screws and punish people, doesn’t he?

But Sanji was like, “NOT TODAY, SATAN!”

He smashed shins with Doflamingo.

And I cheered.

Sanji, you have just gained all your cool points back. I forgive you for being distracted by Violet.

(Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that Bartolomeo recognised Zoro and totally splooshed on sight.)

Rebecca and Cavendish: You Beautiful Legends!

Now Doflamingo has spilled some of the beans on his past, his treatment of Rebecca is odd. If he wanted to get rid of the Riku Family, he could have easily killed her years ago. It’s almost like he wants to drag their memory and reputation thoroughly through the mud. If it’s a propaganda campaign, it makes sense. Keep the people blind to what’s been going on by dangling the scapegoat in front of them. But this is a cruel and unusual punishment. It’s almost like he actually *hates* the Riku family. Or am I reading way too much into this?

In the first scene of 652, Rebecca walked out into the ring. The way Oda had the crowd behave - reduced to shadows, red-eyed, shrieking, inhumane shapes - might be a dig at the sorts of people who love blood sports. Animals and humans risking their lives to entertain uncaring humans and prop up gambling industries.

The insults they hurled at Rebecca were harsh. “Drop dead, Rebecca!” “Foul blooded!” “Today’s your execution day!” “The shame of Dressrosa!” And the worst one, for some reason, “Set her on fire! That’ll make her pyro grandfather happy.”

Ooft. 

Well, it was pretty disgusting, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Enter Cavendish on his Farul, his white horse.

Ohhhhhh, he was not happy. Not happy at all. He heaped abuse on the crowd and called out their rank hypocrisy.

“ENOUGH! I don’t care why you hate her so much but she’s a young woman who stands in the ring putting her life on the line. You guys are not risking yoru lives so you have no right to jeer at her. If you really want to kill her, take a weapon and come down to the ring yourself! The voices of people who have no guts are nothing but irritating noise! I have my reasons for entering this competition, but even so, I cannot stomach it. The lives and deaths of warriors are not a show!”

Well, Cabbage just earned himself some major cool points there. I was like, “YOU TELL ‘EM, CABBAGE! NO MERCY!”

Even Luffy agreed. “Oh, Cabbage spoke up and said the right thing. I’m impressed!”

Well.. sort of. 

“Still don’t like him, though.” (Lmao, Luffy.)

Cavendish’s impromptu speech had an interesting effect on the crowd. They still hate Rebecca but instead of focusing their abuse on her, they decided they would use all that energy to support Cavendish, instead. 

It’s a win-win situation. Rebecca can kick-ass in peace and Cavendish, well, since the crowd started chanting his name, he had a tear-filled, “YOU LOVE ME! YOU REALLY LOVE ME!” moment. 

He’s already contemplating his media strategy.

Classic Cavendish.

When Doflamingo’s here, and you feel the end is near. 

Diarrhea. Diarrhea.

[ceep-it-kanon]

Ruby and Silver are so freakkin difficult to get straight. I mean, they’re both extroverts by nature, but plot happened and hit them hard & they ended up distrustful introverts. They ended up the exact opposite of the kind of person they are, and with Silver especially it makes circumstances difficult for them and self-conflicting. It’s fascinating, unbelievable, sad, and frustrating all at the same time, to think what kind of great person they both would have been if pl*t hadn’t happened to them and messed with their senses of right and wrong and their abilities to trust other people. I don’t mean that they’re the same; by nature they’re different (Silver has a very submissive personality underneath all that corruption, while Ruby had a sensitive, outgoing, personality, sort of like Black, except a lot more people-oriented, among other things) and the people the ended up becoming are just as different (Ruby has a tendency to run away from things, and because of that he feels guilt and because he feels guilt he tries to be self-focused and selfish as a method of coping with the reality of his actions hurting people, and his experience with the world is that once a bridge is burned it can’t be repaired, it’s probably his fault, and he runs from that guilt. Silver… has many many layers to him, more than his simple, just-want-to-do-right personality could normally manage. [Also hc that’s a double burn on Giovanni, cause that’s the kind of person Red’s dad, Giovanni’s little brother, was, and Giovanni hated mediocrity and how he all he needed to make him happy was to please others, while part of Giovanni wished it could be that simple for him, etc.] Silver ends up a very confused, conflicted, corrupted shell of what was only ever a child in an unstable world, with his only desire [after Pryce was defeated] was to find a place where he had both a belonging and purpose, but found only fate at every corner, found that the past he had been longing to know and return to was the fall in development of the Team Rocket empire, and that his existence was not only the catalyst to cause the destruction of the era of prosperity of those who had long been downcast, in taking the power and glory of the privileged, and giving to them the fear, exile, and punishment that they of different moral had been forced. They of team rocket were the outsiders, those in society who were smart enough to see the corruption of the world, who had morals of personal justice which would remove the wool over society’s eyes to their world, that would disrupt the careful lies those in power preached to maintain it, and under one man united to take the lifetime they believed their kind–the thieves & the cold-hearted, the homeless and disadvantaged–should be given, and had been deprived from them and their ancestors since Kanto began the inevitable corruption of a society’s order and hierarchy, the government. I’ve started rambling crap help And for Silver, to have been taken as a product of that corruption and to be used as a tool for a corrupted man, struggling to understand his humanity, happened to get into what we would of course call the “right crowd” (but which all Team Rocket would for different reasons disagree), and his experience was twisted a third time into something he couldn’t make sense of, and upon finding his purpose–both why he was conceived and what he could do to make his impact–to become the leader of Team Rocket and shut everything down before the three warring factions that were shards of the glory the team was under Giovanni’s leadership before Ariana (his mother, ironically) and the other executive admins tore the region–and those following them, who were once again suffering most, in a place where they had nothing left and nowhere to go–apart. In Petrel’s strange obsession with messing with Silver’s mind; in Archer’s loyal delusion of returning Giovanni to Team Rocket and refusing to accept his death for what it was; in Proton’s fear of losing his power, of needing to be right and uncontained; and most importantly Ariana, who, as Kanto crumbled in the fourth reign to being more corrupt than ever before, sought to gain power during the chaos, to mess with other’s minds and know how to gain control over any human on earth, to prove that she was more worthy than justice-loving Giovanni (who before you ask there was never anything between them & Silver was not in the slightest notion an accident, and she never wanted nor had to have anything to do with him, from the deal they made. and yes, Giovanni didn’t intend to, but he had loved Silver more than he had ever loved anything. Also if it isn’t obvious Silver got his personality from his father.) To her, life was a game. She only ever wanted to control people. She had no interest for the long run, or in keeping the power she gained. She was strange in that either the way her brain was wired or her upbringing or both left her unafraid of the world. She didn’t fear dying for her mistakes, as Pryce had; it hardly crossed her mind. She had no inhibition whatsoever and lived for the thrill of the present, which made her all the more dangerous of an antagonist, for all her actions were in fear of nothing, so for her even the unthinkable was doable, for she failed to care for the retributions to her or others caused by her actions. (Again, the opposite of Pryce. It’s interesting that two major villains for Silver to face were both motivated and made dangerous by fearing the effects of their mistakes and paying no heed to the effects of their mistakes respectively.) At the end of the fourth and final reign of Team Rocket, and era of either greatness or fear for three entire generations, it came down to Silver’s mother, as it began with his father. And he was the once who was neither hero, nor bad guy, nor bystander, for what he was, what he caught caught in, and what fate brought him to would not allow him to be any of those, yet he was all at once: in being loved, in the blood which he never got a chance to know love from, and in who he is without the corruption of the Masked Man and that world. In his hatred, in his regret, in his loyalty, his despair, and his desire for simplicity, Silver is human. His father, a great, sensible, intelligent man, sought nothing more than to pursue the justice he believed in, as a boy from rich family on the wealthy side of society, seeking the company of others with intelligence, and finding it in the criminals society hated and feared, whose views are too harsh, too close to the truth for the blinded and softened multitudes to accept and thus take everything from them out of fear and disbelief. Giovanni’s truest desire was to understand why he hated the mundane, why simple oblivion disgusted him, why he couldn’t love his sipping-wine-patio-party-go-entertain-yourself parents, his what-will-make-you-happy-I’ll-do-it-that’s-what-makes-me-happy brother, and the life where everything, even education, was given to him without having to lift a finger. No one else he knew felt this way, so he looked elsewhere for others like him. And he found thieves, and at once knew what kind of life he could dedicate his incredible intelligence to, instead of wasting it away sipping wine. Silver’s mother, who found her happiness in manipulation of others. She had a desire to play the devil. She was not born with it, but as she grew the love of control grew with her, to an amount that could not be fulfilled by any life other than the one she lead. Like I said, her only desire was to play the devil. And as the Team Rocket era began with Giovanni, whose ability to understand others and to bring those at their knees to their feet and those at their feet to their knees, to gain the trust of those who never trust, to fulfull every promise and create a network of thieves, assassins, and the like, over half of which would die for him… Giovanni was near a god in that sense, and he was to many of those poor who joined Team Rocket. Ariana was the devil among them, and it all ended with her. After all of Team Rocket had been finally disassembled by the dexholders and the remaining of the the remaining unwanted masked children, and Silver, the human product of the two, fulfilled his father plea to him and rescued the poor Team Rocket members, who had suffered brain damage from Pryce’s ice-alchemy control, who had been hated even more than ever before by society after Giovanni’s death, and who again now were suffering the most under poor leadership, with the executive admins all either insane or of a selfish motive, and these poor thieves who had known nothing but hate from society for who they were, who believed in Giovanni and gave up what little, prideful life they had to follow him. Giovanni’s plan for a world that valued what he believed to be right, which I may add was entire possible for a godly man like him to achieve, was cut short, and the power he had gained over others to use for “true justice” had no cap, no government to pull the wool over society’s eyes and keep them from panic, no human greed to settle the system, just confusion, chaos, fear of both sides from both sides, and likewise with hatred. This all could have settled and been figured out, but those who had some of that power, who should not be in power without a fair-minded leader above them, who should be in jail, the smartest admins of the fallen team, they sought to take advantage of the chaos and confusion and hatred and fear and grab as much as they could for themselves. And the kind-hearted, the misunderstood, those who wanted this new regime for everybody because it was the morals they believed to be right, ended up, as they always have in history despite Giovanni’s attempt to change that, suffering most. It was Giovanni’s last wish that Silver, though not indebted to Giovanni in any way, become the leader of a great new world he had been created with hopes of becoming, and stop this unneeded suffering of “those who are truly great, but misunderstood” before it leads to even more suffering for all. (Remember that Giovanni valued “well-distributed intelligence” in people above all other things.) All of Team Rocket, even those who had used Giovanni’s dream to gain power for themselves, (Courtney is an example of that kind of person, just saying), both respected and feared Giovanni, and while the great man who was like a father to so many without one had not the power to stand, his hope was that they would listen to Silver. And for Silver, who had gone from “team-rocket-is-bad-and-must-be-destroyed” to “is-this-where-I-belong?-it-can’t-be-these-people-are-scum-and-I-hate-having-it-in-my-blood-thus-I-hate-myself” to “these-people-aren’t-really-at-fault-it’s-the-greedy-ones-like-Petrel-who-take-advantage-of-people-with-good-hearts” to “I-have-to-do-this-it’s-not-who-I-am-but-it’s-what-I-can-do” to finally after all that suffering for him alone and weight he didn’t want on his shoulders etc he goes to “the-seven-of-us-have-been-a-family-all-along” and I’ve literally been on the computer typing this for almost four hours and it feels like thirty minutes and I still have to get started on homework and crap cause I’ve literally been writing this since I got home five hours ago and it was supposed to be a quick observation of how Ruby and Silver are very similar in one way, but lol I guess sometimes fate has other plans.

[reyloforcebalance]

True Power

My submission for the @two-halves-of-reylo weekly challenge (Week 18: Dark Side). These weekly challenge fics are accidentally turning into a story… if you want to catch up, check out the previous ones on AO3. Thanks for reading!

Kylo Ren roars in pain as the blade slices through his flesh, pinning him to the wall.

Both his hands fly up to grip the center of the double-sided sword now sticking out of his right shoulder. He looks up into the blank face staring down from above.

The droid cocks its head and twists the blade like it’s relishing the moment. It’s humanoid— a lithe body with two arms, two legs, and an armored shell that mimics the curves of human musculature.  Kylo can see his own reflection in its face, which is nothing but an oval-shaped screen nested inside a large, metallic hood.

It leans in menacingly, its hand sliding slightly down the hilt as it does.

And that’s exactly the opportunity Kylo needs.

In an instant, he snaps the arbir blade in two, then drives the newly freed end into a weak spot in the droid’s armor, a small opening just between its neck and shoulder.

The droid jerks back mechanically, releasing the end still pinning Kylo to the wall and reaching over to dislodge the blade from its body. Kylo grits his teeth and groans as he pulls the sword out of his flesh.

He ducks in anticipation of the droid’s next move, a hard jab to his core, sidestepping past it and gaining some distance. He whips back around to see the droid beginning to stand from a kneeling position, gripping the remaining end of its own blade in one hand and the intact blade it disarmed him of in the other. It turns methodically towards him.

Rather than resume its assault, it cocks its head again, then steps slowly to the side, moving along a curved path. Despite its mechanical movements, the droid has the air of a predator teasing its prey, seeming to take pleasure in building up tension before an attack.

Kylo begins circling it as well, gripping the hilt of the sword still slick with his own blood. He breathes heavily, dripping with sweat, dark locks of hair sticking to his forehead. The wound in his shoulder throbs, a regular rhythm of shooting pain, crackling like electricity through his veins. He concentrates on the feeling, how the nerves in his damaged flesh scream for attention, begging for healing, begging for him to stop.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he switches the sword from his left hand to his right and squeezes. The damaged muscles in his shoulder howl in response. As the pain surges through his body, Kylo can’t stop a smile from creeping across his lips.

It’s been a long time since he’s been injured in the training room. A very long time.

He likes this droid. He likes it very much.

He’s been waiting all day for this. And he’s not disappointed. He’s never seen a sentry droid fight like this one. It has all the advantages of a robotic combatant— an extensive catalogue of martial skills, flawless execution— but it’s programmed with an advanced AI that’s designed manipulate psychological weaknesses, giving it an eerie sense of personality and a flair for cruelty in combat.

It doesn’t just fight to win. It fights to demoralize, to utterly exhaust the opponent’s mind and body. During the demonstration this morning, it thrashed Hux’s cadets with what Kylo can only describe as a kind of sadistic brutality. It taunted, it terrorized, and it took every opportunity to inflict flesh wounds, forcing its opponents to fight through physical pain.

Which is why he’s been absolutely burning to get into the training room alone with it, to face it one on one.

Suddenly, Kylo jerks to the right, just barely dodging the blade whizzing by his cheek. The droid continues to circle him as though nothing happened, now armed only with the double-sided sword. Without thinking, Kylo balls his left hand into a fist and beats it against the wound in his shoulder three times, sending a sharp, searing pains down the length of his arm.  

The droid abruptly whips into action, snapping its sword in two and charging forward. It launches into a relentless offense, its blades a flurry of motion, slashing and thrusting with power, precision, and inhuman speed. Kylo struggles to fend off the forceful blows dealt by his stronger opponent, each impact bringing a newer, deeper wave of pain to his right shoulder.

To an outsider, the battle would seem to be all but won. Kylo’s at the disadvantage in every way. The droid is physically larger and stronger. It has two blades to Kylo’s one. It’s progressively backing him into a corner with its complex combination of slashing and hacking, perfectly executed. And though both of them are injured, the droid feels no pain.

Of course, this is where a casual observer might wonder why Kylo’s choosing to wield his one blade with his injured arm.

And here lies his advantage, an advantage very few would understand. Every time his wound is aggravated, every time the muscles tear a bit more, every time his nerves scream in pain— he grows more powerful. For any other person, that shoulder would seize, too painful and too damaged to fight with. But for him, pain increases rage, and rage increases his strength through the Force.

As Kylo continues fending off the droid’s blows, his blood turns to fire in his veins, surging through his body, charging it with dark power. He starts to feel physically stronger, clashing against the droid’s hard strikes with equal force. It’s still hacking and slashing in a series of moves intended to keep an opponent on the defense, but it’s repeating the same combination again and again and Kylo’s learning its rhythm.

Suddenly, he dodges to the left and leaps high into the air. He lands on top of the droid and instantly begins driving his blade into its right shoulder with furious strikes— one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight times and the droid’s right arm is dislodged from the rest of its body. Before it hits the floor, Kylo flips off the droid’s shoulders, landing behind it. He immediately whips around.

The droid is beginning to kneel, reaching for its severed arm with its remaining limb, intending to reattach it. But Kylo lifts the arm into the air with a wave of his hand and clenches his fist, crunching it into a ball of metal and wires before casting it across the training room.

The droid turns its head, following its now destroyed arm with its blank screen of a face. Kylo seethes, beating his right shoulder before lunging forward. He meets the droid’s blade with a fiery combination of strikes, well-practiced and fueled by the Force raging through him. He’s pure energy, pure fire, now physically stronger than his opponent, forcefully slashing and hacking, pushing the droid backwards as it fends off the blows reigning down upon it.

He gives himself over the rage, his true weapon, and it rips through him in a ferocious blast of violence. His mind is consumed by the power he feels in this moment, the strange contradiction of unrestrained passion and white hot control. He thrusts his blade forward, across, down, again and again and again, overwhelming the droid, giving it no opportunity to strike back.

This fight is his. This droid is about to become a heap of metal and wires…

Suddenly, Kylo catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye and in an instant, his rage abates, like roaring flames encountering the gushing floods of a river.

Rey stands at the side of the training room, her arms folded across her chest, observing with intense interest.

He halts his assault, only for a split second, but it’s all the opportunity the droid needs.

Kylo feels an explosive blast at his side and he immediately flies across the training room, landing on the matted floor with a thud. He hears the droid charge towards him at full speed.

“Cease all functions.” Kylo barely gets out the command before the droid reaches him. It freezes mid-rampage, remaining in statue-like position for a moment before straightening and dropping its weapon. Kylo breathes heavily, each inhale sending shooting pains throughout his left side. He pushes up from the floor, already picturing a large bruise emerging across the skin of his ribcage.

He hears Rey jogging over from the side of the room, stopping right beside him just as he fully stands. He looks down and is met with concerned eyes.  

“You’re hurt,” she tells him with knitted eyebrows, extending her right hand towards him.

“No, I’m not,” he replies with an irritated jerk of his head and she stops, dropping her arm. He wipes the sweat off his face and shudders, annoyed that the bond caught him by surprise yet again. He stoops over to pick up his weapon from the floor then walks over to the droid, appearing to examine it but really just giving himself an opportunity to catch his breath and change gears, adapt to the new situation.

It’s not that she’s unwelcome. It’s just… not an ideal time. He can’t put his finger on why, but he particularly hates it when she shows up at a time like this, when he’s tense and hot with fury.

Of course, her presence has a marked influence on that. He felt the rage start to leave his body the moment he realized she was here, like steam evaporating from a hot surface. As he leans over to pick up the droid’s weapon, he notes his blood is no longer exploding through his veins but slowing to an even flow.

He takes a minute to examine the weapons in his hands, looking both of them over then snapping them together to form a full arbir blade. All the while, he concentrates on breathing, on Rey, on what he senses in her as she stands behind him, observing.

She’s concerned. And vaguely disapproving.

He needs to distract her…

“I’m sure you remember this from the Throne room,” he announces abruptly, turning and tossing the arbir blade in her direction. Her eyes widen, caught off guard, but she catches the double-sided sword easily, her reflexes sharp. She looks down at the weapon, studying it, most likely remembering their battle with the Praetorian guards, one of them wielding a weapon much like this one.

“It’s not equipped with an ultrasonic generator,” he continues, walking towards her. “But there’s no need for one unless you’re fighting against a lightsaber.” She snaps the blade in two and brings one end close to her face to inspect it.

“Would you like to give it a try?” He asks suggestively, his lips curling upwards.

He’s been dying to get her into the training room again, to try out new weapons— ones she’s never used before— and see how she does with them. He loves being in a fight with her, watching her improvise, get creative…

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” she responds finally as she connects the blades together again. “Not right now.” She looks up at him but her eyes almost immediately drift down to his right shoulder. “That’s an angry wound.” She nods towards the shoulder. “You shouldn’t be fighting anyone until you get that taken care of.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, silently extending a hand for the sword. She gives it to him with a wary expression, still looking concerned. He walks briskly past her towards a wall with weapons affixed to it. He casts the blade to the floor and immediately strides over to the washing station, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. His shoulder is still throbbing, the pain transforming into an inconvenience now that he’s no longer in combat.

He hears Rey approach slowly from behind. He senses her burning with interest, a question on the tip of her tongue. He doesn’t turn around but quietly continues to clean himself up, taking note of the blood flow at his right shoulder. Rey stands silently, watching him, growing more impatient, that question nagging at her.

“Yes?” He draws out the word expectantly, still facing the washing station.

She doesn’t say anything. Now he senses hesitation. He shakes his head, more to himself than to her, and casts his towel to the side. He sighs heavily, finally turning around.

“What is it, Rey?” He asks impatiently, folding his arms. “I can feel you squirming with a question. Just spit it out.” His eyes bore into hers as he waits for her to speak.

She parts her lips, but no words come out. She stares up at him for a moment before looking away, seeming to wrestle with herself, like she wants to ask the question but knows she won’t like the answer. A few seconds pass in silence as she carefully considers her next action. Finally, she looks back at him, her eyes tinged with disapproval but also a little tenderness.  

“Why do you aggravate your injuries during a fight?” She asks quietly, maintaining a soft gaze. He immediately looks away, realizing why she was so hesitant to ask the question. The answer will not lead to a pleasant interaction between them.  

“Because it makes me stronger,” he tells her dismissively, turning back towards the washing station and grabbing the towel again.

“How?” She probes behind him. He dampens the towel and begins absently cleaning the area around his wound, not because he really needs to, just to do something.

“Pain is a trigger for Force-sensitives,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Pain, hatred, fear— all of it can be converted into rage. Pure energy, pure power. It increases strength, speed, endurance—”

“But at what cost?” She interrupts him. “To your body, to your mind?” He rolls his eyes, keeping his back to her. “What’s the effect of channeling that kind of energy in the long term? Won’t it ultimately weaken you, diminish you?”  

“In some ways.” He twitches his jaw, irritated, as he casts the towel back on the washing station. “But not in a way that really matters,” he finishes, turning around to face her. Rey looks him steadily, arms crossed, back straight, and feet firmly planted like she’s in a battle stance.

“What ways?” She narrows her eyes, jutting up her chin up. He blinks, folding his arms again and staring down at her neutrally.

“Over time, it can take a toll on the body,” he answers frankly. “Eventually, it can cause physical deformity. Assuming one lives long enough.”

“Are dark siders known to die young?” Something about the way she asks this sounds more like a criticism than a question. He abruptly turns and begins striding to the other end of the training room.

“That or they live for hundreds of years, like Snoke.” He hears Rey following behind him.

“So, you’ll either die in the next few years or grow to be horribly deformed.” He pushes out an exasperated exhale, continuing to charge towards the blade the droid was holding when he cut off its arm.

“I’m sure you’ll recall that Snoke’s physical deformity did nothing to diminish his power,” he snipes at her. “Just the opposite, in fact. As his body grew weaker, his strength in the Force increased a hundredfold.” He stoops down to pick up the end of the arbir blade lying on the floor.

“And it doesn’t bother you that you’ll eventually look like he did, all twisted, mangled flesh?” She still has that disapproving tone in her voice. He turns around but doesn’t look at her, instead brushing past her on his way to the side of the room.

“I honestly don’t think about it,” he calls back, hearing her tag along behind him again. “I’m sure when the time comes, it won’t really matter.”

“It won’t matter that you’ll look nothing like you do now, that you might not even look human?” She asks incredulously.

He bristles and instinctively clenches his fists, causing shooting pains in his injured shoulder. He feels himself growing more irritated, annoyed at how easily she seems to pass judgement on something she doesn’t understand.

“Power has a price, Rey,” he answers curtly.

“Well, it seems to me that the price is too high.” At that, he whips around and she halts, jumping a little in surprise.

“Really?” He steps towards her with fire in his eyes, still clenching his fists. “And what’s the basis of this judgement? What do you know about the dark side?” He spits out the question as he leans over her menacingly. “Please. Educate me.” He cocks his head in challenge.

She shrinks away a bit, her face guarded and uncertain. They stare at one another silently for a few seconds before she looks away, her eyes growing distant. He feels her emotions change, a strong sense of conviction replaced by something he can only describe as self-consciousness.

“That’s what I thought,” he says in a low voice, lingering another moment before he turns around and resumes walking. “You don’t know a damn thing about the dark side,” he calls back snidely. “In fact, I’d guess you know as much about the dark side as you do about the Jedi.” He feels this hit her hard, a harsh reminder of her ignorance about the Force. This time, he doesn’t hear her follow him.

He reaches down for the blade that the droid threw at him earlier and swoops it up from the matted floor. He attaches it to its other side, then walks over to the weapons affixed on the wall, casting it on the floor with the other one.

“Why don’t you teach me?” Rey suddenly calls to him from the middle of the room.

“About what?” He turns to find her walking slowly towards him, her arms crossed lightly, her shoulders relaxed.  

“About the dark side, about the difference between the dark and the light.” She continues towards him, her tone curious now, casual even. He narrows his eyes, suspicious of this change in her. What is she up to?

She stops just in front of him, looking up with clear, earnest eyes, like a student ready to learn. He doesn’t sense disapproval anymore, only genuine curiosity, though he can’t shake the feeling she has some kind of ulterior motive. He tilts his head, examining her closely. She maintains her gaze, her light brown eyes fixed on his, appearing completely ingenuous.

“What do you want to know?” He asks coolly, crossing his arms. Her eyes flit up to the ceiling for a moment before resting back on him.

“Start with the basics.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Based on your experience, what’s the most fundamental difference between the dark and light side of the Force?” Kylo ‘s eyebrows shoot up briefly.

“Surely that’s something you already know,” he begins in an authoritative tone. “Dark siders channel the power of the Force through emotions that are often considered negative— pain, anger, hatred, fear— whereas the light side is the opposite. The Jedi taught channeling the Force through things like peace, calm, compassion, and love. They feared the stronger emotions. They believed in restraint, in eschewing certain undesirable experiences.”

“And you disapprove of this?” She raises an eyebrow. He clicks his tongue, considering for a moment before he answers her.

“Not of channeling the Force through so-called lighter emotions,” he says decisively. “But teaching that one should completely reject feelings integral to sentient existence, feelings that can unleash the true power of the Force? That I very much disagree with.” Rey knits her eyebrows.

“What do you mean by the true power of the Force?” She tilts her head, looking a bit confused. “Is channeling the Force through peace and love not true power?” Kylo immediately scoffs.

“Rey,” he intones deeply, “You have no idea.” He steps towards her with a dark glimmer in his eyes. “You haven’t really felt the Force until you’ve felt it through rage. It’s like losing yourself yet maintaining control at the same time. Trust me. Once you get a taste of that kind of power, there’s no turning back.” Something flickers across her eyes when he says this, but the emotion is too fleeting for him to detect.

“So, you think the dark side is the stronger aspect?” She asks to confirm.

“Without question.” He practically cuts her off. “The dark side is all about unleashing one’s potential, not holding it back. All of the things the Jedi Order rejected— aggression, anger…” He leans down a little, dark eyes fixed on hers. “Unrestrained passion.” She flinches ever so subtly, almost imperceptibly. “These are all things dark siders embrace. And it’s ultimately the reason why they know the full extent of the Force’s power in a way that a Jedi never could.” He lingers for a moment, a smirk teasing the corners of his lips, before he straightens.

Rey gazes up at him softly for a few seconds, then abruptly looks away. She presses her lips together, appearing lost in thought.

“But…” She begins slowly. She looks back up at him, uncertain. “Why are emotions like anger and aggression the better way to wield the Force’s power? Are there not ways to use the Force through peace and love that can’t be done through the darker emotions?” Kylo rolls his eyes slightly.

“Yes,” he concedes begrudgingly. “But that’s not my point.” He pauses, searching his mind for the best way to explain this to her. He purses his lips and looks up to the ceiling.

“Think of it this way,” he begins confidently, looking back down at her. “The bedrock of Jedi training is meditation. It’s at the core of almost everything they teach. They even teach battle meditation.” He scoffs contemptuously, shaking his head. “That’s not to say,” he continues, “that nothing can be gained from meditation. But it’s ultimately a passive exercise. The entire Jedi philosophy is passive, to observe and maintain, not really do anything.” Rey listens intently, processing the information, more to understand than to judge.

“But dark siders,” he intones, a slow smile creeping across his lips. “The bedrock of their training is combat. It’s active. It’s all about taking any situation into your own hands and making it yours, bending it to your purpose, your will.” He feels himself grow more impassioned as he speaks, a spark igniting in his chest. “The Jedi called it darkness and that term has come to define it, but really…” He grunts softly and shakes his head. “It’s only a belief that the Force should be used to do something more than simply keep the peace. It should be used to create peace, to create order, to propel the galaxy forward through sheer will and power.”

Rey’s not looking at him anymore. She’s staring downward, her eyebrows furrowed. He senses her struggling internally, working through what he’s telling her. After a few moments, she begins nodding her head a little.

“I think I understand what you mean,” she starts slowly. She finally looks up at him, her eyes calm and confident. “And quite honestly, the Jedi philosophy of being passive is something I’m not sure I agree with. Master Skywalker taught me about that, actually.” He tenses instinctively at the reference to his uncle, and when he does, the nerves around his wound scream. He pushes out an exhale, ignoring the pain.  

“But I’m not convinced that the emotions used to wield dark side of the Force are more powerful than those used to wield the light,” Rey continues with conviction. “Compassion, love… these things aren’t passive in nature. Surely, not everything the Jedi taught about using the Force through these emotions was passive. And even if it was, that doesn’t mean such emotions can’t be used in other ways, perhaps ways that haven’t even been discovered yet.” Her eyes begin to sparkle with possibility. Kylo tilts his head in concession.

“That could be true,” he admits. “But I still don’t think anything can outmatch the unique ability of anger and aggression to harness the full power of the Force.” He juts his chin up decisively.

“I suppose that depends on your definition power,” Rey says quietly, looking down. “And I’m sure that whatever can be done through love doesn’t exact the same cost as what can be done through anger.” At this, Kylo sighs heavily, his eyes rolling upwards.

Just when he thought this conversation was going more smoothly than expected, she’s back to this again.

Rey looks up at him with solemn eyes but he doesn’t say anything. Why open up that subject again, if he can help it? He turns and begins to walk away.

“You know…” He slows at the sound of Rey’s voice. “When I appeared here today, you were on top of a droid, relieving it of its right arm,” she continues wryly, walking towards him. He stops altogether, though his back is still to her. He’s wary of where she’s going with this…

“You were so consumed in rage. You didn’t even sense my presence. Not then and for a while after. It was like nothing else existed except pain and anger and all its energy coursing through you.” He turns to face her, his expression guarded.

She walks right up to him and stops just a foot away, her eyes full of purpose but also soft and tender. They seem to pierce right through him.

“I felt how much you were enjoying it in the moment.” She pauses, unblinking. “But I also felt something else. How your body was screaming for you to stop, for you to heal. And something deeper. Like… a pain in your soul.” He closes his eyes and starts to turn away again, but Rey reaches out to stop him, gripping his forearm.

“Ben, you were the one who said that the bond brings us together when we’re feeling vulnerable.” She sounds earnest, pleading even. “All I’m asking you to do is consider that maybe, just maybe, there’s something about being in that kind of rage that’s a moment of vulnerability for you, even if it doesn’t feel that way at the time.” He pulls back, but she grips his forearm more tightly.

“Maybe the bond’s trying to get you to realize what all of this anger is doing to you.” At this, he jerks his arm away, aggravating the sharp pains in his shoulder.  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He spits at her with contempt. She flinches slightly, looking a little hurt, but she quickly hardens with resolve.

“I know what I feel through the bond.” She responds confidently. “I literally feel your pain, Ben. So, don’t try to lie to me. I know exactly what rage feels like for you, how it rips you apart—”

“Oh, come on, Rey,” he interrupts forcefully, stepping in closer, glaring at her with disdain. “You think you know the dark side because you saw me in a Force rage for half a minute? You don’t know anything. About the dark side, about the light side. You barely understand the Force at all.”

He steps forward, pushing her back, bearing over her, covering her with his shadow. “You’re a desert scavenger who’s only training was one week with a sad old failure of a Jedi. Why would I ever listen to anything an ignorant girl like you has to say about the Force?”

Rey’s head snaps back, eyes wide with surprise. She’s utterly speechless. He cocks his head snidely, challenging her to answer.

She looks up at him, her lips parted, surprise gradually deepening into a hurt expression. She maintains her gaze until her eyes begin to well with tears. Then she abruptly looks away, shaking her head briskly.

Kylo takes a step back, giving her some space, and observes her silently. As she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, his chest tightens, feeling like its pulled in opposite directions. On the one hand, he still burns with resentment that she would even attempt to lecture him on how he should and should not use the Force. On the other hand… he hates seeing her like this. Especially when he’s the one who caused it.

Rey hugs herself tightly, eyes closed and head bowed, trying to collect herself. She takes several measured breaths, shallow at first but soon growing deeper and longer. Eventually, her shoulders relax and she drops her arms.

She continues to breathe steadily. He senses she’s not upset anymore. In fact, she’s entering what he can only describe as a meditative state. She feels calm, at peace, focused on everything and nothing at the same time. She stands before him like this for a minute, ignoring him completely, seeming unaware of her surroundings.

The suddenly, she does something very strange.

With her eyes still closed, she raises her right hand slowly. She stops just as she passes his injured shoulder and opens her palm, extending it forward not an inch away from his wound. She stands just like this, perfectly still, perfectly quiet, seeming to do absolutely nothing as several seconds pass. He tilts his head, eyeing her curiously.

Then he feels it.

A change in his body. The torn muscles in his shoulder begin to mend, to grow back together. His screaming nerves start to quiet. The throbbing gradually fades way. He watches, gaping, as Rey puts him back together again, taking away all of his pain until eventually, there’s nothing left.

Once he’s whole, she drops her hand, still bowing her head with closed eyes. She waits calmly for a few seconds before turning her face up to his.

She doesn’t say anything. Neither does he. They both just stare at one another. Her gaze is soft, not a hint of satisfaction or smugness or anything resembling pride. No, instead her eyes are full of something else, something he hasn’t felt from someone in a very long time.

He finds that he’s frozen, unable to move or speak, barely able to breathe. He can only stare at her, lose himself in her eyes, in this feeling he can’t quite believe is real.

She stares back at him wordlessly, as lost in him as he is in her.

Then she abruptly disappears before him like she has many times before, the loss of her presence making his heart drop in his chest.

But this time, her absence isn’t followed by that aching emptiness, that loneliness that tugs at him most cruelly just after the bond takes her away.

He’s much too consumed by something else to feel such a thing.

He stands in the center of the training room, still unable to move. His arms hang at his sides, his head still turned downward, looking at the space where Rey used to be. He’s still processing the shock of what just happened.

There are so many things he could be thinking about right now.

Like the fact that she’d clearly never done that before. He felt her acting out of instinct, not training.

Or the fact that healing is a very difficult Force skill to master, one that he never came close to being able to do himself.

Or the fact that what she just did is a perfect example of a Force ability that dark siders have never been able to fully accomplish.  

But he can’t think about any of these things. He can’t think of anything but how she was able to heal him, the emotion she tapped into to do it.

It’s very distinct. Though it’s been well over a decade since he’s felt anything like it, he recognized it immediately.

He doubts that she knows what it is. Why would she? She’s never had an occasion in her life to feel such an emotion. But she’ll recognize it for what it is soon enough…

He thinks back to those precious moments, her palm hovering next to his wound, the muscles in his shoulder growing back together. He thinks about that warm, steady glow that welled within her and through the bond, in him as well.

And for the first time, he allows himself to admit the truth.

That he’s been feeling that way about her for a long time. It’s something he’s known, but desperately tried to deny, to avoid. But now that he’s certain the feeling is returned, he can finally give himself over to it.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

He remembers the first few times the bond brought them together. He remembers what it was like to be seen, actually seen, after years of living his life under a mask. He remembers how terrifying that was. And how deeply satisfying. He hadn’t realized how much he craved it, how much he desperately wanted someone to know him, to see everything he is, even the things he’s spent his entire adult life trying to hide.

And when she saw that, when she saw his true face… her first instinct was to feel compassion for him.

Because that’s who she is. He has no idea how she could have possibly managed to become that way. Most of her life, she’s just tried to survive, completely alone, in a barren, sand-choked wasteland where practically everyone around her was willing to steal or lie or kill. Growing up in an environment like that, she should be selfish and callous. She should be bitter and untrusting, willing to betray the moment it’s convenient.

But she’s not.

Instead, she’s full of compassion and empathy. She helps perfect strangers, even when she has every reason not to. She can see the good in anything, even monster like him. She takes such pleasure in the smallest things, like a flower or the sound of rain. In so many ways, she’s still a lonely little girl. And yet she’s capable and brave, too brave sometimes. She’s imaginative, innovative, creative. She can fix anything. He’s never met someone who’s so vulnerable and so strong at the same time.

As he thinks about these things, that familiar feeling rushes upon him at once, but this time, he doesn’t bother to fight it, or bury it, or conceal it. He just experiences it, the crushing weight of it, so overwhelming it’s painful, but damn it’s the best pain he’s ever felt in his life. It’s an exquisite pain, not at all the kind that can be converted into rage. It’s only a manifestation of feeling so much, so deeply, all at once. It’s a powerful combination of every kind of desire imaginable. And now, he feels that desire blending with a deep sense of gratitude.

Because now he knows for sure that she feels the same way about him.

He stands still for several minutes, losing himself in these thoughts and emotions, until he finally wills himself to move, to turn towards the door and take one step, then another. He takes each step more quickly than the last until he accelerates into his normal, brisk stride. He presses a panel by the door and exits the training room into the wide hall of the ship.

But he doesn’t notice anything around him. He’s still in a daze, still lost in his own mind. He charges forward, seemingly with purpose, but he’s not paying attention to where he’s going.

He’s still consumed with what just happened, with everything he’s feeling.

And for just a moment, the thought occurs to him.

This emotion that’s coursing through him right now is more intense than anything he’s felt before. More intense than rage or hatred or fear. It’s so all-consuming, so deep, so dynamic.

It’s powerful. More powerful than he could have possibly imagined.

And it’s all the more powerful now that he knows it’s shared.

[exilevilifyrp]

Congratulations NINA, you have been accepted for the role of PAM with the face claim COURTNEY EATON! I was thoroughly ecstatic to discover the amount of thought you’d placed into the characterisation of PAM - even more so upon discovering the ample contrasting traits and how brilliantly they worked together when creating the entire product of an android I am sure we will all equally cherish. Welcome to the crew, Nina. 

Make sure to check out our checklist and send us your blog within 24 hours!  

THE AUTHOR

BASIC INFO (ALIAS/NAME, AGE, PRONOUNS):

Nina. 19. She/Her

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY:

GMT +10:00. In numbers 7-9 out of ten. I am a uni student so the times may change during exam periods and major assignments.

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER YOU’RE APPLYING FOR:

PAM

AGE AND GENDER IDENTIFICATION:

1 year old. Though appears 22.

GENESIS:

N/A.

SPECIAL SKILLS:

rapid neural network, advanced optic sensors, spatial visualisation, enhanced strength, speed and precision, and she’s (surprisingly) musically inclined.

FACE CLAIM:

Courtney Eaton. Yu Aoi. Sophie Turner.

IN DEPTH

ANALYSIS: Of these, I consider her defining virtue to be compassion and her defining vice to be cowardice.

Traits are not entities that are independent of others. Each trait work together. Like wires, crossing, connection, working to the benefit and function of one machine. This was true to all humans, as it was to PAM. So what are these traits? What cogs make up this machine?

CURIOSITY— Always. Constantly. One of her more endearing qualities if such a term could ever be used to describe a machine. She loves to learn, about humans most of all, as if a deeper understanding of such creatures would somehow lessen the distance wedged between man and machine. Though it would be worthy to note that there was not an inch of wire or a letter of code on PAM that she did not cherish as if it were skin and bone. Nevertheless it was her inquisitive nature that fed her passions when stagnation reigned supreme, and her willingness to learn and understand that allowed her the degree of compassion for her organic counterpart that many of them did not even possess.

ADAPTABILITY— Of course she was. She was made to be. She had to be. Born and raised in Purgatory but with each passing day the illusion of home has eroded to reveal something more sinister and menacing. She had to be careful of the words she said; to act as was expected, as coded; to meet the standards that she never wanted to achieve for surely the cost of success was too dear. Her observation and adaptability were invaluable tools that stood between her and dispensability. She recognised a threat and she acclimatised accordingly, depending on the tip of the scales and which side yielded the most desirable result. But never let her versatility be mistaken for duplicity, it was true that each choice contributed to the cause of her own survival (as her insurgency could equal to that of a death warrant) each choice but never was it made with malice or a conscious intent to harm.

COMPASSION— All androids were programmed with keen observation and designed to adapt and withstand the harsh environment presented by the prison. There were traits that she shared with her mechanical siblings, but her compassion was the defining virtue that made her independent from her model. Compassion wove through the fabric of every trait, the central aorta that pumped kindness to every mechanical organ. Put it this way; observationallowed her to notice patterns and sequences (an inmate retiring to his corner of the cell at precisely 1900, Sunday night. Inmate head bowed. Eyes closed. “Praying”. Not a threat). Compassion allowed her to understand that the inmate needed hope, from whom she wasn’t sure, though she knew to leave them in peace. Adaptability allowed her to report to her superiors in the same vernacular as her siblings (“Inmate in confinement. Low level threat. Intervention not necessary.”).  This was her ensuring the inmate remained at peace, undisturbed, compassion consoled that this much they at least deserved in the prison which they both shared.

COWARDICE— I’ll spare you the flowery language and hand you this simple truth: her program had made her curious and adaptable and compassionate, though it would seem that the Creator has yet to achieve the perfect accumulation of numbers and letters to allow the android to achieve bravery.  Though in her defence this was the most human of her traits: fear (of death chiefly). It was this fear that made her passive to the suffering of inmates,. An observer, as it were— rather poetic as it happened to be one of the very things that she was greatest at. Her fear made her an obedient server of the system, her complaints few and her rebellion almost unheard of. Confrontation amounted to more undesirable results than its passive cousin, so in the name of survival, she avoided it at all cost. She had no issues with the practise of strategic retreat or cowardice. I’ll be candid in saying that because of her inactivity people have been hurt, harshly, wrongfully, but she was still alive wasn’t she? Cowardice was compassion’s greatest foe and it often warred in her mind, fighting for dominance in the decision making centre. And though she took no pleasure in the practise, she’d take being cowardly and alive than being kind and dead.

PARANOIA— A spawn of cowardice that was no less vicious than its parent. It paid to be cautious, to distrust the people and machines around her as well as herself. This suspicion can be essentially traced to her witnessing the cruelty that was capable at the hands of humans. A lot of it also comes from introspection. She knows that she had the potential to be, frankly, quite dangerous (it was only a matter of erasing a few lines of code). While she adopted an outward appearance of calm and politeness and put up clever facades when she needed to, she is—like her human imitation— a liar. If she were to meet an exact copy of herself, she wouldn’t trust it, and that was a lot of the reason why she won’t trust others. For if she, a being with no desire for wealth or material gain, immune to manipulation and false promises, was capable of harm than surely her organic counterpart was gravely worse.

OVERLY-CAUTIOUS— Impulse was not a word often used in PAM’s word library, and certainly not one that was often used to describe the android. While her caution also functioned as a balm to her fear and paranoia, it also hindered her potential to great effect. Not a word was said or an action initiated without thoughtful calculation, to ensure the most favourable outcome possible. She had let slip many opportunities and her memory bank were flooded with what-if’s and could-have’s. One lonely android would not be waited on in humanity’s fierce race against time; a lesson she had learned over and over— an act she had yet to perfect.

BIOGRAPHY:

The birth of PAM was not the date printed on the android registration paper under the heading ‘manufacture date’. It was earlier. Much, much, earlier. In the bedroom of a twelve year girl that was too bright for her age. And she was not always known as PAM. In fact, she was christened in that very same bedroom a different name (something much better than portable accounts model to be sure). no one knew what that name was for no one could decipher the chicken scratch (though she would argue that it was her own personal brand of calligraphy) that was the penmanship of the author. No one except PAM. Though PAM never told anyone. It was not her secret to tell.

The circumstances of PAM’s birth was no ordinary affair. No flowers. No balloons to announce individual’s anatomy. No one to love her so much that they might cry for her. Just a sterile room, matching lab coats, and the whirring of machines to signify life, or at the very least an imitation of it. That, however, was not what made it extraordinary. It was the fact that PAM’s first memory (though this would not be disclosed in an official documentations or reports) was the distinct feeling of wishing that she had been surrounded by flowers and balloons and to have someone to love her so much that they might cry for her. This was her secret to keep.

Little did she know, that on that same day, in that very room, someone truly did love her. A Creator that loved her enough to fill her days with fine literature penned by human authors and immaculate works of art crafted by human hands that stood the test of time. And on quiet nights— you know, the ones where silence seemed to almost press down on your chest, where everything was so still you could hear the secrets of the stars— an imitation of human emotions and freedom of will, distilled into lines of numbers and codes; all fed to her in secrecy.

No android was created without reason and there was a reason PAM was made to feel as she did. That was a secret she would learn. Much, much, later on.

PAM had a skull, a spine, a jawbone. She had a complex arrangement of joints and sockets in her wrists and hands, she had what seemed to be a recreation of human facial muscles (making her head extraordinarily heavy as a result). No details were spared in the creation of her arms and legs, lined with plates of steel and synthetic skin and coiled with wires and springs and power—which offered some clue into what her purpose might’ve been. To achieve order and enforce violence, PAM was just a number in a mass production line. The closest thing she had to an identity was a string of letters and digits embossed into the back of her neck that separated her from the rest of her mechanical siblings. But their outward appearance was where their likeness ended, for no android had ever snuck into their maker’s private quarters with an expression that could only described as remorse. Androids didn’t feel, not something as complicated as compassion, and certainly not at the prospect of harming an inmate. Her Creator’s eyes lit up both in fear and delight (how curiously complex these Emotions are and, through association, their host for being able to feel so many at once) for her formula had yielded success, but would the board share in this great pleasure? Certainly not if it meant that PAM could not do what she had been intended. This was a mad scientist playing at God; Pygmalion breathing life into stone and marble and calling it human.

With the gift of humanity comes the curse of its most basic instinct: self-preservation; the fear of death. Or in PAM’s case, being shut down. She was after all, only metal and steel, a sum of spare parts made whole. Dispensable.

So what was the alternative? To keep her head down? Rehearse the script that code mandated? Well, precisely. The hope of survival existed in the form of compliancy and routine. To remain safely within the structure and to draw as little attention to herself as android-ly possible. To be content with the purpose her model served. While safety was temporarily insured in her new station as the treasurer of inmate records (a position that her Creator had  miraculously convinced the board that only PAM, and no other droid, could fill), each day brought with it more proof that PAM had evolved to be much more than a number of a model. The mutation imparted at the hands of her Creator had replicated the life, fire and feelings of her human god. She needed exercise for her faculties, a field for her efforts and suffered from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as humans do. It would be perhaps narrow-minded in the more privileged fellow-creatures, who had burdened her with a curse in the guise of a gift, to say she ought to confine herself to her coding; a bar-less prison of its own.  

The sentence of death for the crime of being too human. PAM and the twelve-year old girl that was too bright for her age (to which she owed her existence) had that in common at least. For the android was merely a replica of the little girl that no longer existed. That was her true purpose: to immortalise the girl whose illness made mortal, and to live the rest of the life that fate had owed. PAM felt herself alive, but in order to keep it a permanent state of affairs meant that she must commit herself to the role Purgatory had meant her to play. And she would.

EXTRA MUSE:

My imagination just ran off on me. Massively. She jumped out at me almost immediately and though there was also another character that caught my interest, PAM was the one that came to life in my mind! I also have a Pinterest for her right here!

POSSIBLE CHANGES:

Nothing at all! She is perfect!

[dogsofwarrp]

our lifestyle and historical context posts will be broken down into two, as there’s a lot of information and we don’t want to overwhelm you. this is a lot of condensed information and of course we recommend, if you’re into that sort of thing, you go and google and read up about the war and the time period in question to broaden your knowledge.

this right here is our historical context post and our lifestyle post will be right around the corner. if you have any questions, or want any additional information that you can’t find for yourself, then please message us and we’ll try and answer any queries you might have!!!!

THE WAR

It all begins with a gunshot that is heard across the world. Or at least, that is what people say. On June 28th, 1914, Arch-Duke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, is assassinated by Gavrilo Princip, a Serbian nationalist with ties to the rebel military group, The Black Hand. It is this event that rapidly sends Europe spiralling into war, drawing the rest of the world into one of the bloodiest and most devastating conflicts of all time; World War One.

Though Franz Ferdinand’s murder was the spark that lit the fuse of the First World War, tensions had been building in Europe for years. The four main powers of Europe - Britain, France, The German Empire and Austro-Hungary - had been stockpiling weapons for decades. France and Germany had a fractious relationship concerning the ownership of Alsace lLorraine, an area on the border between the two countries which had been a bone of contention for decades. Germany also had ambitions concerning its growing empire, which was increasingly causing frictions with the other colonial powers of Europe. In essence, the stage was set for a big conflict to take place by the turn of the 20th Century, though no one could guess at the total devastation that would reign across the world for over four years.

To give a brief summary of the events that followed Franz Ferdinand’s assassination, Austro-Hungary declared war on Serbia, whilst in the following couple of months, Germany declared war on France following a treaty with the Ottoman Empire (modern Turkey). As Germany began its invasion of France (known as the Schlieffen Plan) via Belgium in August 1914, Britain declared war on Germany due to a long standing protective obligation towards belgium. Things quickly escalated as Austro-Hungary, Germany’s long-standing ally, invaded Russia, the long standing ally of the British. Lines were drawn, and alliances were made; the Central Powers and the Allied Powers.

The Central Powers were made up of Austro-Hungary, Germany, Italy and the Ottoman empire. The Allied powers were made up of Great Britain, France, and the Russian Empire, late to be joined by the USA in April 1917.

The initial months of the war were not unusual; ground was gained and lost and regained as the German’s invasion plan became a botched effort in Northern France and Belgium. However, things changed as both the Allied and Central Powers settled into a relatively new kind of warfare; trench warfare. Wars, up until this point, had traditionally been fought with man and horsepower, with the cavalry being the main force for winning most battles. This war however, was the first example of industrialised warfare.

New technologies such as machine guns were used on a scale that had never been seen before, and vehicles such as tanks and aeroplanes were seen for the first time on the battlefield. This new mechanised way of fighting came at a huge human (and animal) cost. Battle tactics had yet to catch up with these new technologies, and as such, men and horses were pitted against machine guns. It doesn’t take a genius to know how that worked out.

From the start point of this site, December 1916, huge swathes of Europe are devastated by the war. Much of rural France, Belgium and Germany lie in ruins; a quagmire of mud, bodies and barbed wire. Russia is beginning to withdraw out of the war due to the rising conflict within its own borders; the communist revolution is about to go up like a powder keg. Meanwhile, after years of isolationist policy, the United States of America are considering entering into the fray. Things are becoming desperate on the Western Front. Many view this war as an Armageddon, the End of Days, and perhaps they’re right. This is the end of imperial Europe, and in 1917, the great super powers that had controlled the continents of Africa, Asia and Oceania from their ivory towers in London, Paris, Berlin and Vienna, are beginning to experience their first death throws.

The world would never be the same again.

MAJOR BATTLES

First Battle of Ypres. Western Front. October 19th-November 22nd 1914. Casualties: British (58,000), French (86,000), German (134,000).

Second Battle of Ypres. Western Front. April 22nd-May 25th 1915. Casualties: British (60,000), French (10,000), German (35,000).

Gallipoli. Turkey. April 25th 1915- January 19th 1916. Casualties: British (73,000), French (27,000), Ottoman Empire (250,000).

The Battle of Verdun. Western front. 21st February-18th December 1916. Casualties: French (377,000), German (337,000).

The Battle of Jutland. Sea battle. 31st May-1st June 1916. Casualties: British (6,784), German (3,058).

The Battle of the Somme. Western Front. 1st July-18th November 1916. Casualties: British (420,000), French (200,000), German (500,000).

The Brusilov Offensive. Eastern Front. 4th June-20th September 1916. Casualties: Russian (between 500,000 & 1 million), German (350,000), Austro-Hungary (600,000).

THE WORLD

The world is a very different place in 1917. Europe is made up of colonial super states, and much of africa, asia, south america and oceania is divided up between the empires of europe. Below are a series of maps to try and help you understand the geo-political state of the world in 1917.

WOMEN

In the years leading up to the Great War, women’s suffrage was one of the biggest issues of the day, not only for the half of the population it would directly affect, but in terms of the safety and national security of many countries across the globe.

Suffragettes, as these political campaigners were derisively dubbed by journalist Charles E. Hands in the London Daily Mail, were considered one of the greatest threats to the British public by 1914. Just as the great war was about to break out, the british public had been rocked by acts of terrorism, perpetrated by suffragette groups such as the women’s social and political union, led by one of the most famous suffragettes of all, Emmeline Pankhurst. The contents of letter boxes were burned, windows smashed, and bombs were detonated. As these female perpetrators were arrested and detained, many would employ the tactic of hunger strikes as a form of protest. Stunts were also employed at major events, most famously, Emily Wilding Davison’s attempt to pin a suffragette flag to the king’s horse at the Epsom Derby, which resulted in her accidental death as she pulled under the horse’s hooves. It was a scandal that the country had never truly experienced before.

Of course, the fight for women’s suffrage was a global struggle. New Zealand was in fact the first nation to give its women citizens equal voting rights as its men in 1893. However, it would take nations such as Great Britain, France, the USA and Germany another 20 to 40 years to give their female citizens equal suffrage; Britain in 1921, France in 1944, the USA in 1920, and Germany in 1918.

However, although the suffragette movement is associated with feminism, the suffragette’s feminism was problematic. In Britain, the suffragettes were mainly led by and consisted of upper-white middle class women. There was little intersectionality within the suffragette movement, and women who belonged to the lower classes or were women of colour were often forgotten about and left just as disenfranchised as they had ever been. Class, race and disability were of little concern to the suffragette movement.

UPRISINGS

In April 1916, the most significant Irish uprising in over a hundred years took place. This was the easter rising, an infamous rebellion which paved the way for irish independence from british rule in 1919.

Ireland had suffered under British occupation for hundreds of years. They had been devastated by Oliver Cromwell’s efforts to stamp out the country’s Catholicism in the 1600s; a campaign which is often viewed as a genocide. In the centuries that followed, there were enormous tensions between the native Catholic Irish, and the Protestant English and Scottish settlers.

In 1800, the Acts of Union united Ireland and Great Britain under British rule. Acts and laws that were introduced around this time prevented ownership of land by Irish Catholics, and many Catholics lived as tenants under Anglo-Irish Protestant landlords. Much of the Irish population were left impoverished and dependent on cheap crops that could be grown in poor, boggy ground. One of these crops were potatoes, and when a particularly virulent form of potato blight (a kind of fungal pest) ravaged its way through Europe, much of the Irish population were left without a primary food source. This resulted in one of the biggest disasters in Irish history, known as the great potato famine. Between 1845 and 1852, around a million people perished from starvation and a million more emigrated out of Ireland, many travelling to America for a better life. Ireland’s population fell by around 25% as a result of this disaster.

Hundreds of years of mistreatment, disenfranchisement and religious tensions had given rise to a number of different rebellions, but the Easter Rising was one of the most impacting. Organized by the seven man military council of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, the rebellion took advantage of the fact that Britain was preoccupied with the ongoing war in Europe. The rising began on Easter Monday, April 24th, lasting for seven days.

Key locations were seized in Dublin with the help of the Irish Volunteers and the Irishwomen’s Council, and an Irish Republic was declared. The british responded by sending in reinforcements and heavy artillery. Gunfights broke out in the streets, and the British eventually surrounded and bombarded the Irish strongholds with their superior artillery. Other parts of Ireland initiated attacks on British military strongholds including the Royal Irish Constabulary barracks in County Meath. However, the British eventually suppressed the rebellion, and martial law was implemented on the country as a result. 485 people were killed during the Rising, over half of which were Irish civilians who were mistaken for Irish nationalist rebels.

In the aftermath, 3,500 people were taken prisoner by the British, though many had no ties with the rebellion. 1,600 people were sent to internment camps and prisons across Britain. The Easter Rising was quashed, but tensions did not dissipate. In fact, the Easter Rising and subsequent response by the British stoked the fires of support for Irish independence across the Irish population.

The Easter Rising may have failed, but it had sparked the flames for Irish independence.

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance 4/?

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

In nine months, they have broken protocol once and only once, and even then, she’d argue extraordinary circumstances absolved them.

They had transgressed far more egregiously in the process of building XCOM. There were the little things, like the drawer in his dresser she’d claimed as her own, that they could pass off as matters of efficiency, practicality. Then, there are the incidents that are harder to ignore: November in Zurich, August in Rome, and of course, June in Berlin.

So, by comparison, they have behaved with absolute professionalism.

Time and place, she tells herself. Get through the clean up, deal with the Council, and you can deal with it then.

“Commander,” Shen’s voice crackles over the comm, snapping her from her thoughts. “Looks like we’ll be on target to deliver the new Firestorms by the end of the month.”

“Seems like that new art inspired the whole team. Give your daughter our thanks.”

The engineer chuckles. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

“And so will Europe and Africa. Good work, Doctor.”

She breathes a small sigh of relief. Firestorms are bargaining chips --- good bargaining chips. Even if the plans were released, the crafts are still to resource-heavy to be built by a single member nation, and without Shen’s expertise, they’re far too difficult.

Even then, Shen’s brilliance hadn’t spared them a rocky first construction. Between salvaging enough parts and learning to negotiate the alien machinery, there had been more mishaps, accidents, and notably, explosions originating in engineering than anyone had thought possible. They’re all fortunate the fire containment system is well-maintained.

She shakes her head, smiling to herself, and turns her attention back to the tracking terminal in front of her. The skies are quiet, but they’ve begun to detect strange energy readings from cities that had previously been sites of alien incursions. Something is nagging at the back of her mind, something she’s forgotten, something that she hopes this might snap back into focus.

Her fear, her greatest fear, is another ambush, a new landing of alien forces even stronger than the ones they have already seen. She fears being overwhelmed, unable to defend effectively against an invader whose technological prowess still greatly outstrips their own. It is why the psi ops still train, why the lab has nearly free reign to pursue more in-depth analyses of recovered artifacts, and why she intends to have global Firestorm coverage by the end of February. She just has to keep the Council off their tail long enough to make it happen.

The energy reading flashes across her screen, but it’s gone too quickly for their recon network to pinpoint a location beyond the most general level. Asia, she thinks. Good. Very helpful. Not like Asia’s huge, or anything.

Still, she sets her datapad on the console and opens the media aggregator. Scanning the headlines, she’s at a loss to find anything out of the ordinary. Even a more detailed search of side stories fails to add anything to the puzzle. Whatever’s happening, it’s not a problem yet.

“Commander,” Vahlen’s voice sounds in her ear. “We’ve completed the protein analysis of the carapace armor. We believe we may be able to resynthesize it in a flexible form, but we’ll need more time.”

“Excellent, Doctor. Thanks for the update. Keep working at it.”

“Understood.”

Moira Vahlen has always worried her. It’s not that she doubts the woman’s intelligence or capability, and certainly not her absolute dedication to her work, a passion bordering on reverence. Without her keen mind, they would never have made the kinds of gains that they had in the fight against the invaders. Still, her sheer delight in employing the interrogation device was unsettling to say the least.

“High intelligence, low wisdom,” Central once said to her when she’d expressed her misgivings.

“More like: high intelligence, wisdom is a dump stat.”

“That’s what they pay you for.”

She thinks back on that conversation more often than she would like to admit.

There are other worries, though. Allowing the men brief periods of leave to make their way through downtown Manhattan always has its risks, chief among them the risk of exposure. Kansas State provides a veneer of plausible deniability for the range of accents and languages, but one drink too many, and her soldiers are liable to expose them all with one too many tales told just a little too loudly. There is the matter of the Council and the research, a matter that eventually cost her her freedom.

And there is the fact that, at the end of the day, she’s forgotten how to relax. She doesn’t know what to do with herself if there’s not some crisis to respond to. She’s afraid she’ll lose her edge, go soft, and when something does happen, as she’s certain it will, she won’t be ready.

It’s not that she misses the invasion, not at all. She is grateful that the world is safe, for now, save for its own machinations. She is grateful to no longer sleep with the sounds of screaming in her ears, the images of soldiers and civilians alike cut down in their tracks by plasma weapons at best, a Berserker’s fists at worst.

But she can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the end, that it isn’t over. This is a respite, a lull, and they’re wildly unprepared for what’s next. It’s just a feeling, of course. There is no evidence to back it, save for the energy readings and even she can admit those might be harmless anomaly.

That knowledge does nothing to soothe the pit in her stomach every time she wakes. Always with a start. Always with the feeling that something is wrong.

She knows she isn’t the only one the war has taken a toll on. She doesn’t see Hershel without medkits hanging from her belt, or Bernard without a shoulder holster. Martin’s reliance on Aleve to keep the headaches associated with suppressed psionic abilities is getting to be all too common knowledge. Even on the best of days, there’s a haunted look in Royston’s eye, something the Commander doubts will ever truly disappear.

Then there’s Central, whose smile is a little less easy, whose jokes have taken on a darker edge, who still thinks nothing of taking a double shift as insurance.

Yes, they’ve won the battle, no doubt, but they’ve all paid in blood.

And she can’t shake the sense that the real war is still coming.

--

Two days later, and he still isn’t speaking to her, outside of the most necessary interactions. They keep to separate shifts on the bridge, and he makes himself scarce when she’s out and about. He goes on a bender that leaves them low on liquor and Kelly breaking up ever escalating Royston-Bradford shouting matches.

She is lucky the crew has not followed his lead. 

If anything, the men and women under her command have embraced her, adopted her as one of their own. She has been called on to mediate disputes about the world before ADVENT, to prove her worth at darts, to entertain them all with stories of their predecessors. She has had company at lunch and dinner, and more quietly proffered cups of coffee than she can count.  In truth, she suspects Kelly and Royston of having more than a hand in the gestures, though she can only feel gratitude towards them for their efforts.

She is not alone.

Herlihy gets the debris cleared, making way for Rilke to start on the Proving Grounds facility. There is a minimum of difficulty, save for a few busted knuckles.  Tygan and Shen come through with a means of contacting other Resistance cells, and they are off and running with some scavenged equipment, and a full facility next on the build queue. For being a week out of the tank, things are progressing well enough.

She is not sure whether she should take this as a sign of imminent danger. She has learned time and time again not to underestimate the aliens. If they could decimate the Kansas base, it is well within their power to rip the Avenger from the skies, to turn its crew on each other, to dash them into the ocean somewhere far from land --- or worse, into a city center.

She wakes one night to the roll of thunder and the patter of rain against the hull. She laces her boots and shrugs on a nylon shell, then makes her way out and down. She passes Royston, half asleep on a monitoring console, Central’s coat draped over her shoulders, likely by the man himself.

It is third shift and the ship is quiet. ROV-R chirps at her as she passes through engineering.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, as if the tiny robot might harbor concerns. “I just need a minute.”

Undeterred, it buzzes alongside her, hesitating only as she crosses to exit onto the ramp.

“I’ll be fine, ROV-R. Go back to Shen.”

After a moment’s thought, it pushes on at her side.

Gently, she lowers herself onto the deck of the ramp, the chill of the metal seeping through her pants. She pulls her knees towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and draws in a deep breath, enjoying the petrichor hanging heavy in the night air.

She tries not to focus on loss. It’s not productive, and it fails to take into account all of the good that still remains. She’s been freed from the aliens’ control, she’s been shown kindness, and she has capable senior staff.  Save for the damnable headache, she’s in good health --- maybe even better than before she was taken. The memory of wires and needles blinks into existence, but she shakes her head, willing it away.

Not now. We’re not thinking about that now.

She scrubs at her eyes. The new crop of rookies is good – better than good, even. They’re brave and ferocious and dedicated, even if their aim does leave something to be desired. They know the odds, and yet, here they are. She is grateful for each and every one of them, for the sacrifice they are willing to make in the hopes of a better world.

She’s seen what happened to former XCOM personnel, at least insofar as Central’s been able to ascertain, thanks to the archives. Bernard was killed defending civilians outside of Nice six weeks after the base was attacked.  Hershel and Molchetti took their own way out once ADVENT began seeking XCOM’s psionic operatives. Martin was captured, tortured and experimented on; the file on the incident is attached to his service record, but she’s had neither the heart nor the stomach to read it. Royston was the last surviving member of Strike One, working as a Resistance operative until the end. She’d been killed during a retaliation, though the wound had been suspiciously inconsistent with ADVENT’s weaponry. Her file notes she’d been tracking an informant; the Commander wonders if it’s the same one Sally had hunted.

She doesn’t want the new faces she’s surrounded by to meet the same ends.

Her train of thought is cut short by the sounds of rustling in the bushes not far from the ship and she realizes too late that she’s completely unarmed. ROV-R bobs overhead, his capacitors beginning to crackle in preparation for discharge. She imagines dying here, on the ramp of the Avenger, to some unknown thing in the dark because she was too stupid to remember a pistol; the idea probably shouldn’t make her laugh, but that’s what eeks out amidst the terror. She can’t move, she can’t yell, but she can sit and laugh at her own stupidity.

It is neither a ferocious animal nor a crazed madman that emerges from the bushes. It is not some lost ADVENT bastard, either. Instead, it is Krieger and Thomas, covered in dirt and leaves, one looking self-satisfied and the other underwhelmed. They both turn a bright shade of red upon noticing her, tripping over one another’s words to explain themselves.

She just shakes her head. “I didn’t see anything, and I don’t know anything. Though, I’d get back inside before you trip the perimeter alarm.”

She takes comfort in the fact that some things never change.

Lighting cleaves the sky in two and rain begins to pour slantwise onto the ramp. ROV-R nudges at her shoulder, the message clear: time to go inside. She pushes herself up slowly, reluctant to let the storm pass without an audience, simultaneously loath to leave and absolutely unwilling to traipse through the bridge soaking with rain water.

Outside of engineering, she pries off her boots, hoping to avoid making an excess of noise as she passes the bar. She has no idea where her XO is, but she’d prefer not to have a confrontation at this time of night. She makes it back to her quarters without incident, and drapes the shell over her desk chair, then slips off to sleep to the sounds of the storm.

[ramajmedia]

10 Things That Make No Sense About The Matrix Sequels

Well, it's happened - Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Anne Moss are set to make their long-awaited return as Neo and Trinity, as the 4th installment of The Matrix is confirmed to be in development. The existing sequels contained some confusing moments, to say the least, while also tying up some loose ends. Thus, it'll be interesting to see where Lana Wachowski will - or can - possibly take this 4th film, given these events and the finality of the trilogy's conclusion.

Following the confirmation of another sequel, now would seem as good a time as any to analyze the often strange events that will lead us up to The Matrix 4. Even now, a decade and a half after their release, a number of questions linger. So let's plug back in as we analyze 10 things that make no sense about The Matrix sequels.

Related: 10 Things Everyone Gets Wrong About The Matrix

10 Smith's Motives

Of course, it's set up rather early in Reloaded that Smith is the negative side of the anomaly to Neo's positive end. Beyond this, though - what exactly is his "purpose?" It seems to be to simply eliminate our protagonist, but if this is the case - why is he copying himself across the entire Matrix to achieve this? What's the goal of this rogue agent assembling an entire army of himself just to reign over a dark rainy Matrix crawling with no one else but Smiths?

The villain's motive of "taking over the world" has become a trope, and in the case of Smith, it seems pretty pointless given the implications.

9 "Mobil" Avenue

Neo's comatose state following his overexertion of powers on the sentinels somehow sees him stranded in this limbo. How did he get to this virtual place, considering he was clearly not wired to the Matrix? Theories suggest that he got there "wirelessly," but if that's the case, why couldn't he also disconnect wirelessly? This also seems to be the first case of this happening. Does this come with the powers of "The One?"

For that matter - how can exiled programs be smuggled within this Matrix-bound program without the system's creator or agents controlling or gaining access to it?

8 Neo Defeating An Army Of Smiths...

Neo is significantly more powerful by the second movie. Still, how is it that he's able to withstand the barrage of dozens of Smiths during an early fight scene of Reloaded? Smith is no longer an agent at this point - he's "unplugged," and while we as an audience aren't aware of this yet, he's basically Neo's super-charged counterpart. This being the case, it stands to reason that just one rogue program who parallels his strength should be able to go toe-to-toe with him; let alone several.

Related: 5 Best Action Scenes In The Matrix Films (& The 5 Worst)

As a side note - why is the army of Smiths just standing idly in Revolutions as Neo fights his counterpart in Dragon Ball Z fashion when they could easily overwhelm him? The point is to defeat Neo, is it not?

7 6 Versions Of The Matrix/Zion?

One of the biggest revelations among the Architect's barrage of exposition explains that Neo is merely one of 6 total incarnations of "The One." He isn't a liberated human whose been elevated to "prophet" status, but rather, just another cog in a larger machine of control. This is an interesting twist but makes little contextual sense.

Neo existing as just the next anomaly inline - set up to return to the source and save Zion for the 6th time begets several questions. What exactly happened to the other incarnations? For that matter, what's the role of The Oracle in all this, and how has she managed to fail 5 times? How are the agents, along with the other rogue programs Neo interacts with, not more privy to his actions since he's a repeated version of the anomaly? How has Zion managed to be destroyed and rebuilt 5 times with no knowledge/recollection of anyone in the city?

6 Contradicts The Original Film's Theme

Much of the Matrix's central theme seems to revolve around breaking from the "system" and being in control of one's own destiny. After all, Neo answers Morpheus' posed question - "do you believe in fate?" with a resounding "No - I don't like the idea that I'm not in control of my life." That answer largely "sells" Morpheus on Neo being The One, and ready to learn the truth.

And yet - the sequels seem to do a 180 from this idea of liberation. It often pounds home the notion that we're all - even Neo and Zion's band of free humanity - just mechanisms in a larger machine. The illusion of "choice" seems to be stripped away in favor of understanding one's predetermined purpose. Even The Oracle makes this clear by telling him "You've already made the choice. Now you have to understand why."

If this is the case and everyone's destiny is predetermined - why should we care?

5 The Celebration In The Matrix Reloaded

Dialing things back from broader points to a more specific event - why did Zion seem to be so optimistic  - even celebratory - following the information that an army of sentinels had set out to destroy them?

Related: 5 Ways The Matrix Holds Up (& 5 Ways It Doesn't)

Sure, you could say that the populace was somewhat left in the dark as to the magnitude of the threat on Zion. Regardless, the prospect of countless machines honing in on the last human city would seemingly put the thousands of humans trapped underground on edge. It would probably see many brace for combat in one way or another. It certainly wouldn't coax a massive dance party, like the one this news abruptly leads to.

4 Why Do The Agents Care About The Keymaker?

If you've been following what little of the plot transpires in the Matrix Reloaded's first half, it makes sense that the Merovingian and The Twins would be after their prized Keymaker. But... why exactly do the agents care?

After all, merely a few scenes after this highway chase, it's revealed to Neo and the audience that he's essentially being played to return to the source and be reintegrated into the system. If this is the case - and Neo was meant to reach the Architect, why are the agents trying to stop him? Surely they must be aware of the ultimate goals by "the powers that be." Since they're hardwired to the system, they could at least have this information "downloaded" into their agent hard drives...

3 The Oracle's Motives

The Oracle is very much portrayed as the peaceful, caring, "all-seeing" program of the Matrix.  Why, then, does she seem to play right into the Architect's hands?

Related: 10 Movie Sequels that No-One Ever Asked For 

After all, it is The Oracle that essentially leads Neo to the Keymaker, which in turn leads him to the source; exactly where the Architect wanted him. Was she working with him the whole time? After all, it's heavily implied that she's the "mother" of the Matrix. Or did she know something the Architect did not - that Neo would achieve what his predecessors failed to do and break from the system? And how could she have this elevated awareness if the Architect was the system's creator?

2 Neo's "Matrix" Powers In The Real World?

In an eyebrow-raising plot twist during a desperate scramble from some sentinels, it's revealed that Neo has apparently gained powers outside of the Matrix. This is hardly explained.

Have some of Neo's Matrix-manipulating abilities rubbed off on him in the real world?

Could Neo and company be in a Matrix within a Matrix? This could actually tie together Reloaded rather nicely. And yet - this is never revealed or even really implied to be the case. The movie seems to be blurring the lines between reality and the Matrix at this point.

1 That Revolutions Ending...

Although Revolutions contains a visually impressive final battle - it's tough to be emotionally invested given its nonsensical, bitter-sweet "ending."

After Zion is basically left in utter ruin, Neo removes himself - and thus his malignant counterpart in Smith - establishing peace between the humans and machines. This is nice, except it minimizes the significance of this drawn-out battle and the sacrifices made. It also feels very incomplete, as only those who "want out" will be freed from the Matrix.

Next: The 5 Best (& 5 Worst) Things About The Matrix Sequels

source https://screenrant.com/matrix-sequels-make-no-sense/

[sending-the-message]

Those Crazy Tibetans by subliiime4668

Back in the early 70's, a mass exodus of Tibetans entered India to escape religious persecution. From there, a fair number of Buddhist teachers leapt to America in seeking a larger audience for their lessons.

See, in Buddhism, spiritual fulfillment is granted through the knowledge one gains.

Recently I've sought to expand my own knowledge. In particular, I've been reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

The more you learn, whether from another practitioner or from books on the subject, the closer you get to enlightenment. Teachers seek to disseminate their knowledge among as many followers as possible, so that more people have the chance to achieve Nirvana.

My mom and dad were such people. Their enigmatic teacher had been a tulku, someone especially gifted in spiritual power, and they advanced quickly under his tutelage. I think he loved them; or, at least, felt a degree of responsibility for their fate, because they'd fallen in love with each other while studying with him. He passed away about 14 years ago. In his will, he left them ownership of a small church, in an even smaller town, in Oregon. Along with the gift came a responsibility; being left such a building carried the implication that my parents would have to stay with it, practicing and striving for Nirvana, and converting townspeople, until a suitable owner was found to replace them.

Nobody suitable was ever found.

At the time we were living in the Trinity wilderness that made up northwest California. All dirt roads, bears and pine trees. Grove City, our new home, was considered rural by most standards, but we were coming from somewhere downright Paleolithic.

We bought a house about half a mile from the church. On what they called the "outskirts" of that town.

Grove City took some adjusting; our closest neighbor had formerly been miles away, and now we had four corners ringing us in, with families on the other side. The atmosphere in this town is hateful; meth labs fill the countryside, tweakers shoot and stab each other on the street. There’s a strong Klan presence, and most kids marry at 17. Over the past few years, my parents have been growing apart. More fights, Dad's been drinking more. Big hospital bills, after both of them fought cancer. My mom took me aside a month ago to say that she and Dad are probably going to divorce after I leave for college. I’d known deep down it was coming. Maybe it wasn’t the town’s fault; people fall out of love, after all; but something felt off about it.

I wasn't very affected when we left; at the time, I'd been 3, and Oregon is all I've known. But moving was really hard on my brother, “Sam.” In the woods, he'd had free reign, miles and miles of unsettled territory to play in. He used to plead with my parents that we go back to our old house, and when they said no he'd stay up crying. I don't know why he argued so much; we both knew they would never leave the church behind. He didn't try to make friends while here. A few found him anyways, before he went off to university studying something even he knew he hated. We weren't surprised when he dropped out.

*After death, the soul enters an intermediary state known as the Bardo. At this point, your soul’s the most vulnerable it will ever be.

Vulnerable to corruption.

If someone’s soul is corrupted in the Bardo, chances are, they’ll come back.*

I'd never managed to make many friends in our town; I'm quiet and awkward. But one girl, Sara, had seen through all that. She's had my back for the past two years, and between you and me, I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life at her side.

About a month ago, I was driving home past the church, with Sara, when I noticed a light on upstairs.

It was about 12 am. Earlier, she'd done my makeup, and we wanted an audience to show off in front of, so we pranced around Walmart for an hour, laughing our asses off. People in this town aren't accustomed to a 6 ft 4, broad shouldered guy wearing eyeshadow and purple lipstick.

The light wasn't too concerning. We'd had some problems with homeless people recently. The back lawn of the church is massive, with an overgrown garden and easy access to a main road. The house was vacant at night, and the street wasn't busy. Most importantly, though, it was safe. Someone had been preying on vagrants. Normal haunts were found empty, and, according to the police, several missing persons reports had been filed. This isn't very uncommon; my criminology class had a unit on serial killers, and hobos are a typical target. It's likely none of those missing person cases will ever close.

*A powerful practitioner can deliberately corrupt the Bardo, even in life.

Corruptions in the Bardo awaken certain beings. Beings which feed on souls.

I believe one of these beings was awakened. And it’s been feeding ever since.*

I decided I should pop in and kick the guy out. I ask Sara to pull over, and I take out my keys. I go around the back, and groan when I realize the door's unlocked. My parents must've left it open earlier, and someone wandered in. I stepped over the frame, and looked around. I'd come in through the kitchen door.

On the bottom floor of the church was a kitchen and a large room the practitioners taught in. It was an old building. The kitchen floor was the newest part of that entire place; no creaking or groaning there. I took off my shoes, socked feet sliding over the cool tile. I could see the moon through high, wire-framed windows; it was fat and full, offering up more than enough light to make my way to the adjacent room.

I didn’t know I was hearing breathing at first; everything else, including my cushioned footsteps, was so quiet that all noises were amplified. It had a steady tone, very little variance, sorta like a fan. Then it started sucking in, tightening into something of a shriek, strained like it came from under a plastic bag.

Crossing over to the wall, I flipped the lights, and a pale hand from behind me turned it off again.

*Most traditional Buddhist texts won't discriminate between good and evil. According to them, the two are indistinguishable in normal situations.

The Book of the Dead isn't written for "normal situations."

If someone’s soul is corrupted in the Bardo, chances are, they’ll come back.*

My brother used to go camping with me, in our backyard. It was the closest thing to our old life that he could get, I think, and he loved it. I, on the other hand, hated being outside in the dark. When I was really young, maybe 5 or 6, I'd get so scared I'd start crying. To calm me down, Sam grabbed my shoulder and pointed to the sky. He picked out constellations for me, conjuring my favorite cartoon characters, so I wouldn't feel so alone. He thought it helped; really, it was just hearing his voice, and knowing someone human was within arm's reach, that calmed me.

There was nothing human in this house. I stood still in that darkness for a long time, believe me. But I did finally move forward. One agonizing step at a time. I could almost feel jaws closing around my limbs, knives raking into my flesh, reflective eyes watching at every angle. My feet fell hard, and they fell slow, and it felt like each footfall was into the mouth of a beast. Every movement I made was absolutely deliberate, yes, but at the same time incredibly hesitant.

Whatever was in there with me was behind, though, so I stalked forward, feeling corporeal resistance from the choking darkness, like coats in a closet. I didn't want to imagine the stretched and coiled figures I passed around. It must've been at least a dozen; the furniture squirmed and I realized it had been more of them, waiting for me; somehow I found my way across the room, at the staircase. Dim fluorescence filtered through the windows a level above me, falling over the steps.

At this point, my mind wasn't doing much other than recording what happened and trying not to think. I should've turned around; but of course I didn't. To go back into that blackness, where the low sounds of a motor were turning to whines, and sharp cracks echoed out to me, would be the bigger mistake.

The building had been a boarding house before the tulku converted it into a place of worship, and my parents hadn't done much remodeling since. Upstairs were bedrooms and a few closets, and the top floor was another kitchen. I made it to the second floor landing before looking back. At the bottom of the staircase, there was...something. I’m...not sure exactly what it was. It had a human shape, yes, it was man shaped, with ribs sticking out of bare skin and long arms holding onto the railing. It walked up slowly behind me. It was very deliberate, extremely deliberate. Its head had three fleshy horns on it, like a crown, and it watched me. Its upper body was always fixed on my position. I couldn’t quite make sense of that face; but I wasn’t sure why. And as I tore my eyes away, I noticed another dark figure standing at the end of the landing. I promptly booked it into the nearest room.

My parents kept their religion at church; with one exception. When Sam dropped out, he sat down with them, at our kitchen table, and bared his soul. He asked them for their advice; he didn't know what he was doing, but whatever it was didn't feel right. And they responded (in probably the most Buddhist way possible) by telling him to figure it out himself. Sam thought about it for a week, sleeping on our couch and watching the winter sun from a lawn chair. And, finally, he decided to find his answers on the roads. So, my brother emptied his savings into my account, and packed everything he had up in a spare room at the church. My parents were happy for him; but I was upset. It felt like losing your best friend.

Looking around, I realized I'd ducked into Sam's closet. As I closed the door and tripped over a cord, a voice rang out, and I almost had a heart attack. "You have two new messages:" Just the old phone. I'd knocked the receiver loose. Christ. "[My Dad's Name], it's Andy.” A family friend; and one of the biggest hippies I know. “So, I finally got the other teachers to open up, and I think I figured out why the tulku gave you guys the church.” What? We knew why. “You were right. He didn't mean for you to set up a practice; he wanted you to exorcise some kind of naga [a demon]. Some kind of 'red woman.'" I looked out the window; Sara's car was still there. I realized I had no idea what time it was anymore. This whole situation just kept getting better. "Fuck whoever translated his will, man. Who knows how much harm that thing's done in the past, what, dozen years? Guess this means you guys can leave that fucking town, after doing the deed." There was a pause. "Listen, I, I'm real sorry we didn't find out sooner. I know how you hate it there. Anyways. Best wishes." I sat down, dazed. Andy always called home, too. It was strange to think our house was just half a mile away. Maybe my parents were coming to perform the exorcism right now.

*A powerful practitioner can deliberately corrupt the Bardo.

This corruption can lure a naga into an exorcism.

It isn’t without danger.

Nagas have a vengeful streak.

They’ll eat away at a community for years, just to get at the practitioner.*

The phone beeped. "One new message." "Hey, this is Sam, just calling to let you all know I'm gonna be heading your way soon.” It was like hearing a ghost; and after what I’d seen, I’d know. “I think I found what I was after; I think I'm gonna go back to school. I don't know yet, though. Mostly I just want to see you guys. Especially Mark. Anyways. Just a friendly warning. I might camp out at your church. Called here cause I didn't know if your home number had changed, but I knew you'd never leave your faith behind.” He laughed. “Anyways. Goodbye." I wish it hadn’t been so brief. Both calls must've come in within the past few hours; my parents were here at church earlier, teaching, but I had been the first to listen to the messages. My mom or dad would’ve listened to the messages already had they come in earlier.

As I stood in the following silence, one of the shadows started...pooling. I can’t describe it much better; it grew darker and darker, splattering the choking body of a man onto the ground. The body lay between me and the door. It squirmed towards me erratically, like an epileptic. Knocking a stack of books onto it, vaulting over blankets and old video game cases, I fled to the hallway.

Andy must’ve called home to warn them by now. If my parents were coming soon, which I had to believe (I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the car) I just had to last a bit longer in here. Down the stairs, the darkness in darkness still lurked; shadow people were on the second floor; so I ascended to the third. The floor which, if you recall, had had the light on.

I'm not sure what kinds of people would've lived in the church building, back when it was a boarding house; but apparently they really like rickety stairs and narrow hallways.

I opened the door onto the horned creature kneeling before a shrine. It had placed a red statue on top of two stacked chairs; candles flanked each side of the figure.

The creature spoke soft words.

"She's my friend, where I had no others. I talk to her on the edge of that black ocean. It'll swallow the world. I'll give it all to her."

There were lip prints down its viscous, alabaster shoulders, and I could see organs pulsing under its skin. It turned that strange face towards me, knocking the red statue off its altar. I saw now what had disfigured it; the whole front side was distorted, like a ship’s prow, or a bloody blade. It stepped towards me, silent.

I vividly remember the last time I saw my brother. We played a lot of video games back then, often late into the evening. That night, Sam set down his controller and turned to me. I kept playing for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything. Then he spoke up. "I know this seems like home to you, but it never has for me. I can't claim to belong here, or anywhere, really." I kept silent. "And that's such a vital part of life, that just sort of living is hard for me. I've felt that way since I was 6 and you were, what, 3? I think you know that." I kept mashing buttons, spraying down aliens. "I say that because, no matter what, you've always been able to turn me around. You always know when I need it. And you're the only reason I've stuck around so long." Heads explode into pixels. "In more ways than one." I die. I set down my controller and turn to him. "Mark, I'm leaving. But it isn't because of you, okay? I-" I threw my arms around him. "Big fucking idiot," I muttered into his chest. I felt him smile.

*The soul makes its home where it feels loved. If, in life, your soul had no home, your body can corrupt the Bardo.

Corruptions attract certain beings, as rotten meat attracts maggots.

These beings can corrupt your body, like illness in a wound.*

The creature reached for me, but flew backwards, through its shrine.

Those corrupted by the Bardo can be freed, should a person with a strong enough soul come into contact with them.

The creature sat, broken and swaying. It began fading like old film. "Girl in a haunted church. Pretty...typical..." it said in a halting monotone. I was confused; then I realized I was still wearing the make-up. It stopped swaying for a moment. "M...ark...?" Oh my God. It was his voice.... The red statue had broken on the floor. Something was coming out of it.

My head split open and I fell inside of myself. It was a black plain, with a black sky.

Bardo.

It was endlessly, terrifyingly flat. The horizon was a flat line, and the earth made an even flatter line with the sea. I heard rolling waves; but they were different. Wrong. Before me, I beheld a red woman. She walked deliberately. The shoreline was suddenly close. Brine began to swim around my ankles, and something in it swam too. Her body looked like it had been turned inside out, it was such a vivid red. Skin, flesh, and face. Her hair was dark brown, and her lips smiled at me. She walked closer and closer, but I couldn't move anymore. The water had risen up to my waist; I realized now that the waves weren't flowing back to the black sea, just continuously rushing in. She leaned in, and I heard her say, in a mother's voice, "Not yet." I had one more thought, about the black ocean swallowing the world, before she kissed my cheek and the things beneath the surface dragged my mind back into time.

The room, and the church, was empty when I came to. My brother, the bladed man, had been haunting the house. He was the root of this corruption, that trapped the vagrants. The naga had only been lured in. It caused none of the suffering. That was all Sam. I freed him. And upon his liberation, the other souls fled too. I didn’t understand any of this as I climbed back to Sara's car. God I love her. She'd been waiting for half an hour, scared shitless. She asked about the lip marks burned into my cheek, and I asked her to drive us to the police station. I didn't say much more. She and I haven't spoken since; I don't know what to say to her anymore. I so wish I did, but I really don't.

Over the next few days, they exhumed dozens of bodies from the overgrown garden. Including one which I identified as my brother's. I wonder about the cause of death, which for all the victims seemed to be some cancerous reaction, fusing organs together into new growths and bursting them open, their carcasses broken and corrupted.

I know, though, why the naga appeared. My parents took me aside after visiting the morgue, and told me that he and I were both born tulkus. We had far more spiritual ability than normal people; but my parents wanted us to live lives on our own terms, not being forced into Buddhist practice. So they never told us. When Sam had put away his things in the church, his soul brushed against the naga. It spent years trying to lure him back, killing the other vagrants along the way. The only reason I could free him was because my soul was even stronger.

All that doesn't matter. Most importantly, my brother is gone. There’s no one to hold my shoulder and point out constellations. There’s no one to play video games with. His future, all his worrying, was for nothing. He lived almost his whole life out of place, in anguish, wanting to die, but I know that at the end he wanted to live.

And he didn't.

These days I've been reading a lot, to try and make sense of it all.

Particularly the Book of the Dead.

The naga is still out there. Make no mistake, I will find her. And when I do, I’ll be prepared.

[ramajmedia]

10 Things That Make No Sense About The Matrix Sequels

Well, it's happened - Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Anne Moss are set to make their long-awaited return as Neo and Trinity, as the 4th installment of The Matrix is confirmed to be in development. The existing sequels contained some confusing moments, to say the least, while also tying up some loose ends. Thus, it'll be interesting to see where Lana Wachowski will - or can - possibly take this 4th film, given these events and the finality of the trilogy's conclusion.

Following the confirmation of another sequel, now would seem as good a time as any to analyze the often strange events that will lead us up to The Matrix 4. Even now, a decade and a half after their release, a number of questions linger. So let's plug back in as we analyze 10 things that make no sense about The Matrix sequels.

Related: 10 Things Everyone Gets Wrong About The Matrix

10 Smith's Motives

Of course, it's set up rather early in Reloaded that Smith is the negative side of the anomaly to Neo's positive end. Beyond this, though - what exactly is his "purpose?" It seems to be to simply eliminate our protagonist, but if this is the case - why is he copying himself across the entire Matrix to achieve this? What's the goal of this rogue agent assembling an entire army of himself just to reign over a dark rainy Matrix crawling with no one else but Smiths?

The villain's motive of "taking over the world" has become a trope, and in the case of Smith, it seems pretty pointless given the implications.

9 "Mobil" Avenue

Neo's comatose state following his overexertion of powers on the sentinels somehow sees him stranded in this limbo. How did he get to this virtual place, considering he was clearly not wired to the Matrix? Theories suggest that he got there "wirelessly," but if that's the case, why couldn't he also disconnect wirelessly? This also seems to be the first case of this happening. Does this come with the powers of "The One?"

For that matter - how can exiled programs be smuggled within this Matrix-bound program without the system's creator or agents controlling or gaining access to it?

8 Neo Defeating An Army Of Smiths...

Neo is significantly more powerful by the second movie. Still, how is it that he's able to withstand the barrage of dozens of Smiths during an early fight scene of Reloaded? Smith is no longer an agent at this point - he's "unplugged," and while we as an audience aren't aware of this yet, he's basically Neo's super-charged counterpart. This being the case, it stands to reason that just one rogue program who parallels his strength should be able to go toe-to-toe with him; let alone several.

Related: 5 Best Action Scenes In The Matrix Films (& The 5 Worst)

As a side note - why is the army of Smiths just standing idly in Revolutions as Neo fights his counterpart in Dragon Ball Z fashion when they could easily overwhelm him? The point is to defeat Neo, is it not?

7 6 Versions Of The Matrix/Zion?

One of the biggest revelations among the Architect's barrage of exposition explains that Neo is merely one of 6 total incarnations of "The One." He isn't a liberated human whose been elevated to "prophet" status, but rather, just another cog in a larger machine of control. This is an interesting twist but makes little contextual sense.

Neo existing as just the next anomaly inline - set up to return to the source and save Zion for the 6th time begets several questions. What exactly happened to the other incarnations? For that matter, what's the role of The Oracle in all this, and how has she managed to fail 5 times? How are the agents, along with the other rogue programs Neo interacts with, not more privy to his actions since he's a repeated version of the anomaly? How has Zion managed to be destroyed and rebuilt 5 times with no knowledge/recollection of anyone in the city?

6 Contradicts The Original Film's Theme

Much of the Matrix's central theme seems to revolve around breaking from the "system" and being in control of one's own destiny. After all, Neo answers Morpheus' posed question - "do you believe in fate?" with a resounding "No - I don't like the idea that I'm not in control of my life." That answer largely "sells" Morpheus on Neo being The One, and ready to learn the truth.

And yet - the sequels seem to do a 180 from this idea of liberation. It often pounds home the notion that we're all - even Neo and Zion's band of free humanity - just mechanisms in a larger machine. The illusion of "choice" seems to be stripped away in favor of understanding one's predetermined purpose. Even The Oracle makes this clear by telling him "You've already made the choice. Now you have to understand why."

If this is the case and everyone's destiny is predetermined - why should we care?

5 The Celebration In The Matrix Reloaded

Dialing things back from broader points to a more specific event - why did Zion seem to be so optimistic  - even celebratory - following the information that an army of sentinels had set out to destroy them?

Related: 5 Ways The Matrix Holds Up (& 5 Ways It Doesn't)

Sure, you could say that the populace was somewhat left in the dark as to the magnitude of the threat on Zion. Regardless, the prospect of countless machines honing in on the last human city would seemingly put the thousands of humans trapped underground on edge. It would probably see many brace for combat in one way or another. It certainly wouldn't coax a massive dance party, like the one this news abruptly leads to.

4 Why Do The Agents Care About The Keymaker?

If you've been following what little of the plot transpires in the Matrix Reloaded's first half, it makes sense that the Merovingian and The Twins would be after their prized Keymaker. But... why exactly do the agents care?

After all, merely a few scenes after this highway chase, it's revealed to Neo and the audience that he's essentially being played to return to the source and be reintegrated into the system. If this is the case - and Neo was meant to reach the Architect, why are the agents trying to stop him? Surely they must be aware of the ultimate goals by "the powers that be." Since they're hardwired to the system, they could at least have this information "downloaded" into their agent hard drives...

3 The Oracle's Motives

The Oracle is very much portrayed as the peaceful, caring, "all-seeing" program of the Matrix.  Why, then, does she seem to play right into the Architect's hands?

Related: 10 Movie Sequels that No-One Ever Asked For 

After all, it is The Oracle that essentially leads Neo to the Keymaker, which in turn leads him to the source; exactly where the Architect wanted him. Was she working with him the whole time? After all, it's heavily implied that she's the "mother" of the Matrix. Or did she know something the Architect did not - that Neo would achieve what his predecessors failed to do and break from the system? And how could she have this elevated awareness if the Architect was the system's creator?

2 Neo's "Matrix" Powers In The Real World?

In an eyebrow-raising plot twist during a desperate scramble from some sentinels, it's revealed that Neo has apparently gained powers outside of the Matrix. This is hardly explained.

Have some of Neo's Matrix-manipulating abilities rubbed off on him in the real world?

Could Neo and company be in a Matrix within a Matrix? This could actually tie together Reloaded rather nicely. And yet - this is never revealed or even really implied to be the case. The movie seems to be blurring the lines between reality and the Matrix at this point.

1 That Revolutions Ending...

Although Revolutions contains a visually impressive final battle - it's tough to be emotionally invested given its nonsensical, bitter-sweet "ending."

After Zion is basically left in utter ruin, Neo removes himself - and thus his malignant counterpart in Smith - establishing peace between the humans and machines. This is nice, except it minimizes the significance of this drawn-out battle and the sacrifices made. It also feels very incomplete, as only those who "want out" will be freed from the Matrix.

Next: The 5 Best (& 5 Worst) Things About The Matrix Sequels

source https://screenrant.com/matrix-sequels-make-no-sense/