#rip what could have been; all of us as factions could not coexist

[thenetvvork]

(cross posting to our DreamWidth)

Lately (last night and today) the subject came up of what was here before The Network. Memories are fuzzy because it deals with us before the age of 9 (so before 2004. 20 years ago and back). Plus it's one of those personal history things that isn't necessarily about accuracy in a historical sense. It's more of a story in the way people tell stories of their histories. Like a myth or folk story. Like somewhere right in the middle of all that. (There is no concrete physical proof from our childhood for this that we know of so it's hard track)

We've talked about this before but The Network has been a social identity. Right now it functions as shorthand for every more than one experience in this body because we're all in The Network. But what if someone (besides Mew) from before that identity solidified came back somehow? There were a few different things going on.

There were The Hordes which were all fictives from the Redwall series. So theoretically, they're the same as us. Fictives. And there was a lot of overlap between both groups, especially early on but even up through high school. I think it's probably good we "won out" against the Hordes in that I really think the way we work allows us to be more grounded in the present moment in this reality. I think for that to happen with the Hordes a real world view shift would have had to happen, a bigger one than any that would have happened with us.

Also within that timeframe we had other fictives too. But they were more few and far between and before The Network so since they weren't in the Hordes they just free floated rip Chester you would have hated The Network. Probably. I didnt ever know you but I think Megan might have

And before that, or maybe at around the same time (see it's hard to track with two fuzzy memories and a paperclip and the memories don't show overlap but logically they had to because past time is finite) we had factives - a completely different type of gain and working than us as fictives. And the only clue to them being factives and not Mew just imagining things is a very specific memory during a summer break where he was trying to ignore them because he thought hey maybe it's weird and time consuming to have imaginary talks with fictional characters people I know from school and writing camp and daycare. Maybe I shouldn't imagine tragedy beset upon their families and then they have to live with me and my family and I see them everyday (we were a lonely child who had attachment issues). And it worked for (in his mind) a month (but given how long time is for a kid probably a lot less than that) but they came back unbidden and Mew was happy to see them again. (To be clear he had also done this same mental process with us a few times but we just. Refused to play along.)

The Hordes truly stopped showing up when we moved out of our parents house and into college in another state. They lived in our parents backyard. They don't show back up when we visit.

The factives, well.... I don't know. I truly never met them. Mew grew out of it I guess. Probably when we were separated from the person they were sourced from for long enough they faded. Megan doesn't seem sure when I ask her when and if that overlap would have been. For one of them it would have to be 1st grade-5th (1st grade being when we met the boy, end of 5th when we stopped going to day care), so ages 5-10? Another was a girl who was in a writing camp with us, so probably also elementary school age. I don't know if it would be before the 4th grade though (that's when The Network solidified). There might have been more. Or the memory is conflating the factives and the fictives. Either the free floating ones or the Hordes.

And to Mew, these are completely different sections of his life. No overlap in his mind. Except the timelines overlap and I know people in The Network talked to people in the Hordes. I was there for that overlap. So his weird perspective isn't helping

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All of this to build up to the idea/joke that The Network is built on top of the factives. On top like they're in headmate hell? On top like how a building is built on another building? On top like those new tubs you just lay over the old one? On top like literally if we literally dig down with our hands we'll find them? We just don't know lol

This discussion also alienates Mew as a Network member. The Network kind of solidified Around him. He's the "original" so whoever "won out", he would still be around in whatever fashion. Of course we're all quite happy with him here as he is now but he would be here regardless. Like a force of nature

[thepavensiestyle]

A Fighter is Born

A bright, sunny day would promise heat for a majority of the early morning. Seeping well into the later afternoon. An expansive sea in possession of rough blue waves would lap up against the sandy shore of a littered beach. The conditions were visible along the horizon as heat waves rose up to distort reality. 

But well beyond this sunny patch of peace, the scenery had erupted in chaos. Nothing natural but rather manmade. An illegal sparring ring consisting a myriad of races that had ranged from humans and elves, to orcs and tauren. Though, there was more where that came from, a lot more. Horde and Alliance both coexisted in order to get a view of this popular event in Stranglethorn. Members of both factions assembled in a friendly clash of one mass for but a singular look at those that would be participating in the center ring. 

The roar of a crowd sounds just as those already on the sparring grounds had first made contact. At first glance, they could be mistaken for gnomes or goblins. But on closer inspection, the fighters were made up of children. Whose ages ranged from 5 to 10 years old. Regardless of those circumstances, these particular fighters appeared well trained. They carried weapons like they’d had years of experience with them. 

Although, deep underground, the sound of the crowd muffled.

The latch of one iron shackle sounded in a faint click as it clamped around the bared ankle of one such human boy. It wasn’t anything to hinder him in any way but it sure was tight. Tight enough to cause discomfort. “There, that’s to identify ya’.” Such was always Kleegal’s excuse on the matter. The well dressed Goblin stood roughly around the height of the 7 year old child, perhaps a few inches shorter. 

The boy was not as well dressed as Kleegal. He wore no shoes on his feet, a patchy and faded shirt along with ripped shorts. Beside him, another Goblin had stood with a drink in hand. This one was a female, her blue hair dolled up nicely in a loose bun on the top of her head. She wore a lack of clothing as well, though not quite so roughed up as the child. “Make sure ya win for us, will ya’?” Was the first thing she’d said. Ena was always focused on the riches that had come from accomplishing such tasks. 

“‘Ey, kid.” Kleegal spoke without regarding Ena for the moment. “Just rememba’, if ya’ lose, you ain’t gonna be allowed back inside for the night. Ya’ hear?” The male would look the boy in the eyes, pressing the threat by the slight tilt of his head. He receives no verbal response other than the light nod of the boy’s head. But he was acceptant of it all the same. “Good, good.” 

From behind the Goblin couple, a door had seemed to swing open to allow for a brutish orc to enter with a child of his own. A child who was also of orc descent and had already been huge for his apparent age. Tall and buff by the looks of it, and staring at the human boy like he was fresh meat. “Ah! Karguk!” Kleegal announces before making his approach towards the burly Orc. 

“We’re about to be called up.” The Orc had spoken in a deep and gruff voice. Complete with the intimidation to scare off a lion. A singular hand would shove the Orc child forwards, allowing him to stumble gracelessly into the room. “You’d better get the little-” Karguk looks over at the human child and grumbles. “-worm ready to lose.” The same hand used to shove his own child would be one to pat him on the shoulder. A gesture used to show off the prominent size differences between human and orc. 

Kleegal would fall to a lean against one of the posts holding up the underground ceiling and laughs at Karguk. “He ain’t gonna lose! We trained him well enough!” This would be enough for Karguk to expel a gutterous series of laughter. 

“And I have trained mine well.” Once again, he pats the Orc child’s shoulder. “I will see you in the stands, Goblin.” That would be when the giant Orc would turn around with the child in tow to leave the underground room. All the while, the remaining trio would stand by watching. Kleegal and Ena with sneers while the human child had nothing short of fear written across his features.

“Well!” Kleegal calls back out just as the door to the room closes. “He was peachy, wasn’t he, Ena?” Laughter commences, until the male was right back to confronting the child. “Johnny boy.” He finally called the child by his name. “You betta’ not lose this one. It’s gonna really put a stake in our career if ya’ do. So let’s do this!”   

Out of the room Johnny had been ushered, and onto the sparring ring outside. The hot sun boring down upon everyone who’s attended. Though it seems the attendees had less of an issue to worry about. There’d been vendors going about selling drinks and snacks for the audience. Many overhangs gave the audience shelter from the merciless sun but standing in the very center would be open for all elements to view. The worst of the conditions being the sun of course. And with the ground being made entirely from sand, standing still for too long meant burning your feet, if you’d been unlucky enough not to wear shoes. Kleegal would only linger for a short time to mumble something towards the human child before he hurried away from the sandy center. Desperate enough to flee the harsh conditions. 

“‘EY LOOK!” From the booming crowd, one voice stood out to them both. “Kleegal’s free laba’! AHAHA!” Then the Goblin’s voice would be drowned out by the loud crowd. Whistles and cheers would sing in an immense choir as voices filled up the entire audience. Though, Johnny and the orc child both stood together in silence, both peering up at the crowd of faces. 

And above all of the sound of cheering, an echoed voice through what can only be described as a loudspeaker would manifest. Another Goblin’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen! Here we have next on the docket, fightin’ for this swell 13th anniversary of the Black Sun Sparrin’ Ring! This time we got somethin’ a little different! We got a new competita’ with us! Ahaaa! Today will be the day to showcase a series of new faces overall, most of which should be bloody by the end of this! Now we will be featurin’ Yegoth! Also known as Beast! The mightiest orc boy in the land! Challengin’ against Lil’ John! Who we will call, Fish Food!” The name call would promote laughter amongst the crowd around them. “You all know the rule! First fighta’ dropped for 10 seconds is the losa’! Ladies and gentleman, are you ready?!” And with that, the promotion of louder cheers and whistles as the crowd would get pumped for the coming fight. “Alright! Let’s get ready to rumble~!” Shortly afterwards would be the sound of a loud bell that brought the fighting to its introduction. Which had only excited the crowd even more.

That was the same time Yegoth had started forwards, raising his hefty fists up in defense. He approaches Johnny rather quickly despite his immense size. While Johnny would stand by and simply watch to see exactly what was to come of the action. He’s seen fights like these go down but never has he been in the center ring doing the fighting. It wasn’t like the boy even knew how to fight but he braces all the same. 

Yegoth would have been able to land the first hit, while Johnny had taken it like a champion. He emits a loud yelp as the force had sent the boy back several paces from where he’s first started. Already, the side of his face had bruised over and his head rattled by the impact. It was by some miracle he hadn’t fallen over into the sand but he straightened up in an instant. 

Though, this had not seemed to be the end as Yegoth had once again recoiled a fist to land directly into Johnny’s nose just as the human boy turned to face his opponent. Immediately, blood would spurt from his nostrils and the impact this time had pushed Johnny to fall on his ass in the sand. The announcements would come up as this was witnessed. “And we got the first drop in not even two seconds of the intro! Will Fish Food get back up?! Help me count! 10! 9! 8!” He continued to count down while Johnny stayed seated, with the help of the crowd counting along with him. 

Johnny would raise a hand to his bloody nose, barely listening to the sound of the numbers counting down. Although, it was just when the audience and announcer had reached ‘3’ that Johnny had slowly gotten back up. He was relentless despite his desperate desire to flee and leave the area. Not to mention the sudden nausea from the rattling of his brain with all the whiplashing as a result of the punches. Needless to say, he wanted to get out of there. But the only way out was to either win or lose. And losing only meant sullying his foster parent’s names. He didn’t want to do that. 

So he pivots back and raises his arms up in a defensive posture this time, similarly to his opponent’s stance. Yegoth was big and tall but that might have just been an advantage for Johnny. He was small and more agile than his counterpart. The sight of Johnny’s positioning gave cause for Yegoth to sneer and smile with mockery. It was easy to note that the human child had no idea what he was doing and to the orc, it might be the only thing he needs to best him. Use his lack of coordination against him. 

At first, Yegoth had sprinted towards Johnny and feints a punch in his direction. During such an action, Johnny would raise his arms up to cover much of his face but when no impact was made, he instead felt the real punch to his uncovered stomach. He let out a wheezing breath and was quick to drop his arms to protect his stomach, now leaving his face uncovered for yet another punch to his bloodied nose. 

The blow was enough to send him backwards a few steps at first before flopping on his back in a heap onto the sandy dunes. Curling up into fetal position, Johnny would make no move to actually stand back up. Despite the daunting sound of the crowd and announcer counting from 10 to 0. He wanted to throw up in that moment but he held his breath so as not to allow for any spew of chunks to leave his empty stomach. Vomiting would only add insult to injury for both the loss and the obvious tears in his eyes. 

Though once again, one thought would stand out against the others. The thing Kleegal had once said before he entered the sparring stage. About his career and all, Johnny did not want to be responsible for his losses. So again, the boy would force himself back to a stand just as the crowd and announcer made it to ‘2’. “TWO! And Fish Food is relentless! Second time! Could this be his charm?!” The announcer shouted loud, again urging the crowd to laugh and roar in cheer. At that moment, Johnny’s ears had started to ring. Head pounding and heart thumping hard against his chest. His blue eyes locked down on his opponent much like a predator to its prey; just as the orc had begun to lunge for Johnny once again. Time would gradually begin to move in slow motion to a point of stoppage and just before Yegoth was able to close the gap with Johnny, the human would duck down to let the orc’s fist soar past him as he swung it.  Unknown to Johnny, something seemed to have gotten over him. How was he able to commit to these actions with no training at all? In the next instance, none of that seemed to matter as the 7 year old straightened back up to land a heavy blow to the side of Yegoth’s face during his recovery. The momentum from the orc’s punch preventing him from defending his person for a time and so the fist would land. The attack was enough to rattle Yegoth but not completely deter him; he was mostly caught off guard by it. How Fish Food suddenly had the prowess to fight against Beast. When Yegoth pivots back towards Johnny to follow up with an attack, the human had suddenly dropped in a crouch to the sand and collected a handful of it in order to throw it in his opponent’s eyes. Giving cause for a loud yell from the orc to manifest before his hands had risen up to try to clear up the grainy mixture that blinded him. It was in that moment, Johnny would take to attacking every aspect of the orc’s person. Punches and kicks would land on the entirety of his body and it was when Johnny kicked the other in the groin that Yegoth dropped. Sand filled eyes wetting with tears in a desperate attempt to get them cleared up enough to see. Both of his green hands struggled to rub away the countless grains that were stuck under the small crevices and sockets. But in the end, it was for naught. The poor boy was down and laying on his side in the sand while Johnny awaited for a response. Blue eyes rage filled and boring down on Yegoth like he was the enemy of this arena. He had half a mind to continue brutalizing the boy but he does no such thing.  This time, the announcements and the count down from 10 was music to Johnny’s ears. With no prominent move from the Orc to stand back up, he could manage a smug grin up until the 0 mark was struck and the audience both cheered and booed in one chorus of excitement and disappointment. Regardless of it, Johnny turns about in the hot sand to raise his scrawny arms up in celebration. “We have our winna’! An unlikely fighta’! JOHNNY BOY! The Unda’dog who was able to pull through!” The announcements would continue but Johnny tuned it out, smiling throughout. All he could think about was sleeping in a nice bed back home.

[robobrainmurdermysterytheatre]

Fallout OC Interview!

I already tagged people, so I’m not tagging anyone in this. I took FOREVER because I thought every question needed an essay-length answer. Also because I went “Oh, I have SCREENSHOTS that would fit well with these questions 😏” then had to sift through the 9gb of screenshots I have to find them. Enjoy!

Rules:

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer them as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same.

What is your name? Jack Daniel O’Kelley

How old are you? 24... no, 25 now. Actually, technically, 235.

What do you look like? I’m white, almost 6ft tall, blonde hair, freckles, blue eyes... well, they used to be blue, now they’re... weird... one robot arm, lots of scars, lots of tattoos... you’ll know me when you see me, believe me.

[Read the rest under the cut 👇 It’s long! I threw in a bunch of pictures for lookin’ at! Also, the story of how Jack lost his arm!]

Where are you from? Where do you live now? Boston, born and raised. Except, before the war. Now I live in Sanctuary. I pack up and winter out in the southwest, though! Hate the cold. 

What was your childhood like? Before the age of 10? Not great. I was an orphan, grew up in an orphanage. I can’t complain, compared to what orphans in this time have to go through? Still... it was... not something I even want to talk about. But once my parents adopted me? It was nice, it was normal, mostly. They were good people. I didn’t want for anything. They made up for everything else I’d been through. 

What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? I’m General of The Minutemen, so I’d say we’re pretty friendly. The Minutemen have a good, solid relationship with The Railroad, and I personally do as well. We also have a good relationship with Goodneighbor, we always get supplies from there rather than Diamond City, if we can. And again, in a personal sense, I’m a big fan of the Mayor over there. Close personal friend! There are also some groups up north, in Far Harbor I’m on pretty good terms with: the harbormen, the synth refuge. Being popular with the Children of Atom from up there has perks that carry over into dealing with them in the Commonwealth as well. Oh! And the Atom Cats are definitely friends, they gave me a neat jacket and everything. They’re not really a militant faction or anything, they’re great to just hang out with and build cool power armor. They have a poetry night, too!

Tell me about your best friend. That’s just a friend? His name is Deacon. I’m pretty sure I’m not at liberty to tell you anything else about him, though. My other best friend is Piper, number one reporter in the wasteland. Very fun, very funny, very kind. We get drunk and sing showtunes together sometimes. She’s surprisingly good at fighting, more than once now I’ve seen her wreck with a minigun she just picked up from whatever enemy we just downed, but she’s still really good with that 10mm. She reminds me a lot of my late wife in a lot of ways. She’s doing amazing things, bringing truth to the people. 

Do you have a family? Tell me about them! I had my family before the war... my parents and then my wife, Ray, and son, Shaun, later. They’re all gone now. I have my son... he’s a synth replica of my human son that he made of himself... it’s complicated... but it’s not. I love him. He’s more my real son than the old man I met nearly a year ago who was the person my human son became. And my husband, Danse. And everyone around us in Sanctuary, really, is family. We all love and support each other, that’s what matters, you know? Even some people outside of Sanctuary - Nicky in Diamond City is like a father to me, Longfellow up north on the island too... The Abernathy’s treated me kindly and helped me supply up when I first came out of the vault and I had no idea what was going on, they were the first people I saw, so they feel a lot like family, too... and the Railroad, like Deacon puts it, are just “one big dysfunctional family, with guns” and, well, working with them like I do, we’re family. I also have a cousin on my dad’s side that survived the war, Celeste! She has the best weed and is a big *ahem* fan of Mayor Hancock. I love her dearly.

What about a partner or partners? I’m married to Danse, he’s an amazing man. Besides being tall, dark and handsome, he’s dedicated, strong, loyal, smart, principled... he’s also the biggest softie I know, he’s compassionate and loving and oh, god, his sense of humor is blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dry but if you catch it, it’s amazing. I have no idea what he’s doing with a guy like me. We balance each other out really well, he helps me keep my shit together, and I help him cut loose. Our marriage is sort of open, we both have people from before we got together that are really important to us, so I have a boyfriend, too. He lives out in Vegas now, where he’s from, but I met him up here during a really dark time when I thought I didn't have anything left in me and had run away from everything. He gave me back the will to keep trying. Haley’s really special - smart as a whip, loyal to a fault, goodhearted, charming, one hell of a shot... Oh, and gorgeous. We’ve had a lot of fun together, just wish I could see him more often. And then there’s Preston. He’s just... everything that’s good and right about humanity. How could I not fall in love with him? He’s beautiful inside and out, he has a heart of pure gold, he’s fought so hard for everything he believes in. I didn’t even realize he had any kind of feelings for me until after I had already gotten together with Danse, but, after we worked out the whole open relationship thing, we got together and that was that. 

Who are your enemies, and why? Number one on my shitlist are The Gunners. We’ve been whittling away their numbers, so they’re less of a threat than when I first encountered them. They’re still a legitimate enough with the firepower, organization and numbers they still do have. Anyone or anything that threatens the settlers or the Minutemen are enemies in my book. Things are pretty tense with the Brotherhood of Steel, as well. There’s no... official conflict with them at the moment, but they’re on thin ice.

But seriously, fuck The Gunners.

Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? Ah, yes. I think if they weren’t trying to spearhead a synth genocide on my turf, we would be able to coexist just fine. I actually used to be in the Brotherhood, though it was mostly me being opportunistic, hoping they could help me find my son and getting to play with power armor and big guns and giant robots. My husband was, too. We were Paladins! Well... I kind of took his position after they kicked him out... he recruited me, he was my commanding officer - one hell of an officer, too, that’s why I field promoted him to Captain of the Minutemen. But I’m getting off topic - The Brotherhood, thankfully seems to have at least slowed down on the synth genocide bullshit after The Minutemen and our allies blew up The Institute. I gently reminded Elder Maxson that’s what happens when people fuck with my family. I haven’t had too many issues with them since. 

[Knight O’Kelley 😏]

What about The Enclave? I’ve heard about them from multiple sources, I’m not sure how much of that information is good information, but from my understanding, they sound like assholes. Dangerous assholes. 

How do you feel about Super Mutants? I feel bad for them. The ones out here in the Commonwealth were made against their will by The Institute. That’s bullshit. I’ll still kill them when they’re shooting at me, though. I’ve ran into a few friendly ones, there’s Strong and Erickson, and Virgil used to be a Super Mutant but now he’s a human again. I know there’s friendly, smarter Super Mutants in other areas. They’re people too, just like ghouls, just like synths, just like humans. If they’re friendly, I’m friendly, if they’re hostile, I’m hostile. Just wish there were more around here that weren’t hostile. They’re also excellent fighters, I definitely admire the no-bullshit approach they take to fighting. 

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? Oh, boy, this one’s hard, I’ve been in some crazy fights. Probably The Battle for Bunker Hill, where everyone showed up to the party and I almost died. I was still working undercover at The Institute on the Railroad’s behalf, and so Me, Danse, Deacon, Preston, Hancock, and Mac all go out to meet this Courser. We had Danse in full power armor because we were worried about the Courser recognizing him, but he refused to stay behind because he was worried about me but I’m really glad he didn’t. So we meet this guy, the idea was that we were going to go with him to reclaim these four synths hiding out at Bunker Hill, but when we had a chance, instead we’d take him out and relocate the synths. Well, somehow The god damn Brotherhood of Steel got word of the synths hiding out there as well, so we go in and it’s just a clusterfuck, The Railroad agents, gen 1s, Brotherhood, Caravan guards, everyone’s firing at everyone everywhere. That made getting in easy, we just waded through the fire. We got down there, jumped this Courser and secured the synths. Then we had to fight our way out and in the process Danse’s armors broken, so he has to hop out, but we have everything pretty well handled. Then a second wave of Vertibirds roll in, they’re dropping guys, they’re firing on us from the air, everything is chaos again. They recognized Danse and they were out for blood, they start coming for him instead of the synths we’re protecting, which at least gave Preston, Deacon and Mac a chance to take the four kids to relative safety. So Danse and I are distracting them, trying to slowly retreat, but keep their attention on us enough the rest of our folks can get away. I’m on one side of the street and he’s on the other, just ripping into them. Then this grenade sails over my cover and lands right next to me. I’m pissed, I’m exhausted, I’m thinking, I’m going to throw this motherfucker back at them, there’s nowhere to run, we’re pinned down, fuck it. That was... the wrong call. Or I don’t know, I’m still here, so maybe it wasn’t. I reached down and next thing I know my ears are ringing and I’m flat on my back in the middle of the street in the most excruciating pain I have ever been in. Last thing I see before I black out is my gorgeous, heroic husband standing over me, absolutely fucking furious, unleashing complete and utter hell with that gatling laser on what’s left of the Brotherhood troops. And that’s how I lost my arm! 

Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? Many. I hate fighting them, honestly. They’re beautiful creatures. Terrifying, but beautiful. 

Do you like fighting? I’m so tired of fighting. 

What’s your weapon of choice? In a perfect world, where I won’t accidentally blow up my friends? Mayhem, my quad-barrel missile launcher with a built in targeting computer painted Atom Cats colors. Generally, though, I go with my sniper rifle, Liberator, or the laser rifle Danse gave me, Righteous Authority.

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) As much as I’d like to think it’s my excellent combat prowess, mostly some combination of my skills and my charm have helped me stay alive.

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? Fuck Vault-Tec, fuck their mothers, fuck all their friends and fuck the vaults. Except Clarence, the salesman who sold me my family’s place in Vault 111. They fucked him over, too. He didn’t know. I can’t be mad. We’re friends. And Curie, technically, was Vault-Tec, when she was a robot, but that’s different. Oh, and the vault I kind of... own... now is OK, the original Overseer left when I did her freaky experiments wrong. It’s known as the Party Vault, now! But listen, I was frozen for 210 years in Vault 111, and as fucked up as that is, that’s probably one of the most benign things Vault-Tec ever did to anyone. They carried out some of the most horrific things I have ever heard of, they’re awful.

[Vault 88, the Party Vault!]

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? I don’t have to work too hard to deal with the radiation after the... “religious experience” I had when I “infiltrated” the Children of Atom for Acadia. I still don’t have an explanation for what happened, but, the radiation heals me and eventually dissipates itself after a while, when it even does effect me. Every so often during a bad radstorm I still have to pop some Rad-X. Before that, though, lots of Rad-X and Radaway and cowering in corners of buildings when radstorms blew through. Radstorms used to do a number on me, they’d give me panic attacks, hallucinations - and not the fun kind - make me sick. Not so much anymore, so that’s good.

What’s your favorite wasteland critter? Deathclaws. They’re majestic, they’re fierce and huge. They have interesting mutations that turn them neat colors. I think they’re a lot more intelligent than the average wasteland critter.

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? Radroaches. Everyone said roaches would survive the apocalypse and not only did they survive, they got more disgusting. Yuck.

How do you feel about robots? Pretty fucking good! I’ve been fascinated with them since before the war. I was going to go into a career in robotics. I guess I kind of ended up doing that, since I build so many now. And Codsworth, who’s a robot, is one of my favorite people. So, yeah, pretty fucking good. 

[These are babeys]

How many caps do you have on you right now? Twenty four thousand give or take. Don’t even think about robbing me of them.

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? Listen, Haley sent me a crate of Sunset Sarsaparilla once and that shit is way better than any flavor of Nuka Cola I’ve ever had. 

Do you do chems? Yes. But strictly for business, not pleasure anymore. Before the war, I was addicted to Psycho and Med-X, and probably Mentats, back from when I was in Anchorage. Hell, even as a kid I would get high here and there. I would really do whatever I could get my hands on. But I cleaned up when Ray was pregnant. Once I lost her and Shaun, it was open season again, especially since chems seem to flow pretty freely in some places around here. I had it bad, my friends had to drag me more than half dead to a wasteland doctor more than once. But once I got Shaun back... I couldn’t do that to him, I couldn’t do it anymore. Sometimes the occasion calls for it, though, there are a lot of fights I wouldn’t have walked away from without the extra edge. I just have to watch it.

Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? A lot. I think about the life I had before, the people I cared about. I also think about the mistakes were made that got us to the place we are now, if anything to try to avoid making them again. If they’re even avoidable... 

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? Not being able to protect my family in the vault. I don’t know what I could have done differently, I was trapped in there, what could I do? I think about it every day like maybe I’ll have an answer to that question, but I never find one.

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? Destroying the Institute, hands down, biggest achievement. They were the biggest roadblock to a functioning Commonwealth, and now they’re gone we can actually build something. 

What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? 

Peace, for all three. 

[djgblogger-blog]

For Venezuela, there may be no happily ever after

http://bit.ly/2vwyqQo

In the face of rising protest, Venezuela's government has called on the military to squelch dissent. Efecto Eco /Wikimedia, CC BY

Last week, over seven million Venezuelans both at home and abroad voted against president Nicolas Maduro’s proposed Constituent Assembly, which would have empowered his administration to rewrite the country’s constitution.

But the logic of Venezuela’s republican institutions broke down long ago. This informal, unsanctioned referendum had no constitutional basis, and the government paid it little mind, promising to push ahead with the controversial plan despite overwhelming popular discontent.

Now opposition leaders have called for a 48-hour strike to keep the pressure on.

Both the July 16 vote and the general strike are an attempt to make rules for the grassroots exercise of democracy – a sign that Venezuelans have not yet forgotten this system of governance, despite mounting incivility that has left more than a hundred dead in just over three months of daily protests.

The perverseness of life here is no longer limited to the everyday turmoil of scarce resources, medicine shortages or spiralling crime. In Venezuela, the social contract has officially been shredded.

Venezuelans have drifted from a nightmare into an unreal world, as though living in the magical realism of Jorge Luis Borges, where anything is possible and everything can be invented.

Chronology of the absurd

In these profoundly liquid times, even political clashes in Venezuela have gone postmodern, creating something close to anarchy on the streets.

Each day, acting spontaneously and with no clear leadership, fighting factions in cities across Venezuela may (or may not) block streets of their own volition, penetrate university campuses and crush their opponents, trampling the basic standards of social coexistence.

Masked young demonstrators clash anonymously with state forces and destroy urban infrastructure, from street lights and sewers to the public transit.

The state, in turn, overreacts, relying on disproportionate use of police force and judicial overreach to try to stem dissidence. Human Rights Watch estimates there are now some 400 political prisoners in Venezuela.

Little is certain in Venezuela but this: the country is now living a low-grade war.

What else can you call a country in which barricades are raised every day in major cities, military troops are posted on the streets and where citizens routinely swallow tear gas?

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All parties bear responsibility for this conflict. The protests are not peaceful as the opposition claims nor as violent as the government says. Tensions have so escalated in recent weeks that no one really knows what triggered certain events nor what direction they’ll take next.

On June 27, which is National Journalists’ Day in Venezuela, unruly groups surrounded the National Assembly building, trapping members of Congress and the press for hours and bombarding them with insults and threats.

This was certainly not a minor event, but it turned out to be a mere dress rehearsal. Just over a week later, on July 5, the National Assembly was stormed during a ceremony commemorating the signing of Venezuela’s declaration of independence in 1812.

On this eminent civic date, a shouting horde burst into the chamber, threatening, landing blows, and bloodying up some members of the opposition party. Journalists, congressional staffers and several diplomats were held hostage for hours.

This fearsome event represented, in graphic detail, the kidnapping of Venezuela’s republican spirit.

Civilisation versus barbarism

Those familiar with Latin American literature will recall the region’s obsession, back in postcolonial days, with the topic of civilisation versus barbarism.

Today, these same forces have resurfaced in Venezuela. Subject to the anarchical forces of barbarism, citizens swing between resentment, hate and incomprehension, with little concern for the consequences of their actions.

Venezuela has lost the trappings of modernity.

Nobody is free from blame. Citizens erroneously placed their bets on populism, and now the country has fallen prey to apathy, awaiting its next great leader.

Meanwhile, the Maduro government is embroiled in corruption and inefficiency, more interested in its own survival than in leading a spineless and weak-willed nation to salvation.

Protests have taken place every day since April in cities across Venezuela. Hugo Londoño / flickr, CC BY

And the opposition, too, has failed: it has not developed any feasible alternatives for the future.

All told, the entire country has developed what seems to be a structural inability to engage in dialogue or negotiate solutions to the deep-rooted differences now ripping Venezuela to shreds.

What will become of this country?

Fairytale ending

Shunning the hard work of dialogue and debate, many Venezuelans are hoping for a Disney-style quick fix. But the real world does not work like a fairytale; the good guys don’t always win in the end.

Instead, the opposition has worked up poorly thought-out possibilities, creating weak, one-off instances of parallel governance that have nothing to do with Venezuela’s institutional reality and no chance at institutionalisation.

The July 6 grassroots poll was one such event. In addition to asking Venezuelans about the government’s plan to make substantial (but largely undefined) changes to the country’s social and political organisation, there was another question in the non-binding referendum.

Results of the July 16 plebiscite. Over 7 million Venezuelans oppose the government’s plan.

This openly seditious second query suggested that the armed forces might repudiate and perhaps even remove President Maduro from office. It’s important to note that the Venezuelan people declared themselves openly in favour of this risky possibility.

Neither loud dissent nor nationwide conflicts can stop the Maduro government, which is intent on holding its power-grabbing Constituent Assembly. If the measure goes forward, the 545 members of the National Assembly could be elected as soon as this Sunday, and granted the power to redefine the provisions underpinning Venezuela’s republican structure.

Between these two approaches – the opposition’s weak mutinies and the government’s growing authoritarianism – there is a single country. But Venezuelans have demonstrated a sweeping inability to acknowledge each other’s existence in order to reach even the most basic agreement that could drive progress.

If the people can’t build a common and inclusionary strategy for the future, in Venezuela, there may be no “happily ever after”.

Miguel Angel Latouche does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond the academic appointment above.

[mrtsrex]

The Pig who barked

-MrTsRex

This is a story of a pig. A pig who could think. I don’t know if pigs could think but pigs in this story definitely can. Well, at least one of them can. In this story I am going to anthropomorphise various animals and the reason I am telling you all this is because I am a terrible writer and can’t employ clever writing techniques to deliver it subtly. I am also very honest. This is your last chance to stop reading this story because after this point you’ll have to read till the end, otherwise you’ll go to hell and Satan himself will pour lava into your rectum. Also it’ll hurt my feelings.

You are still reading. So here we go. This is a story about a young male pig. Pigs don’t have names so we’ll call him just pig, our pig. So our pig had just come of age in pig years and was seriously confused and concerned about the condition of the world he’s living in. He’s a pig living in a developing country where pigs still have the freedom to roam around and eat bellyful of their favorite shit. He likes that about his life. Eating shit off the streets and later guessing which animal it belonged to, taking a long nice bath in the puddle and later rubbing their ass against the corner of a building, scavenging through garbage dump, these are some of the guilty pleasures our pig and his brethren enjoy. But as I’ve mentioned earlier, at least one of the pigs in this story could think, well it’s none other then our own pig. He didn’t know how he had developed this ability. In the beginning it was wonderful, enlightening, other worldly, almost orgasmic feeling, but later on, the side effects of this ability presented themselves. The side effect started with the loss of interest in the everyday frolicking. The oink-oink battles and raping the older female pigs lost its charm. It just felt weird, pig weird (which is the worst weird there is).

Other pigs started noticing our little pig’s detachment and called him out over it. Out of fear of being ostracized, our pig started pretending. He joined the pigs for the everyday madness, ate through the bins, fucked females for the show and rubbed his ass wherever he could. None of this made sense to him. Yes, he was trying to make sense out of the world. Stupid little fuck.

This pretension was killing our pig from the inside and he tried even harder to find the answers. Little shit eater didn’t know that ignorance was a bliss, that he took for granted. But he knew enough that he couldn’t go back now. He started noticing. He started seeing. Pigs or any animal for that matter always knew that they have a certain place in the world which was above or below the other animals. They kind of knew implicitly that they are a part of a hierarchy and have to follow certain rules to survive. Pigs aren’t exactly a cowardly species but they know who to not mess with. Humans were the most dangerous of them all. You don’t mess with the upright standers. If they want your hairs, you oink out your pain and let them do whatever they want with you. You don’t fight them, you don’t bite them. Next came the dogs. But there were two factions of dogs. One accompanied by humans and the others were the fellow street dwellers. The human accompanied dogs were stronger but minded their own business most of the time. The street dwellers were the bunch of assholes. The pigs had their skirmishes with the dogs everyday over something or the other but they had devised their own way to coexist in the neighborhood. The dogs always looked for the pregnant pigs and hunted for the piglets in packs or solo whenever they got a chance. And most of the time, they caught a piglet or two because it was the lone mother pig versus the dogs. Pigs never defended against such hunts and it had became a part of their lives. Our pig’s been watching this pattern all his life and it made him furious how nobody defended their own. He once asked a strong pig why he never fought the dogs, and the strong pig replied casually that it’s the way of the world and you have to follow certain rules. He said that it’s not his problem and he never saw the female pigs complaining. He said that it’s better this way as pigs give birth to a big litter and it’s good that some of them died, less competition for us he said, with a chuckle like oink. He advised our pig to mind his own business. Our pig never asked any other pig about such things from then on.

Our pig understood by now that some of us are born lucky. Being born in a certain specie gave them advantages. Just because the stupid dogs can wag their tails and lick their own balls, they were higher in the hierarchy. The way certain animal looked also mattered a lot. Our pig knew that pigs are not the most attractive animals. Our pig tried to wag his tail at some humans and instead of getting treats, he got stones thrown at him. He started to hate dogs even more. He started observing the dogs and humans. Humans were really tough to understand. None of the theories fit their actions. They were just beyond our pigs understanding. He observed the dogs. He soon found out that the privileges the dogs are getting has nothing to do with intelligence. Pigs were certainly more intelligent than dogs. What made the difference was the level of complaisance. Pigs never gave a fuck whether the humans liked them or not. Dogs on the other hand lived for it.

All this knowledge was killing our pig. He was born and grew up in this dump of a place they called home. He had no complaints before but now he knew something was missing. He didn’t want to live this way. There must be a place where pigs were living happily with dignity. There must be a place where the humans didn’t intervene and dogs didn’t bite. He thought that he’ll look for such a place some day. But he had never left his home. Our pig was afraid.

Days went by and our pig grew even bigger and stronger. Now the hate was not limited to the dogs, he hated himself too. The helplessness was infuriating for him. It was just unfair. The sheer vexation of it all was unbearable. He was ready to take action now. He didn’t care what happened to him. Our pig didn’t have to wait long before the dogs made their move. They were attacking the newly born litter of pigs. The mother pig was doing her best to save her children but the dogs were too many. One of the dog isolated one piglet and was about to incise his canines into the piglet when our pig bit the dog’s rear leg. Our pig dragged the dog away from the piglet while the dog was screaming like a bitch. Our pig almost tore the dog’s leg off. Other dogs were watching this. They gave up their hunt and surrounded our pig. Some of them started barking. Our Pig made a noise that resembled the bark. As they saw themselves being mocked and their companion’s leg getting ripped apart, a few came forward to fight the pig themselves. Watching this, other dogs did the same and soon all the hunting pack was fighting our pig. One dog bit our pigs tail and pulled at it. Half of the tail ripped away from our pigs body and the dog stared wailing in triumph. Watching this, other dogs also leaped up on our pig and started grabbing different body parts to tear away. By now, our pig was in great pain and he realized that he couldn’t possibly take on this lot alone. With all his remaining might, our pig pulled himself away from the dogs. Lot of his skin and ears were dangling in the dogs’ jaws. He didn’t wait to assess the damage but started to run. He ran as his life was depended on it. Well it was. He ran and ran and ran some more. He ran until he couldn’t see. And after a while he fell unconscious.

When he woke up he found himself in a queer place. Everything seemed quite clean. There were no dumpsters around, no filth, no shit. There weren’t any pigs either nor stray dogs. It was a ghastly image. The pig knew that he has come to a wrong part of the town. He tried to get up but as soon as he got up, excruciating pain ran through his entire body and he collapsed back again. The long unconsciousness had made his body numb and when he got up, every bone, nerve and sinew came back to life and in a millisecond his brain was notified of the damage his body had taken. He moved his head in agony and looked at his body. There were teethmarks everywhere, some shallow some very deep. He was bleeding profusely and there was a small puddle of blood just beside his belly. He felt angry and stupid. This was not what he wanted. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted. But it was his choice. He blamed himself for making the stupid choice. The rebellion was not worth the pain. And what did he achieve. The dogs were still there, perhaps celebrating for dragging him away. The pigs too must be laughing at him he thought, for he had just proved their point that not to mess with order. He felt stupid and utterly defeated. He is a failure he thought and believed that his life had ended. He waited for his eventual death and fell asleep. He heard some noises and woke up. He saw some humans screaming and running away. He understood that it was not a good sign and with all his remaining might started to drag himself away from there. After a while he heard some loud noises. He looked back and saw some humans with big sticks and it was the sticks that were making those noises. He increased his pace but couldn’t run because of the pain. Suddenly something struck him above his left hind leg. The humans were firing rubber bullets from guns and one bullet hit our pig. Was it survival instinct or was it some divine intervention, our pig suddenly felt unusual energy and he started running. The noises didn’t stop and he continued running. He ran again as his life depended on it and this time he found himself in a jungle. He wasn’t being chased anymore. But now he was mortally hurt. He was hungry too. He knew that if he didn’t eat something now, he’ll definitely die. He started eating nearby plants and after a while some of his senses came back to him. He could smell dead meat. He followed the stench and he came upon a dead carcass of a wolf. He ate it. He heard something and followed the sound and this time it was a river. He jumped in the river and felt like needles being pierced through his body. The water was cold and his wounds were fresh. But nonetheless, he felt alive. He felt like he had never felt before. The pain didn’t bother him. He drank water while his wounds were being washed by the river and after some time he got out. He limped out of the river as his brain was again getting used to the pain and he laid himself on the bank where some leaves had fallen from nearby trees.

He looked out to the river and the forest behind it. He looked at the birds flying around. He felt the wind. It was not exactly what he had in mind when he thought about pig utopia. He didn’t feel like winning. But he sure as hell didn’t feel defeated. With a sigh of relief he slowly closed is eyes as the river, birds and trees continued doing their thing.

THE END