#rifle but without a mechanical firing method.

[serpentface]

Omg, is there any more about Odonii battlefield performance?

Faiza giving a full battlefield performance, which includes grimacing, sinister looks, letting out terrifying war cries, and banging on her shield with her dagger's pommel. She's wearing a full set of armor, which is functional but highly decorative. A squire will be present somewhere nearby to carry the rest of her weaponry.

As mentioned in the other post, Odonii generally do not actually Participate in fighting. Their perpetual armament and training to correctly Use this armament has predominantly symbolic functions, with their bodies as vessels for state and military empowerment and integrity.

Their normal role on the battlefield is:

a) Spiritual protection for their associated warriors and intimidation of enemies.

Their role is partially to be the ‘guardian lion’ figure in human form, their presence and performance in of itself is considered metaphysically protective. This guardian lion nature is played up and reinforced with their dress and behavior- they wear lion skins over their armor, paint their faces red to obscure human features, perform war cries tailored to sound inhuman (not like lions, just a very shrill and frightening sound). They perform ‘frenzied’ movements that intend to evoke an enraged animal- pacing, banging on their shields, biting their weapons/shields, baring teeth, exaggerated glances that emphasize the whites of their eyes, etc. This can be a disturbing sight- reassuring to their allies who know a frightening spiritual guardian figure is on their side, and demoralizing to an enemy (the latter especially in conjunction with common beliefs that Odonii are witches/shapeshifters)

b) A motivating factor to get the men to fight more bravely.

This is partly out of religious belief (you will probably be a little bolder if you feel reassurance that God is very much present and on your side, via Its priestesses), partly out of esteem for the order (you are highly motivated to perform for their recognition and protect them from harm). In a way, their role on the battlefield is the Least masculinized aspect of their performance- they are in part there to remind men of their mothers, wives, and daughters, who they are supposed to be the protectors of and whose benefit they are ultimately (at least deemed to be) fighting for.

In some cases, this is taken to a (cultural relative) extreme wherein they will expose their breasts towards their own men as a part of battlefield performance, in the form of a supplicatory gesture (bearing the breasts and thumping on the chest with a fist). (The Odomache’s nude body should never be publicly seen under any circumstances, limited and controlled exposure by Odonii Can be appropriate). Breasts are not sexualized in this cultural sphere, but are not treated as neutral body parts either, instead having values of motherly nurturing and feminine vulnerability projected onto them. Odonii showing tits will be a DISTINCT reminder of the ‘vulnerable female’ elements that the men should be protecting, and can be highly motivating (especially in the context of a figure who is otherwise behaviorally ‘masculinized’, it’s jarring and can have useful emotional impact).

c) General spiritual leadership (in connection to a & b).

Weapons dances are an aspect of military training and the kagnoma odo dance is always performed prior to conventional battles, Odonii lead these dances. This has multifacted functions- it is believed to spiritually bless the troops, it is a means of practicing with weaponry/limbering up, it is a psychological rallying point and good for morale, and it may intimidate your enemy who can see it happening from a distance (by displaying readiness/eagerness to battle, good discipline, unity, and physical might). Odonii also perform personalized blessings of soldiers, weapons, and armor.

c) Filling gaps in the command structure or acting as commanders

Odonii are involved in strategic meetings, and ones who receive battlefield roles are very well studied in military tactics. As a matter of technicality, their commands to the body of Imperial Wardi troops do not override those of generals or other ranking soldiers (though they will often be deferred to regardless), but they can fill in gaps in the command structure in case of death of high ranking soldiers or if lines become scattered and communication breaks down.

Additionally, there are two elite warrior orders presided over by the Odonii priesthood (the rest answer directly to the Usoma's court appointed general), with senior Odonii as their commanders and the Odomache as their general. (This is one of many political tension points between the priesthood and monarchy, given that the Odonii have managed to get themselves about 200 high skill, firearm'ed warriors that are separate from the normal military structure, only as loyal to the Usoma as their current general is, and Very beloved among the public so you can't just like, outright kill or disarm this very obvious threat.)

d) A strategic flexing of eastern seaway honorable combat norms

Conventions of honorable warfare have broad commonalities across the eastern seaway peoples, one of which is that noncombatants (by default- women, girls, prepubsecent boys, unarmed elderly men) are not legitimate targets in the normal process of open war (but are fair game in contexts like sieges when a foe has refused to surrender on behalf of their population). Odonii being armed throws a wrinkle into this - they are still effectively ‘noncombatants’ by virtue of being women, but if they actually Engage in fighting they do present a threat that could be justifiably neutralized.

If they do not actually Use their arms they are not legitimate targets, and an enemy concerned with honorable combat will have to work around their presence (or risk social/retaliatory consequences if he does not). They are thus effectively human shields- at the very least introducing an additional layer of difficulties for an opponent to navigate, and sometimes actively putting their bodies between their men and their opponents.

e) as a factor of D, potential mediator figures.

When in conventional battles, Odonii on losing sides are usually expected to allow themselves to be captured without resistance. They stand a very high chance of being taken alive and remaining unharmed due to a combination of factors- baseline honorable warfare practices (which are ABSOLUTELY not always followed, but at least Influence behavior), fears of material consequences in retribution for harming the priestess, fears of spiritual consequences for harming a potentially powerful witch, knowledge that releasing an Odonii unscathed may give the captors a better negotiating position down the line, or knowledge that an Odonii is a very valuable hostage and can make for a good bargaining chip.

Because of this element, captured Odonii are expected to perform mediation roles, negotiate the release of hostages, carry messages from their captors, or bravely tolerate hostage conditions (ideally while gaining intelligence on their captors)

---

Odonii very, very rarely actually participate in combat (and are in fact not Supposed To in the vast majority of circumstances).

They are, however, fairly well equipped for it. Their perpetual armament is symbolic in nature, but its intended function of empowering their bodies and the state by proxy additionally requires them to know how to Use It. They are trained and regularly drill and engage in mock battles in each of their key weapons/defensive combinations (sword, sword and shield, spear, spear and shield, longgun, handgun) and are expected to be adept at their use. Odonii who attend battlefields, while not being directly engaged, are still in very high-stress and dangerous environments and will have to learn to stay calm and collected under duress. All this doesn't mean every Odonii would be a skilled warrior in an actual combat situation (given that most will have no experience fighting someone who is actually trying to Kill Them), but it does mean they have enough technical skill and mental fortitude to stand a decent chance.

The only times where they are SUPPOSED to actively engage is when a battle is deemed as an existential struggle and is being lost (in practice, the main context for this is a siege), or losing against a foe deemed so thoroughly depraved that they won’t even slightly follow wartime conventions. The idea in these situations is that they are most likely already doomed, and that they should die protecting their people in battle.

Wardi history is filled with stories of Odonii fighting and dying in desperate conflicts (particularly against Imperial Bur), but this is at least Partly historical revisionism (there WERE some women in proto-Odonii roles involved in these conflicts, but these retellings project the modern Odonii order onto its multiple progenitor practices).

Odonii are frequently present on battlefields, but there are only two major instances of modern era Odonii participating in battle as full combatants, both involving conflict with Finnerich

---

The fully modern incarnation of the order can be defined as starting in the late period of Burri occupation, in which multiple Wardi city-states and kingdoms allied against a common foe, and the separate progenitors of the Odonii tradition began to coelesce into a single practice. These alliances were mostly dropped after Burri withdrawal, and the immediate post-withdrawal period was a chaotic scrambling to politically stabilize and assert old territorial claims- thus most Wardi states resumed hostile or indifferent relations with one another. (The one exception is that Wardin and Ephennos remained allied, which shortly would become a Big Deal). Forms of early Odonii now existed throughout most of these states, just not united under a single banner.

The city of Godsmouth was blockaded and besieged by Finnerich during this period (taking advantage of its historical rival’s weakness in the political chaos of de-occupation and hoping to capture or at least maim the city), and some of these early Odonii were involved in this conflict and are known to have engaged.

Godsmouth was a rival to its neighboring states more than anything else- there was little reason for others to send aid in the conflict, and it was left to fend for itself. It was and is a heavily fortified city, and thus the siege lasted for months, with the strategy turning to starving the population out rather than the risky maneuver of throwing troops at well-defended gates to force entry. The Finn forces never managed to breach the inner walls, but were very successful at starving the city's population, raiding its farmlands and villages, and destroying its ports and capturing or burning its ships, all with minimal casualties on their side.

The strategy of the siege finally turned to a risky push to breach and capture the city (due to Finnerich’s own dwindling resources and logistical difficulties in restocking due to storms at sea, and news that an allied Wardin and Ephennos had, in an unprecedented move, been persuaded to send reinforcements (in return for Godsmouth's sworn fealty and absorption into their alliance)), and Finn forces succeeded in breaking through the outer walls. This developed into a very dramatic standoff in which the remaining warriors and/or civilians of Godsmouth attempted to fend off the attack long enough for reinforcements to arrive (which would take days by sea).

Odonii are very famously known to have fully engaged in this stretch of the conflict on the front lines, as it represented an existential threat to the city-state (it’s a fortified settlement, if it was captured, reinforcements would not matter). Some of the recountings are distinctly fanciful (describing Odonii and noblemen leading Siege Of Helms Deep style khaitback charges into masses of enemies, or SWEARING that one of them actually did turn into a lion and ripped apart a hundred Finns before she succumbed to her wounds). An At Least Partially True Story With Exaggerated Elements of the final days of the siege describes the Odonii priestess Hibrides Odiboe rallying a group of elderly men into battle by baring her breasts and scratching deep, bleeding wounds into her chest, declaring herself as 'your mothers, your wives, your daughters, and look how I bleed while you hide behind your walls and wait to die.' While accounts have fantastical elements, it is factual that Odonii priestesses fought and died defending the city's inner walls, notably filling command positions left vacant by slain or starved leaders and rallying citizens to the front lines.

The end of the siege was ultimately a pyrrhic victory for Godsmouth- the city was never actually taken but its population was starved and riddled with disease, its farmlands were burned, and its ports were destroyed. Finnerich forces retreated before reinforcements arrived after failing to break through the inner walls in time, but had succeeded in most objectives of severely wounding their historical enemy. It has been a source of collective trauma in Godsmouth since that point (it is now out of living memory, but vivid stories remain of seeing the dead eaten by dogs and the starving eating the dogs that ate the dead, watching family members succumb to disease and starvation, all while hearing the sounds of fighting draw closer and closer with no reason to believe that any help would ever come), but ultimately recontextualized as a victory, a turning point in the arc of modern history. (The Wardin-Ephennos-Godsmouth alliance, which formed in full as a result of this conflict, would become the triple state that conquered the rest of the region and formed Imperial Wardin).

The direct participation of Odonii in this conflict is heavily played up in the narrative as the order in its purest form as sovereignty incarnate, the priestesses bravely fighting for (what would turn out to be) the beginnings of the Imperial Wardi state. The 11 Odonii who died fighting in the siege have been bestowed sainthood and are memorialized in a series of guardian lion statue-shrines overlooking Godsmouth’s ports (in which their ashes and bones are stored).

---

The other instance of modern era Odonii engaging in conflict is significantly less romantic, occurring in the context of the Extremely failed second invasion of Finnerich.

During and after the rout that resulted in the Odomache's capture and killing, it became exceptionally clear to the Imperial Wardi forces that They Were Fucked. The conflict veered with REMARKABLE speed from being an attempt end the state's civil war between the Imperial Wardi-loyalist provincial puppet government and its rebelling northwest population, to a desperate struggle for Wardi forces to get out of Finnerich Alive. At this point it was assumed (fairly accurately) that any defeated party would be summarily executed, so most Odonii present ended up directly engaging in battle. Two are known to have died leading soldiers in a bid to retrieve the Odomache's body, others fought and/or died while defending the retreat.

A few Finn Odonii (women appointed as a local sect of the priesthood after the initial takeover) remained in the capital after the Wardi forces fucked off overseas, and were executed along with the rest of the installed loyalist government and priests (though it's unlikely that they were involved in any fighting, as the provincial government surrendered after the withdrawal).

Odonii veterans of the invading force have not fared well in the aftermath. Most of those who survived the ambush in which the Odomache was captured have ended up committing honorable suicide due to breaking vows in abandoning their leader in retreat, failing to retrieve her body, and/or being assaulted in capture. More have committed (ostensibly ritual, probably emotionally driven) suicide in the years that followed, with the knowledge that their leader's death and defilement and this severing of God's spirit has brought doom upon their land in the form of an unbroken drought and famine, and that they failed to prevent this. The priestess who was captured alive to witness the Odomache's death and released unharmed to report it was the first.

All this has opened some vacancies in the order's leadership, and given things a very somber tone. It is currently in debate as to whether the ones who died on Finn soil (particularly those who died attempting to retrieve their leader's body) should be canonized as saints or if it's a little too soon for all that.

[callsign-owl]

When Irony pulls the Trigger

Hereford, United Kingdom - March 2019

The sun was just beginning to sink behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the Hereford firing range. The sounds of gunfire echoed in the crisp evening air as Owl focused on the target downrange. Each squeeze of the trigger was met with the sharp crack of the rifle.

Ghost stood a few paces behind Owl, arms crossed over his chest, his balaclava obscuring his expression but not the intensity of his gaze. He watched as Owl lined up another shot, his movements precise, almost mechanical. When Owl finally lowered the rifle with a satisfied girn, Ghost spoke up, his voice calm but carrying an edge of something deeper.

“You’re good, *redacted*. No one can deny that,” Ghost began, stepping closer to stand beside Owl. “But shooting targets on a range is one thing. Shooting a person—taking a life—is something else entirely.” Ghost uncrossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Owl. “You were a doctor,” he said, the statement hanging in the air between them. “You spent years saving lives, fixing what was broken. Do you really think you can pull that trigger when it’s a person in your sights? When it’s a life you’re about to end instead of save?”

Owl didn't even blink, his expression indifferent and his tone nonchalant. “Yeah, I think I can,” he said simply, his eyes meeting Ghost’s without flinching. “I won’t have a problem with it.”

Ghost’s eyes searched Owl’s face for any sign of doubt, but all he found was that same detached confidence that had already unnerved the team during some of his earlier tests. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on either of them—the very hands that had once been used to heal, to save, were now being trained to kill.

Ghost raised an eyebrow. “You say that now, but it's different when you're out there. You don’t think it’ll weigh on you? The shift from saving lives to taking them?”

Owl shrugged, his posture relaxed as he set the rifle down beside him. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Not as much as it probably should,” he admitted, his tone betraying a hint of the darkness that Ghost had sensed in him before.

Ghost studied Owl for a moment, trying to see beyond the calm facade that Owl presented. “Ending a life, it stays with you. No matter how much you try to rationalize it, you can’t escape that.” he said, his tone serious.

Owl met Ghost’s gaze, his expression unwavering. “Maybe for some people,” he replied, his tone still eerily calm. “But I’m not some people. I know what I’m capable of. I’ve already taken one life. I can take another.”

Ghost fell silent, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Owl’s words. The casual way Owl spoke about taking lives was unsettling, even to someone like Ghost who had seen and done more than most men could bear. But there was no doubting the conviction in Owl’s voice, the certainty that he could do what was required of him. Finally, Ghost nodded slowly, accepting Owl’s answer for what it was. “Alright then,” he said quietly. “But just remember—this isn’t just about pulling a triggers. It’s about making the right choices.”

Owl nodded and shrugged, acknowledging Ghost’s words without truly absorbing them. "I’ll keep that in mind," he replied.

Ghost watched him for a moment longer. “We’ll see soon enough once things are actually getting serious for you.” Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man Owl would become once he crossed that final line—if he hadn’t already. The thought lingered in his mind as he watched Owl methodically clean his rifle, each movement precise and controlled, devoid of any emotion.

“*redacted*,” Ghost began again, his voice cutting through the silence, “I’ve seen good men turn into something else entirely after their first kill. It changes you, whether you realize it or not.”

Owl glanced up at Ghost, his hands still holding the rifle. “And you think that I am a good man?” Owl asked, his tone casual, almost conversational.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Ghost knew Owl was testing him, perhaps seeking validation or maybe just trying to gauge the kind of man Ghost thought he was.

“I think you’re a man who’s been through hell, who’s seen more than most,” Ghost finally said, his voice measured. “And I think you’re trying to figure out where you stand in all of it.”

Owl smirked slightly, his expression unreadable. “That’s a very diplomatic answer.”

“It’s the truth,” Ghost replied. “Whether or not you’re a good man—hell, whether any of us are good men—isn’t for me to decide. But what I do know is that the choices you make from here on out will define the kind of man you become.”

Owl considered Ghost’s words, his smirk fading as he absorbed them. He looked down at the rifle in his hands, running his thumb along the barrel. “I’ve already made choices that most people wouldn’t understand,” he said quietly. “Choices that would make some people think I’m not a good man at all.”

Ghost nodded. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But what we do isn’t about being good or bad. It’s about doing what needs to be done, making the hard calls when no one else can. You’re here because Price sees something in you—something that might just be what this team needs.”

Owl looked up again. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—resolve, perhaps, or maybe the ever lingering uncertainty that he couldn’t quite shake. “And what do you see in me?” he asked, his voice low.

Ghost paused, considering the question carefully. “I see someone who’s been pushed to the edge,” he said slowly. “Someone who’s been forced to make impossible choices. But I also see someone who still has the chance to decide who they’re going to be, before it’s too late.”

The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of truth. Owl knew Ghost wasn’t just talking about the missions they would face, but about the personal battles that lay ahead—battles that would test every part of who he was. Owl finally nodded. “I guess we’ll see which way I go,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of finality.

Ghost gave a short, almost imperceptible nod in return. “We will,” he agreed.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

You’re welcome for the questions, got some more for you :)

1: I know puns are the duos favorite type of humor, what’s the duos least favorite type of humor?

2: I know that they are best friends but do they have a second? I can see Jake being 2nd best friends with Robert Long; in my universe that I’m still in the process of making they are 1st best friends ;)

3: what’s Jake’s & mar’is relationship with starfires sister komand’r?

4: let’s say they are allowed to use firearms, what type of guns would they use?

5: in relation to the question above, what’s your opinion about the new rocksteady game where you play task force x to kill the justice league? Imagine if instead you play as the starburst duo, superboy jon kent, & night star instead; instead of killing the league just knocking them out instead.

6: what’s something the duo does that annoys other people? In “canon” Chris does slurp his noodles very loudly.

Apologies for the delays and the lack of answering on time @pin-crusher2000

But here’s a little something I try in can make up for some lost time ;-)

1) Intense Toliet humor, Racially Charged Jokes without any tact or awareness, Shock Value Anti Humor, Overly Long Running Gags where Barely anything happens…Basically a catalogue of jokes one can find in a bad episode or Family Guy or the many knock offs of South Park. Those are the humor types that the Duo would very much like to avoid if they can help it

2) Chris’ second best friend can be either Sin Lance (adoptive daughter of Dinah Lance aka Black Canary) and/or one of his classmates from Hamilton County Middle School who can something of a Jimmy Olsen to his Clark Kent as the two are frequent partners in the school’s own newspaper.

As for Jake, while actually Robbie Long is Mar’i’s second best friend (A next Gen Wonder Twins if you may), his secondary choice for a friend goes mainly to Jasper Logan, the son of Beast Boy and Raven (created by @fireflyxrebel-writes and @hains-mae). The two had met ever since basically when they were toddlers and often stuck close to each other plenty of times in play dates and other hang outs they did.

3) Well as given much thought in many posts like these throughout my blog, the two love their Auntie Blackfire and vice versa. At this point, Kom had more or less reformed away from her villainous actions, akin to the McU Loki reformed in a way by the time of Thor Ragnorak, becoming something of a trickster ally to his brother. That applies also to Kom whom acts as that lovely Aunt who lets the kids in some crazy stories from the past and lets them have some fun behind the parnets’ backs.

4) Hmmm…..a case like this would probably entail something of an AU that has no superpowers, no capes meaning no heroes nor supervillains and the two being of the right age and properly trained to weld these weapons.

Now that’s established; Chris’ main arm would be a small carbine with a semi automatic mode of firing and bullets that can penetrate with precision.

For Jake, his main weapon of choice can be a bolt action rifle which can be fired from very far distances and has a scope that can be attached for aiming at very far away targets.

Again these are if there’s an AU that is No Capes and the Duo are registered adults who proper training and no superpowers. Its picky on my part I know but I feel it’s the best chance circumstances for this ask

5) Now That’ll be a game I’d play for a dollar and then some. If the mechanics of their superpowers are incorporated in place of the weapons and gear Task Force X uses instead and hopefully with an engaging enough story that reads like the good comics they adapt from, it’s a game I can see myself playing

Now if only hopefully it doesn’t come with a plethora of methods the Triple A game industry like to deploy to squeeze real money out of its customers including say Battle Passes, Cosmetic DLC or heaven forbid Loot Boxes

6) Maybe unintentionally on their part, Chris and Jake have a tendency to blurt out some funny voices they make when talking about other people they’ve encountered or TV shows they watched and replay in their minds when in public which certainly can get them some attention.

Otherwise besides Chris’ slurping, I can see Jake practicing some tongue twisters or popping his mouth when he’s bored at a pace and there’s nothing else to entertain himself, like say if his phone is low on battery so he’d not use it

[monowires]

Big profile textpost about my personal canon Shepard! There is a Lot of stuff under the readmore (I added the readmore so that y'all don't have to scroll 3,000ft to get past my post), just warning you.

COMMANDER JOHN SHEPARD

PRONOUNS: he/him | SEXUALITY: Gay | BIRTHDAY: April 11, 2154

AGE: 29 (ME1), 31 (ME2), 32 (ME3)

ORIGIN: Earthborn | BACKGROUND: Sole Survivor | CLASS: Adept

COMBAT ROLE: Long-Range Offensive Support

WEAPON SPECIALIZATIONS: Sniper Rifles (Primary), Assault Rifles & Handguns (Secondary)

DOES NOT USE: SMGs, Shotguns

BIOTIC SKILLS (ITALICIZED = MOST USED; BOLD = MOST PROFICIENT): Backlash, Barrier, Cluster Grenade, Flare, Lash, Pull, Reave, Shockwave, Singularity, Slam, Throw, Warp

NOTE 1: Backlash is a ME:A exclusive skill, but I like it so much (and am somewhat salty about it not being in the trilogy), so in my canon, Shepard knows this skill. I also felt it was unrealistic to confine him to 8 skills; while this is a gameplay mechanic, canonically there technically wouldn't be a limit on skills he can learn.

NOTE 2: He is also capable of deploying a spherical biotic shield (much like the ones deployed by asari, or by Cora in the beginning of ME:A). Because his specialization is long-range offense rather than defense, this exhausts him relatively quickly; it is something he only discovers via protecting his squad in a situation that would've otherwise killed them.

Shepard's combat style differs from that of a Vanguard or even most Adepts in that he prefers to maintain distance. He occupies a support-esque offensive role, backing his squad with sniper fire while deploying his biotics from range. Having trained for many years (both in- and outside of the N7 program), he has a refined control over his biotics and thus is capable of devastating the enemy with biotics regardless of the space between them. His most often used combat method is to deploy a Singularity field from range before picking them off with his sniper rifle.

Originally, Shepard was outfitted with L3 implants. During the Lazarus project, he was equipped with L5x implants. This upgrade allowed him to expand his arsenal of biotic skills. Though he lacked access to Alliance training facilities, he trained himself in these new skills with help from the many biotics aboard the SR-2. It was after his revival that he learned the skills Flare, Reave, and Slam.

MASS EFFECT 1 SPECIFICS:

MORALITY (BEGINNING OF GAME): Paragon (roughly 90% paragon, 10% renegade).

MORALITY (END OF GAME): Paragon (roughly 80% paragon, 20% renegade).

COMBAT DISPOSITION: Pacifist; violently capable, but often disinclined to engage in combat unless given no other choice.

GENERAL DISPOSITION: Though not optimistic to the point of ignorance, Shepard has a relatively bright outlook on his future. He has finally crawled out of the shadow of Akuze and reestablished his footing serving as Lieutenant-Commander on the Normandy SR-1. Though the images given to him by the Prothean beacon leave him troubled, it is more of a motivator than anything; Akuze left him without a sense of purpose, and stopping Saren/the Reapers allows him to have a central focus again.

He does, however, have a ruthless side, holding the mentality that sometimes the only way to get rid of a problem is to get rid of it.

RELATIONSHIPS: Shepard establishes a casual friendship with all of his crew; he does not consider himself a social person, though, and often avoids close relationships. Early on, he does develop a small crush on Kaidan, though it's more of a "wow, he's good looking" than anything else. He becomes close friends with him, growing to trust him outside of their Alliance-related relationship. Though his feelings deepen, both regulations and fear of rejection prevent him from ever acting upon them, and he is content to just be friends.

MAJOR CHOICES:

Recruited all potential companions/allies.

Saved the entire colony on Feros.

Released the Rachni Queen on Noveria.

Spared Balak on X-57.

Talked Wrex down on Virmire.

Saved Kaidan on Virmire.

Kept Kirrahe alive on Virmire.

Told Saren that Sovereign would betray him, avoiding the first half of his boss fight.

Saved the Council.

Chose Anderson as humanity's representative.

LESSER CHOICES:

Killed Fist himself.

Saved Rita's sister.

Intimidated Helena Blake into disbanding her gang.

Disabled the Rogue VI on Earth's Moon.

Hung up on the Council only once, after being challenged/taunted for saving the Feros colony.

Chose Renegade options in Garrus's dialogues.

Gave Tali the Geth data.

Recovered Wrex's family armor.

Completed all smaller assignments (i.e. the collection assignments or smaller tasks pertaining to NPCs).

MASS EFFECT 2 SPECIFICS:

MORALITY (BEGINNING OF GAME): Paragade (roughly 65% paragon, 35% renegade).

MORALITY (END OF GAME): Paragade (roughly 75% paragon, 25% renegade).

COMBAT DISPOSITION: Abrasive; prefers to shoot first, but does not stand for needless violence.

GENERAL DISPOSITION: Working with Cerberus leaves him distrustful, especially after having learned of their involvement with the Akuze disaster. He adopts a pessimistic/realistic viewpoint which contributes to the worsening of his scars. He is a bit more ruthless, often intimidating and/or harming people if they don't give him what he needs (though he doesn't behave violently towards civilians). He is still tethered to his own moral code, but has experienced a drastic upheaval in that he has been stripped of the Alliance identity he's maintained for the past 11 years.

He also somewhat blames himself for the destruction of the SR-1, a fact that is only worsened as the game progresses, since it's shown that Harbinger has a direct interest in him. This causes him to adopt a mindset wherein he feels that the only way to keep his crew safe is by eliminating threats at their source. Because of this, he will often seek revenge and/or refuse to show mercy to his enemies (unless taking revenge would endanger civilians/innocent people, in which case he relents, though it does stress him out to do so).

He has a more positive outlook towards the end of the game, though, when he manages to free himself of the Illusive Man's influence and reminds himself of who he is.

RELATIONSHIPS: Though wounded by Kaidan's distrust on Horizon, he does understand it. However, due to working with Cerberus, he is generally distrustful towards people and thus does not establish a solid support system as he did before. His friendship deepens with both Garrus and Joker, and he finds new friends in Kasumi, Samara, and Thane.

MAJOR CHOICES:

Recruited all potential companions/allies.

Completed all loyalty missions successfully.

Maintained cooperation between all companions.

Installed all Normandy upgrades (aside from the Med-Bay upgrade).

Saved Maelon's data.

Destroyed the Geth heretics.

Saved the entire SR-2 crew from the Collectors.

Destroyed the Collector Base.

Everyone survived the suicide mission.

LESSER CHOICES:

Completed all DLC/lesser assignments.

Sent David to Grissom Academy.

Let Veetor go with Tali.

Got Kal'Reegar to stand down.

Set the memorial at the SR-1 crash site.

MASS EFFECT 3 SPECIFICS:

MORALITY (BEGINNING OF GAME): Paragade (roughly 75% paragon, 25% renegade).

MORALITY (END OF GAME): Renegon (roughly 20% paragon, 80% renegade).

COMBAT DISPOSITION: Violent; shows no weakness or mercy, especially with Cerberus. Does his best to avoid civilian casualties but acknowledges them as often being unavoidable.

GENERAL DISPOSITION: The invasion of the Reapers despite his warnings causes Shepard a great deal of stress. Dealing with his stresses alone while also having his worst fears realized causes him to become more abrasive. As the war progresses, his patience grows thinner and thinner, especially as the expectations placed upon him seem to only grow in magnitude. Hardened by the obvious fact that his word only matters when it conveniences others, he adopts a colder personality. He detaches himself from the war, unable to psychologically handle the stress otherwise, and views things in black and white.

However, he is not evil, and is in fact often overburdened with his own sense of empathy and responsibility. The major shift in his psyche occurs on Thessia, as he holds himself completely responsible for the deaths after his defeat—both on and off the planet. After this defeat, his taste for revenge which began in ME2 grows stronger, as he knows that the only way to truly put things to rest between himself and Kai Leng would be to kill him.

He struggles with his morality, too, as combat inevitably becomes his only outlet; this subsequently causes a subconscious inclination towards violence, as it is one of his only methods of release. He is prone to violent reactions in the face of adversaries, though he does not act without thought (with the exception of the Omega DLC, where he restarted the reactor without hesitation despite the consequences; this was because he refused to allow Cerberus to try and get the upper hand on him again by manipulating his qualities).

NOTE: It's important that I emphasize his shift towards Renegade is a direct result of his traumas/their aftermath. He is not by any means intended to be a "cruel for the sake of it" kind of charcter.

RELATIONSHIPS: Despite his inner turmoil, Shepard actually develops closer relationships over the course of the war, partially because he recognizes that he may never otherwise get the chance. His closest friends are Garrus, Joker, and EDI. He initiates a romantic relationship with Kaidan, which is maintained even after the game's ending.

MAJOR CHOICES:

Chose Paragon options in the conversations with Kaidan on Mars; automatically had his trust by the end of Priority: Citadel (II).

Revealed the Shroud sabotage to Eve and Wrex.

Disabled the Geth fighter squadrons.

Saved Admiral Koris.

Brokered peace between the Geth and the Quarians.

Saved the Rachni Queen a second time.

Achieved the Destroy Ending with necessary TMS to get the bonus scene, thus confirming his survival.

LESSER CHOICES:

Rescued Grissom Academy's students.

Saved Samara on Lesuss.

Killed both his clone and Brooks in the Citadel DLC.

Held a revenge-driven/hostile attitude during the Omega DLC.

Restarted the reactor (Renegade interrupt) during the Omega DLC.

[retphienix]

Not to regurgitate the same "the nerfs have not been healthy or reasonably considered in Helldivers 2" talking points but man.

In isolation, just one thing among a sea of things, I hate what they've done to the Eruptor so much.

So I'm gonna vent it for my own sake and nothing more.

That thing was the shining point of success from its warbond- a warbond that has the immaculate grenade pistol of all things- and this STILL took the spotlight for me because it felt so good, different, and fun.

It was a weapon that traded ergonomics and ROF and safety (can't shoot close targets etc) for AMAZING stopping power, hitting many breakpoints that no other weapon has in the entire game!

You could one shot scouts from the front! Just tap em, no need to go around or shoot from 'slightly' above to hit their head!

You could one shot devastators TO THE CHEST!

You could take out MULTIPLE berserkers with ONE SHOT! Or guarantee a one-shot by hitting their stomach!

You could dent groups of enemies with the AOE, often wiping all the fodder enemies with one well placed explosion of shrapnel!

You could severely damage many objective style targets like turret towers!

ALL THIS- WITHOUT BEING OVERTUNED OR THE BEST OPTION! IT HAD GIVE AND TAKE IN ITS PERFORMANCE!!!!!!!!!!!

But some random exploit (that I never heard about until AFTER the nerfs, conveniently enough) let it hurt Chargers a "little too much" (reasonable, fix that then- without nerfing it to garbage). No real word on how it's pretty garbage against bugs otherwise- it hurt chargers too much, nerf it to hell I guess.

And out of nowhere the balance team starts claiming that people were "Upset about friendly fire" ??????? So they remove the unique shrapnel that did like 80% of the damage and then buffed the weak piddly baby explosion damage a tiny notch up from "nothing" to "still nothing".

The fucking thing is gutted.

It had purpose!

It was REASONABLE in its strength!

It had UNIQUE USE CASES that you PAID FOR through its various WEAKNESSES!!!!

It wasn't magically the strongest and best thing in the entire game! It just had PURPOSE!

And now it's a garbage version of the dominator, a weapon I bet they'll nerf to trash tier soon if they don't fully reconsider their balance direction.

Between the buffs they keep slapping on enemies the second we find a way to uniquely interact with them-

(like scouts- you used to be able to manage your loadout to include explosions to more easily take them out, but that's not the Arrowhead Balance Team Approved method of going around and shooting from behind so take a slap on the wrist and a buff to their explosive resist- wouldn't want weapons like the scorcher having purpose now would we)

-and the countless times anything that works better than the starting pistol gets nerfed, we just don't have fun stuff that works differently anymore.

Just "Here's the med armor pen rifle equivalent or the Sickle for fodder. Here's the autocannon. Here's the AMR. Bring your EATs." yay

Hell, this is a post about the gutted Eruptor but there's another thing- we lack variety in how to approach so many targets since every weapon that hits different break points or handles differently in an interesting way gets nerfed to shit- but EVEN THE BORING BASIC OPTIONS get nerfed if they become too reliable- like the quasar getting a nearly 20 second round turn around adjustment because they were upset people were choosing the "Slower rocket that doesn't take a backpack" over the "Backpack rocket that has such a fucking terrible ROF without team reload (a mechanic they severely need to adjust to be actually worth doing and not a built in nerf) that you might as well take the quasar even with the huge nerf because you at least get a backpack slot with that thing".

Cool >:(

At least the flamethrower is finally good. It's still a support weapon that can't take out a ton of units that our primary weapons ALSO can't take out requiring you to rely on strikes that a lot of missions will punish you for relying on through modifiers or weather effects (I like the weather but failure to let our loadouts serve themselves does shine a flaw in them) so woops to that but at least it's finally serving a purpose by taking out groups and chargers fast.

[a-rebellious-waffle]

Short version: It depends on what you're killing.

Long version: Is it heavily armored? Lightly armored? Are they well-organized and trained, or are they pox zombies? What environment are we talking? What's the mission? Deployment method?

I'll go over a few and list their ups and downs, and I'll be using Chaos Astartes as my enemy of choice.

If we're talking heavily-armored enemies, then you really don't want a lasgun. But if you only have a choice between lasgun variants, best thing you can do is choose a Hellgun, which technically isn't a pattern of lasgun so much as a lasgun with the power setting turned to the maximum but that tends to melt normal lasguns so you need a big fucking battery and special cooling to get more than one shot. The Tempestus Scions love these.

The next tier down, if you can even say that, is the Lucius-pattern Lasgun. These are standard issue for the Death Korps of Krieg, and are a bit more powerful than the "average" lasgun ("average" tends to be the Kantrael), but this comes at the cost of worse ammo efficiency. That really tends to be the tradeoff with lasguns; the more powerful it is, the fewer shots you get.

Next tier down is, in my opinion, the Kantrael MGt. This is a variant of the Kantrael with a lot of little improvements, like better ergonomics and a better ammunition display: little things that make it slightly better than their standard cousin, the Kantrael MG. It sees a lot of use in Hive Tertium.

The Kantrael MG is the standard pattern of the Cadians, and therefore the Militarum at large. They're... average in all regards, honestly, but don't take that as a bad thing. Too little ammo, you can't stay in the fight. Too much ammo, especially with lasguns, and your rounds do fuck-all. Too heavy, and you can't move, too light and you're probably missing key components like a decent sight or heat-shielding. It's not a bad pattern by any means.

Next up, the Voss-pattern, used extensively by the Armageddon Steel Legion. It's okay, but I'm docking points for using a wire-frame stock, because those things... ugh. Terrible. They do, at least, have the option of folding that stock, which makes it a bit better for close-quarters and a bit easier to transport; pretty important for the heavily-mechanized Steel Legion.

One down, we have a personal favorite of mine: the Mark III Lascarbine. Lascarbines are a little different from lasguns, in much the same way that a real world carbine is different from a rifle; they're similar but not the same. A lascarbine, in comparison to a lasrifle, is easier to aim and lighter, but has a shorter range and worse ammo capacity. This particular variant is used by the Tanith First-and-Only, better known as Gaunt's Ghosts, which is why it's one of my favorites. Also, it has a banana magazine, which I personally like.

Then, there's the Mark IV Lascarbine. Not much to say on this one; it's a lascarbine designed for jungle warfare, and it doesn't have the nalwood of Mark IIIs, but it is fairly cheap and capable.

Then, at the bottom tier, my personal least favorite: the Accatran-pattern. The fucking Accatran. Now, to its credit, this thing is very good for drop troops, and it is primarily used by the Elysian Drop Troops, who wanted a light, easy-to-carry, easy-to-use rifle for close-quarters. The Accatran is all of that: easy to carry, easy to aim with, easy to hip-fire, good in close-quarters, and light. It also has a flashlight on it, powered by the power pack with functionally zero power draw. My personal issue with it is that it's a bullpup. Bullpup rifles do exactly one thing well; they're short, so they're pretty good for close-quarters combat. In order to do this, they place the magazine behind the trigger, which makes the rifle complicated to make, difficult to clean, and awkward to reload, without any other real upsides beyond being short.

There are two other variants of note that I can't really lump in with lasrifles because they're extremely different in use.

First up, the longlas. This is a sniper rifle that never seems to ever have any variants. No clue why. That being said, it's a sniper rifle. It shoots you from very far away. It's good at what it does, and what it does is shoot you from very far away. Don't try and use it against anyone closer than ten meters.

The other one is this utter clusterfuck I found called the Shotlas, which is a fucking shotgun-lasgun hybrid. I can only assume the Tech-Priests that made this were high on a mixture of holy oils, incense, malware and cocaine. This thing is... a trip. It uses three barrels to fire three shots at once, which spread out over distance and decohere rapidly, so it's very short range. My first question about this thing is, "Why?" Who made this, and why did they think it was a good idea? My second question is, did they forget to properly align the barrel so it fires straight? It is an absolute trip to consider why this thing even exists and I never want to learn more about it.

Best/worst lasgun?

I do not know enough about this subject to answer.

There might be someone here that does, but not me.

[howtofightwrite]

Question. Blackpowder weapons. How bad was the smoke and the noise? Would it be a choking hazard indoors or just a mild annoyance? Deafen anyone within 10 feet? I imagine stealth would go out the window as soon as the weapon goes off, but I have heard that ninjas used firearms in assassinations and wondered if you had any insight into that as well. Blackpowder and smoothbore muskets as sniping weapons if it would not be better to just stick to crossbows or bows for that instead of the loud booksticks with an egregiously long reload time.

Black powder firearms are a bit messy. It's not clean burning powder, and that does result in a lot of smoke coming off the gun after firing. It would never be so sever that your vision would be obstructed after a single shot, however, if you line up 20 or 30 soldiers, and have them fire in alternating volleys, the cumulative smoke produced could be blinding.

There's some other side effects of this as well. A major factor is that because black powder produces less pressure, the resulting gunshot isn't as loud as a modern firearm cartridge. You'll still know someone is shooting, but it's not loud enough to damage your hearing if you get into a gunfight. (At least, when I fired a black powder rifle in Scouts, we did not use hearing protection. Some of that could be due to it being 25 years ago, but, as it was my first experience with a firearm, I didn't really understand the sound difference.)

Even a modern, smokeless powder cartridge, won't deafen everyone within 10 feet of it. That kind of damage is reserved for explosive charges, concussion grenades, things of that nature. Being in close proximity to a gunshot, without hearing protection (particularly in a closed space) can result in hearing damage, but you're not going to be deafened on the spot. Now, being in a modern gunfight without hearing protection will likely result in some degree of hearing loss down the line, and can easily result in medical issues, such as a persistent headache that persists for days.

As for, "why the gun?" you're missing key details. Training archers on the bow was extremely time consuming. The aphorism was, that you would spend a lifetime creating a single skilled archer. Also, bows, in medieval warfare were used as more of a general (fire in that area) method for dealing with infantry, rather than being analogous to a marksman.

Crossbows are much easier to learn, but they are also significantly more expensive, and mechanically complex. Ironically, crossbows did have their time as military weapons. For over a thousand years, crossbows saw extensive battlefield use various places in the world.

Even as the firearm gained popularity in Europe, the crossbow held on into the early modern era. Throughout the 15th century, it would have been reasonable to encounter a well equipped European army that employed a mix of gunpowder and crossbow units.

Ultimately, the problem for the crossbow was that the gun is very easy to use, easy to transport, and relatively sturdy. Over time, it became the better option for an infantry weapon.

As for ninjas using firearms? I don't know anything on that subject, but it wouldn't surprise me. Ninjas were notoriously opportunistic, and even a fairly primitive black powder handgun is an excellent way of immediately eliminating a samurai. While Japan would eventually (effectively) regulate firearms out of existence during the Edo period, between the introduction of the gun to Japan in 1543, and the mid 17th century, where the technology was embraced. While it conflicts with the stereotypical image of the Ninja, Japan in the late sixteenth century boasted a thriving gun culture, and the idea that a ninja would simply shoot their target and leave, is actually pretty plausible.

-Starke

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[movieexpert1978]

Oooh if you’re still doing fanfic prompts, would you write anything for Doc Ock? Cause I would like to request the hurt/comfort part 2 either 4 or 8 with him

Hello anon !!! I finally got a story written for you!!! I hope you enjoy it. I went with #4 "You don't have to be so brave when you're with me." The list is posted by @creativepromptsforwriting

There is some angst here, mention of character death, violence, blood and swearing. The perfect Doc Ock fic, lol. I hope you enjoy it.

Different Stages

She had met him more by accident when she had just finished a job. She was tucking her rifle away when she heard a constant thudding. It reminded her of the T-rex arrival in Jurassic Park. She kept her gun out as he arrived. She had seen the papers and he was the infamous Doctor Octopus as they had labeled him. Two mechanical arms were on the ground while the other two hung around his shoulders protectively.

“Are you going to shoot me?” He asked curiously.

“No, I don’t kill people for free.” She shrugged, lowering the rifle. He took off his sunglasses to look at her.

“You don’t look like an assassin.” He said.

“I know Doctor. That’s why I do it.” She smiled. An eyebrow arched curiously at her comment. “So just passing through?” She asked.

“Actually yes.”

“Well Doctor I won’t keep you. Have a nice day.” She said before leaving.

“Yes that was weird.” Otto said to the arms. There a few more encounters like that until he finally got her one quiet night.

“Are you stalking me Doctor?” She teased.

“Call me Otto.” He answered. “And…yes I supposed I am because I would like to know your name.”

“Call me Evee.” She answered.

“Like the Pokémon?” He asked surprised.

“Oh nice…you’re a bigger nerd than I thought.” She smirked.

“I’ve got a lot more time on my hands.” He shrugged.

“My full name is Evelyn, but I prefer Evee since I always have to change my look at times for a job.” She said, showing a wig. Her hair was short but had some dark orange highlights in it.

“Why the orange?”

“Fall is my favorite season.”

“It’s September.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re a Christmas person?” She huffed.

“No I prefer summer.” He stated.

“Hey if they can do fucking Christmas in July and have Christmas trees out at the end of September then I sure as hell can do my Halloween at the start of August.” She said defensively. Otto let out a genuine good belly laugh.

“Fair enough. That’s true.” He chuckled as he walked closer to her on his own legs.

“Why the sunglasses?”

“My eyes were damaged in an accident.”

“Oh that failed energy fusion thing?” She asked.

“Yes.” He nodded quietly. He noticed her eyes were an interesting shade of green. The arms stared at her curiously as well. One inched up to her and she held out her hand. It nudged it and she traced her fingertips along the metal.

“Are they alive?” She asked.

“In a sense yes, artificial intelligence.” He explained. “They’re surprised you’re not scared of them.” He added.

“I’ve seen people do a lot worse.” She shrugged.

“Is this your style, hanging on roof tops and shooting people?”

“It’s the most effective method.” She answered. “And I’m quite good at it.” She winked. “Can they come off?” She asked pointing to the arms.

“No.” He turned around and showed her the outer spinal column that had been fused into his spine. “That happened during the accident too.” He said before he turned around.

“Ouch, I’m sorry.” She said with sympathy, but he only shrugged.

“I can do a lot more now.” He said. “So Evee, do you live in the city?” He asked.

“Why ? You want a date?” She teased. He actually blushed.

“No, I just wanted to ask since we keep running into each other.” He said quickly.

“Well yes I do.” She smirked. She took out a notepad and wrote something on it. She walked over and put it in his coat pocket. “If you ever want to drop by.” She winked before she left.

Xxxxxxx

The October chill was starting to come and things were getting wet with the rain as well. Evee had finished another job and she started to walk home. Her rifle concealed in it’s long back pack. She stopped and sniffed the air. “Mmmm…rain is coming.” She said. She also noticed the smell of bad after shave as she started walking again. She knew she was being followed as the rain started to fall. She walked down a few back alleys she knew and tucked her rifle in a corner she knew wouldn’t be disturbed. She walked calmly as her other two guns hung on her hips under her long jacket. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps. She wouldn’t be surprised if more people pooped out so she had to keep her eyes open.

“Fuck it.” She whispered to herself. She spun around with her guns and started shooting. She took out two before more men charged at her from the sides. She ducked and spun around one guy, using him as a shield as his companions still fired and killed him. Evee got off a few more shots before she was punched at from behind. She growled as she grabbed his arms and elbowed him right in the face and broke his nose. He shouted in pain as she shot him in the head. Evee shouted when one man plunged a knife deep in her hip and dragged it to make her bleed.

“Fucker!” She shouted and punched him right in the throat. He started gasping for breath as she shot him. A few more shots and the group was finally down, leaving her breathing hard. “Fuck!” She gritted as she stared at the infernal knife. She couldn’t take it out until she got to her apartment because that’s where her medical kit was. She was limping badly as she made her way back home and finally closed the door behind her. She stumbled into her bedroom and yanked the comforter off. It wasn’t the first time she had nights like this and it made her invest in black bed sheets to help deal with the blood. She got into a tang top and cut her pants off before grabbing the medical kit.

“What happened?” Someone spoke. Evee grabbed the knife at her nightstand and threw it. It was easily knocked out of the way by one of the arms.

“Otto…fuck…sorry…act first…think later.” She sighed.

“No hard feelings.” He said as he came over to her. “What happened?” He asked again.

“Got jumped by a few pros. They didn’t make it.” She smiled.

“Is this normal for you?” He asked.

“Happens at least once a year. People do it to cover their tracks or just want to get rid of the completion.” She shrugged. He couldn’t believe she was so casual about the whole thing, not to mention the knife still in her. “You wouldn’t happen to be a medical doctor too?” She asked with a smirk.

“I have picked up a few more medical skills. Could I tell you if you hit a vein? No. Could I stitch that up if you asked me…yes.” He stated.

“Thank you.” She sighed. He took his coat and gloves off, along with his sunglasses and rolled up his sleeves. “I’m not going to talk you through it.” She said.

“I don’t need you too.” He replied.

“Good, because I’m taking a shot of morphine.” She said as she dug through the bag.

“You’ve got morphine in there?” He gasped.

“Yeah, never leave home without it.” She grinned.

“Easy.” He said taking her hand. She looked at him and for the first time since they fight was she able to finally catch her breath. “You don’t have to be so brave when you’re with me.” He said gently.

“Thank you Otto.” She rasped quietly. After a few moments he helped her take her shot and laid her down on the bed. “Next time we have to have dinner first.” She mumbled before she fell asleep.

Xxxxxxx

She woke up with a hiss of throbbing pain in her leg. She looked down and saw a blanket on her. She pulled it off a bit and saw her wound all bandaged up. She looked at it puzzled for a moment as she started to remember last night.

“Thank you Otto.” She sighed.

“You’re welcome.” He answered as he came into the room. She looked up to see him holding a plate of breakfast for her. While one the arms held a gall of orange juice for her.

“Awww.” She smiled weakly as he came over to her. “Hey can you hand me that aspirin bottle please?” She said pointing. Another arm handed it to her and she couldn’t help but giggle. “They’re so cute once you get used to them.” She said.

“They say thank you.” He said. She took her pills and started eating.

“Thank you for your help last night Otto.” She said quietly.

“You’re welcome Evee.” He smiled.

“Can you…can you stay with me for a little bit…please?” She asked almost like a frightened child.

“Of course.” He nods and sits next to her. After she finished her food she snuggles up to him and he doesn’t question it.

“Did you eat already?” She mumbled.

“Yes. Your apartment is very nice. I’m guessing you own it?”

“Yup.” He started rubbing her back and she hummed softly. The aspirin helped with her throbbing leg. She felt warm and safe in his arms. She couldn’t help but cling to him a bit more tightly.

“Are you ok? You’re tense.” Otto said.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt safe with someone.” She answered honestly. She looks up at him again as he gazes at her. “I know that probably sounds weird coming from me right?” She laughed weakly.

“No.” He said shaking his head. “I’m glad you feel safe with me.” He smiles. She leans in a little closer and so does he. She’s hesitant to go further, but he does it for her. He gently kisses her and she eagerly responds to his touch. She moans softly against his mouth as he lays her back down while his hands cup her face. When he finally pulls away her vision is blurry as she tries to catch her breath. “Evee what’s wrong? You’re crying. Did I hurt you?” He asks concerned.

“N-no.” She says, surprised that’s she’s crying. “It’s just…it’s been a while since I’ve felt a connection with someone.” She admits.

“I understand.” He nods. “I lost my wife, Rosie, in the accident. I thought it was all over…but they…talked to me.” He said pointing to the arms. “And then I kept running into this assassin who named herself after a Pokémon.” He laughed. She couldn’t help but join in.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime.” Evee teased. Otto leaned into her again and gave her another tender kiss.

“Can I stay here for a little bit…please?” Otto whispered. She could hear the pleading in his voice.

“Of course you can.” She smiled. Otto pulled her back into his embrace gently. The arms wrapped around Evee carefully and protectively. She felt him kiss the top of her head before she fell back to sleep to the hum of the metal and the beating of his strong heart.

AN: Just in case, Pokémon isn't mine along with Doc Ock.

[nagisasstunningpersonality]

Korosuu Translation - Chapter Three

Sorry, I know it's been a while. Actually, this chapter was super long so I took a very extended break from this entire thing. But I'm back now. If you're new here, this is OFFICIAL content! It's an untranslated (so far) short story, you can find chapters one and two here. I do also need to put out a trigger warning for this one as it involves some voyeurism.

Mirror Time

“Oh right… it seems like there’s a possibility.” Chiba returned to his own desk, and took out his notebook, writing utensils, and a triangle ruler. Chiba started to explain to Hayami, who was stood in front of his desk looking down at his notebook, whilst looking at the diagram. “When you hit the wall with a bullet, it flies out at the same angle as it flies in. Like this.”

[Illustration] A diagram of a sphere bullet ricocheting off a wall. The angle between the bullet and the wall before hitting the wall (incident angle) is the same as the angle between the bullet and the wall when it flies out (reflection angle).

“If you aim without Korosensei noticing, it seems like you can’t do it with a single ricochet.”

At Hayami’s words, Chiba nods whilst writing another line in his notebook. “That’s right. At least twice, but preferably three times or more, but if it ricochets too much the error will increase, and the momentum will drop. We might have to experiment with how many times it’s practical.”

“So, how do you aim for that? I get how to do it once, but I can’t really imagine twice or more.”

[rest will be under the cut, this chapter's long]

Whilst holding his mechanical pencil, Chiba leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “That’s the problem. For example, in order to hit the target I’ve written here twice, you have to calculate the points that satisfy this diagram.”

[Illustration] An experiment conducted by Chiba to see if it is possible to snipe the target as inferred by the article. By solving the graphic problem as shown in this diagram, it is possible to deduce the point of the wall to aim at in order to hit the target with a bullet.

Whilst he was speaking, Chiba drew a number of right angled triangles on the diagram.

Hayami looked at the diagram and frowned a little. “What’s this? I have to solve this every time?”

“Solving it is necessary,” Chiba replied, and then began to calculate the first position to hit the bullet.

With a sideways glance, Hayami turned to the back of the classroom, where the black metal box usually stood.

“This kind of problem, we could figure it out right away with Ritsu.”

The Autonomous Thinking Fixed Gun Unit AI (classmate) – which is called Ritsu by Class 3E, has been removed since the beginning of the week for maintenance. It’s only for two or three days, but it’s the first time the whole body has been taken out and maintained.

“Even so, I don’t want to rely on her.” Chiba checked the problem he had solved many times, took out the airsoft pistol from his bag, and then stood up. “This is an assassination to see how much I can do as a sniper. I feel like I have to think for myself.”

“Huh? Well, I don’t know.”

“So, Hayami, I want you to place the target in the exact location shown in this diagram.”

Chiba said it simply, but actually aiming was quite troublesome. After accurately measuring the distance with a measuring tape brought from the store room and positioning it, a desk is placed there and a yellow balloon that looks like Koro Sensei is attached.

[Illustration] How to ricochet to a Korosensei balloon…

Chiba had to determine his own standing position and the point at which the bullet would hit first.

“This is bad, can you call move to the window?” After all the work was done, Chiba called out to his friends in the classroom.

With faces full of interest, everyone moves towards the window as they were told, and Chiba squeezes the pistol’s trigger in the direction of the X mark that’s written in chalk on the blackboard. The bullet that was fired hit the blackboard and ricocheted off with a dry sound, then rebounded off the wall on the corridor side, before it headed for the target in the back of the classroom.

The first shot was more than a meter off. The second one was about 30cm. The third and forth shots also missed but not as badly as the first one, and the fifth one hit.

“You did it!”

The classmates who were watching cheered as the balloon broke with a banging sound. But, Chiba’s facial expression didn’t match the mood.

“What’s wrong? Is it that you can get more accuracy if you aim a rifle from a vantage sniping position?”

In response to Hayami’s words, Chiba shook his head. “No, that’s not the case. I knew I could do it this way, but… the problem is that,” Chiba pointed to the blackboard, “it takes too much time to figure out the point with the current method. Actually, there’s also height differences, so we have to do the same calculation in the vertical direction.”

[Illustration] In reality it’s necessary for the sniper to consider height differences. In the case that the sniper and the target are different heights, the ricochet snipe will follow such a trajectory.

[Plain view] A view of the room looking down from above.

[Elevated view] A sideways view. A three dimensional route that seems complicated can be simplified in this way by breaking it down into a plain view and an elevated view.

Takebayashi, who was listening, sighed. “Isn’t it double the work? Isn’t that even more unrealistic?”

“What if you do the calculation first, then everyone can guide Korosensei?” Nakamura said.

Chiba shook his head. “There are two problems with that. One is that you can’t guide the target the way you want. Especially when it comes to such a sever shooting like this, even the slightest misalignment isn’t good.”

Hayami nodded. “It’s not easy for Chiba to make such fine adjustments at this range. What’s the other thing?”

“I want to try and do this assassination without anyone’s help. I also said it before but, it’s kind of a stubbornness thing.”

“Is that right?”

Chiba looked down at the notebook on the desk. “The legendary sniper actually serves a number of moving targets. In other words, they’re aiming in the shortest amount of time they can. That’s something like a method we’re unaware of, or I wonder if there’s a special calculation trick.”

When he said that, Chiba was hit on the shoulder, and raised his head.

Okajima is standing there with a grin. “When you said that, I felt like I realised something!” Okajima gave a big thumbs up and a fearless smile as he said so, looking suspicious in front of Chiba and Hayami.

“Come on boys, get out!”

The fifth class of the day was a PE Class. The classroom is occupied by the girls, and the boys are kicked out into the corridor to change clothes.

“Sometimes I want the boys to do it before. B-because I’ll always only just make it.” Shiota Nagisa complains, stood with a rolled up PE uniform under his arm.

“What are you talking about, Nagisa? It’s fine, this our time to face our fated challenge.”

“Okajima kun, don’t you think it’s irresponsible to do this method by trial and error?”

Ignoring Nagisa’s strained smile, Okajima took a small mirror out of his pocket with a strangely calm expression. Additionally, he also took out a selfie stick.

“Hey you, isn’t that what the girls beat the hell out of us for using the other day??”

Whilst Terasaka Ryouma was gazing at him dumbfoundedly, Okajima tore up some adhesive tape into small pieces and started to attach the mirror to the tip of the selfie stick.

“Well, look. It was a mistake to hold it in a position the girls could see. This time, it’ll be perfect.”

“Isn’t this only adding more flaws to a plan full of holes…?” Said Kimura Justice.

“Hehe, look at it,” Okajima extended the selfie stick smoothly, and started to explain with a calm facial expression. “Well, while the girls are changing clothes, the windows on the corridor side are covered with dark curtains. Therefore, you can’t see what’s inside as it is but-“

“No, it seems that the curtains are there to stop us seeing.”

Ignoring whoever’s voice pointed that out, Okajima continues. “By some blessing, there’s just one small gap in the top window due to a slack in the curtain. The other day I was found by holding a mirror directly here, but today I won’t repeat the same mistake.”

“Then what will you do?”

After turning a fearless smile to Terasaka, who was tired of his face, Okajima held his selfie stick over his head.

“A while ago, when Chiba and the others were trying to shoot, I was secretly setting up the mirror in the classroom. I was pinpointed by the story of the ricochet. One mirror will soon be exposed, but many more mirrors are placed so subtly that no matter how vigilant the girls are, they won’t notice they’re being peeped through.”

[Illustration] Okajima’s new voyeur method, which improves on the experience found using mirrors for voyeurism and relays it with multiple mirrors so it will not be noticed. In principle, no matter how many mirrors you use, what you see from here can be seen by the other party.

“Ah-….. I thought that was the case,” Kimura showed a forced smile.

“Maybe this was in the calculation – huh?”

Okajima looked up at the mirror, frowned at him, and moved his selfie stick slightly. “Okay, I saw it!”

Okajima smiled in gratification, did a small triumphant pose, and deliberately took a compact digital camera out of his pocket with his free hand.

“What’s that?” Nagisa pointed a finger with a dumbfounded look on his face.

Okajima answered with a grin. “As you’d expect, I couldn’t bring out a camera. That would be just like talking loudly in the corridor about taking voyeur photos. That’s why I always carry a point-and-shoot with me in case of these situations. Please pay attention to the point that I don’t compromise with a smart phone.”

No one was listening to that, but Okajima completely disregarded the air in the room and released the shutter.

FLASH!

The camera’s strobe flashed and emitted a small sound.

“Oops, I wouldn’t usually make this kind of mistake,” Okajima said as he turned off the strobe and released the shutter again.

“O-KA-JI-MA!”

The door of the classroom opened forcefully, and the girls in their PE uniforms jumped out at once.

“Agh!”

With a well-coordinated move, the girls cut off any way for Okajima to escape. Okajima shouted with a half cracked voice whilst he was being pulled down on the spot and kicked with terrifying dexterity.

“W-why did I get exposed? The plan should have been perfect!”

“We could see the light from your strobe!” Kataoka looked down at Okajima with a dangerous expression on her face.

“That’s forbidden, Okajima kun.”

At the voice, the girls turn around and look over their shoulders. Standing in front of the open door was Koro Sensei holding a steaming paper bag from his open mouth.

“The idea isn’t bad. It’s not bad, but don’t forget that what you can see through the mirror, you can see from the other side as well. Additionally, if you use a camera’s flash, you may as well be saying ‘please notice me!’.”

After putting up with that speech, the girls shouted all at once. “Why do you look so self-important, you shameless teacher!”

“What kind of motive is there for suddenly coming in through the window when we’re changing!” Kataoka glares at Koro Sensei whilst pulling out a knife for the enemy teacher.

“Niyu, nyuya?! It’s a misunderstanding! I’m trying to inform distorted people like Okajima kun!”

“There’s no use in arguing!”

Moving with all their practised skills, the girls simultaneously held their weapons at the ready for their enemy teacher. They attacked a cowering Koro Sensei by firing BB bullets and using their special anti-sensei material knives.

“That’s why it’s a misunderstanding – hya, my shopping bag tore, and the bao buns I bought with great trouble are-“

Koro Sensei broke out into Mach speed and escaped.

Nagisa muttered. “Bao buns… ah, Koro Sensei was in Shanghai today.”

“Gee, what is this?”

In the background, Okajima, who had footprints all over his body, looked at the compact camera monitor and frowned. When Terasaka, who was standing close, looked into it, the photograph was the figure of Koros Sensei with an armful of the bao buns in a paper bag, pulling a peace sign in the direction of the camera.

-End-

The locker room talk really spoke for itself, huh?

[weirdponytail]

How modern is everything in MIC? Like what technology do they have? Plus, what does dragon armor look like in this universe, I’m really curious, lol?

Haha, once again that’s a sort of difficult question that needs to be answered!! Buckle in, folks. Sorry the post got so damn long!

Modern Inheritance Cycle is a bit of a misnomer, really. Technology varies pretty widely, so I can’t point to a chunk of our history and say ‘iz like that!’ for MIC. I’ll do my best to give a general overview.

Big things are that fossil fuel engines do not exist. Planes, automobiles, etc, do not and will not exist in MIC. Horses and walking are still the main travel methods. Both swords and guns are used. In the Broddring Empire, the most technologically advanced computers are those box computers from the late 90s early 2000s. Somehow, MP3 players exist, but not the sleek ones we know now (Eragon has one that he keeps on his person at all times). There is some difference between the level of computer tech humans have when looking at the Empire and Surda. Elves and dwarves have their own levels of tech that are more advanced. Radios are a thing, but for communication and entertainment/news, and again differ somewhat between races. 

Also, big note that my friend Cor brought to my attention: My dumbass completely forgot about the Urgals and figuring out their levels of tech. It’s low, mostly due to combat focused and rather secluded (iirc) lifestyles. 

Alright, let’s get down to specifics.

Handheld Weapons: While guns are a thing (modern, right here, right now guns), they haven’t taken over swords and other bladed weapons completely. Heck, swords are still a major part of the series! Close combat is done with swords, while guns are usually pistols, rifles, etc, used mid to long range. Things like AKs and very large magazine automatics aren’t very common, but burst fire and semi auto are okay. Examples: Arya and Brom both carry pistols and occasionally a long gun or combat rifle of some sort, while Murtagh has a specialized rifle he uses. Fäolin was a trained sniper. It’s sort of up in the air really. I add them when I feel like it. 

Large Weapons: As mentioned in my MIC Dwarves post (LINKED), dwarves developed some artillery type weapons and small tanks (WW2 levels at the highest), run on magic energy. This energy is usually stored in mid to low quality minerals and crystals and can be replenished either via putting your life energy into it, or (and this is something new, I’m not sure if it’s going to stay or not) channeling the resulting energy release from basic exothermic chemical reactions into the crystals, though this is only a thing that dwarves know how to do and they are NOT sharing that information.

Armor: Oddly enough, Kevlar isn’t really prevalent. There’s still enough of a focus on hand to hand sword fighting that there’s mixes of other materials that could deflect sword blows with materials that can dissipate the impact of projectiles. Dwarves are the best to look to for their lightweight metal alloys for this purpose, and Saphira’s armor is the pinnacle of that technological achievement. I’m rusty (HA!) on my metallurgy and aramid fiber applications info, so you’ve sparked my urge to do some research. I’ve not figured out a good dragon armor design yet, but when I do I’ll definitely draw some up!

Oh, more armor! Elves have perfected spidersilk armor, and when properly mixed with metals or aramid weaves it creates fantastically resistant cloth and plating. Arya’s jacket, mentioned plenty of times in MIC stories, is made of this spidersilk cloth mixture. It’s stopped bullets before, and is pretty resistant to cutting from nearly everything but a Rider’s sword or other crazy rule breaking/bending magic. Arya’s armor in my original ‘The Soldier’ drawing is also spidersilk, though it’s more spidersilk alloy plate. If you see anything that’s a mottled texture, mottled blue or blue grey in my MIC art, that’s had spidersilk added to it. Elvish armor (and even some weapons) relies on it heavily. 

Elves tend to have the ‘highest’ level of tech, but it’s mostly due to an abundance of magic, time, and knowledge in other fields that lead to strange new inventions. They don’t develop it often, as it’s mostly a fleeting hobby, but when they do implement it with their magic it can be pretty dang cool. Glenwing studied, among his mental health and medical training, electrical engineering type things and thus knows how to rewire both nerves and devices. Rhunön is quite adept at working magic into her forging, as well as mechanical and electrical (sort of) work. When Glen loses his arm in the ambush, Rhunön is the one that makes a prosthetic for him that sort of ends up being like Fullmetal Alchemist Automail, but without the painful surgical requirements. It requires only the same amount of energy that movement and actions with muscle and tissue would require with his real arm, so it is linked to his own energy. Arya, meanwhile, picks up a lot of mechanical engineering from bothering Rhunön as a kid and gets even more experience with it via dwarvish tech, weapons sabotage, and ‘use everything till it falls apart’ forced rationing with the Varden, leading to a combination of her and Glen’s skills to create their squad’s special radios that are mentioned in a few of the MIC stories.

Dwarves are the most mechanically inclined and, again, use energy storing crystals very frequently in their creations. I think it’s mentioned in my dwarf post that many many households have items and tools that house these crystals. I go more in depth with the post I mentioned so that’s probably where you’ll get the most info.

Humans are kinda stuck. Galbatorix tends to draw from things reported on/seen while fighting against other forces and has his people develop from those. Military weapons have been the main focus, so there’s not much in the way of computers or that kind of stuff. Those old box computers are usually only used in businesses that can afford them for finances and the like. As for artillery, the Broddring Empire has developed ‘cannonbombs,’ artillery shells that are clusterbombs inside an outer shell that can be on a timed fuse for detonation before impact or explode on impact and releases several more explosives (If you want a better explanation, check out MIRV grenades from from the Borderlands games). They’re the bane of trench fighters.

Meanwhile, in Surda, computers are a little smaller! Due to the hot climate, Surdans learned to make more efficient cooling systems and were able to make them smaller and more compact, leading to an explosion of research into making the rest of the equipment smaller as well. They’ve moved on to tower+flat monitor type computers. Surda is more interested in chemical engineering and tech towards the center of the kingdom, while defensive tech and development takes precedence along the border for obvious reasons. 

Even though humans seem to have gotten the short end of the stick, I always want to mention that in MIC, humans are the most ingenious, able to use, reuse and repurpose due to their ‘limitations’ when side by side with other races. They think outside and all over the box, occasionally cutting the material of the box to see if they can make something out of that. It’s something that most dwarves and elves just don’t understand, and thus often overlook or underestimate. 

That’s...all I’ve got at the moment. I hope that helped a bit! Please, if you have any more questions, ask! :D I love world building!!

[nitewrighter]

So many for Faumir but how about 25? :D

(From this prompt list)

25. “you make me nervous and happy and horny all at the same time and it’s confusing as fuck sometimes.”

Pfffft. That’s not a prompt so much as their whole relationship, huh?

I wanted to continue the dialogue from this ask.

---

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” Faustine sounded more bored than anyone in handcuffs should be.

“Just shut up and let me think,” said Samir, checking the window and materializing the parts of his hard-light rifle.

“You realize since you breached negotiations, Talon now has no reason to believe Overwatch will respect the terms of negotiation next time. That’s a war crime, you know.”

“Says the literal terrorist,” muttered Samir, “How many of Talon’s competitors have you poisoned over dinner?”

“More than I can count but... no honor among thieves,” Faustine replied airily, “Weren’t you supposed to be the ‘good guys?’”

“You don’t get the ‘good guy’ when you get my moms involved.”

Faustine snorted. “Your mothers are combatants, idiot. They’re fair game.” She sighed and rolled her eyes, “You’re no fun when you’re emotional. You get as dumb as your brother.”

Samir bristled as he looked out the window. “You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

“Like how you talk about him?”

“I can make a hard-light gag, you know.”

“Kinky,” he could hear the smirk in her voice and it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Don’t think I won’t do it,” he said, bringing the scope of the rifle to his eye.

“You’re not very used to taking hostages, are you?” Faustine chided.

Because it’s a stupid and cowardly move, thought Samir, Because it’s the kind of move Talon would make when backed into a corner and god help me if she’s rubbing off on me.

“I’m figuring it out,” he muttered.

“Well then, pro tip: Don’t turn your back on them,” said Faustine.

He didn’t register how close she was until she was already garroting him with the hard-light cuffs he put on her. The rifle clattered to the ground.

Stupid move, he thought, he was taller, stronger, and he could dematerialize the cuffs with just one button on his hard-light projector, but as he instinctively brought his arm up to hit the button, her hand flailed out for the projector. So that was her gambit: Get access to the projector with her neuroprosthetics.

You get as dumb as your brother.

Samir opted to respond in a true Rajeev manner, pivoting on his heel and slamming her into the wall next to the window back-first before seizing the chain of the cuffs at his neck with his non-projector arm, bending forward and flipping her onto the ground.

“Oof!” She landed butt-first, and Samir reflexively got into a position to prepare for her counterattack, but instead she sat up, almost childlike with her legs splayed flat on the ground and her cuffed hands palms-up on the floor between them. “Owww...”

Samir stayed tense—it could be a ploy to get his guard down, but then watching her brace her hands on the ground to get herself into a slightly more dignified sitting position, the thought occurred to him that fighting Faustine wasn’t like fighting Seye or Andrea or Akasha.

“I take it you’re not used to being taken captive either,” said Samir.

“Oh no, I get kidnapped all the time. This is just an off-day,” said Faustine, brushing her bangs from her face, “I would have been much more prepared had you abducted me on a Tuesday.”

Samir snickered and then caught himself as she pushed up and tried to dust herself off as best she could with her hands still cuffed. It occurred to him that this was probably the furthest a situation had ever been from her control, yet she was still acting as if she had a dozen Talon goons ready to pump him full of holes with one word. On the one hand that could be a ploy to keep him paranoid and stupid, on the other... maybe it was a defense mechanism on her end. Maybe she didn’t even know how to turn it off.

“It’s like you said at the dinner,” he said, looking back out the window, “We just need to figure out leverage.”

“You taking me hostage doesn’t work the same way as Talon taking your moms hostage,” said Faustine.

“What?” Samir glanced over at her and she huffed a little.

“Prisoners are like plums,” she said as if she was reciting a fun little nursery rhyme, “The longer you have them, the less they’re worth.”

A prickle of stress flared up the back of Samir’s neck. “What are you talking about?”

“....the longer you have me here, the more likely it is there are four... maybe 5 people vying to fill the empty place I left,” said Faustine, “Eventually giving me back won’t mean anything to Talon but pride, and you know that doesn’t mean that much to us, given our methods.”

“So what,” said Samir with an incredulous chuckle, “You’re saying Talon would just abandon you?” 

Faustine made a ‘welp’ motion, shrugging her shoulders and nodding her head with a terrifying amount of resignation.

“No--” Samir shook his head, “No, you’re playing me. Maximilien is your father-”

“Adoptive father,” said Faustine, “And ask yourself--who had more to gain from my parents’ dying, Overwatch, or Talon?”

Samir stared at her for a few seconds. “Talon murdered your parents?”

“...no,” said Faustine, a stubborn bitterness in her voice before glancing off, “Not in any way I can prove, at least.”

Samir blinked a few times and looked over at her, weighing what she had just said.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” muttered Faustine, glancing off. 

“...like what?” said Samir, blankly. 

“Like you feel sorry for me. Don’t. I can’t stand when people feel sorry for me. I know what I’m doing. And I’m good at it.”

“You’re in handcuffs,” said Samir.

“You won’t kill me,” said Faustine. There was that infuriating boredom in her voice again.

Samir’s lips drew thin. “What makes you so sure about that? You’re Talon. I need to hold good on my word if anything happens to my moms.”

“A. I’m your only bargaining chip. B. You heard my previous point about prisoners and plums and know you need to act quickly before this whole thing collapses and sucks you under.”

“I think you’re underestimating how much of an asset you are to Talon to get me to make a mistake,” said Samir.

“Which brings me to C: You’ll get bored without me.”

“Bored?” said Samir.

“Your other teammates let their heads get all fogged up with arbitrary notions of honor and valor and goodness. You figured out treating the whole thing like a puzzle makes things a lot easier. We’re the only ones on our teams willing to see the whole thing as a chessboard--”

“I don’t--”

“You do,” said Faustine, “You hate admitting that you see things as a game, because you’re an Amari, and that means you’re brave and tough and heroic and you value life but deep down... it makes everything easier. It’s a state of flow that no one should find themselves in, but it’s a dance you know the steps to.” 

“Well maybe I want to win the game, did you think about that part?” said Samir.

“I did,” said Faustine, “...which is why I want to help you get your moms back.”

“Bullshit.”

“If you lose your parents to Talon like I lost mine, it’s going to change you,” said Faustine, the assuredness in those near-violet eyes was terrifying, “It won’t be a game anymore. At best, I’ll be playing against myself.”

“...and you don’t want Talon to replace you,” said Samir, folding his arms.

“I did say I’m good at my job,” said Faustine.

Samir gave her a long sidelong glance, his wadjet tattoo crinkling slightly with the narrowing of his eyes. 

“You took a hostage,” said Faustine, “That’s a Talon move. If you want to survive Talon’s game, you’re going to need my help.”

“Except for the part where I can’t trust a single word you say,” said Samir.

“Well that spares me from having to explain rule number one,” said Faustine with a slight smile, “Don’t trust a word anyone from Talon says.”

“Yeah the second I start playing by your rules, I know I’m screwed,” said Samir.

“Already know rule number 2, you’re good at this,” said Faustine.

“See at this point you’re definitely making rules up so you can butter me up,” said Samir.

“No, actually, rule number three is ‘there’s no problem that can’t be solved by an unholy amount of money,’ but I don’t think that one quite applies to this situation,” said Faustine, “Certainly not to Overwatch.”

Samir huffed. “I didn’t ask for your help by the way--in case you’ve forgotten, you’re the hostage here.”

“Rule number four of Talon:,” Faustine bumped her shoulder against his, “People are going to help you--you won’t ask for their help, but it’ll help, and then expect them to ask for a favor in the future. We’re in a crab pot--you try crawling out now, you get yanked right back in.” 

“Fuck you,” said Samir, glancing off with a slight chuckle.

“You can’t--that’s rule six of the whole hostage situation thing:,” said Faustine. She looped the chain of her hard-light cuffs behind his head. The movement was so obvious and so deliberate that the sheer audacity of it threw him off-guard. He felt the pressure of the chord of the cuffs on the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level. “Don’t,” he caught a whiff of her perfume--bergamot and mimosa, “Get,” he felt her breath on his lips, “Compromised.” Her mouth closed on his.

 A half-mad part of him nearly fell into it--she was right; it was their game and no one else got it. She got it though, and she was furious and she was infuriatingly bourgeois and she was smart and she was funny and she still acted like she had so much control even when the whole world seemed to be spinning off of its axis and someone had to save her and she fed right into that little bud of adrenaline he could feel like a fire at the base of his skull. He tasted her tongue and that burst of physical contact was almost enough to turn him to jelly--he just wanted to melt into her, to forget about everything, to let the world burn away around them, but then that selfsame world made his eyes snap open with her lips still on his, made him register the fact that she had brought her cuffed hands down behind him to pull him tighter against her, but now they were shifting, one of her hands going for his hard-light projector. Another ploy, another distraction. She would burn the world, that was the difference between them. He broke apart from the kiss and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away from him and effectively using his own torso as a post to keep her neuroprosthetic nails out of reach of his hard-light projector.

“Rule number one, right?” said Samir.

Faustine sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

“You skipped rule number five.”

“You aren’t ready for rule number five,” said Faustine, smiling.

[griimreaping]

@kaijvking​  ━━━━━    ╳ ( john ) 

ending word count: 4.3k ( posted on AO3 )

Autumn is in full swing over northern Montana. Trees bursting into vibrant flame as their leaves succumb to winter’s quickly approaching grasp. The Whitetail Mountains are a painter’s dream of colors, reds, oranges, and yellows that few are able to capture on the canvas. Yet, there is an ink smear across an otherwise picturesque afternoon—a fire burning within the compound of the Veteran’s center sullying the vista.

 Jean’s nose wrinkles when the dusty white truck finally pulls up to the wrought iron gates encircling the perimeter. A stack of what looks to be tires, and the occasional corpse, is burning spectacularly in one of the few pits dug into what once was the front lawn of the Hope County’s Veteran Wellbeing Center. Speculations between the faithful of the mountains settled unanimously on the smell of those burning pits put the Whitetails’ soldier at ease. However, it did nothing to help the rib rattling cough that plagues him during wet weather. 

“Out.” The driver nudges the blonde with the stock of his rifle. He’s easily twice her size, and the stained tan shirt he wears is stretched thin over the man’s barrel chest. Jean isn’t sure if the stains are blood or dirt. It’s been several months since the woman even approached the center, and now to suddenly be yanked back like an animal about to be punished made her throat feel like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. Eyes watching from every corner of the expansive yard has the woman being paraded toward the front door prickle uncomfortably. Jean’s skin felt too tight for her neck and face, a cold sweat sticking her shirt to her skin despite a breeze that rattles dead leaves up the front path. In an attempt to solidify her slipping resolve, the blonde meets each gaze wagering a silent challenge for them to try something.

All around them, Jacob’s well-oiled army machine performs just as intended. Men go through the motions of training with their rifles. Push-ups, jumping jacks, sit-ups, even a small pack of them were jogging the perimeter. Worn down paths all over the yard show routes of most traffic and directly disobey the Soldier’s first rule. Make yourself unpredictable. If Jean were a click away on a ridge, she’d be able to pick each of them off without even blinking. The thought alone makes the woman’s palms slick and itchy. That had been the first thing taken from her. Trailing behind, the stocky escort has his head on a swivel, the brown leather strap of Jean’s sniper rifle slung over a meaty shoulder. She wants to rip his throat out for even looking at the weapon, let alone taking it from her.

Once inside the musty interior, she suddenly wishes that they could have met at any other outpost that Jacob controls in the north. That thick sticky copper smell of blood and agony drips off the walls. Somewhere deeper in the building, a man is screaming, a broken keening sound that’s ripped from a raw throat. Past injuries flare across Jean’s body in a knee jerk defense mechanism to alert her that this place is dangerous. As if she isn’t already aware. Still, the hesitation stokes the short temper of the man that has escorted the woman this far. With a rough shove again from the weathered stock of his rifle, he growls a word Jean doesn’t catch over the ringing in her ears. 

Frayed carpeting that once might have been red still covers the floor of the main foyer, though it looks like enough tracked mud and heavy boots have uncovered patches of linoleum beneath. Two men milling about in the reception area snap their heads toward Jean and her escort, the undiluted hostility immediate and breathtaking. Bristling, the woman kicks the urge down to bare her teeth at them. Jacob’s training may have turned them all into damn animals, but she’d keep herself leashed until it’s revealed why she’s even here. A few words pass between them that she doesn’t listen to, watching more people move like busy worker ants down the main hallway. Whoever had been screaming when they first entered took a new pitch, the sound rising to a fevered panic that even made the group of men stiffen. Glances are ferried between them as a second screamer joins the distant cacophony like a hellish siren’s call.

“He can’t keep that up for much longer.” a shorter man with matted brown hair slicked down close to his skull, cutting a glance at the man Jean had come in with. Her escort grunts softly in agreeance or dismissal. She isn’t sure. The third rolls his eyes with a groan, clearly irritated as his grip shifts on the exceptionally well-kept rifle slung across a bare chest. Whorls of holy ink are scrawled across suntanned skin along with a patchwork of scars only partially hidden with the crosses and words. 

“Nobody would mind if someone just went up there and put a bullet in ‘em.” Finishing the statement just as those eyes fall on Jean, she’s stricken by how they look straight into her. That harsh hazel stare letting the woman know that she wouldn’t be leaving this building alive. 

Giving a parting nod to the previous escort, the hazel-eyed man intercepts Jean and jostles her up the hallway. The deeper they go into the Veteran’s Center, the stronger that copper stench becomes until it’s almost unbearable. It’s then a pair of double doors pushing open to reveal what once had been a vast square cafeteria that is now brimming with human suffering. Blood running across the floor turns the grout black with dried gore. Rusted cages arranged in an undeniable maze that funneled all that proceeded through the room past each and every display of torment. Overhead buzzing fluorescent lights blink sporadically, briefly throwing shapes and color into sharp relief before disappearing back into obscuring darkness. Heavy curtains are slung over the windows on the western side of the room, disallowing any type of natural light into the prison. Thick like a wet wool blanket, the smell of carnage suffocates the room.

 In here, the screamer hides somewhere amongst the iron and copper. Growling out a short order to move, the hazel-eyed man doesn’t shove her with his rifle as the last escort did, and with a shuffle, Jean tries to ignore how the soles of her boots stick to the floor. In the pockets of darkness that flicker with the lights overhead, Jean can make out corpses ripped open and threaded with barbed wire quick flashes of white bone dizzying. Hurried words scrawled across the white tile walls curse and plead for the end. Scriptures written in blood. 

Trying to breathe shallowly through her mouth Jean’s eyes sting, tears welling up around the corners of her vision. Their trek through the prison is almost cruelly slow, hazel eyes drinking in the viscera around him with a near euphoric glint in his gaze. Dying down to a low keening wail by the time they reach his cage, the screamer is affixed to the front wall of his cell by both of his arms wrapped tightly in razor wire. Rivulets of red drip to the floor as he slowly tries not to sink to his knees. Jean can see the weeks of exhaustion pulling the man’s skeletal body downward, simultaneously ending his life while he struggles so vainly to hold on. Jacob’s second rule. Never greet death willingly. Fight until the last. 

Others in the cages adjacent to the screamers simply watch, dead glassy eyes reflecting day after day of breaking in. Some weren’t compatible with the mental training the herald provided. Many broke, crushed messily in the teeth of this machine that churns out warriors soaked in blood and rage. Every violent urge and promise all ripped loose with a couple of bars of an otherwise innocuous song. One that her grandfather might have liked, Jean muses bitterly. Still feeling the kiss of flame on her skin as the farmhouse went up in a spectacular blaze.

Making it to the other end of the room felt like an accomplishment all in itself. If the woman isn’t sure that she has a one-way ticket toward a cell of her own, she’d almost be glad. Shouldering open the double doors on the south side of the cafeteria, Jean is momentarily dazzled by the sudden bright burst of sunlight from the windows that line the stairwell yawning before them. Looking up into the motes of dust that lazily swirl around them with the disturbance of air, Jean feels too aware of her breathing at that moment. Each exhale displacing the natural order of things. She didn’t belong here. 

Ascending gritty concrete stairs to the top floor of this nightmare alcazar, that nervous bird fluttering behind the woman’s ribs works into a frenzy. Jean knows if she were to glance down at her chest, there would be a clear imprint of her heart trying to pound its way through her sternum. Hazel eyes aware of the woman’s growing anxiety, and sipping it like a fine wine. One of the many reasons he loves being this ferryman through the building is that he is allowed a front-row seat to the mental fraying right before Jacob deals the finishing stroke. Absent thoughts of what method the herald would use float through Hazel’s mind like balloons on a breeze. A distant double report of a pistol somewhere else in the compound doesn’t sour the fantasies that drip across his mind syrupy and vivid. 

Sun riding the horizon casting the world in a painter’s pallet of colors, Jean savors the glimpses out of the fifth-floor windows that look out over the forest instead of the yard. Up here, she couldn’t quite make out the staccato beats of gunfire down on the front lawn, nor the screaming several floors below in the prison. It’s quiet. Quiet like the heartbeats before stepping up to the waiting noose on the gallows. Every fiber of Jean’s body vibrates with it, that palpable press of her death waiting somewhere behind one of the faded wooden doors that line the hall, interspersed with dazzling views of another life outside. Down in the prison, every other exhibit of suffering resolutely snuffed out her fears for those brief moments, however now, above everything else, it’s too much. 

At the end of the corridor, a heavier wooden door stands slightly ajar. Next to the frame, there’s what’s left of a name placard that’s since been mauled. Deep knife gouges carving the name from the tarnished metal. Nauseating flashes of static throw weird shadows out into the hallway, and a growing hiss of white noise overpowers the ringing in Jean’s ears as they approach. Memories of weeks spent strapped into those chairs as flashes of dismemberment and teeth and pain cycle across the slide show elbow their way to the forefront of Jean’s mind. A sharp throbbing begins against the woman’s temples. Headaches became commonplace among those privy to the extended lessons that Jacob put his least favorite through. From the beginning, she’d been singled out. Too much history. Too involved with John. It made the Soldier edgy, but Joseph hadn’t allowed him to simply kill her to make a point. Jean remembers through the crimson fog of those fugue states the pinched rage Jacob wore when his younger brother made it clear there would be no killing of John’s favorite.

 As if sensing their presence, the static abruptly chokes off, throwing the passage into the void of silence once more. Sunlight feeling cold and sterile on her skin as they pause outside the slightly open door, Jean feels her skin prickle hot like a windburn with anticipation. Jacob always had been the type to savor a death, to draw it out and let you feel every decaying agony of undoing. A bullet wouldn’t be appropriate for a person that he’d been aching to dispose of for months.

Hazel pushes her then, Jean’s stiffened body stumbling through the door in the same way a newborn animal scrambles for purchase as the knob is snatched back and slammed shut behind her. Straightening once more, the woman tries to breathe evenly, the crushing weight of how hopeless the situation is pummeling her full force in that moment of darkness. Eyes attempting to adjust to the dim room, shapes swim up out of the indigo murk. A desk, a broken chair near the corner, a squat table with the projector that had been broadcasting static a moment earlier, then the glinting knife of Jacob’s gaze pins Jean to the spot. Wolves indeed were the best animal to associate with the eldest Seed brother. Barrel chested and blanketed with scars he didn’t bother to hide the man looks at every person he meets with the same bored scrutiny, cutting through them with a glance. 

“Sit.” He knows he doesn’t need to yell, voice alone a promise of brutality beyond imagination if there were any transgressions. Legs acting on their own accord, the woman’s lungs stutter for breath as she finds a worn stool situated in front of the desk he leans against. Jacob watches unmoving, but the cogs within his brain grind endlessly, processing all that can be done. Why stray from the tried and true methods? He’d let her roam the woods and meet her end as the mind melts away in layers, reliving each fear in scarlet clarity. Jacob’s mental discipline is the exact juxtapose to Faith’s bliss.

“Jean, Masters.“ Jacob stands properly, moving over to one of the curtained windows and pulling aside the fabric to allow streams of sunlight across the dusty room. Jean squints against the brightness for a moment before her eyes adjust, a dull burning only adding to the throb of the headache rioting against her skull. She blinks over at the inky silhouette of Jacob standing against the sunlight, his shadow seeming to drink up and extinguish the light that touches him. 

“You know, your history reads like a horror story. Parents killed tragically in a double murder, though the headlines do leave out the fact that your father happened to be the one that instigated the gang violence. That little tidbit was a treat to find.” Stepping away from the window and toward the seated woman, Jacob crouches his six foot three frame down so he’s face to face with his captive. Those cold ice blue eyes picking Jean apart methodically as chapped lips curl into the barest of smirks. 

“Poor mommy had no idea, did she? Probably not until the moment that knife bit into her. And you, you were only what, eight at the time? Is that where this little trophy comes from?” A hand appears at Jean’s throat, calloused thumb tracing along a faded scar just under the hinge of the woman’s jaw. Lungs revolting against the air, Jean feels like there’s a rock wedged up under her diaphragm, cutting open her insides. Memories shoving one another aside for dominance in the theater of her mind, there are flashes of men storming into the house they’d had on the upper west end. Then the screaming, the begging. 

Her chest stutters.

“Then you thought that all that could just be swept under the rug if you moved. It worked for a few years until somebody dug up old skeletons and came looking for the last surviving Master’s heir to settle a decade-old debt. Shot you twice, didn’t they?” Inflection never changing and gaze never wavering as he expertly picks apart Jean’s entire existence. Jacob can’t help the cold, almost reptilian enjoyment that came from this—watching the consciousness crack under pressure and doubts a feast for him. Across Jean’s body, old wounds flare to life as if they’ve been freshly ripped open by the words battering her. That sharp tang of gunpowder is fresh in the woman’s nostrils just as the day she’d been shot going back to her dorm in law school. It had been the reason she’d changed schools. A singular moment setting into motions dominos that the woman wouldn’t even be aware of until decades down the line sitting in this chair, Jacob’s hand closing around her throat. 

“Does your son know all this?” It’s like a slap to the face, Jean jerking involuntarily in the Soldier’s grasp. Fury, bright and consuming, rushes into the woman like a scalding breath, charring every nerve in its wake. Eyes narrowing down at Jacob, Jean hears her voice speak before the thoughts are done forming,

“Don’t you dare--”

“Or should I say, John’s son. He doesn’t even know about the kid, does he, Jean? You never bothered to tell either of them. All the kid knows is that daddy isn’t around, and John is blissfully unaware. You know I did always want to be an uncle. Would’ve taught the kid how to handle a gun. A good bonding moment. Elliott isn’t my first choice in name, but I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” It’s instant. Boot connecting with Jacob’s chest Jean kicks him to the ground, snarling teeth bared as she lunges. Her own life is a joke, something easily thrown away to the wind without a second thought. Elliott, though, her son, Jean, will rip open hell itself if anybody so much as insinuated harm toward the boy. World hemming in red around her vision as hands scramble to latch onto Jacob’s throat, Jean’s ears rush with the sound of her pulse smashing against the cage of ribs.

Batting aside the grasping hands feeling as her nails rake across the flesh of his forearms, drawing up ruby wells of blood, Jacob grunts when his back hits the desk. A glass of water that had been on the surface rattles off and smashes on the dusty floor. In the bare light from the window, he catches glimpses of that raw fury on her face and smiles. That’s the nerve, an open wound he’d been searching for with all those other throw away facts to get down to the marrow. She’d waltzed so easily right into his waiting jaws. Now to break the bone. Flashing white of bared teeth and half snarled curses that pass her lips while attempting to find any kind of purchase on the man beneath her; Jean doesn’t expect his arms to encircle her, crushing the woman to the Soldier’s chest. Cheap soap and pine flood her nostrils as the fight rages inside. Feet scrabbling to catch on the dusty floor, hands are trapped between the woman’s heaving chest and Jacob’s smug calmness. One arm locking around Jean so tightly breathing is made difficult; Jacob’s beard scratches the side of her face as something slips out of his jacket pocket. Glacial realization douses the woman’s blaze bright anger galvanizing it into cold steel wedges up underneath her lungs.

“Wrong move, Masters. You made the cardinal mistake, never show your weaknesses to anyone. That deserves a conditioning lesson, don’t you think? All this freedom you’ve been given lately has done nothing but rot away every killer instinct I’ve tried to carve into that weak head of yours. Now. Let’s start.” Small and made smooth from years of being worried by Jacob’s calloused hands, the music box is no bigger than the Soldier’s palm. Golden key on the left side scuffed with age but still perfectly functioning. This tiny innocuous box is the kingpin of Jacob’s classical conditioning. It’s clicking tinny notes able to scramble someone’s thoughts like eggs. Ground so deep into the subconscious like a ticking time bomb merely waiting for the trigger.

Even as the first few notes dissolve into the blinding red of the fugue state, Jean’s mind rips at any possible chance to break through the tsunami of his brainwashing. All in vain as she opens her mouth to scream and feels the tidal wave rush down her throat, choking off the sound and blacking out the woman’s vision completely.  

Only You.

Only You.

It’s so loud Jean’s teeth ring with the volume, jaw aching. Everything is red. It’s cold here. She can’t think of anything but the violent storm inside every nerve of her body. Hands claw at her insides wanting out by any means necessary. Scenery passes in a monotone blur of crimson sickness, trees, rocks, a stream, passengers in a truck. Spreading numbness that should elicit some flicker of concern within the woman is only embraced as something that could perhaps stop the echo of that song trapped within the too small confines of Jean’s skull. More people, more trucks, more numbness. Though faces that get too close burst in sickening blooms of red. Flecks of something gummy decorate the woman’s face. 

Semi-real swirls of a place she might have once remembered dance around the edges of her entrapped mind. Only you, Jean’s brain screeches until she can taste copper in the back of her throat. It’s cold. Why can’t she feel anything? A long stretch of cleared grass lays out in front of her, and with the lurching steps of a corpse, she jerks up the driveway. Eyes burning in their sockets, the woman blinks harshly, but it does little to alleviate the acid sting. Roughly scrubbing at the sockets, Jean feels something cold and sharp graze the numb skin of her collarbone, nothing more than ghostly pressure that gives her pause. Looking down into hands that don’t feel like part of her own body, the woman sees first the skin slicked in gore that turns her skin a shade of maroon. Then the knife winks at her in the waning sunlight. Slamming into place on the front of her disjointed thoughts, her purpose for walking until her legs burned reasserted itself. 

Stairs. Cobblestones. Guards that scream and bleed when they approach. It’s all a smear across Jean’s eyes. None of it retaining anywhere important. Just like the numbness across every muscle, it’s forgotten as soon as it occurs. More stairs. Dripping blood across an expensive hall runner. The faraway smell of a familiar cologne. Shoving open a door that had impeded her purpose here in this vague silhouette of a house imprinted in memories that are currently locked away behind the veil of the fugue state. Another shocked face turns toward her with a snap. Garbled words wind like tangled yarn in Jean’s ears, she can’t understand them, and that singular fact irritates her to no end. Rising again like an inescapable wave, the song reaches a fever pitch within the woman’s bleeding ears. 

Crossing the room to the frozen shocked face, Jean wants to shove them away. To wipe that look off their face. To make them stop talking. Shut up, shut up. Shut Up. Shut up! SHUT UP!

Heat rushes across the woman’s hand in a deluge. A spell broken in the same violent way a baseball smashes through a window. Blinking, startled and confused, Jean’s senses come back in pieces that don’t fit together. Hearing muffled as if she’s several feet underwater, the woman can hear an off gasping choking noise. Vision stuttering between a crimson veil and the bright colors of a sunset illuminated room, a face swims up into sharp focus. John. Expression twisting in agony, Jean stares back in abject horror. Slowly looking down between them, she sees the blood soaking black into his vest. Several ragged holes are punched into the fabric, frayed edges catching the froth of his blood as the herald wheezes for a proper breath. 

“John?” Voice small in her mouth Jean realizes that her aching hands are still clasping the hunting knife buried to the hilt in the soft spot just under his sternum. Jerking away as if she’d touched a hot stove, John crumples to the floor like a puppet with his strings snipped. Panic squashes every other disorientating flurry of emotions flat as Jean can only stare at the man curling into himself on the expensive carpet. A sick, wheezing bubble of air escaping a punctured lung is the only sound for a few hammering heartbeats. Knees cracking against the floor, the gore-seeped woman crawls over to the only man that she truly ever loved. Gingerly turning him so that he’s gazing up at the vaulted ceiling, Jean’s voice fails as she’s momentarily struck mute by the sight of the knife -- her knife-- sticking up so crudely from his heaving chest. 

“Oh god, I… “ Tears blur Jean’s vision, and she can’t see the expression he tries valiantly to tame his face into. His legs already were pins and needles, the pain ebbing away into a comforting cold that he’d played with before.

“Was it Jacob?” Speaking is pure agony. John’s words barely a whisper, but it’s all he needs to know, and for a second, he’s afraid she didn’t hear him until there’s a fraction of a nod. He’s always known that death wouldn’t be pretty for him. It would be a screaming bloody mess the entire ride down into that black void. Something about the dealer of his death being Jean strikes the herald as particularly funny, though the chuckle comes out as a wet cough, the rich taste of copper flooding his mouth. Looking up at the blonde’s face and not feeling as her tears splash against his cheeks, John isn’t sure if it’s the ringing in his ears or an approaching siren. 

“I’ll see you soon.” He mouths as darkness begins to hem in his vision. Decades playing on the knife’s edge of this sensation, John welcomes it as an old friend. He’d envisioned death so much it felt like a memory to slip into its warm numbing embrace, the vision of Jean’s blood and tear-streaked face following him down into nothingness.

[theorynexus]

Unrelated to the Epilogues

Apologies for not getting back to liveblogging, yet; however, that’s going to begin again with my next post.   This one is simply to express some thoughts that have been kicking around in my head for a few days, which I did not get the chance to express because I was sleep deprived and then briefly sick. Namely:   All weapons (or Strife Specibi, I should say) in Homestuck seem to be symbolically representative of the character who owns them to some extent.  A few easy examples would be: * the Dualing Pistol (White Magnum/White Wand), which is elegant and precise, only needing to be fired once to provoke massive, impactful change, and doubly representative of Alt!Calliope’s subtle orchestration of events behind the scenes; * The Dudely [Fire]Arm[ament]s (Caliborn/Lord English’s canes/rifles), which the aforementioned doubled set is contrasted to: whilst they are equally intended to convey mastery of events (and particularly the people taking part in them), these are more brutish, and make their impact through repeated blows (a pool cue arranges things through a loud, meaningful break, and then many serious blows to follow--- and while these blows might in theory require precision in order to make the balls fall where they must, in practice, Caliborn’s talent is in ensuring that every hit eventually brings things to a favorable conclusion, rather than in the shortest route possible).   Brute force methods are used to bring about the desired conclusion--- an inevitable death, generally  ---and the overkill that Caliborn (the Lord of Death, in some ways) utilizes whenever his rifle’s sights fall upon a target (for it’s never a single bullet that hits) is representative of his general methodology and spirit. *  Dave’s broken/mended sword, split over time, is obviously representative of his own Aspect, how it gradually affects him (time heals all wounds, as the saying goes, despite the fact that he seems to become quite incensed with it at some points, and struggles with it to the point of refusing to embrace it for a very long time), and especially how his personal history ties into his personal arc (Dave is more affected by his time with his Guardian than perhaps any other kid, despite the fact that Jade is fused with the replacement surrogate that might arguably be said to have usurped the position from her grandpa, and this is also a reflection on the Aspect of Time in his life, I should think).     How Bro (Dirk) Broke his Heart, and how Dave struggled to mend it over the course of the series has been much better discussed elsewhere than I could attempt to express in the brief space I’m allotting to this discussion, here, though, and thus I shall cut this off right here, just as both brothers have a habit off symbolically cutting things off, themselves. ~~~ The train of thought that I am wanting to express herein started with a thought that caught me by surprise:   I continue to have no idea what, precisely John’s Strife Specibus is supposed to represent, you see, so when I remembered that there was a method of inheritance called Gavelkind, it struck me that it could be related to this, as a pun.  Unfortunately, this seems like a dead end, unless it is a very forward thinking joke about every member of his party taking up the main character mantle after he dies in the “more canon [more relevant in Dirk’s eyes]” Meat Epilogue (or, alternatively, Davesprite and Rose’s inherited self from the timeline having to clean up John’s mess after the idiot got himself obliterated in the deal he made with Typheus after Terezi tricked him).     It could also be related to him forging the group through his Heir of Breath inspiration toward a path mechanic, but what are the chances of it being that simple an answer?   Unfortunately, said inheritance business seemed more promising than it was, because I was initially confusing it with the Elective method of kingmaking that is to be found in German historical culture. That truly fits with who John is, and resonates with the “I’m not your leader, I’m your friend” humblepie that was served up to us (and everyone else in his party). ... This line of thinking was useful, however, because it led me to thinking about Karkat’s own weapon.  Obviously, the “Heh, heh, Communism” line of thinking briefly occurred to me, but more relevantly, I thought of the reason why the sickle is used as a symbol of Communism.  It is a classic symbol of the lower class--- farmers, in particular  ---which hints at the very beginning to Karkat’s rather humble origins. While many people might like to think of his mutant blood as “potentially higher than fuschia,” or some such nonsense, more realistically, one has to realize that Karkat was placed in the lowest of low positions: not only was he the only member of his kind, but he would have been without a Lusus and immediately abandoned to death, if the worshipers of his Ancestor had not ensured that he had the dimmest possibility of a relatively normal life. At the same time, he wanted to defy this lowborn status and become a mighty general in )-(er Imperious Condescension’s army.   While this initial spark of revolution was not much, it is representative of all that was to come-- you see, the sickle is to some extent also a symbol of revolt, and while peasant revolts would generally be brutally put down throughout history (just as the waves of opposition to the Condesce were in Alternian lore), this would not in fact be the case with Karkat, or the session that he (and Aradia) would lead. You see, Karkat’s own ideals and the weapon that represents them are but the tip of the iceberg.  The Beta Trolls’ entire session was littered with themes of rebellion against the established social order, and the consequent turning of it upon its head.   First and most obviously, it would be two Lowborn trolls that would come to lead the two “teams” which the session had to offer. Both of these figures acquired this position by usurping it from Bluebloods, who might traditionally have taken up this role in a circumstance where the empress-to-be didn’t show interest in leadership and the Purple Blood in the group appeared to be an incompetent, serially inebriated sack of garbage. This theme particularly shown through in [concupiscent] romance, where we saw pairings that, without exception (other than possibly the crush that Ms. Leijon bore for Karkat, which saw no fruition and arguably did not count for anything, just as Eridan’s flushed feelings for Feferi didn’t “matter” in the end, and Kanaya x Vriska, while being a borderline issue for this topic, doesn’t count either, also due to it just being a crush), all saw subversion of social hierarchy:

Equius x Aradia, Gamzee x Tavros, Feferi x Sollux {I just noticed that these relationships all have the same social distance from one another for some reason.}, Terezi x Karkat. Vriska x Tavros is one-sided, and thus debatable, but also fits this pattern, intriguingly enough. Equius was hit with this subversive force in their social lives particularly hard, possibly because he was the Heir of Void, and thus was more inundated with forces of subtext than the rest of the group [particularly since he was a failure in that role].   Not only could he not resist the drive to submit to those it was “perverse” for one of his “station” to bend the knee to, when the opportunity to truly embrace the anti-normative forces that he had been dipping into (despite his Classist upbringing) came, he was so confused and uncertain that he could not properly understand what he was being pushed to do, and the necessity of it--- and thus froze, allowing himself to be swept away by the Rage Gamzee filled him with. These themes play out in Operation Regisurp, both in name and its practical implementation.  Furthermore, I have just, in the course of writing this post, come to the conclusion that this is why Gamzee had to be the final obstacle to the true end of the Beta Trolls’ session.  He was a crystallized manifestation of the old regime, and its established order:  Gamzee acted as a shadow of the Condesce’s will, the Hemospectrum’s implications, and the brutal reality that was Alternia.    It was thus quite fitting that Karkat was the one to stop his rampage, for he was the Knight of Blood who cajoled everyone to work together as a single team, rejecting the classical restrictions that would have spelled DOOM for their party in favor of bonds beyond the literal nature of the blood that flowed through all of their veins.   Furthermore, I think this is why that confrontation ended in the Shush Pap scene.   Not only was it true that Karkat had literally zero percent chance of actually killing Gamzee in the fight (and a very small chance, indeed, to defeat him through violence), but this would to some extent additionally be an endorsement of the old Alternian way of life.  Rather than through violence, Karkat used his bond with Gamzee to find a solution, and by this means, turned him away from his role as brutal Subjugglator--- though unfortunately this also meant that Gamzee would take a turn for the worse, becoming even more firmly cemented in his role as a servant to the Mirthful Messiah’s. ... Heading back to the meaning of Karkat’s weapon for a moment, I think that the sickle has another implication to explore: it is an implement of the harvest.  Karkat initially wanted to be a sort of grim reaper, slaughtering Alternia’s foes and claiming glory for himself and for his empress. While he was correct in thinking that he just needed an opportunity to prove himself (and thus, he was embracing the symbolic “one must wait until the fruits of the harvest are ripe” implications of the sickle in his own life), the climax of this narrative arc would come when Karkat found himself at the head of Meenah’s united army of all the trolls in the afterlife and bravely charged to meet a foe he knew could destroy the soul with very breath--- and the very real equivalent of the Grim Reaper, himself ---wielding the closest thing he had to a weapon painted with the rainbow (Fuschia an Lime Green bound together betwixt bands of black and white, thus singled out amidst all the colors of the light spectrum). This was his ultimate rejection of the Alternia that was, as he challenged the hidden hand that had twisted it into the place of horror it had been; and upon the fulfillment of that destiny, Karkat would vanish.

Yet, by some miracle, this was not the end: in a place separated beyond barriers of space and time, he would awaken, and but a short time later, he would be granted the Ultimate Reward that had once been wrenched from his grasp. ....................................................................................................................... One last matter of note:  It should be pretty obvious, considering the fact that universes are shaped to reflect the wills and designs of the Players involved, but I am pretty sure humans’ singularly colored blood is an explicit rejection of the hemospectrum, and the particular color that was “chosen” may very well be reflective of the important role Karkat in particular played in the session. What may not be so obvious is how fitting, symbolically, it is that it is a human that stands triumphant over the corpse of )-(er Imperious Condescension.  Curse baggage aside (which still has been irksomely unexplored, to my knowledge), the fact that it is essentially the Beta Trolls’ rejection of her world order that does the empress in feels very right and, upon reflection, is quite beautiful.   Obviously, there’s also a nice splash of revenge playing into that too, as visibly denoted by the weapon used and the handle wrapping, in particular.  I am curious as to the implications of Roxy’s typing color being the same as the blood of said fishy tyrant, though. That, I can’t quite figure out.

[best357revolver]

Safe Gun Storage in Home

My Premium GunsHave you any idea precisely where firearms are stored at residence? Storing firearms safely within your home or flat is really essential. Guns always have to be kept in a manner that restricts unauthorized access. You whilst the gun owner have a responsibility to maintain them outside from the hands. It's likely you could possibly be held responsible for bad things which happen as a consequence of failing to fasten your own gun. Therefore also to guard yourself from theft, then it's a fantastic concept to maintain firearms securely stored at house. There are several diverse processes for efficiently storing firearms and storing them out from the hands. A couple of options are freestanding safes, miniature gun safes, and builtin gun room/closet.

They stay up right in their particular when added to a flat surface, and so are enclosed on either side with the exception of a single doorway, which is opened by either entering a secret combination. All these dividers, based upon the size and size, may take between six and many dozen firearms, records, and valuables. Some of the benefits of a freestanding gunsafe is it may be employed to store records and other valuables along with firearms. The walls of those safes also can occasionally be ventilated using a non-metallic material, that may help protect your firearms and valuables regarding a house fire. Fire resistance evaluations for all these safes are typically quantified in the amount of moments that the safe can defy the warmth of a fully-involved residence flame. You may expect to fork out a few hundred dollars to get an entry door safe which doesn't have any fire protection and narrow partitions. Bigger safes and people that have fireresistant qualities can cost between $600 and $2,500 dollars, based on size and flame resistance evaluation.

Most apparatus used to store firearms, are fastened with a mix as opposed to the usual key because keys could collapse in to the incorrect hands. Combinations can't belong to the wrong hands till they're distributed to the others or written down. But folks could find a way to see on your shoulder and also determine what the combination is when they truly are in precisely the exact same room and also have the ability to see that you open the safe. Safes could be designed with mechanical combination locks (ordinarily the lower-cost safes possess them ) or electronic combination locks having a 10-digit keypad. It's generally likely to replicate these electronic combination locks having a brand new combination. If at all possible, it's a fantastic idea to alter the combination to a gunsafe occasionally (every ninety days or everytime you believe some one may have experienced you open it). Additionally, there are safes available on the marketplace which have biometric scanning apparatus installed on the fasten. All these are programmed to learn a finger or thumbprint, making them more secure than other forms of locking mechanisms.

"Mini" gun safes really are a choice for people that require quick-access to among these smaller firearms, or for people that own only a gun for home defense. These forms of safes on average cost between $150 and $300 according to the sort of fastener and degree of security (the people who have Biometric scanners will normally charge more). They're generally large enough to put up you full-sized pistol like for instance a Ruger GP 100, Springfield XD9 or even Glock 2 1. The best thing about this sort of safe is it is more affordable when compared to the usual bigger safe but nonetheless will help maintain 1 gun from their hands. These designs can be found in models which take a seat on a level working surface and in models which may be installed or recessed to a wall socket.

In the event you acquire a safe for the house, you ought to pick the positioning to it very attentively. You could well not need to own it out at the great outdoors, since this may promote those who view it there clearly was a weapon indoors; this will encourage break ins, as thieves want to sneak things which can easily be re sold such as firearms and electronics. You need to locate your rifle safe in the area or room at which you're likely to be throughout a breakin, or at the area or room at which you might be likely to move to when some thing awful happens. By way of instance, if there's just a central hall way away from outside doors you may in all probability walk if you hear a noise in the midst of night, which could possibly be a very good area to mount a brightly miniature wall-safe (you could even mount this kind of safe inside a wall, and hang a picture infront of it unless you need folks to be careful of it). Check with the community police force division and learn what sorts of breakins normally occur on your area. Notably ask questions regarding the time daily breakins occur. You maybe surprised to see in lots of cases which breakins often happen during your daytime as opposed to at the centre of nighttime. This being said, together with your comprehension of exactly what times daily you're normally at house, could have an effect on the place you opt to set a quick-access safe. If most break ins on your town happen through the nighttime time, mounting a miniature quick-access safe in your bed side desk may be wise. If you hope that some one may decide to try to break while you're in the office at house office in which spent the majority of one's daily life, then you should probably maintain the safe in this location.

For another degree of security, many safes have the capacity to be straightened to a ground or a wall socket in order they cannot be readily stolen or transferred. That is particularly essential when thinking of purchasing a"Mini" gunsafe. As a"Mini" safe can be readily carried off to some other location and broken open, so it's crucial that you bolt these forms of safes firmly to a desk, wall, or in the drawer in order they can't be discharged or proceeded easily.

An alternative for security will be always to safeguard your firearms in just a secured cabinet or space. Cabinet doors along with interior-room doors in just a property are generally colorless double-wall hollow structure and won't endure to much misuse. If a person wishes to undergo some of the doors, then they'll achieve this without a lot of trouble. But you can replace a cupboard door or room doorway with a powerful, wood or metal door to ensure it is tougher to breakin. The benefit of the system is that in case you own a whole lot of firearms and in addition possess a downstairs attic room which includes concrete walls, then you also can save yourself a little money by switching an extra room to some secure"Gun Space" instead of paying $5,000 to $10,000 on a lot of gun dividers. The drawback for this system is you may spend as much money on a brand new doorway and door lock because you'd spend to a safe which could hold a couple of dozen firearms, which means that you would have to get plenty of firearms in order for this to make sense financially. There's still another consideration - you need to NOT fasten the cupboard or room door with a keyed lock (keys might be lost or left un secured ) and also you can't look at going this path without installing a thick exterior-style doorway or even commercialgrade steel doorway. You ought not look at doing so to some rooms .

You can also hear or see gun racks which can be secured or gun racks which have provisions for procuring guns by attaching them together with wire locks. These varieties of gun stands would be the cheapest solution aside from leaving a rifle lying out in the great outdoors. They could readily be taken from walls till they've been straightened right into wall studs. A number of those racks are produced from timber, that will be not difficult to crack or cut . Most usually do not forbid a gun away from being fired or loaded when it's secured in to the stand alone. There can be a few men and women who believe this is really a secure enough way to their specific situation, in general it isn't secure to store firearms in a stand, one which will be secured.

Bear in mind that if considering unique solutions, you may on average get everything you buy - that is particularly valid while looking for gun storage. The cheapest gunsafe is going to be much smaller, poorer and easier to split, and also offer the best amount of security against fire damage. Deciding on a fantastic new is also important, as you wish to buy an excellent unit that's perhaps not likely to mistake or neglect. Some trusted manufacturers offer far better variants of particular models or sizes than some other manufacturers, plus a few businesses might provide certain features while some don't. As an instance, during the article's writing, businesses including Remington, Browning and American Security tend to be focused on making larger safes using electronic keypad combination code access, whereas businesses like Barska offer services and products which are smaller (holding you to about three pistols) and therefore are built with Biometric fingerprint scanner access control.

Hopefully this info can allow you to make an educated decision regarding where and how to store firearms at dwelling. Don't forget to converse to all relatives about the value of gun safety and educate them about basic theories. Everybody else must treat every gun as though it were filled and maintain the rifle pointed in a safe way; not point a gun in any man or any such thing that you don't desire to take; maintain your finger away from the trigger; also keep and store firearms away and off from compost if at all possible. Establish together with relatives a method of things to do should they find a gun which isn't locked securely, or should they realize that a gunsafe isn't completely closed and secured. Normally the very best steps to follow would be to leave the area immediately and inform a parent or adult straight away in order they are able to look after the matter.

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[thinkingagain]

“But the lock we put on our own brains is about as easy to break as a door to a run-down apartment.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 42

Warm summer light at last vanished from the courtyards and compounds, from windows and doors, and soon enough from the fields that lay around the prison. Night came on.

In the outbuilding cell, the Madam’s totem animals had been kept cool by Love Frog. The cell was still stifling. As the sun disappeared from the above ground windows high up on the cell walls, all three animals adjusted their eyes to the darkness. They held on to each other to make sure they were feeling as safe as possible.

The Madam sat on the one hard bench in her own cell, against the back wall. Her face was alternately terrified and alert. When the cell block went dark, she breathed calmly, deep breaths and exhales through her nose. She listened inside herself not just to her own body but to the connections she had there to her animal friends. They would come to her, she was sure. Still it was difficult to believe what she knew. She was human. One of the most human things of all was doubt.

Muffin, Jack, and Young Mountain Goat huddled together at the back end of a basement corridor. They had kept on the move through the afternoon, not staying in any spot too long. Guards crossed and recrossed the labyrinth of the jail, looking for them, not finding them.

 Muffin had been able to gather most of what they needed. Now, in the dark, they readied themselves for what would happen next. “We know where to get to,” Muffin said, “and what to do when we get there. An old building like this, without a sprinkler system or well-kept alarms, isn’t that difficult. ”

In the room where he had waited for nightfall, the Second-in-Command looked at the two other men who had recently joined him. Each of the men held a rifle as well as a pistol in their holsters. Some other equipment sat near them; a black box, some wire, a number of electrodes.

“We’ve been through all of this before, of course,” the Second-in-Command said. “This time, the circumstances are unique. Does the agenda I’ve outlined seem clear?” He was holding a black bag in his hands.

“You actually don’t seem to need us this time,” one of the men said. “Maybe you’re better off doing the job alone?”

“It might come to that,” the Second-in-Command said. “For right now, might as well stick to the standard approach.”

“And the ones still on the loose?” the other man asked.

“I have plenty of guards out. If you’ll excuse my saying so, the Commandant overestimates the degree of threat. I doubt an attack to free her will get as far as her cell, but if it does, we’ll be ready.”

The men nodded and picked up their equipment.

-----------------------------------------

Muffin, Jack, and Young Mountain Goat made their way outside to several large trash bins near one long wall of the prison. Muffin started a fire quickly, and the three animals moved back inside. In another long abandoned prison cell, this one clotted with decaying mattresses and pillows, Muffin set another fire. The animals began moving, in an irregular pattern, towards the security room where the keys were held for the bunker that imprisoned the Madam’s totem friends. 

After Muffin had set one more fire on the refuse piled in the corner of a large empty room, Jack and Young Mountain Goat split off from him and headed towards the bunker. They found two armed guards sitting lazily near the bunker’s door. Jack jumped silently off the goat’s back. Young Mountain Goat slipped around behind the bunker and, a few moments later, peered out from the dark on one edge of it.

Jack hissed a little rabbit hiss, barely audible, just enough to spring the guards to alert. 

“You hear that?” one of the guards said. Both, rifles ready, looked out towards the sound.

Moving low across the ground, Jack hissed again and then, a few feet further on, again.

-------------------------------------------

On his own now, in his paws a bag he had recently filled, Muffin reached the security room where the keys to the whole prison were held. Through the one small window into the room, he could see two Beasts sitting listlessly inside it, watching TV monitors of the compound. He pulled some brush from the bag and threw it on the ground near the door. He tossed on the brush some fragmented bits of cardboard and wood.

Looking through the window, he saw one of the Beasts point at one of the television monitors and look over startled at the other Beast. Muffin couldn’t see the monitor. But if his guess was right, the Beasts had just seen one of the several small fires already set in the compound. He lit a fire in front of their door.

---------------------------------------------

Once they had passed through all the security doors and walked into the Madam’s cell, the men placed a heavy wooden black box in the cell and told her to step on it. They snapped electrodes to her head, wrapped the wire around her wrists and plugged the wire into a small machine that released an electric current. They took off her shoes, then spilled water on the floor of the cage. If she stepped down from the box and the electric current was turned on, electrocution was likely.

They came out of the cell and handed the Second-in-Command, who had not walked into the cell, the small, crude electric shock machine. Then they locked the Madam’s cell.

“People often think interrogation requires fancy technology,” the Second-in-Command said to her. “It’s not true. The basics of breaking the will of an interrogated suspect need only simple methods and principles. We like to think of our brains as complex mechanisms, and sometimes they are. But the lock we put on our own brains is about as easy to break as a door to a run-down apartment. It always amazes me when humans feel safe in the flimsy little houses of their own biology. I can turn you so quickly against things you think you believe profoundly that you’ll see, soon, that you never did believe them.”

The Madam, standing on the black box, began listening inside herself intently, trying to concentrate more than she ever had.

-------------------------------------

One of the outbuilding cell guards moved forward into the darkness. Jack leaped, hitting the guard on the side of the head and knocking it to the ground shouting. “What’s happening, Bill?” the second guard said into the shadows. The fallen guard tried to regain its feet and Jack hit it several more times and took its gun. The second guard stepped forward.

Young Mountain Goat, head lowered, picked up speed quickly across the several yards he ran. The second guard turned in time to get the heavy rounded horns of Young Mountain Goat directly in the gut. It fell to the ground and doubled over, breathless.

Muffin saw one of the Beasts in the security room lean forward and pull a lever. Soon an alarm was ringing across the compound. Moments later, the other Beast looked out through the window and saw the fire burning in the hallway. Both guards, brandishing weapons, opened the door to the security room and hurried out into the hallway.

They looked around briefly, not seeing Muffin, who had crouched behind a table a few feet down. The guards hurried towards the fire extinguisher just above the table Muffin was hiding behind. The small fire Muffin had started was spreading down the hallway. One of the Beasts grabbed the extinguisher and started hosing down the fire, following its path down the hallway, eventually disappearing around a corner.

The other Beast, gun drawn, looked around for any sign of intrusion. Muffin knocked the table leg hard against the Beast. It howled and looked down, uncertain what had happened. Dodging out of the Beast’s sight, Muffin slipped into the security room. The Beast was still in the hallway, cursing.

Muffin found a row of keys hanging in the security room and grabbed all of them. Hearing the sound of that maybe, the Beast looked back towards the security room door, then hurried towards it. Muffin tripped the Beast as it reached the door. It fell with a shout, hard onto its hands, and slid a foot or two across the floor. Muffin, keys in hand, hurried out the door of the security room, then reached the door where he had first come onto the hallway. He went outside.

Alarms sounded all over the prison. Muffin made his way quickly to the outbuilding cell. He found Young Mountain Goat beating against the iron box door with back kicks of his powerful Magic Animal hooves. The kicks had dented the door but not broken it. Other Beasts could be seen and heard moving around outside in the prison, shouting about the fires.

Young Mountain Goat stepped aside and Muffin went through the keys quickly, trying each of them in turn until one fit the lock. He opened the door with a grating screech.

The Madam’s totem animals, behind the door, rushed out. Nodding thanks at their rescuers, they hurried away. Muffin looked at Young Mountain Goat and Jack, who were now fighting off several Beast guards, and followed the totem animals as quickly as he could.

---------------------------------------

The Second-in-Command had left the Madam standing on the box in her cell while he and the other two men chatted and laughed. “How do you like the accommodations?” he eventually asked her through the bars. “Sometimes, allowing my guests a few minutes to get used to their surroundings is all the persuading I need.”

The Madam had shut her eyes and was listening inside herself.

“Obviously,” the Second-in-Command said, “your goal is to topple the Commandant’s organization and prevent him from helping you in the cause you say you’re in favor of. I’m not—right now at least—going to try to change your mind about the ludicrousness of that. I’m more interested in how you think your goal is going to be achieved.”

“What specifically would you like to know?” The Madam looked at him with expressionless eyes. “I actually don’t have any problem telling you.”

“You said that before,” the Second-in-command said. “I didn’t believe you then either.”

“We’re not hiding anything. We’ve come here directly, to confront the Commandant and eliminate the threat he creates for everyone, animal and human. There’s no dark secret. Or if there is, it’s his. And maybe yours.”

“How were you able to find us so easily? No one knew our location.”

“Our tracking equipment is effective,” the Madam said, “and we have experts. You’ll know better than I how seriously the Commandant was trying to hide. It seems likely you were expecting us.”

“Equipment?” The Second-in-Command sneered. “You mean, with all your Magic Animal power, you use human technology just like we do? I don’t see why not. After all, if Magic Animals come across things superior to what they can create, why not use them? Assuming they can figure out how.”

“We feel ready to use whatever comes to hand,” the Madam said, “even if sometimes we dislike it. It’s not resources that are the problem. We just reject them when they’re put to damaging uses.”

“Damaging uses? I take it you don’t approve of my little machine.”

“I think it expresses perfectly the kind of world you’re stuck in,” the Madam said, “and I’m sorry.”

The Second-in-Command’s top lip drew up to reveal tightly-clamped teeth. “So sure of yourself. How about if we try this?”

He gave a slight turn to the dial on his little machine. The Madam tremored with pain.

“As you see,” the Second-in-Command smiled, “it has its uses.”

A loud alarm bell rang powerfully from the ceiling. The Second-in-Command startled, as did the two men nearby. The alarm kept ringing.

“Trouble,” the Second-in-Command said calmly. “I wonder what kind. These old buildings aren’t much use. Still, it’ll take more than few half-wit animals to break through the doors that lead down here.”

----------------------------

The totem animals fought off several disorganized guards as they crossed the prison grounds. Busterella pounded them with quick body blows that left them bruised and gasping. Sir Henry tripped one or two with his trunk. Love Frog followed behind, alert for any surprise threats. It didn’t take long to reach the outer door of the building where the Madam was being held. A few moments later Muffin had joined them.

“This is the Maximum Security building,” Muffin told them. “You can be sure she’s down in the deepest part of it. I have keys to maybe a few of these doors, but I’d guess not all. Some newer replacement doors will likely be code-locked. I should be able to crack those, but it’ll take a few minutes.”

The outer door was an older iron gate, with a large round door handle that had to be pulled out and rotated once the door was unlocked. Muffin began trying the keys that he had, but the first several didn’t fit.

Sir Henry trumpeted impatiently. Then he stopped and inhaled deeply. Muffin looked at him and backed away from the door.

Henry grabbed the big ring of the door and turned it until it stopped at the lock. He inhaled again, then with his trunk he pulled the door ring so hard that the lock ripped out of its socket. He wasn’t a large elephant, true, but he was an elephant after all, a magic one, legendary for his surprising feats.

--------------------------------------------

One of the men with the Second-in-Command heard, over his walkie-talkie, a buzz and then a voice. He put the transceiver to his head and listened, then turned to the Second-in-Command grimly. “The prisoners in the bunker have escaped.”

“Doubtful,” the Second-in-Command said.

“Doubtful or not,” the man frowned, “it’s true.”

The Second-in-Command looked at the Madam. “What do you know about this?”

“What could I possibly know, down here?” the Madam said. “Maybe your defenses aren’t all you think they are. As you said, we’re all easily broken.”

“These defenses, you mean?” The Second-in-Command gave her a small twist of the current. Her body jerked.

---------------------------------------------

There was a code-locked door at the end of another passageway. Using techniques he had learned from Lucky Blue, Muffin went to work on it. He opened it in about a minute.

--------------------------------------------

“One of the inner doors has been breached,” the man with the walkie-talkie said to the Second-in-Command.

“I guess this is why I told the two of you to come armed,” the Second-in-Command said. “I don’t want to have to abandon the interrogation before we’ve really gotten started. Think you can manage a few small unarmed animals? A little bunny, a little koala, a little frog, something like that?”

“Those little animals have just breached two serious security doors,” said the man with the walkie-talkie.

“You’re armed,” the Second-in-Command insisted, voice hot. “Breach their heads with a bullet maybe? I can take care of the situation in here.”

The two men picked up their rifles and stepped out the innermost security door, locking it behind them.

-------------------------------------------------------

At the next door, the totem friends and Muffin stood, uncertain. It was made of thick iron and set into a bed of thick stone. “Henry?” Muffin asked.

The elephant shook his head no.

“Okay then.” Muffin reached into his little Beast bag. “We’ll have to blow a hole in the wall. It’ll take me a few minutes to set this up. And it’s dangerous. Very.”

-------------------------------------------------------

“I’m glad it’s only the two of us again,” the Second-in-Command told the Madam. “After all, there’s no reason that anybody has to see you break down but me. Give me a minute though. I need to booby trap this room properly should I have to hurry out. You understand that if there’s an armed struggle going on, the Commandant might blame me if you were shot or otherwise showed any signs of direct human attack. But a fire? Who can help a fire? Especially one that your own animal friends set.”

From a small drum, he splashed oil across the floor of the Madam’s already water-wet cell. She made no attempt to get off the box. The Second-in-Command still had the torture machine nearby.

------------------------------------------------------

The explosion blew some small holes in the stone near the door lock. The animals came back from the far end of the hall, where they had been crouched down behind a hastily-put-together barrier of old furniture and unused granite blocks. The lock itself, exposed, still partly held. Henry wrapped the door handle in his trunk and wrenched the door off its hinges.

The first gunshot grazed his elephant foot. The animals dropped to the ground. A wave of bullets sprayed past them. Muffin crawled quickly across the rubble-strewn floor to a spot hidden from the gaping doorway. Occasional bullets shot through the doorway. Muffin couldn’t see any clear angle to get into the next room.

The Beasts there were clearly trained killers, nothing like the half-witted guards strewn across the rest of the prison.

Muffin’s excellent ears determined, from the rustling in the next room, the position of the Beasts on the other side of the doorway. They were out of the direct line of the doorway but would have clear easy shots at anybody standing in it. Muffin indicated that to Busterella and Henry, who had each moved forward to protected spots closer to the door. Busterella was anxious and restive. She, especially, wanted to rush to the aid of the Madam right that second. She would sacrifice her life if needed.

In a perfect imitation of the voice of the hapless Beast who lived at the Demesne, Muffin said, “There’s really no point. I and most of the other humans have already gone over to the animal side. You might as well lay down your weapons.”

“What?” The Beast voice from the other room was confused. “Who are you?”

Muffin could hear their shuffling uncertainty. He stepped back from his spot, still out of sight from the doorway. He picked up a piece of stone that had been blown from the doorway wall. Listening carefully for the angle, he threw the stone hard through the doorway and banked it off a wall. “Argh,” one of the Beasts shouted, stung and startled.

“You might as well turn back,” the other Beast called out. “We’ve been down here for hours with your precious witch. There’s not a whole lot left of her.”

Furious and alarmed, but silent as always and wise enough to dash between spots of cover, Busterella moved as quickly as she could towards the doorway. She prepared to rush the Beasts.

They would probably have time to shoot her, Muffin calculated, although with her quickness Busterella might be able to attack one of them before she fell.

Based on what he knew of the other room, and the rock he had thrown, Muffin made another calculation and stepped back farther towards the middle of the room, at just the angle he needed.

He threw his voice through the doorway and against the wall at the back of the other room so that it seemed, unquestionably, to be coming from behind the Beasts’ heads. “You’re surrounded. Drop your weapons or die.”

Startled, both Beasts turned to look behind them. One of them let its rifle drop and reached for the pistol in its holster.

Busterella leaped through the doorway in a blur. The Beasts were still looking behind themselves, seeing nothing. They turned as Busterella came through the door.

Busterella uncoiled a taut koala fist into the chest of one of the turning Beasts. It cut as deep into the Beast’s chest as if it had been a sword. The Beast’s body quavered with the shock of it. The other Beast, screaming, turned its pistol at Busterella. She rammed the Beast impaled on his fist back into the second Beast, knocking its pistol at an angle.

Muffin, speeding into the room, launched a jump kick at the second Beast, crushing its jaw so that its neck turned with a sickening crunch. It went down, lifeless. Busterella yanked her paw out of the first Beast’s chest. A piece of its heart glistened freshly in her koala claws. Enraged, Busterella looked at Muffin, and then at the final door, one made of modern Beast materials and with a coded lock.

“This one’s going to be tougher than the last,” Muffin said.

Busterella nodded in silent determination.

The final door had a tiny, multi-layered pane of glass at its top. Through it, the animals could see that the next room was on fire.

While Muffin worked the code calmly, Busterella, frantic, turned around and looked in the direction they had come. Love Frog was glowing with insistent concern. There was no sign of Henry the blue elephant.