#porous concrete

[getadvanceinfo]

Pavement performance is at the heart of urban planning and design. For long, we’ve grappled with traditional materials such as asphalt and regular concrete that, while sturdy, present numerous issues such as poor water absorption and environmental stress.

[bondsofeveryonessouls]

Driveway Driveway

Ideas for a large, traditional front yard with concrete pavers and full sun in the summer.

[nnctales]

Porous Concrete: Exploring the Various Types and Applications

Porous concrete, also known as pervious concrete, is an innovative and sustainable material that has gained significant attention in recent years. Its unique composition allows water to pass through, making it an excellent solution for managing stormwater runoff, reducing flooding, and promoting groundwater recharge. This article delves into the different types of porous concrete and their…

[leatherbookmark]

yt recced me a short in which some people didn't like the black/dark something hexagon tiles in their bathroom so they. poured concrete over it, and now enjoy their concrete-floored bathroom whose walls they then painted black.

[lokilickedme]

Since dropping a 32 oz glass bottle of Valentina cayenne pepper sauce on my concrete driveway the night of December 31st and subsequently having it explode in a convincingly homicidal pattern of blood red that immediately stained the concrete at just about the time our neighborhood’s New Years Eve fireworks were going off, I’m now side eyed nervously by the entire block and the dogwalkers and mountainbikers are taking the long way around instead of skirting our house and that suspicious stain to get to the park.

We have a neighbor who is friendly with us who goes on business trips frequently and is often gone for weeks at a time and I just know everybody on this street is waiting anxiously to see if he ever actually shows back up

Meanwhile I’m just waving at everyone as I leave for work humming the theme to American Psycho and my kid is still pissed at me for breaking his hot sauce

[uss-bigsurprise]

translating something for my beautiful job relating concrete that i love so much and i-

goodbye partner

[reasonsforhope]

As relentless rains pounded LA, the city’s “sponge” infrastructure helped gather 8.6 billion gallons of water—enough to sustain over 100,000 households for a year.

Earlier this month, the future fell on Los Angeles. A long band of moisture in the sky, known as an atmospheric river, dumped 9 inches of rain on the city over three days—over half of what the city typically gets in a year. It’s the kind of extreme rainfall that’ll get ever more extreme as the planet warms.

The city’s water managers, though, were ready and waiting. Like other urban areas around the world, in recent years LA has been transforming into a “sponge city,” replacing impermeable surfaces, like concrete, with permeable ones, like dirt and plants. It has also built out “spreading grounds,” where water accumulates and soaks into the earth.

With traditional dams and all that newfangled spongy infrastructure, between February 4 and 7 the metropolis captured 8.6 billion gallons of stormwater, enough to provide water to 106,000 households for a year. For the rainy season in total, LA has accumulated 14.7 billion gallons.

Long reliant on snowmelt and river water piped in from afar, LA is on a quest to produce as much water as it can locally. “There's going to be a lot more rain and a lot less snow, which is going to alter the way we capture snowmelt and the aqueduct water,” says Art Castro, manager of watershed management at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. “Dams and spreading grounds are the workhorses of local stormwater capture for either flood protection or water supply.”

Centuries of urban-planning dogma dictates using gutters, sewers, and other infrastructure to funnel rainwater out of a metropolis as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. Given the increasingly catastrophic urban flooding seen around the world, though, that clearly isn’t working anymore, so now planners are finding clever ways to capture stormwater, treating it as an asset instead of a liability. “The problem of urban hydrology is caused by a thousand small cuts,” says Michael Kiparsky, director of the Wheeler Water Institute at UC Berkeley. “No one driveway or roof in and of itself causes massive alteration of the hydrologic cycle. But combine millions of them in one area and it does. Maybe we can solve that problem with a thousand Band-Aids.”

Or in this case, sponges. The trick to making a city more absorbent is to add more gardens and other green spaces that allow water to percolate into underlying aquifers—porous subterranean materials that can hold water—which a city can then draw from in times of need. Engineers are also greening up medians and roadside areas to soak up the water that’d normally rush off streets, into sewers, and eventually out to sea...

To exploit all that free water falling from the sky, the LADWP has carved out big patches of brown in the concrete jungle. Stormwater is piped into these spreading grounds and accumulates in dirt basins. That allows it to slowly soak into the underlying aquifer, which acts as a sort of natural underground tank that can hold 28 billion gallons of water.

During a storm, the city is also gathering water in dams, some of which it diverts into the spreading grounds. “After the storm comes by, and it's a bright sunny day, you’ll still see water being released into a channel and diverted into the spreading grounds,” says Castro. That way, water moves from a reservoir where it’s exposed to sunlight and evaporation, into an aquifer where it’s banked safely underground.

On a smaller scale, LADWP has been experimenting with turning parks into mini spreading grounds, diverting stormwater there to soak into subterranean cisterns or chambers. It’s also deploying green spaces along roadways, which have the additional benefit of mitigating flooding in a neighborhood: The less concrete and the more dirt and plants, the more the built environment can soak up stormwater like the actual environment naturally does.

As an added benefit, deploying more of these green spaces, along with urban gardens, improves the mental health of residents. Plants here also “sweat,” cooling the area and beating back the urban heat island effect—the tendency for concrete to absorb solar energy and slowly release it at night. By reducing summer temperatures, you improve the physical health of residents. “The more trees, the more shade, the less heat island effect,” says Castro. “Sometimes when it’s 90 degrees in the middle of summer, it could get up to 110 underneath a bus stop.”

LA’s far from alone in going spongy. Pittsburgh is also deploying more rain gardens, and where they absolutely must have a hard surface—sidewalks, parking lots, etc.—they’re using special concrete bricks that allow water to seep through. And a growing number of municipalities are scrutinizing properties and charging owners fees if they have excessive impermeable surfaces like pavement, thus incentivizing the switch to permeable surfaces like plots of native plants or urban gardens for producing more food locally.

So the old way of stormwater management isn’t just increasingly dangerous and ineffective as the planet warms and storms get more intense—it stands in the way of a more beautiful, less sweltering, more sustainable urban landscape. LA, of all places, is showing the world there’s a better way.

-via Wired, February 19, 2024

[kennerconcrete]

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[cera-chem]

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[ghostlysoaps]

What comes a'knocking in the night

[part 1]

Ghost sleeps in rare moments. It had never come easy to him when the act of it invites vulnerability, leaves him open to being taken advantage of, and rarely offers the relief it should. But the safehouse outside of Las Almas is… fine. The core of the one-four-one is there. Mostly familiar faces outside of them. Structures mapped out and vetted. He could, without a shadow of a doubt, disappear in the rafters should the situation call for it.

And still he wakes in lung-crushing terror.

In his disoriented state he thinks, with choked-back laughter bordering on hysterics, that he might have come to awareness with a rusted hook between the ribs again. The pain is acute, sharp, all-consuming; rooted to his heart the way the scent of sunbaked dust clings to his stowed gear. He flings the covers off himself, scrambling to his feet with a wild look around the spartan room.

He’s alone. Safe. Alive against all odds.

Ghost feels over the concrete until its chill bleeds into his palms and the rough texture scrapes his skin in pink swaths.

There’s no blood on them.

There’s too much blood to wash out and it partially belongs to his team.

To Johnny.

His next breath punches out of him and he keens. Desperate to rid himself off the image of porous sand swallowing blood like a gaping maw, of laughing eyes dulled, lips stilled, a body unmoving and yet dogging his every step, he pivots from the closed curtains to the entrance of his minuscule quarters – determined to exchange one set of discomfort for another.

The judgement he’ll find reflected in the mirror, the accusatory anger and disgust, means a scalding shower is out of the question. Running isn't in the cards given the situation they’re in. Venting his frustrations out in the small corner dedicated to exercise – until there’s a valid reason for his breaths to come in ragged gasps, mask clinging to his lips with perspiration – now that’s something he can do. Push himself to the edge and beyond in an attempt to regain some sense of equilibrium. It’s not punishment, he reasons, if it’ll help him sleep through the night. Not when he’ll need every ounce of energy in the morning.

Destination in mind, Ghost flees the remnants of memories and glides down the halls the way his namesake suggests.

The door he finds himself at swings open under the loving attention of thin metal. He hesitates for less than a second before he steps inside. It’s a familiar sight. A tiny, concrete box containing a bolted shelf for unused gear and a single bed. The tangled sheets rise and fall with the motion of breaths and Ghost creeps forward to crouch by the headboard, eyes roving over the body within it.

Safe and sound. Mouth lax, drooling into the pillow he’s jammed half his face into, generating heat like a damn furnace. If Ghost had possessed less sense than he does, he’d reach out and brush the over-long strands of hair from his forehead, feel his sleep-warm skin to truly hammer home that Johnny, despite his tendency for recklessness, is alive and well.

Having him close settles the last vestige of panic hammering behind his ribcage.

He doesn’t know how long he’s there before Johnny stirs. All scrunched nose and flicking ears and fluttering lashes as he drowsily blinks his eyes open. A moment of incomprehension passes before he jerks upward. Ghost makes the split-second decision to slap a hand over his mouth, stifling his yell into a muffled thing. Claws bite into his forearm and under his palm Soap’s lips part in a rumbling growl, the bones of his face beginning to shift.

“Settle down.”

Johnny goes rigid at the sound of his voice, eyes narrow, and he spitefully digs his claws in deeper when he wrenches Ghost’s hand off his face.

“Settle doon?!” he hisses through too-large teeth. “Damn near gave me a heart attack ‘n ye want me t’ simmer. Un-fuckin’-believable, sir.”

“Your spacial awareness is shite.”

“I was sleeping!” Soap snaps his teeth in irritation, jerking forward to do so an inch from Ghost's face. But despite the rude awakening, the way he looks as if taking a pound of flesh is still in the cards, he relaxes. The show of trust, subconscious as it is, sinks in Ghost's stomach like lead. There's no time to beat himself up over it because Soap tenses again and casts a weary eye towards the exits. “Are we–?”

“No.”

“Why're ye ‘ear then?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“So ye decided I coudnae either?”

Ghost shrugs.

Soap groans, long and low, flopping down on his back. He scrubs both hands down his face, leaves them there for a moment, then lowers them to blink tiredly at the ceiling. It’s… not great. Guilt threatens to choke him when he realises just how exhausted Soap looks. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the lines slowly etching themselves onto his face, the stark bandaging around his bicep hiding a wound Ghost knows for sure isn’t all the way healed. Stupid of him, to think his needs above that of his sergeant’s.

“Ye cannae keep doing this, Lt.”

“Breaking into your room?”

Soap’s face scrunches together in a rather unattractive manner. His jaw twitches, no doubt chewing on whether or not to ask if he’s done so before, but what he ultimately ends up with is: “This hot ‘n cold act you’ve got goin’. It needs to stop. I cannae–” he breaks off with a huff. “I need to know where I stand wit’ ye before I do something stupid like deciding yer pack.” He turns to look at Ghost again, lips twisted into a bitter smile. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.” It’s all strings, tangled together into an unravelable mess, the emotions he can’t put a name to nestled amongst the ones he knows more intimately than the violence his hands are capable of. “I want to carve open your ribcage.”

Perhaps he leaves out the part of wishing to curl up in there, wrap himself around Johnny’s spine and stay until he couldn’t remember what hurting felt like. He wasn’t made for this. To want. Not unless it came alongside gallons of blood and the bite of steel into flesh. Whatever this budding thing between them is, it’s not all thorns, and that scares him to death.

“A’right,” Johnny says, drawing the word out long, sounding a lot less perturbed at the prospect than any sane man should. “What’s stopped you?”

Ghost shrugs again. “I’ve needed you up until now.”

“Nah.” Soap stretches lazily, like he hasn't a care in the world, and tucks himself right into Ghost’s personal space. “Could’ve left me in Las Almas, no questions asked. Instead ye compromised yerself to get me out o’ there in… mostly one piece.”

“Maybe I want to be the one to do it.”

“Again,” Johnny drawls, “what’s stopping ye?”

Ghost says nothing.

“See, this is what I mean.” Soap punctuates his statement with a snort, an insufferable smirk dawning in the wake of it. “You threaten to kill me, but you like me alive. Leave me to fend for myself, though no one fights alone. Shoots my look-alike without a moment's hesitation but sneaks into my room the very same night.” He taps a clawed fingertip to the hardshell of Ghost's mask after every sentence, thawing a tad when the last one causes him to flinch. “Would it be so bad, trusting someone?”

“Yes.”

“Do it anyway.”

No, would be the correct response, contrarian and truthful. Ghost swipes a thumb over Soap’s cheekbone, stares at his hopelessly earnest expression while mulling words and experiences over. Knows he's too far gone already. Tries to make himself believe that Johnny isn't, and if they're lucky, that'll be enough to save him.

“I’ll try,” he murmurs and the grin he’s awarded with nearly makes the terror worth it.

[quest-for-pluto]

Sparkles

Aonung x Human!Female!Reader

Chapter Index Next →

Summary: You work as maintenance at base 36, a testing facility used for unethical experiments on captured local Na’vi. One day when the base’s power supply melts down and explodes, you’re caught in the flaming crossfire. In a split second decision, you also decide to free the panicking Na’vi in his glass cell.

Aged up!Aonung to 21 and reader is 20

Chapter 1: think fast

Mission report: Base 36 quarantined due to overheated power supply explosion. Evacuated and searching for survivors.

•

“No no no no,” you cried, banging on the locked door. “I can’t die like this!”

Blaring alarms wailed loudly in the empty halls, the heavy smoke in the air muting the red flashing lights. You coughed into a closed fist, feeling the uncomfortable heat raging against your back.

The center of base 36 was locked down, after the power supply had exploded and started a massive, fast traveling fire that ate up everything in its path. They had immediately closed off the affected area, assuming everyone to be dead. And everyone was dead.

Except you.

“Fuck, fuck,” you swore, speed-entering every password you could think of on the keypad keeping the door sealed shut.

Incorrect password. Incorrect password. Incorrect password.

“For fuck’s sake!” You screamed, punching the titanium with all of your strength. It didn’t even budge, but now your knuckle was bloody and bruised. Well great.

Shoving your hands into your hair, you pulled frantically at the roots. “Okay think y/n, think.”

The fire hadn’t reached you yet, but it was close. You knew that it was coming from the hall on the right, but the center of base 36 was a circular design, so pretty soon the fire would be coming from both directions. If you went left, you had a chance of being stranded in the middle of the hallway, but if you didn’t—well, you would be stranded either way.

“Shit,” you dragged a frustrated hand down your face, before turning left and sprinting as fast as you could.

The walls blurred past you as you ran, your breath and heartbeat echoing heavily in your ears. The air was thick with smoke and heat, making your abused lungs ache.

You turned a corner and suddenly shrieked, skidding ungracefully to a stop only a few inches away from a jagged metal pole. The path that you needed to follow had caved in, blocked by a wall of heavy cement and metal debris. It was impossible to cross without somehow impaling or crushing yourself.

Brrrrrrk, the base shook, a deep rumbling noise that made you grab onto the wall for support as your eyes widened.

A cloud of dust suddenly showered over you, making you slowly look up in fear.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whimpered as you watched the ceiling start to crack above you.

Cursing profusely under your breath, you jumped into a random room to your left—grunting as your abused ribs hit the ground—and just barely missing the avalanche of dust and debris that buried that floor where you stood only a second ago. Coughing, you waved away the dust as it slowly settled around you.

To your horror, the entrance was now blocked with debris too, effectively trapping you inside. Well, you thought with a sinking resignation. No turning back now.

The room you had found yourself in was very large, about the size of an aircraft hangar. It was all dark, except for the flashing red warning lights that were also present around the rest of the base. High, overarching ceilings hung above you, supported by thick metal beams. The floors were a cold, porous grey concrete. You didn’t usually have clearance to be here, so the layout was foreign to you.

“Hello?” You called out hesitantly as you picked yourself off the ground, eyes scanning hopefully for any signs of life, but to no avail. Everything was quiet and abandoned.

The further you walked into the room, the more bizarre it got. Large glass encasements lined the walls, much too large to be cells. Not when the ceilings of these things were at least fifteen feet tall.

Or maybe, it was meant to hold something much larger than a human.

You gulped, warily continuing forward. You were a maintenance worker and carrier, so you didn’t really know what they got up to in the testing facilities. You just transported the samples that the lab technicians gave you and made sure that the equipment was clean and functional.

THUMP THUMP THUMP.

The sudden, loud banging noises made you gasp, taking a few startled steps back. Glancing in the direction of the sounds, you noticed that they seemed to be coming from one of the glass encasements a little further into the room—the only one still lit up.

You gulped, leaning your back against the wall and clutching at your chest. To investigate for exits, you would need to cross the room, and to cross the room, you would need to pass in front of that thing making those disturbing noises.

In the near distance, a deafening popping noise reverberated in the hall, vibrating against the walls and rattling your teeth. Shit, the fire was too close now, you needed to act fast. The thumping noises on the glass got more insistent, frantically picking up tempo and increasing in force.

“Ha…” you exhaled, gathering what little remained of your nerve. “Okay Y/n, this is happening.”

Without a second glance behind you, you ran as fast as you could, keeping your eyes trained in front of you.

Don’t look, you chided yourself. Don’t look. Don’t look you idiot.

THA-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

You looked, eyes shifting disobediently to your left and then…up. And higher. And they kept climbing until your neck was practically craned at a ninety degree angle, eyes wide and mouth gaping at an almost ten-foot-tall, blue humanoid figure.

“Oh, shit!” You shrieked, stumbling backwards and just nearly managing to catch yourself before you fell on your ass. “What the fuck is that?!”

The creature was male, as far as you could tell, with intricate black tattoo markings climbing up his biceps, neck and face. His hands—four fingered, you noticed in disturbance—were pressed against the glass walls of his enclosure, pointy canines protruding viciously from behind his lips as he hissed soundlessly at you.

Oh. Oh. You knew what he was. You’d heard too many horror stories from your coworkers not to recognize his monstrous features.

He was a local. A Na’vi. Apparently they were savage barbarians, mercilessly killing humans for pleasure and keeping their bones as decorations and trophies. They were no different from animals. Every single nerve in your body was screaming at you to get the hell away from it.

You gritted your teeth and sprinted past his cell, much to his visible anger and indignation. No way in hell were you going to let that thing out. You weren’t planning to die any earlier than you had to, thank you very much.

Thump.

That one was softer, sounding almost defeated. It made you pause, not able to stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder curiously.

It—he had his head resting against the glass, fist slowly sliding down the surface. His other hand clutched reverently at what looked like a shark tooth pendant around his neck, lips moving quickly as if he was muttering desperate prayers under his breath.

Oh, no. No no no. Was that a shred of guilt you were feeling, Y/n? Banish the thought.

But…the more you looked at him, the less he seemed like a mindless barbarian who would enjoy ripping you limb from limb until you were just a bloody stump with a head, and the more he looked like—well, someone who was scared shitless of dying. Like you.

Another loud bang shook the base, gnawing at your conscience uncomfortably. The place where his eyebrows should have been furrowed, a painfully resigned expression contorting his face.

Shit. You were going to do something very, very stupid, weren’t you?

“You better not kill me, you stupid blue yeti,” you grumbled under your breath, running back towards his cell.

His head lifted when he saw you approaching, large blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, yeah,” you grimaced. “I’m back, don’t get too excited.”

Now you just had to figure out how to work technology you’d never seen in your life.

Frantically you scanned the complex control panel on the wall, your heart dropping as you stared helplessly at all of the different colorful buttons and switches. Of course it couldn’t be simple.

“Oh come on,” you moaned in despair, pulling at the roots of your hair. “Have you people never heard of labels before?!”

You felt his eyes boring into you as you nervously started pushing, turning and flipping random controls. So far, you’d managed to brighten the lights in his cell, play some music (—move your body like a hologram—), and activate a large gust of air that blasted him right in the face, messing up his hair. That earned you a stink eye.

“Oh, shut up, I’m trying!” You hissed anxiously at him, even though you were pretty sure that the glass was sound resistant so he couldn’t actually hear you, much less understand you.

All of a sudden, the metal frames of the entrance to the room started creaking loudly, grating on your eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. You looked on in horror as they began to cave in from the sheer intensity of the heat. The fire had finally caught up.

The Na’vi’s hands pressed insistently against the glass, staring down at you wide-eyed with a look that you knew meant hurry the fuck up, stupid human.

At this point you were just full on slapping and elbowing anything you could reach. “Come on!” You pleaded frantically as a wave of heat made a sheen of sweat break out over your skin. “This is really cutting it close, Y/n!”

To your overwhelming relief, the sweet sound of gears whirling and clasps unhinging blessed your ears as you watched the glass door to his cell unseal with a loud whoosh and swing open. And damn, were you unprepared for how incredibly tall he was.

It literally felt like you were standing next to a museum exhibit.

You didn’t really have time to think about it though, because the fire was now starting to eat its way inside the lengthy room.

“Oh, shit,” you swore, hearing him spit something of the same tone in a foreign language you didn’t understand.

Your eyes frantically scanned the back end of the room. Most of it was just cement wall, work stations and different types of weird machinery. Behind one of the stations though, there was a bulkhead door about two feet shorter than your giant blue companion, with a wheel to seal it shut.

“There!” You exclaimed, pointing at it as you made a beeline for the handle. Grabbing onto the wheel, you pulled it counterclockwise with all of your strength. But no matter how hard you pulled, it just wouldn’t budge.

“Arghhhh!” You screamed in frustration, digging your feet into the ground as your knuckles turned white from how tightly you gripped onto the handle.

Suddenly, a large hand gripped your shoulder, shoving you harshly away. “Rikx mìso!” He hissed at you, grabbing onto the wheel himself and pulling.

The rusty wheel creaked loudly as it began to turn from the sheer amount of brute force exerted on it.

“Any time now,” you tittered nervously as the heat on your back started to become painfully hot. You could now see the intense waves of heat in the air, distorting your vision like an unfocused camera lens.

The Na’vi huffed, turning it even harder, and soon enough the lock unclamped with a few clicks, leaving the watertight door to swing wide open. Both of you lunged inside, with him slamming and resealing the door behind you just as a station exploded violently nearby, the flames chasing at your heels.

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, stumbling back and falling into a cold wall. The bulkhead door had led into what looked like a decently sized storage room. Rebreathers hung on the walls, as well as protective gear that you knew the excursion division used. You didn’t really get to analyze much more than that though, because to your absolute horror, the door creaked ominously in front of you, warping from the intense heat that it was not meant to withstand.

“Shit!” Your eyes widened as you staggered away, almost tripping over your feet in your haste. You needed to get out of here now.

You ran to the sealed exit door, pushing on it in frustration. “No,” you cried when it refused to open, tears welling up in your eyes. “No, not now! Please.”

Your heart sunk further when you noticed the keypad next to the door, identical to the one you were trying to unlock earlier. You were right back to where you started.

Taking a few steps back, you stared numbly at the floor. This was it, then? This was how you were going to die.

The Na’vi ran up beside you, pounding desperately on the exit door, but you knew it wouldn’t budge. It was locked, sealed shut and made of titanium alloy like all of the other doors you’d discovered lining the edges of the base ever since it had been quarantined. The only way to open it was with the code. A code that you didn’t have clearance for.

“It’s not going to work,” you told him, staring at the concrete blankly. “Even if you fired a bullet at that thing, it wouldn’t even dent.”

He didn’t seem to listen to you, still pounding furiously at the reinforced metal. When that didn’t work, he let out a deep, guttural yell, turning to you with anger in his eyes.

Storming up to you, he grabbed the collar of your shirt, lifting you up to his eye level and sneering in your face. Your breath stuttered in fear as you stared into his deep, sea blue irises. They were much more vivid up close, mixed with swirling flecks of green and gold.

They pierced into your soul, burning with rage and fear but most of all, they burned with an unwavering defiance. In that moment, you understood perfectly what he was trying to tell you.

“Okay,” you found yourself nodding slowly. “We can try.”

He set you down, and you both got to work, scouring the room for anything that would possibly help you escape. The only light source in the room was the setting sun through two tiny polycarbonate glass windows to your left and right, and a measly flickering pot light above you.

You patted desperately at the walls, wrenching ration packs off of shelves, and ripping open closet doors. So far you'd found food, hunting knives, folded clothes, some rifles, camo backpacks, rebreather masks, a water filtering kit and a pair of boots. Nothing that would help you bust down the door though.

It looked like your companion wasn't having much luck either, although he seemed much more wary of the items he found, almost like he was confused and nervous to even touch them.

Creaaaaaak.

The door groaned behind you, parts of the metal starting to dent inward and blister. Shit shit shit. There was no more time, it was going to blow.

You stumbled over to the Na'vi, tugging on his leg until he looked down at you. "There's no time," you said, eyes wide with urgency. "We need to hide."

He glanced back at the sealed exit, before looking back down at you. He huffed, following you to one of the more secluded corners. Hastily, you began building a wall out of everything both of you could find in the room. It probably wouldn't do much, but it was the best protection you could afford. He seemed to get the message too, gathering three times as much as you could hope to hold in your limited human arms, and dumping it onto your makeshift barricade.

You grabbed a rebreather mask off the wall just in case, when suddenly you froze.

PULL TO ENGAGE EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN.

The words were now exposed, written in bold, red letters above a red metal handle. Well you'd be damned.

"Get back!" You yelled, pulling the lever down hard. It groaned, snapping into place.

Three things happened at once. The bulkhead door, which was already warped beyond repair and in the process of peeling, exploded open, exposing both of you to the most swelteringly unbearable heat you'd ever experienced. You screamed as blisters raised all along the length of your forearm, which you had raised to shield your eyes. Distantly through the pain, you could hear him crying out too.

Then, with a bang, three sets of diagonal doors emerged, sealing the entrance shut, but not before a final explosion knocked you clean off your feet. You cracked your head against a wall, and everything went dark.

************

Rikx mìso! = Move!/Move away!

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Taglist: @aonungsmate

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Lockwood wakes up. The pieces of the puzzle start falling into place.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Abductions, fear, implied torture, blood, canon typical violence.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Okay, so, full disclosure: this is less than half of what was initially supposed to be chapter six. It just kept getting longer, so I made a few small changes to get this posted before the rest of it gains another few thousand words

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.21k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢���𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  The echo of water dripping onto concrete is the first thing to worm its way into his consciousness. Next comes the throbbing pain through his skull, the relentless pounding that sends sharp waves of agony through his head. Lockwood lets out an involuntary hiss of discomfort, which in turn brings an unfortunate awareness of how dry his mouth is.  Each breath feels like sandpaper against his throat. His head hangs forward, and the muscles in his neck ache from the strain. It takes an immense effort to gather the strength to lift his head and look around, and when he finally does, he almost wishes he hadn’t.

  The room is a grim tableau of grey, its walls, floor, and ceiling a continuous expanse of cold, unyielding concrete. The only breaks in the monotonous shade are the occasional questionable reddish-brown stains that mar the porous material. Hints of past violence are embedded in the very fibre of this space. To his left, a heavy iron door looms.  With its surface pitted and scarred by time, it stands as an ominous sentinel to his dreary prison.

  The throbbing between his ears intensifies, making it difficult to piece together the events leading up to this moment. How did he end up here, bound and trapped in a room straight out of a horror film? Lockwood’s memories slowly rise to the surface through the fog of his headache, and with them comes a growing awareness of his predicament. His wrists are bound tightly to the arms of a metal chair, the cold steel biting into his skin. 

  Something important is still begging to be remembered, some crucial detail just barely out of reach. He struggles to focus, his mind a chaotic swirl of fragmented memories and disjointed thoughts. They should be on a job right now, shouldn't they?

  It all comes back to him in a rush.

  ‘Hughes’, the alley, the fight. The memories crash over him like a wave, and he feels as if he’s finally awake. Where is she? His heart pounds as he wonders about the fate of his companion. Is she somewhere nearby, tied up like him? Or has she met a worse fate? She’s never been one to shy away from confrontation, especially with arrogant men like these. Her sharp tongue often gets her into trouble. Before he can fully lose himself in the depths of his fears, the large metal door swings open with an ominous creak. The echo reverberates through the cold, concrete room, and in walks their would-be client.

  Lockwood immediately schools his features, burying his rage and fear for his companion behind a mask of aloof and casual amusement. He takes a deep breath, pushing the worst-case scenarios from his mind.

  “Did you sleep well, Mr. Lockwood?” asks the man, his voice dripping with false politeness. He pulls a chair Anthony had previously missed away from the wall, dragging it with a harsh screech across the floor, and sits down directly in front of the bound agent.

  “Oh, like a baby,” Lockwood quips, shooting him a crooked smirk. He leans back in his chair, straining against his bindings to maintain a facade of nonchalance. “Woke up every couple of hours crying. You should consider marketing this place as a spa retreat. The concrete walls and the ambiance of dripping water are just so... soothing.”

  ‘Hughes’ barks a laugh at that, a glimmer of admiration for the young man dancing in his eyes. Lockwood’s heart races, but he doesn’t let it show. He needs to stay sharp, keep this man talking, and find out where he is– and, more importantly, where she is.

  “If we’d met under different circumstances, I think I could grow to like you, Mr. Lockwood. I’ve never met a man capable of looking so unbothered whilst bound to a chair.  Shame it had to be this way, what a waste of potential.” The heavy implication that Anthony won’t be leaving alive hangs in the air as the man props his elbow on the arm of his metal chair, resting his chin on his hand. He inspects Anthony as if he’s nothing more than a rat caught in a trap.

  “It hardly seems fair that you know my name, but I haven’t a clue what yours is.” Anthony risks the challenge, watching his captor’s face closely.

  “My man must have a heavier hand than I thought. If he’s addled your brain enough that you’ve forgotten already, maybe I should give him a raise.” The man laughs, waving his hand dismissively.

  There just now; the tiniest twitch of a vein on his left temple.

  “Surely a man of your intelligence wouldn’t be so foolish as to use his real name to hire a pair of Agents he has no intention of allowing to live. I’d hoped by now you’d have enough respect for me not to assume I’d be thick enough to believe you would.” Of all the reactions Anthony was prepared for, laughter wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. ‘Hughes’ almost doubles over in his chair, clapping his hands together before wiping tears of merriment from the corners of his eyes.

  “Boy, if you didn’t have those bloody morals of yours, I’d recruit you to take over when I retire. Damon Martin, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He offers Lockwood a hand to shake, then rescinds it with a mock-apologetic shrug as though he’d forgotten he’d bound Anthony’s hands.

  Anthony’s mind races, filing away the name, the mannerisms, the arrogance. This is a man used to getting his way, a man who found joy in toying with his prey. But Anthony knows something he doesn’t. There’s still hope, still a chance. He just has to bide his time and keep Damon talking.

  “If I didn’t have these ‘bloody morals,’ I might be inclined to accept your generous offer. In another life, perhaps,” He pauses for a moment, weighing his options carefully. The chances he’s garnered enough favour to get away with a question are still slimmer than he’d like, but feigning ignorance might tip the scales his way. “Why did you go through all this effort? Surely there are easier ways to kidnap a few agents, at the very least an easier agency to grab them from. I’m assuming you need our Talent for some nefarious reason or another?”

  Damon chuckles at that; it’s an uglier sound than before. It can’t hide the treacherous vein on his brow, oh so eager to betray him.

  “Definitely easier agencies, but none that have pissed off as many Relic Hunters – and other unsavoury folks – as the lovely little lilies at Lockwood & Co.” He shakes his finger in time with every alliteration, the obvious enjoyment glittering in his eyes is almost sickening.

  “So it’s a matter of revenge, then?” If Mr. Martin is so willing to believe him a fool, he might as well use it to his own advantage. “Not unusual in this field, though not precisely expected either. So, what cruel fate do you have in store for us?”

  Damon leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Revenge. Justice. Call it what you will. Your little agency has made quite a name for itself. Stepping on toes, disrupting operations, making enemies. It was only a matter of time before someone came to collect.”

  Anthony’s mind races, trying desperately to fit together the final pieces of the puzzle. The throbbing behind his eyes hasn’t eased, and it isn’t making it any easier. “So, you’re just another wronged party in the long list of those seeking retribution. How original.”

  Damon’s smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “Oh, it’s not just about retribution. It’s about sending a message. You and your friends have a habit of poking your noses where they don’t belong. It’s time someone reminded you of the consequences.”

  Lockwood’s jaw tightens, his mind whirling with strategies. “And what consequences would those be? An untimely demise in your charming little dungeon?”

  “I hate to make it too easy on you, so we’ll leave it at ‘you’ll find out soon enough’ and move on. Surely there’s another question itching away at the back of your mind.” The smile on his face sends a chill down Anthony’s spine, a feeling he imagines to be akin to someone walking across his grave.

  “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

  “Ah, see? I thought we were getting somewhere, but it seems you still have all the subtlety of an ox.” The other man snorts, shaking his head ruefully. “Your companion is alive and, well… not ‘well’, but alive.”

  Anthony is almost certain there are more words following, but he loses the ability to hear through the blood rushing in his ears. If he has harmed her in any way, there will be hell to pay.

  “Anything else you’d like to know while you’re still inclined to speak with me?” The delight in Martin’s voice is sickening, but it is essential Anthony maintains his composure. No matter how desperately he wants to hurl insults and threats at this monster, he can’t.

  “You say that like you’re certain our time is coming to an end. I do like to consider myself quite tolerant, in the grand scheme. What do you have planned?”

  Damon checks his watch, grinning a Cheshire cat smile before looking back at the lad in the chair. “I’m afraid our time is up, Mr. Lockwood. For what it’s worth, I’ve enjoyed this little game of wits.”

  Anthony’s mind races as Damon’s words sink in. He has to think quickly, to find some way to delay whatever is coming next. “Well, I’m afraid the feeling isn’t mutual, Damon. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed your hospitality.”

  Damon laughs, a dark, hollow sound. “I didn’t expect you to. But, alas, our paths cross for a reason, and I have my own agenda to follow.”  He watches Anthony with a predatory glint in his eyes.

  Lockwood strains against his bindings, his eyes darting around the room for anything he might be able to use to his advantage. “This isn’t over. You think you have the upper hand, but you don’t know us. You don’t know what we’re capable of.”

  Damon’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “Oh, I’m well aware of what you’re capable of, Mr. Lockwood. That’s why I’ve taken every precaution to ensure you won’t get the chance to show it.”

  Anthony’s mind races, formulating plans upon contingency plans. He knows he can’t afford to lose hope. Not now. Not when so much is at stake. The tension in the room is palpable as the two men stare each other down, the silent battle of wills raging on. Anthony knows he has to stay sharp, stay focused. They will find a way out of this.

  The scream erupts through the air, sudden and unrelenting, slicing through the stillness like a blade. The sound is raw, visceral, and it sends a jolt of icy terror racing through Anthony’s veins. All the steely resolve he’s been clinging to shatters in an instant, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. His heart pounds like a drum in his chest as he struggles against the metal bindings that confine him. The chair groans and creaks ominously under his frantic movements, the metal biting into his skin as he throws himself forward in a desperate bid for freedom.

  “I swear to God, if you don’t let her go I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. There will not be a rock you can hide under that will save you from me,” he vows, his voice a low, dangerous growl filled with a venomous intensity. He spits in Damon’s direction, a tangible manifestation of his fury.

  Martin’s only reaction is a dark chuckle, a sound devoid of any real fear or concern. He lounges back in his chair with a nonchalant ease, his smile wide and untroubled. “Bold words from a man strapped to a chair in my basement,” he says with an almost lazy disdain. The words are dripping with mockery as he stands up, pushing himself to his feet. “Do try to keep your strength; it would be a shame to cut the entertainment short this evening.”

  With a final smirk, Damon pushes himself from his chair, and strides toward the metal door. His footsteps echo in the cold, sterile room. The door slams shut behind him with a resonating clang, sealing Anthony in darkness. The only sound that remains is the tortured, muffled sobs and anguished cries echoing faintly through the corridors.

  Lockwood closes his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the sound that haunts him. His teeth are clenched so hard they ache, and he fights the overpowering urge to rage against his restraints. The sound of his own name falling from her lips had never made him feel sick before.

  He whispers silent apologies into the void, each one a fragment of his broken heart as he hears her cries fade to wrecked sobbing in the distance. Tears stream uncontrollably down his cheeks, each one a testament to his helplessness. He forces himself to remember that if he exhausts his strength now, he will have no energy left to save her when the time comes. His mind is a whirlwind of anguish and determination, driven by the urgent need to endure for her sake.  If he exhausts himself now, he’ll have no way to help her through the next part of this.

  He knows what’s happening here. At the very least, he has some very well founded theories. 

  He’d begun to piece the clues together on his way back from running errands, the headline of a fresh edition of the paper catching his attention.

  ‘Missing Bunchurch operatives found ghost-touched three miles from job location.’

  George had mentioned something about these disappearances a few days ago. Lockwood had dismissed him without putting much thought into it, infuriating his researcher to the point of him storming out after curfew.  Lucy had scolded him senseless about it, and even he’d been forced to admit he’d handled it poorly. George’s Talent might have faded, but his mind is sharp as ever.  In the spirit of ‘making an effort’, as Lucy would say, Lockwood paused to buy a copy from the paperboy and stepped under an awning to avoid foot traffic as he leafed through the pages to find the article.

  ‘“A man approached them when the agency was nearly vacant for the evening, requesting their assistance for a high-profile case that required their immediate attention and discretion. Unfortunately, we didn’t get any details about the suspect before the disappearance of our operatives,”’ a supervisor explained when questioned. The story bore an uncanny resemblance to those reported by other agencies. ‘Who is this mystery man, and why does he seem to be targeting agents?’

  Lockwood’s gut twists as he absorbs the implications. Agents go missing or die on jobs more often than anyone is willing to admit. The constant flow of cases had prevented the authorities from connecting the dots until recently. Agents, typically in pairs of two, would leave on last-minute assignments and simply vanish without a trace. When their bodies were discovered – if they were found at all – it was often days later, in locations far removed from where they were supposed to be. The details are vague, but the true intrigue lies in the spaces between the lines, the picture painted by the gaps in the written words.

  He ponders the logistics. For a small-scale agency like Bunchurch or his own, it would be easy for one man to watch for an opening. But Fittes or Rotwell... catching a large-scale agency with few occupants requires more than luck. It demands extensive reconnaissance, meticulous notes on routines and schedules, and perfect timing.

   This isn't the work of a lone psychopath. This is organised crime, a network with resources and coordination.

  Lockwood’s mind races. If the person staking out their targets was consistent, someone in the neighbourhood must have noticed them, even if they didn’t realise it. DEPRAC and Scotland Yard had surely canvassed the area, asking questions. But had they inquired about the weeks leading up to the kidnappings? About any oddities that initially seemed out of place but became so routine they were almost invisible?  Inspector Barnes would surely have asked those questions, but Lockwood has his doubts about the competency of the other men under his command. The picture is becoming clearer: a network of criminals, a methodical approach, agents watched and taken with precision. Lockwood folds the newspaper, now fully alert. 

  Everything in this report suggests a calculated effort to target and eliminate agents under the guise of urgent and confidential assignments. These abductions are not random misfortunes or isolated incidents; they are part of a cruel and systematic scheme to exploit the talents of the agents and dispose of them in the most horrific ways imaginable. Lockwood’s thoughts churn with grim realisation. If one were to calculate the number of missing agents, and compare it to the number of bodies found… The numbers simply don’t add up. The pieces of the puzzle fall into place, and with each one, the urgency to act becomes more pressing. This is not just a matter of solving a mystery, or bringing justice to the fallen; it’s a race against time to save those who might still be trapped in this nightmarish scenario.

  He makes a mental note to make time to talk to Barnes, to offer his services as a consultant. Maybe even as bait.

  The thought barely has time to form before the pieces finally click into place, each realisation deepening the pit of dread in his stomach.

  They couldn’t be bait if they were already targets.

  A bolt of ice stabs through his chest as he realises the time. A quick glance at his watch confirms his fear. He is going to be late.  Again. He’s been so slow on the uptake—she could already be in danger.

  He curses himself under his breath, looking around wildly. Despite every instinct screaming at him to blindly run to her aid, he knows he has to find a way to pass a message to their team. It’s their only hope of surviving the trap he’s unwittingly led them into. His gaze flicks side to side as he forces himself to breathe in, hold, and breathe out for equal counts of four. Combat breathing helps regulate his body’s response to stress. He needs to think clearly and appear calm to pull this off. The faces around him blur together as he moves with purpose in the direction of their rendezvous spot, buying time for himself to come up with a reasonable plan. He knows the enemy could be anywhere. Watching. Waiting. The seconds tick by, each one a reminder of how close he might be to losing everything. 

  He turns a corner and catches sight of the river, the water glinting in the afternoon light. Amid the crowd, a distinctive outline catches his eye. He can’t help but grin, thanking his lucky stars for the first time in his life that he lives so close to the Thames.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢ ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫…

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!):

❁ @shakespearseclipse ❁ @tessas4 ❁ @chloejaniceeee ❁ @ettadear ❁

❁ @kassandra1000 ❁ @stardust611 ❁ @ell0ra-br3kk3r ❁

❁ @hellojameshowyadoin ❁ @Sarahhelpimsinking ❁ @soapshipper ❁

❁ @myownpainintheass ❁ @furblrwurblr ❁ @sleep-i-ness ❁

❁ @uku-lelevillain ❁ @autisticbiologistmess ❁ @xyaxyn ❁

❁ @forget-me-not-my-dear ❁

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[beautifulqueerexistence]

One Week Post-Op (DI Top Surgery update, TW MENTION: Surgical procedure, surgical complications, medical transition, top surgery drains, Hematoma)

Wow, holy crap, my surgery was a week ago already!

I met with my surgeon yesterday for my first follow up! It was really nice to be able to talk about the small hematoma (a blot clot, more or less!) in my left side, and have her concretely tell me that it’s breaking down the way it’s supposed to, that the neon color drainage IS normal (for a person with a hematoma)… And I got my right side drain out!!! The left will continue to stay in until (at least) my follow up a week from today. The hematoma needs to reliquify slowly and drain, either via my drain or by spreading to the surrounding porous tissue by converting to bruising. That being said, my bruising is gonna WORSEN before it’ll get better, but bruising is a good sign that my hematoma is healing. Swelling is pretty consistent on the left, and she said that everything looks amazing, all things considered!

I realized yesterday that I will never again have to deal with underboob sweat, that weird “tuck your shirt under them so your skin doesn’t stick and get all sweaty gross,” or having to “rest them” while leaning on a table. That was a trippy realization, that at some point I did that for the last time, and now I’m just free of it. I was able to soooorta tilt to my right while sleeping last night, and as a side sleeper, I’m ecstatic about that. I looked at my pre-op photos for the first time since surgery this morning and I’m gonna be honest… I’m already forgetting what they felt like. It feels so dissociated bc my brain just so easily clicked into “Yep, this is what my chest is supposed to look like.” Even with the incisions and bruising it still feels like MY (flat) chest just had some surgery. And that’s a super fucking cool feeling, having my chest feel like MINE, finally feel familiar.

My mom thanked my surgeon yesterday for “that (my) smile” and said “it was an overnight difference with him. I can just see him glowing with relief.” I think that’s a pretty accurate anecdote to leave this update off on. More to come as things progress.

Side note- If anyone has any questions about top surgery, drains, hematomas, or anything adjacent, I’m happy to talk! My DMs are always open. I’m by no means an expert or qualified doctor, but I’m always happy to share my experience in the hope that it helps someone else.

[power-chords]

The Inland Steel Building is one of modern architecture’s most epochal structures. The first Chicago high-rise built after the Great Depression, Inland Steel was the paradigm for [Skidmore, Owings, & Merrill]’s principle that high-rise form at its best does, indeed, follow function. Inland Steel changed the way towers are constructed, and helped transform American office culture during the second half of the 20th century.

The building consists of a 19-story office tower and a 25-story service tower. A one-story unit that contains auxiliary facilities is attached to the service tower. The 19 floors of the office tower, each with an area of 10,200 square feet, have no interior columns, and therefore these open floor areas allow maximum flexibility in the arrangement of offices and work rooms.

The framing is structural steel. Girders, 60 feet long, span the whole building and support the beams and decking. Frames and mullions of the curtain wall are stainless steel, glazed with tinted laminated glass and paneled with porous concrete and insulated stainless steel sheets.

[catierambles]

Blood Moon Ch.10

Pairing: Syverson x Annalisa Caulfield (OFC)

Sy leaned back against the bar, a water bottle hanging from his fingers and a smile on his face as he watched her dance, moving her body this way and that to the pounding music. The black leather pants sat low on her hips, a lot of pale skin showing between the waistband and the bottom hem of her dark bodice top.

“Hey, man.” He heard and looked over his shoulder, seeing Ethan come up behind him. There had been a different bartender when they got there, so he figured they split shifts.

“Hey, brother.” Sy said, holding out a fist and getting a bump in return.

“You being taken care of?” Ethan asked and he raised the water bottle, getting a nod in return. “It's been a while since I've seen her like this.”

“Like what?” Sy asked.

“Happy.” Ethan said simply.

“How was your campin' trip?” Sy asked, turning on the stool to face him and they shared pointed look.

“It was good.” Ethan said after a moment, “Her cabin is very peaceful.”

“I bet.” He said, “Mind company some time? Never been up there. Would like to see it for myself.”

“I don't mind.” Ethan said, “When'd it happen?”

“Syria.” Sy said, “You?”

“Camping trip with friends senior year of college.”

“Your buddies come out of it?” He asked but Ethan shook his head, “Neither did my team.” Ethan slid a shot glass filled with amber liquid towards him, lifting his own.

“Here's to being bastards too stubborn to stay down.” Ethan said and they clinked glasses, downing the shots. “I'm guessing Annie knows?”

“Yeah.” Sy said.

“Do you know about her?”

“Yeah.”

“It's a good thing we're friendly, or else this would be some Kate Beckinsale Underworld shit.” He said and a small grin pulled at Sy's lips. “You're picturing her in the body suit, aren't you.”

“Yeah.” Sy said and Ethan barked a laugh, walking away while shaking his head to pay attention to the other patrons. Turning around, he saw her still dancing, but her movements were far less carefree, as there was a guy who kept trying to dance up on her. He could feel her discomfort from where he was sitting and he set his water bottle down, getting off the stool and stalking into the dancers. She saw him coming, her relief palpable. “You're makin' the lady nervous.”

“Fuck off, man.” The guy said, “Go back to your ho-down or whatever.”

“Nah, I don't think I will. Don't take kindly to guys makin' my girlfriend uncomfortable.” He said, pulling her to his side. “I don't doubt for a second that she can take care of herself, but blood is tough to get outta concrete flooring, bein' porous and all.”

“Hold on a second.” Annalisa said and stepped into the guy, looking up at him. “Pupils are dilated, pulse is thready and fast. It's not the lighting, you're high as shit.”

“Come on, sweetheart, there's nothing wrong with—” She made a gesture and bouncers came in from the wings.

“Call LEOs and take him to my office. I'll be there shortly to get the name of his dealer and if he got it here.”

“Yes, ma'am.” One said and grabbed his arm.

“Hold on, you can't—!”

“This is my club, private property, you'll find I legally can.” She said and made another gesture, the bouncers pulling him away as he complained, some of the other club goers watching with amusement. “Fools never think the rules apply to them.” She turned to Sy, looking up at him and placing her hands on his chest gently. “I have to take care of this.”

“I'll come with.” He said and she gave him a questioning look. He just tapped the tip of his nose and she nodded, taking his hand and leading him away towards the back of the club and down an isolated hallway behind a curtain. The bouncers were standing outside a door that had a Private plaque on it and they opened it, letting her in. The guy was sitting in a chair in the center of the room, looking around the office nervously.

“Locals are on their way, ma'am.” One of the bouncers said as he followed them in and she gave him a small smile.

“You get it here?” She asked, looking at the guy evenly.

“No.” He said.

“He's lyin'.” Sy said and she gave him another questioning look. He just tapped the tip of his nose again.

“Where is the dealer operating out of?”

“He's not—”

“You're a bad liar.” Sy said, “Heart's nearly beatin' out your chest, and it ain't because of the drugs in your system. Also, did you know that fear smells like piss? Where is he, son? Best you tell us now before the cops get here, or else they'll just haul you away in cuffs and sweat you in a cell.”

“VIP booths.” He said, “His name is Snyder.”

“Is he alone?” Annalisa asked.

“With a couple friends.” He said, shaking his head.

“Send Sweeney, Shelley, and Frost.” Annalisa said, turning to the bouncer. “I want them off the floor and somewhere secure until the cops get here.”

“Yes ma'am.” He said and pulled a radio from his belt, relaying the order.

“Sweeney?” Sy asked.

“Her and a few others are seeded through the clubs, keeping an eye out for trouble. They work for me.” Annalisa said.

“They're in a backroom, ma'am.” The bouncer said, “Guy has about hundred tablets on him.”

“Record time.” Annalisa said, “Almost like she's trying to get in my good graces again. Get our friend here some water?”

“Thank you.” He said, taking the bottle from the bouncer after he pulled it from a minifridge.

“Calm down.” Annalisa said, “You're not in trouble. Snyder is. When the cops get here, you can make a statement, or you can stay in here and I'll tell them an anonymous tip was passed to a member of security about him. Even if you did make a statement, they won't tell him it was you who told them.”

“You sure?” He asked and she nodded. “I'll make a statement.”

“Good call.” She said.

“Cops are here.” The bouncer said, touching an ear piece. “They're around back.”

“Who answered the call?”

“Williams and Syverson.” The bouncer said and Sy looked at him in surprise.

“Syverson?” He asked.

“Relative of yours?” Annalisa asked.

“My second youngest brother, Brian, is a cop.” He said.

“Have many siblings?” Annalisa asked.

“I'm the middle outta five boys, two older, two younger.” Sy said and she pulled a face. “What?”

“Five boys? I feel sorry for your mom.” There was a knock at the door and the bouncer opened it, two suits coming in.

“Kyle?” One of them asked, looking at him in surprise. He had the same blue eyes and ruddy skin as Sy, but his hair was a sandy blonde, combed neat.

“Hey, Brian.” Sy said, moving his head at him.

“What're you doin' here?” He asked, “Didn't think this'd be your scene.”

“It ain't. I'm here with Annie.” Sy said, moving his head at her.

“You and Annalisa?” Kyle asked and he nodded. “Oh, Mikey is gonna freak. The other club is his favorite stompin' ground. All his shit will be flipped when he finds out you're datin' the owner.”

“Michael Syverson?” Annalisa asked and they nodded. “We scan IDs at the door to make sure they're real, so I'll put him on the VIP list. It'll flag when his ID is scanned.”

“Thanks, babe.” Sy said.

“No problem.” She said, “Anyway, you get the dealer?”

“He's loaded in the back of our car and we confiscated what we had.” Brian said, “This your tipper?”

“In a way. He's going to make a statement.” Annalisa said, “We'll give you the room, let me know when you're all set.”

“Thanks, Annalisa.” Brian said and everyone who didn't have a badge and gun left the room.

“Promise you my entire family is gonna know about us by the end of the night.” Sy said, the bouncers walking away to head back to their posts. “Pete already knows I'm seein' someone named Annalisa, but he's as much into this scene as I am, so I doubt he put two and two together.”

“My name isn't unique.”

“Unique enough.” Sy said with a shrug. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he dug it out, looking at the screen. “The fuck he do? Text it while he's in there?” He answered the call, putting it to his ear. “Yeah, Mikey.”

“You're dating Annalisa Caulfield?!” He ripped the phone away from his ear at the yell and Annalisa snorted.

“Shit, kid, you damn near blew out my eardrum. Yeah, I'm datin' Annalisa. She's gonna take care of you and your buddies when you go to one of her clubs, but don't go crazy, ya hear me? Be grateful and don't overly take advantage of her hospitality. I don't need horror stories.” His answer was more subdued than his greeting and they talked for a couple more minutes before he hung up, putting the phone back in his pocket.

Sy and Annalisa relaxed in bed later that night, Annalisa laying against his side with his arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you for helping out tonight.” She said, “I can hear heartbeats, but I can't smell changes in body chemistry.”

“Imma blood hound, what can I say.” Sy said and she giggled. “Need to actually find a job soon, though. I can't coast by on my military pension much longer.”

“Why don't you come work for me?” She asked and he looked down at her as she propped herself up. “You plugged up a weakness tonight, it'd be nice to have you on staff.”

“You got other wolves on the payroll.”

“I can't pull Ethan away from the bar to give someone a sniff.” She pointed out, “Besides, it's not just because you're a wolf that I'm making the offer. You were a Captain in the Green Berets, you said so yourself. The head of security for the two clubs recently stepped down and I've been struggling to find a replacement.”

“Head of security?”

“Again, Captain of Army Special Forces. Putting you just as a bouncer would be like putting Robo-Cop on Meter Maid duty.” She said and he snorted. “Think it over?”

“Benefits?”

“Medical and dental.”

“Good insurance?”

“Low deductible and high coverage.”

“Hours?”

“Swap off between the clubs on alternating nights, off Tuesdays and Wednesdays as those are our closed nights.”

“Uniform?” He asked, recalling the black t-shirts and black slacks the bouncers had been wearing.

“Black polo, black dress pants, black dress boots. The polo we'll give you as it'll have your position embroidered on it, but you'll have to get the pants and shoes yourself. I can help you with those if need be.”

“Why'd the last guy leave?”

“His Tovaras is a member of a different coven, he left to be with her. I told him he didn't have to, but he wanted to.”

“Coven?”

“An organized group of vampires with a power structure.” She explained briefly.

“Guessin' you're in a coven?” He asked and she nodded. “Who's in charge?”

“I am.” She said, his brows jumping slightly in surprise and she shrugged. “I'm not the oldest, but I am the most powerful with the most connections.”

“Shouldn't be shocked. Seein' how people treat you.” He said, “'Cept Eugene.”

“Eugene is my second-in-command so sometimes he thinks he doesn't have to pay attention to power structure.” She said, “I make sure to remind him when he forgets.” He sighed and she could see him thinking it over.

“Why the fuck not. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that.” Sy said, “When do I start?”

“We'll stop by Pendulum tomorrow and I'll get you familiarized with the security system and introduce you to the rest of the security staff before we open, as well as start the paperwork. You're a...large in shirts?”

“Extra.” He said and shrugged, “Wide shoulders.”

“My big boy.”

“I'm a great big boy.” He said, making her laugh and a smile stretch across his face. He'd never get tired of that sound.

[schisto-city]

Fluorescent epoxy can be vacuum-injected into samples to reveal cracks and porous regions. In this case, it is showing a network of cracks in concrete that has been heavily damaged by freeze-thaw processes.