#source: terminator 2: judgement day

[silent-neutral]

About SH2 Pyramid Head symbolism and the remake PT.1

--mentions of sexual violence, suicidal themes and just overall mental illness-- please PLEASE DON'T READ BEYOND THE CUT IF YOU PLAN TO PLAY THIS GAME BUT KNOW NOTHING ABOUT SILENT HILL 2!! There will be spoilers in this ''essay'' and I don't want to spoil such a great game for anyone starting fresh and blind, because that'd be the perfect way to start this game imho - your feeling toward this game will be heightened without knowing too much, plus forming your own view and having questions about it is also cool.

(***Had to cut this down into parts after watching 10+ hours of the remake and so much watching gave me a headache that felt like a literal hangover the next day ugh I felt like James lol otherwise it's too many topics and words in 1 post. This way it might be easier to organize them. )

------------------------------- My mind was blown recently. Ig I'm posting this to clarify more to myself than anything, but I had to search up Ito's recent comments about certain scenes with Pyramid Head. (ahem, the first cutscenes specifically). I've always had my own ideas and guesses about specific details playing as James, but after some clarifications on Ito's part about Pyramid Head.. it kind of jarred me, but at the same time explained other things and now my initial view of this game and its characters are validating my assumptions.. And if you knew about this already, well good on you.... Ito tweets so much sometimes, info like this gets buried and I had no idea until a week or so ago lol. So in light of SH2R releasing, I conveniently found out about some crucial details that would *also* inadvertently explain my (petty) gripes about SH2R. I watched the entire playthrough and my views have slightly altered (mostly positive, as this game was actually very faithful to the original imo). but for now I give you...a very wordy analysis on some themes of SH2. Excuse my rambly thought process though, it's very hard to organise them sometimes, I say to future self re-reading this later lol.

We know the monsters all carry symbolism relating to James. Specifically speaking, the series has a lot of sexual undertones present. Man.. Idk where it all started but I'm pretty sure we all assumed it was true when every Silent Hill source or fanpage over decades would bring up James' sexual repression. It made sense because of how things appeared, plus Angela's trauma and her demon....that James even fights... Well.. Ito hates fans saying James 'sexual repression' being symbolised in the monsters are canon. He doesn't mind people forming their own opinion, but he hates when fans say it's canon lol. At any rate, there was a lot of confusion from what I read at first (and the language barrier didn't help, but I think I got the gist of what he meant). --------------------------------------------------------------- Talking specifically about the mannequin scene, Ito says PH is *not* raping them. Ok sure, tbh it looks too vague to label it something extreme like that. But it became something of a meme and Ig it ended up being believed as true. Kinda wish this sentiment was quashed many years ago and not in 2020/2021 gah... So, what's happening in that scene is actually far more deeper than simply to traumatise James.... Pyramid Head is a manifestation of James' guilt AND unconscious desire to be punished for killing his terminally ill wife. James is called to Silent Hill via a delusional letter from Mary he created in his mind.(A made up one to ignore the real one). He's suffering from some kind of selective amnesia throughout the game, hence why everything is there to remind him of his pain. Obviously he's traumatised by what he did that his mind has blocked it out to the point it seems he has remembered a false timeline of events... but his soul is yearning for judgement. Ito says that, therefore, James is suffering from many delusions, that's what's creating and manifesting his inner demons (true for all that come to Silent Hill). Pyramid Head himself is manifested as the executioner, tasked with punishing James, and so.. He is actually attacking James' delusions, trying to remove them:

*o* And Ito goes further! Right after PH kills those mannequins, he stalks over toward the closet James hides in (also meaningful, lmao, but okok it's not about sexual orientation). Apparently, PH's appearance is shifting. Ito says he modelled and animated all the monsters in the original, so I trust him when he says that the front left panel in the corner of his helmet is peeling/flaking back and a tongue-like appendage protrudes from the hole. Although.. he admits it might be too dark to see in that scene, but it's there supposedly. I'm paraphrasing, but Ito implies that PH is impacted by James' delusions in that James *thinks* he sees a tentacle come out of the helmet and thus manifests that. And that's when James shoots at him - He shoots at his own desire to be judged when it attempts to remove his delusions that are keeping him from the truth of his reality!! James can't face reality at this point - those delusions are keeping him somewhat sane and distracted! It hurts too much this early on for PH to attack those delusions so he stops it...this is why he is 'in the closet'. James continues to keep those 'skeletons' there, for now. It makes PH look like the true good guy - an angel.. like Valtiel (interesting to note they have similar body design). Because of learning this, I very quickly noticed how throughout the Remake, you will find plenty already downed enemies.. and it was easy to think ''PH was here''. After James realises the truth from the tape, the Hotel reveals its true appearance (not sure when it burned down or if that has something to do with Alessa, er wait I remember in Origins it was in her house.. well anyway! this could explain James' sketchy memory of events, especially when confronted by Laura having only met Mary and received the letter a year ago in-game.) Anyway, the point is; if James is aware, then the delusions begin to fade. So after watching the Remake, I hoped that the monsters wouldn't appear/be weakened and lo and behold! Bloober was paying attention! The monsters after you watch the tape are weak and limping, can't attack or are already dead and I was delighted! It means Ito was consistent that the delusions the town creates makes up the core theme of Silent Hill. In the original, there are only 2 lying bodies before the PH fight. (I forget the meaning behind them but it has something to do with James' helplessness.) At any rate, Remake did the 'dying vision' symbolism much better here and the explanation is so so fascinating that it led me to rethink the concept behind PH. Side note though, about that hole in PH's helmet. I was always so damn confused about it for so many years!! I used to draw it as a rectangular hole (some art by Ito actually depicted it like that iirc), and then eventually to a gunshot hole since James, well, shot at him, so I assumed that's what it was from. and NOW it's actually a triangular shaped hole from the paneling being 'turned upward' due to how James' is perceiving him in the moment. What a revelation, I cry. Ah.. and note on other design aspects.. Apparently Ito never designed PH with a mass of flesh under the helmet (just a perpetual shadow and the neck bag thing at the back) and he doesn't even know who conceptualised that, but I think it's due to all the cameos and appearances PH has made in many games since SH2. And he looks slightly different each time so.. yeah, interesting that.

Even the figma has that fleshy mass (and gunshot hole!) but I'd say it is accurate on nearly everything else:

It is a very nice figure though. I can't blame all these figures ever released that *weren't* supervised by Masahiro Ito himself, because lmao, Ito just admitted that PH is subjected to changes depending on how James views him, and that explains why details are vague and hard to determine let alone see bc the game is so dark. Take this little gacha figure of PH for example, from a cute baseball game called, I think, Konami Dream Stars (Pal Pro kun?) Yeah, I got Snake as well lol:

...and yes, shameless little peek at my nerdiness on display, all the Capcom stuff is directly below it lolll

------------------------------------------------------------------ So! Having learned what I did, I ofc had to question the next obvious thing; the cutscene just before the first boss fight. PH was without a doubt molesting the Lying Figure/Body which was moaning suggestively the entire fucking time - no one is about to gaslight me into thinking THAT wasn't sexual! And yes, Ito admits that scene was intentionally made to appear sexual (as opposed to the mannequins) and yet he says it has no sexual meaning....wtf does that even mean?! Well, I think I got it. Again, language barrier is most likely to blame, but... To apply the last explanation for the mannequins; James' delusions are making him *think* he is seeing something intimate to the point it manifests right then and there which is so disturbing he recoils and tries to go back through the now-locked door. And so.. it would seem that to PH, he is just trying to destroy the delusions and he can't help how James perceives that; it's just going to manifest accordingly. And while Ito hates 'sexual repression' as somehow being canon to some fans (the majority actually), well, bruh... can you really blame people for coming to that conclusion? The flesh lips, nurses too, are on the risque side. Now, idk how it doesn't indicate something sexual if it's not meaning to be but I am aware of Ito's art style tending to be quite sexual and suggestive, featuring a lot of bdsm themes in his artwork and he is quite obviously inspired by at least HR Giger's work. So making the nurses, for example, look the way they do may be a stylistic choice, but I highly doubt it doesn't also have a symbolic purpose other than referencing Lisa's image or something (This is Silent Hill though ffs, everything is symbolic, it HAS to be). I'll reassess the meaning of those for myself, but specifically I'm addressing PH (and soon in another post, the other elephant in the room: Abstract Daddy.) Initially, I always saw PH as trying to remind James of his sins, jolt his memory, to wake him up to reality. (Which is interesting considering it's not clear if Silent Hill itself is even rooted in reality, the alter dimensions I mean. Another topic I want to address soon.) I also noticed the mirroring effect PH/Maria were doing in relation to their human counterparts; PH is James, and Maria is Mary; James killed Mary, and so PH kills Maria. But.. If PH is actually also trying to destroy the delusions, (which also appears to reflect the fact James is trying to overcome his guilt, his mental blockages that are causing his selective amnesia)that inadvertently means PH will need to destroy himself in the end as well, and that is exactly what happens..

Coincidentally, this would also reflect James' suiciding.

But first, PH attacks the monsters that are manifested and represent different aspects of James' trauma/psyche. Then he is constantly confronting James by killing Maria, or James having to return to a dead Maria. I thought he was basically tormenting James by showing him what he'd essentially done to Mary. "This is what you're guilty about, this is what you need to accept'' I think that idea still holds water (pun very intentional), but now I feel it adds another layer because Maria is the ultimate delusion... and thus, PH must destroy her. Now when she says 'I'm not your Mary, but I can if you want me to be' makes more sense to me what she is. She too is subjected to James' delusions because she keeps shifting the perspective she talks or thinks in, Mary's or Maria's? But she knows she is not Mary, just a manifestation of an idea. And James deep down knows she is holding him back (like all the other delusions) and that feeling calls PH to thus kill her. When James can't escape the reality of his past, he finally accepts the truth, the memories revived by the tape, and confronts PH after stabbing Maria a final time. 'Stop denying/ignoring your guilt, and stop trying to cover it up with distractions like Maria'. James finally doesn't need to be told anymore, he has punished himself (fitting, seeing as PH is an extension of James anyway) and thus PH, the final delusion/illusion kill themselves and disappear.

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OK so that's PH! Now to compare that with the remake

My main gripe was that the game is way too saturated in colour and too bright in certain parts, but it improves that as you delve deeper in the game thankfully. Kudos to Bloober for changing James' face to something more 'unaware' and disassociative. Gripe number 2: I do wish they cut out the 'hand rubbing' in the opening scene or at least tone it down bc that kind of foreshadowing is too damn obvious, sorry. Not needed. Especially not right at the start. Not even for old fans playing it, we know what happens, but cmon...It makes James too aware of *something* and his selective amnesia is what gives rise to his own customised demons...if he is even slightly aware of what he did, then what is the point to seeing the monsters, let alone PH attacking them, now that we know what Ito had intended? Wouldnt that change their appearance, or rather, remove them altogether? sigh, anyway. I find PH a bit too bright, not dirty enough and consequently, not as disturbing. Partly for that was how they clearly removed the lying body scene from the boss fight. I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but now with much needed context, this now makes sense...

HOWEVER....If my guess about James' assuming something sexual was taking place in that scene is what manifested it to begin with, then what is there to say about the remake?... So the simple act of hand-rubbing (awareness) really DOES make a difference, huh?! >:O it took away our favourite PH scene! 😂💔..

We can talk about DEI and stuff like that affecting certain themes in this game.... but Ito saying 'it doesn't mean it's sexual' would explain why it's taken out of the remake. Ito has supervised the Bloober design team on this, so they would have so much more context and info from the man himself... Still, it appears to conflict with James' psyche, bc it is through his very perspective that we are perceiving the town and how it presents itself to James so ofc if James sees something explicit, so are we the player. We are seeing the town and monsters through his eyes. And there is much to say about whether or not the other characters are even seeing the same town, but I'll get to that too. There is also the possibility that it's just 'creative freedom' on Bloober's part. It sucks, but overall... the game's pros outweigh the cons. Symbolism for Silent Hill is a very strong trait though, so I'm a bit conflicted about those changes. In the end, PH being a punisher and attacking the delusions of James' traumatised state of mind is fundamental, so as long as that is present, then I can't really say it's so inaccurate ig. It does imho, take away from PH's menacing persona and tones the disturbing factor down which consequently, in my humble opinion, makes him less scary. Intimidating, perhaps.. but less so. He looks very cool though lol. Especially how he breaks the walls during the chase and the final PH battle, I was super impressed with it! I didn't really like how PH was animated in the cutscene in the first fight (the way he turns around, idk..) but I love how they both throw the spears at you! This fight definitely improved upon the og version. Ah, and the sound of his heavy footsteps are wonderful as well! There was another creative thing Bloober did with PH's knife where you have to pick it up to advance through the tentacle wall thing. I realised this was a manifestation of James mental blocks since he starts holding his head in pain. But I thought "oh cool! James is gonna use the Great Knife to cut them!" But sadly, no.. but.. those tentacles would peel back, afraid of the presence of PH's knife... they are delusions after all~

Oh btw.. I didn't realize this before, but as soon as you attain Angela's knife, PH appears with the Great Knife - before this, he is unarmed. In Remake, right after you get her knife, you can hear PH's infamous screeching coming from dragging the Great Knife, reiterating that he is James. Subtle but very cool! I can't believe I didn't make that connection myself lol bah.

A bit more gripes to mention though: his strange janky movements that were imitated in remake made it look like a sad parody of the original scene, which was much more disturbing. I think it would have been better had they not added that part, it was random to see when he was moving as normal as one does trying to apprehend the mannequins, then calmly and slowly assessing the room only to suddenly flail about and strike random poses barely reminiscent of what he does in the original...and then just stand there as if James never shot him 🤨 not to mention, James looks so unbothered in this scene, he doesnt look at all anxious like in the original..the whole 'interaction' looked awkward. The original scene was paced better giving PH a kind of build up to those strange movements. I also dislike the lack of reaction and bad pacing with several of Remake's cutscenes as it toned down much of the intensity in crucial moments of the game, like in this one with PH. Yet... improved on others that I think were made better than the original's by elaborating on them.

Anyway I will touch on this and add more criticisms on remake in another post, this one is long enough lol; i just tried to get my thoughts on PH in one post but if I missed something I'll just add it in the PT.2.

If you actually read this, you must be as obsessed as I am (thank you)! Feel free to add your thoughts if you want, I love talking about silent hill symbolism or the ideologies behind The Order.

[mirum-wonder]

HK-INQUISITOR (TERMINATOR FAN-MADE CONCEPT)

The machines rose from the ashes of the nuclear fire.

Their war to exterminate mankind has raged for decades,

But the final battle would not be fought in the future.

It would be fought here, in our present.

Tonight...

These words from the Terminator 1 movie intro got imprinted in my mind since my early childhood right after the first time I saw the first movie. The dystopian, apocalyptic, dark future war scenes depicted on the screen gave me nightmares then I was a kid and at the same time captivated and mesmerized me. It`s needless to say for those who know me in person that Terminator movies from 1 to 4 are a few of my most favorite movies of all time and a Terminator as a franchise is a big source inspiration for me since day one. Many can agree that first 2 movies came to be an absolute master-peace sci-fi classics that hold up to these days and made a huge impact on modern culture and millions of people around the world. And I find it to be very interesting that most of the main ideas of the Terminator movies are only getting more and more relevant since the emerging tension and fear revolving around the concerns with the rapidly evolving AI technologies are only getting more prominent day by day.

But for me as a Terminator fan boy it was always not enough to see the short scenes of the future depicted in the movies, I always wanted to see more. And having that urge I decided to expand the the machines model line with some fan made non-existing Skynet robots.

So, to celebrate the annual Terminator day (aka Judgment Day that occurred at 29 August 1997 ) I present you my first of the fan-made robot designs that I did to expand the Hunter-Killer model line and join Skynet`s robot army. Meet HK-Inqusitor, my design of the Skynet`s non existing middle size hunter killer robot. Happy Judgement Day everyone! ٩(＾◡＾)۶ And stay tuned for more of my Terminator fan-made concepts, there will be more, the rise of the machines has just begun… ;)

Modeled in Blender, textured in Substance Painter and rendered in Blender Cycles. Everything from design to textures, final rendering and final post-production is done by me.

For more of the art stuff I do feel free to check out my Linktree

[reviewsclown]

Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)

Notably, they really like doing callbacks in this movie? In the very beginning they show a nude (skinless) terminator being used as a soldier, which doesn't make sense because that's what HK's are for, they want you to see this robot immediately. And who could forget the famous lines "Come with me if you want to live," "I'll be back." IDK it just seems odd to me like this is something that'd happen in a soft reboot, but also it's been 7 years since the last movie so maybe it's understandable? Also obviously is having the famous Terminator everyone loved from the first movie but having him be a good guy so he can be more of a character and have more funny lines, that was a good move though IMO, liked it. I'm talking about it too much.

The movie is really good, it's even more of a classic than Terminator 1 I believe and you have a moment from pop culture basically every handful of minutes, a practical wealth of reference sources to be discovered. The action scenes, very cool, the multiple car chases where the T-1000 drives a truck were all pretty solid, honestly I just loved the T-1000 in general in this movie he's such a freak LOL, always doing some weird shit when he's not just running as fast as he can, Arnolds a classic you can't go wrong with but he has to be my favorite terminator. Also it's just the peak of graphics and animation to be found, you can see the age but it works well for what they had.

Final Rating: you should definitely watch this, after the first movie though I think.

[tomoleary]

Marie Severin and Klaus Janson - Terminator 2: Judgement Day Cover Original Art (Marvel, 1991)

Source

First time I’ve seen that pencil/ink combo.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"SAME MAKE. SAME MODEL. NEW MISSION."

PIC(S) INFO: Mega spotlight on promotional shots for the T-800 six inch action figure by McFarlane Toys, from the 1991 sci-fi/action movie "Terminator 2: Judgement Day." Part of "Movie Maniacs" Series 4, released in October 2001.

BRAND: Movie Maniacs

GENRE: Movies & TV

PRODUCT TYPE: Action Figure

SERIES: "Movie Maniacs" Series 4

Source: https://mcfarlane.com/toys/t-800, Macabre Daily, various, etc..

[incorrect-snkquotes]

Some time after Team Benimaru's first match in KOF 2000

Shingo: Jesus, you were gonna kill that guy!

Lin:  Of course. I'm a Hizoku.

Shingo: Listen to me very carefully, okay? You're not a Hizoku anymore. All right? You got that? You can't just go around killing people!

Lin: Why?

Shingo: What do you mean, why?! Because you can't!

Lin: Why?

Shingo: Because you just can't, okay? Trust me.

[rsanntn]

Week 3 blog post (09/09)

Question #1: How does technology replacing humans in the work field affecting the society?

Automated eligibility systems provide an efficient way of collecting data and analyzing it. It also provides a convenience to a growing population by being reliable when it comes to its ability to store people’s information and pulling them when needed. However, automated systems also provide a narrow judgement when it comes to decision making in terms of human services that sometimes needs human empathy. “Forty years ago, nearly all of major decisions that shape our lives were made by human beings. They often used actuarial process that made them think more like computers than people, but human discretion still ruled the day” (Eubanks, 2018). Now that a lot of the jobs are computerized and turned into machines, it is quite easy for a person to be judged by numerical records and systematically be secluded. Automated inequality results to consequences that put people’s lives at risk and inconveniences.

Question #2: How does cyberspace bring communities together?

Cyberspace has been a revolutionary tool for some communities as it brought them together by their shared experiences and qualities. One of the communities that cyberspace has produced is the Revolutionary Association of Women of Afghanistan which mobilized the global awareness and opposition to the repressive Taliban regime.  Another community that was built on cyberspace was a ���global feminist networks begun in South Asia have fostered a challenge to gender-specific abortion, or “son selection,” as some refer to the practice of terminating pregnancies in which the fetus is female” (Purweal 2004). Cyberspace was not only a place to gain information, but it was also a safe space for communities and individuals who were not experiencing the same freedom offline.

Question #3: What is cyber feminism?

Cyber feminism evoked as different communities started using technology as a new way of expressing feminist practices. Cyberspace was not only used to create communities, but it was also a source of support for some people. From these communities built online, their agendas and goals were what defined cyber feminism. Their causes connected people from different parts of the world and in a way was seen as the modern revolution. Most importantly, cyber feminism is composed of variants that is “sustained focus on gender and digital technologies” (Daniels, 103).

Question #4: What makes the society vulnerable for automated systems?

Automated systems are consisted of algorithms and predictive risk models that control and decide which group of people are policed, who will receive resources, will be employed or not employed, and sometimes who will be investigated for fraud. Everyday, we encounter technology. Whether we buy something or download an app, our information can easily be accessed and recorded without our consent. “They are so deeply woven into the fabric of social life, that most of the time, we don’t even notice we are being watched or analyzed” (Eubanks, 2018). Society is vulnerable to these automated systems because these systems are planted into our daily lives whether we agree on it or not and it is sometimes used against us as we are judged by what we do or what we purchase. 

Daniels, Jessie . (2009). Rethinking cyberfeminism: race, gender, and embodiment. Women’s Studies Quarterly. 37, 101-124.doi: 10.1353/wsq.0.0158

Eubanks, Virginia. (2018). Automating Inequality Intro.

[lizgit]

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Trying to make sense of each Terminator movie

The timeline is a jumbled mess, and none of the sequels can keep it straight.  None, not even T2, which is one of the greatest sequels of all time.

Okay, so, to start; Terminator 1 takes place in 1984.  There is nothing ambiguous about this, it says as much on screen

The only possible ambiguity comes from the exact date; the cop that Kyle encounters say it is “twelfth, May, Thursday.”  May 12, 1984 was a Saturday, but the script was written with the production year 1983 in mind.  But that’s excusable, because the date is not important, just the year.  1984.  No ifs, ands, or buts.

Jump ahead to T2, which takes place unambiguously in 1995.  The T-1000 looks up John’s arrest record and confirms that.

2/28/85 plus age 10 makes 1995.  QED

The problem comes from the fact that the T-800 (Uncle Bob) gives contradictory information about the future.  I think James Cameron intended for T2 to take place in 1994, because a bunch of dates don’t line up.  Uncle Bob says John sent him from 35 years in the future; the future war is set in 2029, but 35 years after T2 would be 2030.  I can forgive this, but later Uncle Bob starts explaining Skynet and Cyberdyne, and says in no uncertain terms “in three years, Cyberdyne will become the largest supplier of military computer systems.”  If T2 takes place in 1995, that would mean Cyberdyne comes into power in 1998, a year after the given date of Judgement Day (August 29, 1997).

If T2 is set in 1994, it makes more sense, with both the 35-year and 3-year comments lining up, but that would make John 9 years old, and Edward Furlong is obviously a teenager (he was 13 during production).  Him playing a 10 year old is pushing it, but him playing 9 is completely out of the question.

T3 disregards everything by saying that John was 13 during the events of T2, and that Sarah died in 1997 after a three year long battle with leukemia.  That would mean she was diagnosed in 1994, which doesn’t fit with T2 taking place in 1995, and would mean John was born in 1981 at the latest, even though the first movie is definitely set in 1984.

The date of T3 Judgement Day is unclear.  Some sources say it was 2003, others say 2004, the movie just says that it’s been 10 years since T2.  So, 2005 is the latest it could be.  The writers of T3 disregarded everything because they wanted John to be older, so it doesn’t count.

Everything after T3 has been a soft reboot.  Salvation ostensibly takes place following the events of T3, but has a different cast and doesn’t feel thematically related.  If we assume it is a direct sequel to T3, then we can ignore it for the same reasons we skip T3 itself.

Genisys throws a wrench in everything by adding convoluted time travel subplots that bring multiple timelines together in ways that only make sense to the writers because they were hoping to explore it in more detail in the sequels they never got to make.

Dark Fate directly follows T2; the prologue is set in 1998, and the bulk of the film is set 22 years later in 2020.  We don’t know exactly when this version of Judgement Day occurs, because the actress playing young Grace looks the same before, during, and after Judgement Day.  Old Grace comes from 2042, and has nothing to do with Skynet or the original movies, so we can again disregard it, not because it doesn’t count, but because it has minimal connections to T1 and T2.  It’s its own story.

None of the timelines work together, they’re all mutually exclusive.  Even T2, my beloved T2, is not without continuity flaws.  James Cameron wrote himself into a corner by making Judgement Day so soon after the first movie.  If he had put Judgement Day in the year 2000, or maybe even later, there would be more wiggle room, John could have been older, it all could have made more sense.  The creators never intended for all the movies to tie together, they never thought anyone would bother trying to make sense of it because the specifics are ultimately irrevelvant to the story.

In the end, the most important thing to remember is this:

“It’s just a show, you should really just relax.”  You got me dead to rights MST3K.

I love this franchise, but I have too much time on my hands.

[kayodekolade]

The Value for human life is a powerful lesson I learnt from my favorite sci-fi movie, ‘Terminator 2 - Judgement Day.’

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The value for human life is the foundation for technological advancement.

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It is the foundation of every major invention.

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The value for human life is the source of inspiration for the creation and development of products.

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To value human life is to think smart. We will never lack ideas for progress and advancement if we think value for human life.

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What’s your favorite sci-fi movie of all time?

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Do have a great weekend. YOUR GREATNESS IS VERY SURE 💯👍

[peraltasames]

mountains and valleys (and all that will come in between) - chapter one

Jake, Amy, and four distinct yet painfully similar times the universe pulled them apart and pushed them back together.

read on ao3

part one: undercover

When Jake leaves Amy standing outside the precinct, her mouth slightly agape and the air sucked out of her lungs, she doesn’t know when she’s going to see him again.

In a much darker realm of possibility that she doesn’t dare to explore for too long, she doesn’t know if she’s going to see him again.

She recalls in vivid horror the time that her old precinct, back when she was a beat cop, received word that one of their detectives was tortured and killed on an undercover operation scarily similar to the one Jake is embarking on. She hopes and prays that the detective the NYPD lost that day five years ago didn’t leave some unlucky man or woman with a confession of love and longing that they would never get the chance to act on.

She stands in place, her feet incapable of movement, for an indefinite amount of time. She isn’t sure if it’s five minutes or an hour that pass by - or, if she’s lucky, the entirety of the three to five months that the FBI estimates Jake’s mission to take - but eventually the wind picks up and a shiver runs up her spine. She feels her phone buzz in her pocket and wonders how long it’s been doing that, how long she’s been completely unaware her surroundings.

Teddy Wells

Hi, Amy. Are you still coming over? It’s unlike you to be late.

Teddy Wells

(2) Missed Calls

There are a million things she wants to do right now: run after Jake (though he’s long gone), scream, throw something breakable, drink an entire bottle of vodka, flee the country. Spending time with Teddy is low on the list. She isn’t obligated to - they haven’t been dating for that long and it’s perfectly okay for her to choose a night in without giving him a full explanation - but blowing off her boyfriend would mean that something has changed.

She can’t admit that she feels as though her entire world has been shifted on its axis. Not to herself. Definitely not to the man she is dating. And not to Jake, either, because he never gave her the damn chance to.

He disappeared like a wildfire that was suddenly extinguished, and she’s left to deal with the rubble.

-

According to the alarm clock next to her bed, which she must arch her body over Teddy’s sleeping form to read properly, it’s nearly three in the morning.

Precisely five hours after the time that Teddy insists they go to bed following their evening crossword, and she’s gotten - in total - about one hour of sleep.

It’s not Amy’s fault. She knows she has to be up in three hours for work and it’s going to be a busy day working as a secondary on Rosa’s homicide case. She knows she’s barely slept all week and her body is hating her for it.

She blames a part of her brain that she knows from AP bio but is too damn tired to recall for the images that appear every time she closes her eyes.

Jake, laughing in the passenger seat of her squad car about the imaginary backstory he’s invented for one of his undercover personas.

Jake, biting his lip and absentmindedly running his hand through messy hair as he stares pensively at a case file, the gears in his mind turning wildly.

Jake, standing in front of her eight days ago and saying “I kinda wish something could happen between us...romantic-stylez”.

The ethical complications of thinking such thoughts about another man while in bed next to her sleeping boyfriend clog her mind, making it even harder to rest.

She trudges to the kitchen, surrendering to her losing battle with sleep. Her socked feet tip-toe on the hardwood floor to avoid any creaking sounds that may wake Teddy.

It isn’t until she raises a glass of water to her lips that she notices her hands are shaking. Her entire body is shaking, actually, which is one of the first indicators of an oncoming panic attack. She tries to breathe slowly, close her eyes and count to ten, like she’s been instructed to. It works some of the time.

“C’mon, Amy,” she mumbles to herself, shutting her eyes even tighter as she feels tears threaten to escape. “Get it together.”

I know you’re with Teddy, and I know it’s going really well.

She shakes her head, slamming her glass down on the counter a bit too loudly. “Stop thinking about it,” she says aloud, willing Jake’s voice in her head to just disappear.

I don't know what's gonna happen on this assignment, and if something bad goes down, I think I'd be pissed at myself if I didn't say this.

Her fingernails dig into her palms as she tries to ground herself to reality. She’s worried that these thoughts and emotions are going to eat her alive.

“Fuck,” she blurts out, her hand coming to cover her mouth the moment she blurts out the word. The Santiagos conditioned their children not to curse at a young age through loss of before-bed reading time, and it’s stuck with her through to adulthood. She rarely swears, and only does so in situations that demand such a word to be spoken. But, damn, if this doesn’t fit the bill, what does?

I kinda wish something could happen, between us, romantic styles.

In the darkness of her kitchen, with not a soul there to hear her, she whispers:

“So do I.”

-

It takes another five days for Amy to confide in someone. She’s not thinking about Jake - one of the rare moments of the past two weeks that her thoughts manage to travel elsewhere - as she sits on Teddy’s living room sofa, reading one of her favourite crime novels while he flips through the channels.

“Do you want to watch this one?”

She’s too engrossed in her novel, which is steadily climbing towards the big climax she’s read a dozen times but never tires of, to look up from its pages.

“Whatever you want, I’m not really watching,” she mumbles, hastily turning the page.

Teddy murmurs words of agreement and selects whatever title he was pondering, and it takes about twenty seconds for Amy to recognize the dialogue.

“You throw quite a party. I didn’t realize they celebrated Christmas in Japan.”

Before she looks up at the screen, she’s briefly transported to several distinct memories of the past few years: Jake’s couch four months ago, a half-eaten pizza and two cans of orange soda in front of them, watching this very movie; a year before that, viewing it (along with the sequel) at Charles’ place during Jake’s surprise birthday party; her first year at the Nine-Nine, sitting in the break room with a shitty laptop on the table playing the film while Captain McGintley took his afternoon nap, despite Amy’s better judgement.

“Everything okay?”

Amy glances down at the book, which she unknowingly dropped in her lap as her eyes fixed on Bruce Willis shooting a gun on Teddy’s television. She realizes with a sharp pain in her chest that this is the first time in years that she’s watched this movie without Jake present.

“Do you not like Die Hard? We can watch something else-“

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I mean, no, I don’t like Die Hard, but...that’s not what’s bothering me.”

Teddy furrows his eyebrows and turns off the television, twisting his body to face her and, perhaps, to figure out what she’s thinking.

“There’s a reason I’ve been kind of weird the past couple of weeks.”

He prompts her to continue with a slow nod. It certainly has not gone unnoticed the way she’s flinched away from so many of his touches, declined his advances in the bedroom every evening, stared into space for most of their dinners together.

“You know how Peralta got fired?”

Teddy nods again, somewhat more apprehensively. Jake’s been a source of tension for them before, from their first date after Tactical Village Day when Teddy questioned if they had some sort of romantic history and Amy rambled incessantly about how he’s her coworker and she would never date him rather than giving a simple and far less suspicious “no.”

“You can’t tell anyone this, but he had to get fired so he could go on an undercover mission with the FBI. And before he left, he, um...” She swallows the lump in her throat, which now feels incredibly dry. “He told me he had feelings for me.”

Teddy’s eyes widen, and he discards the blanket previously draped over his lap.

“Well, you told him it’s never gonna happen, right?” he asks quickly, anger building in his voice.

“I didn’t really get the chance, he kinda just dropped the bomb and walked away and we can’t have any contact-“

“Do you have feelings for him?”

The right answer to that question isn’t immediately evident to Amy - a “no” would be a blatant lie, but “yes” would immediately terminate a relationship that she isn’t sure she’s ready to see the end of. Teddy is the perfect man on paper, the kind of man that her father would probably approve of upon their first introduction. He’s a good cop, just like Jake, but his approach to detective work is methodical and precise and completely unlike the frantic (brilliant) energy of Jake solving a case nobody else, even Amy herself, could solve. She feels comfortable with him, she feels safe, but she’s wondered from time to time if it’s a little too safe. It’s only logical - there’s no way he can break her heart if he never really has it in the first place.

Regardless of her intentions, she gathers from Teddy’s disappointed glare that the right answer is probably not complete silence.

“I think I-I’m confused.”

Teddy pauses, his ears reddening like he’s gearing up for an argument, but instead lets out a heavy sigh and nods his head. “Okay. I guess you should probably-“

“Go home and take some time to think,” Amy finishes.

“I was going to say we should talk about this, but…if that’s what you need.”

Amy looks at him apologetically and presses a quick peck to his cheek before standing to gather her things.

“I’ll call you on the weekend,” she calls out to him before shutting his front door behind her, scurrying downstairs and to the nearest bodega to buy a pack of cigarettes.

-

The next three months bring longer days and warmer weather to New York. Summer means the precinct is at a more acceptable temperature for Amy’s eternally-cold skin, it means the majority of her colleagues are cashing in their time off and she has more casework to keep herself busy, and this year it means long nights hiding at work to avoid her boyfriend who is still, somehow, her boyfriend despite her weeks of confusion and claiming she felt they were “out of sync.”

Really, the confusion is far from resolved. It definitely won’t be until Jake is back and she can at least speak to him about everything, but it’s become increasingly unclear when that will be as the three-month park passes and they still have little to no information on the status of his case.

It’s a particularly hot June afternoon, shortly before the end of her shift and the beginning of the weekend. She’s heading to New Jersey tomorrow morning (it’s no coincidence that she’s visiting her parents so much more frequently these past few months - Jersey is a Teddy-free zone, and therefore a hard-to-answer-question-free zone) and wrapping up the last of a string of open-and-shut B&Es.

Her head jolts up from her desk when she hears the sound of the captain exiting his office, the familiar clacking of his shoes on the tile floor a sound that she’s taught herself to respond to with alertness.

“Jeffords, Santiago, Boyle and Diaz, can I see you all for a moment?”

She’s up at her feet in an instant, the first to enter the captain’s office as the others follow behind her. Rosa’s the last to walk in, and Holt closes the door immediately behind her.

“What’s going on, sir?” Terry asks, crossing his arms.

“A friend of mine at the FBI has given me some insight into Peralta’s case that I felt I should share with all of you,” Holt explains, moving to stand behind his desk.

She can’t gage from his expression whether the news is that he’s coming home or that he’s dead or something else entirely, but her knees go weak nonetheless and she grabs onto the back of a chair as subtilely as possible.

“What is it?” Charles asks quickly with wide eyes. “Is Jake okay?”

“He’s alive,” Holt says quickly, and Amy’s world stops spinning long enough that she’s able to nod in understanding and stand a little straighter. “The case is going well, and there is a chance that they’re getting close to being able to set up a sting. Unfortunately, the closer that Peralta gets to the Ianucci family, the more their enemies become his. He hasn’t sustained any major injuries, but the danger of the case has grown exponentially…”

Amy watches Holt’s lips move for another minute or two, but the rest of the words fade out into a dull humming sound in her ears. She wants to collapse to the floor or run to the bathroom and throw up, but her feet are glued to the floor.

“Santiago, are you alright?”

It’s not the first time the voice of her commanding officer is the only thing to snap her out of a heavy trance. She looks up at Holt and realizes that he’s done his spiel and his eyes, along with everyone else in the room’s, are fixed on her.

“I’m fine, sir,” she says, supporting her statement with a contender for the most obviously fake smile in history. “I’m sorry, will you excuse me? I think I’m getting a-a call-“

With a small nod of approval from Captain Holt, she’s pushing past Rosa towards the exit and running to the roof. She needs air. She needs nicotine. She needs, and this one is by far the most pressing, to see Jake Peralta healthy and alive.

-

A dark corner at Shaw’s and several bottles of beer, Amy quickly realizes, is the best and only available antidote for the day she’s had. No Teddy, no smalltalk with coworkers, nothing but the numbing effect of the alcohol on her tired brain.

She hasn’t spent much time here over the past few months. It turns out there are a lot of places that feel just a little bit wrong without Jake around. Some are unavoidable - work, for instance, and the little deli across the street that they both love. Others, she avoids at all cost - the bar, his neighbourhood, that one apartment building on Barton Street where they conducted a stakeout many months ago on the worst (yet somehow, best) date of her life.

“What’s up with you?”

She looks up from anxiously picking at the wrapper of her bottle at her fellow detective and - sometimes, Amy thinks - friend.

“Oh, hey Rosa,” Amy says quickly, already raising her guard. “Um, nothing’s up with me. What’s up with you?”

She sighs as Rosa gives her the look that she knows by now to mean that she is not having any of her bullshit and subsequently slides into the seat across from her.

“Fine,” Amy mumbles after a few moments of Rosa’s hard stare. She’s a little drunk and feeling a lot of emotions, so she settles on the one that’s the easiest to express right now - anger. “I’m mad at him.”

Rosa narrows her eyes. “Teddy?”

Amy shakes her head incredulously. She supposes it’s the natural assumption, him being her boyfriend and all, but she’s never mad at Teddy. He doesn’t do anything wrong. Even if he did, she doubts he could ever make her feel as mad as she does right now.

“Peralta,” Amy clarifies, not helping the look of confusion on Rosa’s face. “He’s…the worst. I’m pissed at him.”

“For what? He’s been gone for months.”

Amy laughs, taking a long swig of her beer until its contents are completely drained. She imagines she looks like a crazy person as she slams the bottle on the table and continues laughing.

“That’s the problem, Diaz. He left for months, right after he-” She hiccups from the recent chugging of her beverage. “He told me he likes me. Like, likes me likes me. For realz, romantic-stylez, likes me. Jake Peralta.”

Rosa eyebrows raise a little bit, but there is no gasp of shock that follows Amy’s confession. After a moment, she simply nods.

“Hold up,” Amy mumbles, her hands gripping the table as she begins to feel slightly dizzy. “Did you know? Did he tell you?”

“No, Jake and I don’t talk about that crap,” Rosa asserts quickly. “But…I suspected it for a while. I think everyone kinda did.”

Amy lets out a sigh of exasperation, suddenly feeling like the worst detective on Earth. Has he really liked her for a while? Potentially before she embarked on her current relationship, satisfactory yet completely dull in comparison to the excitement of bickering with Jake while on a case?

“He just left and now he could get hurt or-or die and he didn’t even give me the chance to respond,” she whines, burying her face in her hands as her hair falls like a curtain around her head. “What a complete ass.”

“So you like him back, huh?”

Amy hurriedly brushes the hair out of her face to look the other woman in the eye.

“I never said that,” she snaps, once again reverting to the defensive. “I-he’s Jake, I wouldn’t-I mean, maybe, but I’m still with Teddy and I’m just confused, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just don’t want him to die. That doesn’t mean I like him.”

“Okay.”

“It would be nice to get the chance to figure it out, though. With him here.”

“I know.”

“And…I don’t want to lose him.”

Rosa’s eyes soften a little this time, though her tone remains steady: “You won’t.”

Amy holds her coworker’s - no, they���re definitely friends - gaze, nodding slowly. Rosa’s right about pretty much everything. She hopes this is no exception.

“I need another drink.”

“I don’t think so, Santiago,” Rosa stands and blocks her path back to the bar. “C’mon, I’ll take you home. I haven’t had anything to drink yet.”

A few minutes later, in the passenger seat of Rosa’s car, Amy opens her eyes for the first time since they left the Shaw’s parking lot and turns her head to face Rosa as she focuses on driving.

“Do you think me and Jake - uh, romantic-stylez - would be bad idea?”

Rosa pauses and glances over briefly. “I don’t think you’re gonna remember this tomorrow.”

Amy just curls in on herself and gives into her drunken desire to zone out and stare out the window at the passing city lights.

“But no,” Rosa mutters faintly just before Amy passes out. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

-

Amy doesn’t get much warning that he’s coming back. There’s been whispers among their detective squad, but no real confirmation that this would be unlike the many other times they were close to a sting but couldn’t quite pull it off.

She has the weekend off, and Sunday evening she gets a text from Rosa:

Jake’s back. They got most of the Ianuccis yesterday - busted at a family wedding. He’ll be at work tomorrow.

She’s beyond grateful for the heads up, because she has at least twelve hours to compose herself before she’s face-to-face with him for the first time in six months..

On one hand, she’s entirely unprepared to see him. On the other, she’s tempted to drive to his apartment right now and kiss him harder than she’s ever kissed anyone.

The more rational part of Amy, the part that is still in a relationship with a reasonable man for a woman approaching her thirties to be dating, wins this one.

She barely sleeps the night before he returns, her mind drafting a dozen options for what she may say to him when they reunite. Some are more dramatic or cliche than others, many would morally require her to break up with Teddy first. All of them end with some acknowledgement of her feelings, but none end up leaving her mouth when the time comes.

They’re in the evidence lockup, alone in a room together for the first time in so long - it felt like an eternity for her, at least - and she just can’t say it. Not like this, not now, not yet.

“I’m still with Teddy. Romantic-stylez.”

The hurt, slightly surprised look on Jake’s face - which she has been subconsciously re-memorizing since the moment he stepped off the elevator - makes her regret the choice instantly, but the real sweeping blow to her heart comes when he takes back his confession a moment later.

Later that day - somewhere between the clinking of glasses, Jake respectfully informing her that he does indeed still have feelings for her but understands that she’s still with Teddy, and a quiet walk alone to the subway after she decides she needs some air - Amy back to square one in terms of the confusion as to where her heart lies.

She arrives at Teddy’s at their agreed upon time and lets herself in, taking her boots off and placing them in the orderly line of his shoes on the rack by the door.

“In the kitchen, Amy!”

The sight before her in his large, well-lit kitchen with marble countertops is nothing new. She can estimate immediately that he’s about halfway through his Pilsner-brewing process, which he’s recently become quite obsessed with. Simply through frequent observation, she’s pretty sure she could make Pilsners in her sleep at this point.

“How was work today?” Teddy asks without looking up from the stove. “I heard Peralta’s back from his big, fancy FBI operation.”

The ignores the condescending tone and obvious jealousy, taking a seat at one of the stools and dropping her purse.

“It was fine.”

“Did you finally tell him nothing’s gonna happen between you two?”

Amy nods slowly, staring at her hands in her lap, and then realizes he still isn’t facing her. “Yeah. I told him.”

Teddy adjusts the burner on the stove and turns to her with a wide smile that fades the moment they make eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, brows furrowed. “Did he give you a hard time? If he’s being a jerk-“

“No.” God, she wishes he was a jerk. It would be so, so much easier if he was an entitled asshole. “No, he was perfectly respectful. I’m not upset, just-”

“Confused?”

Teddy repeats her choice of words from months ago - a word that is still haunting her - and she wants so badly to lie and shake her head and pretend that everything is fine and there’s nothing to be worried about. She can’t do that in good conscience, but she figures she can keep dating Teddy and see where that relationship takes her as long as she’s at least relatively honest with him.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “So, what flavour is this batch?”

She can see it in his eyes that Teddy isn’t happy with her answer, but at least she knows that she told him (part of) the truth as she sits back and listens to him talk about yeast and fermentation for the next forty minutes.

What she doesn’t admit to him, nor to herself quite yet, is that their relationship has been a ticking time bomb from the moment Jake flagged her down outside the precinct six months ago. Whether she likes it or not, it’s only a matter of time before it explodes and destroys everything in its reach.

Destruction isn’t always the worst thing, though. Not when it’s making room for something new and, if she’s lucky, something beautiful.

[not-a-space-alien]

Into the Unknown, Part 8:  Beneath A Purple Sky, or: Crowley’s Adventures in Wonderland

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Series masterpost

On AO3

“Fuck!  Shite! Fuck!  Fuck!”

Anyone within a mile of Crowley would have been able to hear the stream of curses pouring from his mouth.  But he was up in the stratosphere and plummeting like a comet, yelling into the empty sky.

He tumbled head over heels, utterly disoriented, his vision a blur. He burned all over.

He hadn’t burned like this since he Fell.  He registered dimly it was the same pain as Falling, God’s presence burning you to Hell, the same pain as the time he had been in Heaven under the protection of angel dust that had rubbed off.

It was at this point that he made the connection that Falling hurt so much because you had just become a demon, but were still in Heaven and in contact with the Divine Aura until you nose-dived out of it into Hell.

And what he felt right now was a little like that, except God had been right there, and touching him at that.

Crowley had no idea how he had survived, or where he was at the moment. The stinging sensation of God’s holy aura had been overpowering for a single, terrifying, painful moment, then it had just…disappeared.

Maybe he was in the process of dying.  Somebody, he hurt all over.  It was fading, though, as he got further from the source.  Or maybe as he just continued on with dying.

But no, that couldn’t be right, because he could still feel things.  Over the dwindling stinging in his demonic core, he felt the wind rushing past him.  He wasn’t Falling, just falling.

Priority number one was to stop this free-fall that had consumed him somehow. He could almost feel the atmosphere’s friction rubbing him like a comet at terminal velocity.  His vision started to return, fading back in to show him a view of the earth spinning beneath his feet, a whir of land and trees alternating with a clear purple sky—

Wait, the sky was purple.  Why was the sky purple?

Crowley phased his wings into existence and tried to snap them open, but they shrieked in pain as he moved them.  He grit his teeth and steadied himself, splaying out like a skydiver.

A second glance confirmed that the sky was indeed purple.  Despite the direness of the situation, Crowley couldn’t help but stare upwards at it for a few moments.  His tie flapping up and hitting him in the face jarred his attention back to the situation.

Crowley tried easing his wings open slowly and had a bit more success. In the end, he was able to slow his fall enough to look at the ground below him and determine where he was.

Somebody, he was so high up.  He had barely noticed the air was too thin to breathe.  For a moment, he could’ve sworn he could see the curvature of the Earth.  A huge carpet of rugged waves hurtled towards him as he fell, and he realised he needed to take evasive action or land in the ocean.

He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he was able to steer himself so he would land in what he thought was Great Britain, at least.

He landed heavily in a tangle of trees, snapping branches beneath him and thumping into a carpet of pine needles in the dirt.

He just lay there with his wings askew beneath him, spread out looking up at the sky.

It was purple?

Crowley groaned, feeling the aches from the descent racking his body on top of the burns the Divine Aura had inflicted.  His hand worked its way down his shirt and unbuttoned it to assess the damage. There was a huge hand-print of red, blistered skin wrapped around his midsection where he had been grabbed, but other than that the damage seemed to be minimal.

Thank somebody.  That could have ended very differently.

His fingers worked at a patch of raw skin on his face, and he miracled a burn salve into existence and applied it to himself.

“God,” he moaned.  “Fuck. Damn.”

A winged figure flickered across the sky, too fast for him to see who it was. Crowley collected himself and managed to get to his feet, teetering over to a tree for support.

He was still trying to catch his breath when a strange little angel appeared in the tree above him.  They had a spacey look in their eyes.

“Hello?” said Crowley.

WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? said the angel, cocking their head.  STRANGE, STRANGE.

“Um,” said Crowley.  “Space? Is that you?”

I SHOULD GO FIX THE HOLE, they said, then flitted away up into the sky.

Crowley plopped back down on the ground, exhaustedly putting his head to his knees.  He ended up sitting there for a few minutes to gather up his will to move, then set off towards where London should be if his rudimentary navigation during free-fall had been accurate.

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

Crowley healed some of his more debilitating injuries on his own, but to save his energy he left some of them for the more thorough recovery session he anticipated once he was reunited with Aziraphale, Maltha, and the rest.

Somebody, he hoped they had escaped from the Judgement Room alive.  He had no idea what had happened.  He had to get back to them ASAP.  But going back up to Heaven was absolutely out of the question with how he had left it.

There should be somebody in London, he thought, if he could just meet up with someone to make contact, and he could decide where to go from there.  Last he heard, Botis and Kyleth were still in the hotel across town.  They might be his best bet.  At the very least, Kyleth could peek her head into Heaven and see if it was safe.

Crowley stopped in the middle of this train of thought, legs dangling and hovering in the air.  Surely this was where London was, right?  He had been there millions of times.  He had let his wings fly him there based on muscle memory.

Crowley had never gotten lost before, not in Great Britain, his home.

He flew up higher into the sky to orient himself to try and counter his sinking stomach.  Had he hurt his head somehow?

The M25 was gone.  London wasn’t where it was supposed to be.  And was Mayfair…in Ireland?

Crowley shook his head, but he traced his path around the bodies of water and confirmed that, yes, this big ol’ island under him was indeed the UK.  Frustrated, Crowley swooped lower over a large city, scanning it for familiar landmarks.

Okay, there was Big Ben.  That was a start.  Crowley alighted on the hour hand of the clock, the machinations of the clockwork rumbling behind him.

Wait, what did the clock say?  He turned back to look at it.

Big Ben only had six numbers on it.  One through six, spread out evenly over the face as though it constituted a whole day.  And in Arabic numerals, not roman.  Also, the clock face was a completely different colour.  Also, it wasn’t Big Ben at all, just some other iconic clock tower soaring above the city heights, some new and completely foreign clock tower Crowley had never seen in the hundreds of years he had lived in Great Britain.  He stared at it, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

The bell rumbled, and Crowley leapt off before the hour hand turned and the bell deafened him.

“Okay,” said Crowley, wringing his hands.  “I must have hit my head a bit in the fall.  No matter.  Should clear up soon.”

That purple sky felt all too real, though.  He felt like he just needed one thing to orient himself.  If he could just find Aziraphale….or anyone.

Crowley rubbed the silver ring on his finger, trying to activate the charm. It stayed unlit.

He frowned.  When had he used it last?  Surely it had been longer than 12 hours by now?

Crowley pushed down the pit in his stomach, swooping down to what he thought might be familiar territory.  He drifted for a while up in the stratosphere, shading his eyes with his hands and peering down below.

There, a patch of green nestled among the grid-work of the city.  It looked weirdly like St. James’s park, considering it definitely wasn’t.  And there, oh sweet someone, sitting on a bench by the pond—

Aziraphale.  Crowley dove straight towards him like a parched man after water.

The angel’s attention pricked up as Crowley approached, folding in his wings and jogging over, panting.  “Aziraphale!  Thank f— Whew, I thought I would never find you.”

Aziraphale’s stare on him was hard.  He hadn’t gotten up from the bench.

Crowley doubled over with his hands on his thighs.  “Are you okay?  Are Maltha and Noah okay?  What happened?”

“You…” said Aziraphale.  “You’re dead.”

Crowley straightened up.  “Ah…Nope…Gotta say, Aziraphale, I expected a bit more of a warm welcome…”

Aziraphale stood up, eyeing him critically.  “You’re dead.  How are you…?  I killed you.”

“A little concern?  Anything?  Wait, did you say you…?”

Aziraphale drew his sword.  Crowley held his hands out and backed up.  “W-wait, Aziraphale, it’s me. Crowley.”  It was at this point that Crowley notice the gold ring, which he had so lovingly slid up the finger of Aziraphale’s sword hand, was nowhere to be seen on the hand gripping the weapon pointed at him.

“Stay right where you are,” said Aziraphale, bringing the point of his sword up into Crowley’s chest.  Crowley held his hands up higher.  “You won’t make any sudden movements if you value your life.”

Crowley’s despairing eyes swept up Aziraphale’s weapon into the angel’s face. “Angel, I…”

Aziraphale materialised a communication device of some sort; it looked rather like an ethereal flip phone, which he snapped open.  “I need to speak to Azrael right away,” he said into it.

“Aziraphale, it’s me, Crowley.”

“I’m aware,” Aziraphale snapped.  “My demonic nemesis I vanquished centuries ago, somehow come back from the dead to haunt me.”

“What?” said Crowley, his heart growing heavy and threatening to break.

“I’m sure the warrior on patrol heard the disturbance and is en route, so don’t think of trying anything.  We’ll get to the bottom of this, serpent.”

A few humans had gathered nearby, gawking at Aziraphale’s weapon. Aziraphale dispelled them with a miracle-laden suggestion they head home and forget what they had seen.

“Can—Can I talk to—”  Crowley swallowed.  Something was terribly wrong.  Aziraphale was acting like a proper angelic asshole.  Who would Crowley have a chance of getting to who might help?  “Can you call Raphael on that thing?  Or Victoria?”

Aziraphale glowered at him.

“Anyone?  Any archangel?”

“Archangel?” said Aziraphale.

“Yes, archangel?” said Crowley.

They stared each other down.  Had Crowley been a cat, his tail would have been floofed out.

“Ah, here comes my backup,” said Aziraphale with a smug smile, and a pair of wingbeats sounded nearby.  “Looks like Hastaphael is on this route today.”

“…Who?”

Crowley nearly fainted when a second angel alighted by Aziraphale, likewise drawing his sword.  The newcomer was an angelic warrior, but the face, the aura….

“Hastur?” said Crowley, absolutely floored.  “Are you an angel?”

The warrior gave him an ugly sneer.  “What are you talking about, demon?”

“He’s not making an ounce of sense,” said Aziraphale.  “This is clearly an anomaly.  We ought to take him to Gabriel.”

“Where’s his Eye of Satan?” said the angel with Hastur’s face.

Crowley yelped nervously as the warrior angel roughly grabbed him and pulled his collar down, exposing his bare neck, then twisted his wrists to perform the same inspection.

“It’s always on the wrist or the neck,” said Aziraphale.

“I know,” the warrior growled.  “He dunt got one.”

“It was on his neck before.”

Crowley tried to lean away from the grabbing hands, but the warrior clamped a hand on his jaw and tilted Crowley’s head to peer at the other side of his neck.

“I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” said Crowley, voice muffled underneath the warrior’s hand.

“Doesn’t matter,” said the warrior.  “Only good demon is a dead demon.  Let’s run him through.”

“We should take him to Gabriel,” Aziraphale said.

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale snapped.  “This is clearly an anomaly, though!”

“We can file a report after we—huh?”

Another pair of wingbeats approached.

“He’s got backup,” the warrior growled, shoving Crowley away and raising his sword to the sky.

“I-I do?” said Crowley.

Crowley let out a grunt of surprise as Aziraphale tackled him, pinning him to the ground.  “Don’t think about going anywhere,” Aziraphale said.

A circle of grass nearby wilted and burnt with a sizzling sound, and a demonic warrior leapt out.  His wings flared as he barreled onto the scene, shouting and sword drawn back for a blow.

“Botis?” said Crowley.

“Unhand him!” Botis shouted, flapping his wings.  “Or face a solid pounding.”

The angel called Hastaphael waved at Aziraphale in a dismissive way. “Run him through.”

Crowley let out an eep and rolled out from under Aziraphale as Aziraphale retrieved his sword, still seeming conflicted.  Crowley hit a pair of armored legs and peered up to see Botis’s ugly but familiar visage sneering at him.  “Get out of here; I’ll find you later.”

That was all the permission Crowley needed; he leapt to his feet and sprinted away.  Botis seemed to be immensely enjoying the fight as his sword clanged loudly, audible even as Crowley lost sight of the park and was swallowed up by the streets of Not-London.

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

So, this was some sort of alternate timeline.  That was the only explanation for everything he had seen.

Crowley had no idea where—or when?—he was, what this strange place was, but clearly he was not in his own time and place.  The landscape was different, and none of his friends recognised him.

And based on Aziraphale’s reaction, it sounded like Crowley had existed in this place, except Aziraphale had killed him a while back, and therefore his appearance had been interpreted as an unexplained miraculous resurrection, the same kind they had just been working to solve when he had been thrown out of Heaven.

Had he time-travelled somehow?  Well, it couldn’t have been backwards, because the city had been modernised.  He had seen people with mobile phones on his mad dash out—Not any brands he recognised, though.  He had seen someone with what appeared to be an iPhone, but when he doubled back to look at it again, the icon on the back of the device had turned out to be a pineapple and not the signature apple with a bite out of it.

He had been responsible for that particular bit of iconography and he was curiously sad to see it go.

Surely he couldn’t have gone forward in time, either.  There would have had to be some serious changes in the intervening years for Aziraphale to hate Crowley enough to kill him, but accept Hastur, who was, oh yeah, still an angel here somehow.

If it wasn’t back or forwards, had he gone….sideways?

Damn.  What was so different about this place that not only did Aziraphale and Crowley not get along, but hated each other so much they actually killed one another?  Aziraphale and Crowley had never even made a habit of discorporating each other, let alone going at each other with holy water and aural weapons.

Crowley found it disturbing in the highest degree.  Clearly whatever God had done to him, he had been transported to some place where the capital W-War was still on.  And in a heightened state at that, if warriors were patrolling and appearing at field agents’ sides in seconds.

Crowley had never been defended by a demonic warrior before the ineffable plan had been turned on its head six-thousand years in.  Demonic warriors were there to have a go at angelic warriors, and angelic warriors were there to keep demonic warriors from having a go at angels that were not warriors and therefore not very good at defending themselves.  The angelic warriors mostly did their job by sitting around and making their presence clear as a deterrent, and not much else.

And they had just appeared to interfere with a quarrel between two field agents seconds after it broke out…?  

Crowley had sprinted away from Botis, Hastaphael, and Aziraphale until he was too far away to feel their auras.  Then he kept going for good measure, sure that if Botis wanted to find him again he would manage to somehow, considering he had no idea how Botis had found him in the first place.

He legged it out of this strange city that wasn’t London, not stopping until he was back in the forest, because the city unnerved him.

Panting heavily, Crowley leaned against a tree and dropped down.  He curled around himself.

This sucked, plain and simple.  He had thought God was going to kill him, but He had done something else different entirely, and he couldn’t figure out what.  Seeing Aziraphale want to kill him was worse, almost.  He didn’t like this one bit.  He hated it.

Where was his Aziraphale?  That must have been a different Aziraphale. Somehow.  And how was Botis here, but not Maltha?  Or any other of his friends?

Well, Botis’s loyalty must just be a constant no matter the universe.

He still ached from the wounds he hadn’t healed earlier.  He materialised his staff and started giving them some attention, but he was interrupted by the sound of wings drawing near.

Crowley stood up and stretched his legs as Botis touched down, sheathed sword jangling against his heavy armor.  “There you are.  Are you hurt?”

“A little,” said Crowley.  “But it’s not—”

He was cut off as Botis seized his arm, inspecting him.  “Hmm….These look like holy water burns,” said Botis, with a critical eye on the injuries he had been tending.  “You really need to be more careful.  If you just followed SOP for interacting with angels in the field, we wouldn’t be in this situation.  The rules are there for a reason.  What were you even trying to do?”

“To do?”

“Yeah, lollygagging around in that park with an angel nearby.”

“I was—I was trying to talk to Aziraphale.”

“Talk to him?”

“Y—Yes?  Botis, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Botis echoed dimly.  He still had a hand on Crowley, and he began to sort of pat him down.  “Where’s your Eye of Satan?”

“Okay, what is that?”

Botis twisted Crowley’s wrists and examined his neck the same way the angels had.

“Please fill me in,” said Crowley. “I feel so lost right now.”

Botis blinked at him.

“Eye of Satan?”

Botis held his right hand out, wrist-up.  A tattoo of an eye stared back at Crowley, nestled among a lace of occult sigils.

“O—oh,” said Crowley.  “And that’s…?”

The ink on Botis’s skin writhed and pulsed.  The eye blinked and the pupil darted up to look at Crowley.

“Ah!” said Crowley, taking a step back.

“Botis, what’s going on?” said a disembodied voice, and the eye blinked again. “Who is that?”

“Demon I had to rescue from angelic warriors,” said Botis.  “He doesn’t have an Eye.”

“What?”

Botis’s gaze moved from the tattoo back up to Crowley, mustache bristling. “Wrists and neck are both blank. Unless you authorised him to have it somewhere else?”

“No,” said the voice.  “Bring him down as soon as you can so we can fix this.  What class is he?”

Crowley wrung his hands and stepped in, determined to take back some modicum of control over the situation.  “Field agent,” he reported.

Botis glared at him and said in a strained whisper, “Don’t be stupid.”  Then he looked back down at the tattoo, the pupil of which darted back and forth between the two of them as they talked.  “He’s a healer.”

“If he’s injured take him to field encampment 27, then bring him down to speak with me,” said the voice.

“Yes, Lord.”

The tattoo fell still.

“What—What the fuck was that?” said Crowley.

“That was our Lord Satan, and you forget yourself,” said Botis.  “Show some respect.”

Crowley felt dismay weighing down his heart.  “Oh.  Of course. I-I haven’t done anything, though.  Surely Satan is too busy to pay any attention to little old me.”

“Lord Satan always makes time to pay attention to details,” said Botis.  “Now, follow me.”

Now that was something Crowley hadn’t thought he would ever hear a demon say.  Satan was usually rather lackadaisical about the details—it’s why Crowley was able to get away with not actually doing his job.  Satan paying attention to you wasn’t a good sign.

“But, look, I haven’t done anything wrong,” said Crowley, trying painfully hard to keep the whimper out of his voice.

Botis looked at him strangely.  “I never said you did anything wrong.”

“Then why am I being…?”

“Punished?” said Botis.  “Nobody said you were being punished.  We merely need to present ourselves to Satan to correct an anomaly.”

The idea that you would be summoned to speak to Satan for any reason other than if you had done something to piss him off, and therefore were in for a bad time, was utterly foreign to Crowley.  He was having a very hard time wrapping his brain around it.

“What does Satan want to…?”

“We need to get you treated first, at any rate,” said Botis.  “We can’t have you walking about with burns like that.”

And treating injured demons in the field…?  Part of the entire reason why Hell was shite was because there weren’t any healers, and if you got hurt you just needed to deal with it yourself.

“What’s wrong?” said Botis.  “You seem confused.”

“Uh,” said Crowley.  “I—Uh, um…We’re going to field encampment…?”

“Twenty-seven, yes.  It’s over in this direction.”  Botis steered him by the arm.  “Come on, then.”

“Oh—Okay.  Um, hey Botis?  Thanks.”

Botis turned back and eyed him strangely.

“For saving me back there?  They were going to kill me.”

“Just doing my job.  You can trust me to do my job,” said Botis.  “After all, it’d be a funny old world if demons went around not trusting each other.”

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

Crowley picked up rather quickly that this wasn’t his Botis, much to his disappointment.  Gone were the “sirs” and protective exclamations about Crowley’s safety and basically everything that had made Botis nice to have around.

It was the same way that Aziraphale hadn’t been his Aziraphale. He had no idea what that meant, the full extent of what was going on, but he was reasonably smart and able to tell that something was terribly amiss.

His earlier thoughts about being transposed in time or thrown into a parallel dimension had been half in jest, but he had no way of knowing how close he was to the truth.

Botis led him to a field encampment.  He didn’t like this version of Botis very much, so he was relieved at the thought that maybe Botis would leave him alone here.

The camp was hidden by a protective miracle to keep humans from stumbling into it—it appeared to be nestled in a fold of space-time that a simple teleportation miracle would straighten out.  There was a fence made of wooden slats, tents, a gate—the whole nine yards.  It looked remarkably like one of the angelic field camps that would occasionally be positioned in Heaven’s territory on Earth.  It was bigger, though.

And did they say this one was number twenty-seven?  Heaven probably had only a dozen or so of them scattered about the globe.  There wasn’t generally much need for them.

Botis escorted him via an overly firm grip on his arm to a tent with an icon of a green staff on it.  When he pulled the curtain aside to enter, Crowley saw the interior of the tent was dominated by medical cots and demons dressed in scrubs running about madly like ants.

Crowley’s eyes widened.  “Botis, is this…?”

“The infirmary, yes,” said Botis, trying to flag someone down.

“These are all infernal healers?”

“Yes,” said Botis distractedly.  “Ramikale, I need to speak with you.”

Crowley was too overwhelmed to take note of to whom Botis was motioning. There had to be at least half a dozen demonic healers in here.  Real healers, who were created as healing class, and fell as healing class.  He could tell just by looking at them and feeling their auras.

“Botis, who are these demons?” said Crowley, but Botis ignored him, as he had finally caught the attention of one of the medical demons.

Crowley was shocked when she pulled down the mask on her face, revealing the familiar visage of his friend Ramial, except her eyes glowed an infernal red. She had the same eye tattoo as Botis, but it was on her neck.  “What is it now, Botis?”

“I found this demon wandering about,” said Botis.  “He has no Eye—”

“No Eye?  That’s an anomaly.  Satan won’t be happy.”

“I know, so I’m taking him down to Hell, but first we need to treat his injuries.  If it’d be possible to put him at the front of the queue, that would expedite things for Lord Satan.”

“Sure.”  The healing demon hovered over Crowley as Botis spoke, pecking at him with a trained eye. “Holy water burns, it looks like.”

“Ramial?” said Crowley.  “Did you…?”

The healing demon gave him an annoyed look.  “Did you get into a fight?”

“Yeah,” said Botis.  “I caught him walking right up to a principality as though he wanted afternoon tea with ‘im.”

“You know very well you’re not supposed to engage angels directly,” said the healing demon.  “What did you hope to accomplish?”

“I was…” said Crowley, floundering.  “Ah…Just trying to talk to him.  What’s wrong with that?  Are you....Rami...”

Botis leaned in to whisper, “I don’t think he’s well, you know, mentally.”  The volume was enough for Crowley to hear if he hadn’t been so stunned.  Instead, he reached out a hand to stroke the medical demon’s cheek, thereby confirming Botis’s proclamation in the minds of everyone observing.

Botis left the tent, abandoning Crowley to the clutches of the healers, two more of which had come and started grabbing at him.  They all had the same eye tattoo on their necks, and the pupils thereof would occasionally flare to life and rove about before falling inanimate again as the nurses conducted their inspection of him.

“Very intense burns,” one noted, their voiced tinged with clinical, impersonal interest.  The three of them corralled him into a medical cot, and he lay on it uneasily.

“Must have been a direct hit,” said the other newcomer.

“Interesting shape the wound has taken,” said the original healer, stripping Crowley’s shirt off.  “Almost like a hand-print.”

This was enough to snap Crowley back into reality.  Should he try and hide the source of the wound?  Even if he told them, he wasn’t sure if they would believe him, especially since they were already convinced he was daft.

Did any of these demons know it was possible to get into Heaven?  Did any of them know about—Well, whatever phenomenon could have possibly shafted him into a place like this…?

His thoughts went back to the little angel he had seen upon first coming here.  They had mentioned something about a hole. An entrance Crowley had come through, perhaps?  Maybe he should try and find that place again, to see if there was any way of going back.

Back from where, he had no idea, though.

But part of Crowley wondered if he should be so quick to try and leave. He was surrounded by infernal healers.  These demons were equipped to understand him in a way even Aziraphale wasn’t.  Even Maltha.

“How did you get this wound?” said one of the healers, yanking his attention back to the situation at hand.

He looked at their cotton-clad face, mind drowning in so many layers of static he had no idea what to say.

“Was it holy water?” said a second, with an expectant look.

Crowley stuttered, then nodded.

“Told you,” said one.

“Hey…” he said as they began treating his wounds.  “You guys…how did you fall?  All three of you?  How many more of you are there?”

One of them gave him a dirty look.  The second simply shot up his eyebrows.  The third tutted and patted his head, assuring him they would treat his head injury as well.

Try as he might to connect with them, they treated him as a stranger, even the demon wearing Ramial’s face and aura.  Eventually he gave up and fell silent under their hands whizzing here and there and their chatter, speaking rapidly and efficiently at each other in a way only beings who have worked together seamlessly for thousands of years could accomplish.

They were faster than any healer he had ever seen.  They were faster, and better, than even Raphael.  Than Maltha.  And they had nowhere near the aural power of an archangel or archdemon.

He was on his feet again being shoved towards the exit of the tent in a matter of minutes.  He picked idly at the white cloth wrapping his wounds, trying to take it all in.

“Botis, we’re finished!” one of the healers hollered, disappearing back into the sea of beds and injured demons.  “He’s yours again.”

A shadow fell over Crowley, and he looked up from his bandages.  Botis was in front of him again.  “Now we shall go see our Lord Satan.  She’ll make sense of this.”

“Botis, I was thinking, before that maybe we—Wait, did you say she?”

“Of course.  Hell has always had a queen.”

Relief flooded Crowley.  The most likely candidate for Queen of Hell would, of course, be Maltha.

“You hit your head pretty hard, haven’t you?” said Botis.

“What’s the Queen’s name?”

“Satan, of course.”

“No, I mean—”  He broke off and took a breath.  The realisation was dawning on him that Maltha might not be the same.  It wouldn’t be his Maltha.  And it might not be Maltha at all.  If Ramial had fallen and Hastur hadn’t, who knew what side everyone was on in this place?

What side.  He hated the thought.  Two sides again.  He resolved to get out of here as soon as he could, his earlier waffling completely abandoned.  “Botis, before we go down to Hell, let’s make a stop back to…”

He paused with horror, realising he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to locate his point of entry again.  He’d thought it had been somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, but…

Botis tapped his foot impatiently.  “Back to where?”

Botis’s eye tattoo flared to life again, and the same voice from earlier snapped out, “Back to nowhere.  You’ll bring him down immediately as I commanded, Botis.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Botis.  “I apologise.”

The tattoo became inanimate again.  Botis reached out and seized Crowley’s arm from where he had crept back away from the strange talking tattoo.  “Come on.  I’m sure this won’t take long.  Our Lord Satan is very efficient.”

Crowley grimaced at the thought, but he saw Botis’s hand resting on his sword hilt.  Surely Botis wouldn’t cut him down if he tried to run…?  But they all seemed dead set on having him meet Satan.

He squared his shoulders.  Well, he’d changed since the last time he’d seen Satan.  He’d faced Satan down and won.  And he’d probably be seeing Satan eventually one way or the other, so it’d probably be best to face it head-on.  He was already scheming his best schemes.

[violetsmoak]

maybe this is how it starts [2/?]

Cover & Disclaimer 

Author’s Note: Sorry it took so long since the last update. I ended up deciding not to pants this thing and just do whatever with the chapters, but I went and found an honest-to-goodness plot. Go me! So, to further said plot, have some Jason and Roy Bromance. Because as far as I’m concerned, the best jaytim fics I’ve read always have Roy and Jason doing their girl-talk thing.

The Red Hood’s base of operations is in a bomb shelter beneath the One Police Plaza in Gotham. It’s chilly inside, which doesn’t bother Jason under normal circumstances, but then everything is pissing him off today.

There are a lot of things Jason has learned to endure over the years—torture, death, total mental and physical exhaustion, unending moral dilemmas…

All of them are just more of what life has to throw at him and what he responds to with a smirk and the middle finger. Physical limitations are something for lesser men—men who were never trained by Batman or the League of Assassins.

And yet…

If there’s anything that might drive him almost to the point of Lazarus-Pit-crazy, it’s itching.

“It’s decided. I’m going to kill Ivy,” he growls, slopping another handful of aloe vera over the expanse of his arm, leaning back so as not to drip the green gel onto his keyboard.

Whatever was in the venom from the vampire-plant hybrids, the rash has lingered for the whole week without a sign of improving. He has a peevish hope that Tim is having a worse time of it, since it’s his fault Jason is even in this situation to begin with.

Can’t even fucking go on patrol without wanting to tear my skin off every goddamn minute.

He’s been trying to fill the time doing the whole research schtick for a few of his ongoing cases but has barely even been able to focus on that. It’s irritating and leaves him alone with his thoughts much more than he’s comfortable with.

It’s been three months of pushing down any acknowledgement of what happened. That for the first time in his life, Dick Grayson is dead. Not somewhere being Nightwing or filling in as Batman, but dead. His predecessor-mentor-not-brother-but-yeah-sorta-brother got himself unmasked and killed.

Jason is not entirely sure how to deal with the new reality, and it’s possible he’s been more adrift than he would ever admit. But the cure to that is denial and distraction, which is why when the giant screen in front of him fills up with a picture of Roy making finger guns, he accepts the vid call.

“I swear to God, Roy, if you’re calling to tell me you’ve been evicted again and need money,” he trails off, feigning annoyance despite being glad for the interruption.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” his best friend replies dryly, fiddling with something metallic and sprouting wires. He squints at Jason. “Dude, what’s with your arm? That rash is fugly.”

“Compliments of a soon-to-be-dead Poison Ivy and an idiot in a cape.”

“Heh. Which idiot?”

“The one who’s supposed to be the smart one.”

Roy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask for clarification, either because he knows who Jason is talking about or because he knows he won’t get an answer. “That’s more polite than you’d usually put it. You feelin’ okay?”

“No, I’m not feeling okay, I’ve spent the last week scratching my nuts off!”

“Man, come on! TMI!”

“You know what I mean.” Jason rubs his back against his chair, seeking relief from a spot he can’t reach to scratch. “Fuck Ivy…”

“I thought you liked Ivy.”

“Respect. I respect Ivy. I don’t like her.”

“How did you even end up running into her? I mean, greenspaces aren’t exactly your thing.”

“I told you already, I was saving the moron in the cape. Who’s damn lucky I did, because I wasn’t even going to take that route last night.”

All because he’d (not that he’d admit it) been thinking about Dick. Which he had been for months now, a fact which he’s pretty sure influenced him to help Bruce and the rest of them go on that suicide mission to get back Damian Wayne’s body. He’s still a little in shock that the whole thing ended in the kid’s resurrection and not a second explosive and painful death. But then, he’s living proof that it’s possible, so maybe he shouldn’t be.

Roy must sense the direction of his thoughts, because he changes the subject. “So, have you given anymore thought to that idea I had?”

Jason gives himself a mental shake.

“No. Because going after Kori reeks of desperation, and you’re better than that.”

“Am I? Am I really?” Jason exchanges looks with Roy, who then sighs. “Fine. So how long are you hanging around Gotham? Because, by my count, this is the longest consecutive amount of time you’ve spent there since before you died. Family hasn’t grounded you, have they?”

Jason scowls. “They’re not my family.”

“Right, okay, sure. That’s why whenever there’s a fart jammed out that way, you go running—shit!” One of the devices he’s working on emits a minor explosion.

“I go back because it’s my city and I have stuff to take care of.”

Rapists and human traffickers won’t break their own kneecaps.

“And because the Bats are your family.”

“I’m going to shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That was an accident, and you know it. This time it would be on purpose,” Jason grunts, using the heel of his hand against his arm. He winces when the action brings on equal parts of relief and pain, since his skin’s already been clawed almost raw.

Roy snorts in disbelief.

Jason pauses for another moment, considering his best friend, and then decides what the hell, they aren’t the type to keep secrets from each other.

“Demon brat’s alive,” he says at last.

Roy startles, dropping his soldering iron. “Whoa. No shit?”

He was the one who showed up to drag Jason out of the bars he’d practically destroyed in the days directly following the kid’s death. He knows the exact depths to which Jason was or wasn’t affected.

“No shit. It was this whole…thing. Ninjas and boom tubes and a Chaos Shard.” He doesn’t mention the overly-sentimental team-up with the Bats, or the surreal “birthday” dinner afterward. Damian and Tim had been almost pleasant to each other, and Jason had caught Bruce watching him with such overwhelming gratitude in his eyes he’d had to duck out early.

It’s still weird to him when he sees anything other than judgement in the older man’s eyes.

Roy whistles. “Damn. He okay?”

“I didn’t really stick around for the group therapy session. I’d say so—the little shit got superpowers when he woke up. I figured I should make myself scarce before he took it into his head to throw me like a javelin.”

“Didn’t we do that once with Kori?”

“Kori’s end goal wouldn’t be for me to go splat.” 

“Not unless you left the toilet seat up again.” 

“That was you.” 

“Can’t prove it.” 

“Of the two of us, who was practically raised by a British butler that wields guilt and disapproval like the Lasso of Truth? You think I will ever in my life dare to leave a toilet seat up?”

Roy sniggers and Jason smirks, and the tension hanging in the wake of their conversation fades somewhat. Humor is how they have always dealt with this kind of stuff.

“Still, that’s pretty heavy,” Roy says after a beat, reaching for a pair of wire strippers and electric tape. “I get why you’ve been hanging around there. I mean, what is this, three out of four now? Four out of five?”

“Huh?”

“Dead Robins. You should start a club.”

“Who says we haven’t?” Jason grumbles. “I’m the goddamn president.”

“I’m just saying, I see why you’re staying. Going by the balance of probability, the moron in the cape is probably next. It’s, like, his turn or something. So I get it—you want to keep an eye out.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Drake’s not going to die if I have anything to say about it. No one gets to kill my replacement except me. When I feel like it.”

If I feel like it.

He and Tim have sort of come to an understanding of sorts in the past few years, if only in a professional sort of way. Exchanging information or giving the heads-up on a rogue showing up in each other’s territory. Occasionally sharing a bite to eat.

And saving each other’s lives, apparently.

The idea that a grisly death awaits Tim just because he had the misfortune of being a Robin bothers Jason more than he likes.

“When you feel like it?” Roy prompts. “You’re just trying to sound tough to cover up the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The thing where you feel like you have to step into big brother’s shoes now,” Roy informs him. “With Dick gone, that’s you, man.”

Jason physically jerks away from the screen, staring at Roy. “Fuck no. That’s not my deal.”

“If you say so.”

And just…no.

He jokes about it, sure. Calls them ‘bro’ or makes pointed remarks related to family or siblings, but it’s always tongue-in-cheek and more mocking than serious. It’s just to get a rise out of them, to remind them how he really doesn’t fit in with Bruce’s messed up idea of a ‘family’.

Besides, he’s pretty sure even if he wanted it, he’d be a shit older brother—he doesn’t have any of Dick’s likeability or sense of responsibility or general concern for everyone’s welfare. And Bruce’s kids all have their own level of fucked-up that, coupled with his own many and varied list of issues, could very well land them all in Arkham.

No way he’s going back there.

“Sorry, you’re breaking up,” Jason says flatly, and terminates the call before Roy can get too smug or think he’s actually on to something. He glares at the blank screen for a few minutes, and then queues up all the overseas cases he’s been flagging the past week.

Time to get the hell out of dodge. Before I get called to babysit or something…

֍

Tim is not keeping tabs on anyone.

At least, no more than usual.

The myriad of windows open on his workplace computer screen, showing several different sources of surveillance footage, is simply his method for remaining prepared for whatever crisis is inevitably coming.

(There’s always a crisis coming.)

And he’s definitely not watching out for Jason, even if his eyes keep drifting toward the grainy image of the Red Hood followed by traffic cams in Montreal, where he’s infiltrated a human-trafficking operation.

Tim justifies it as pre-emptive damage control, in case he needs to send someone to save Jason from himself.

(Never mind that Tim never did this before three months ago, never mind that Jason’s mellowed out a lot in the past two years and has developed something almost in the realm of good judgement, never mind that—)

As if to make the point to himself, Tim focusses his attention on the other windows. Damian at Wayne Manor, singlehandedly lifting the roof onto what appears to be a new pet enclosure while Alfred watches, bemused. The kid still has superpowers, which is another mark against the existence of a higher power—what kind of benevolent force would give the brat heat vision?

Bruce isn’t in Gotham; last Tim heard, he’s gone to the Hall of Justice, probably to figure out how to drain off Damian’s powers. There are no camera there (and if there were, Bruce would probably have disabled them by now), but the tracer Tim slipped into the cowl the last time they met is still going strong.

Tim pretends he doesn’t know that Bruce knows he put it there; he hates feeling like he’s being humored.

Steph is in class, Cass is out of the country, Barbara is at a information management conference in Metropolis.

They’re all fine.

And he’s not keeping tabs.

He just has to be ready. In case he needs to shut down the power for a city block or remotely cut camera feed, if it looks like someone is about to die or be unmasked.

Not again. Never again. Not like Dick, won’t let it happen—

The speaker on his office phone trills. “Mr. Wayne? Your eight o’clock is here.”

Tim shakes off his disjointed thoughts and reaches for the intercom button. “Send him in.”

Warrick Powers has a face Tim would very much like to punch.

Maybe if he was in uniform, he would find an excuse, but at the moment, he is fully immersed in his Timothy Drake-Wayne persona. Any attack on the CEO of Powers Technology would not only bring a few dozen lawyers down on him and Wayne Enterprises, but it would also wreak havoc on Tim’s image as a feeble, recovering cripple.

Which would be a waste, since he’s been cultivating that image for over two years.

His crutches are long gone, but he still carries a cane with him everywhere for ‘bad days’. It’s not even really a lie, since there are mornings after he hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours where he needs something to fidget with. Some kind of prop to offer a believable reason for his pauses. It’s better if people think he’s reliving the shooting that supposedly injured him, rather than pay attention to the obvious sleep deprivation or concealed injuries. 

“Tim! Great to see you again,” Powers declares in a false voice that would do even Brucie Wayne proud. “Glad you could fit me in this morning.”

“It just so happened I needed to speak to you about something,” Tim replies with an insubstantial smile.

“Excellent, excellent,” Powers says vaguely, by-passing the usual polite handshake and sprawling in one of the chairs across from Tim. He hasn’t said so out loud, but it clearly bothers him having to do business with a teenager. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that our little project is right on schedule. Ahead of it, in fact…”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches the footage of Jason outside a restaurant in Chinatown and he suppresses the urge to swear.

The idiot had better not be messing with the Ghost Dragons, because I cannot deal with that right now.

Though, the older man is in civvies, so it’s entirely possible he’s just grabbing lunch.

And…nope. Wishful thinking. Damn it, Jason.

If his suspicions about what’s about to happen onscreen are correct, Tim’s going to have to put an end to this meeting faster than he expected.

Powers is still rambling.

 “…we could move up the launch by a month or two without sacrificing quality. Maybe even release it as a limited-edition prototype. For a higher price, of course, but people have been waiting on this model for five years now, they’d pay for it.”

The older man chuckles; it doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain cold and calculating as a snake’s. The overall effect makes Tim’s skin crawl, in a different way from the lingering phantom itch of Ivy’s toxin.

(Stupid mistake. Shouldn’t have been anywhere near Robinson Park without backup, even if it was recon. Another stupid mistake—)

“Thank you for the progress report, Mr. Powers,” Tim says, cutting his thoughts off before they can become too rambling, “but that was not the reason I agreed to see you today.”

“Oh?” Powers looks politely interested.

“I received a tip two weeks ago from a concerned individual that Powers Tech has been dumping toxic waste,” Tim tells him, careful to keep his inflection mild. The term ‘concerned individual’ is loose, but it was Ivy that mentioned it to him and told him to fix it or she would. He doesn’t remember if that was before or after she let her plants have their fun, though. “We take that kind of accusation very seriously. The entire reason Wayne Enterprises agreed to collaborate with your company was because you’ve boasted about your eco-friendly containment practices.”

Powers expression doesn’t betray anything; in fact, the way his eyebrows raise, and his mouth turns downward in confusion, anyone else might consider him legitimately affronted.

“And you believed it? Come on, Tim, I’m sure WE gets half a dozen similar accusations a week. It’s just the granola movement trying to shut down our operations. They’d be happy if we still did things the Amish way.”

“Maybe. But those accusations don’t usually come with evidence to back them up.” Tim slides several folders across the desk. “Only a percentage of your industrial waste is being disposed of responsibly, I imagine for publicity’s sake; the rest, you’re burying in the sublevels of your main facility.”

Powers lips thin ever so slightly. “Hearsay.”

“We do our due diligence in these matters. Some of your employees were willing to confirm the report—anonymous now, but willing to come forward in the event of a formal investigation,” Tim says. “There was also an undercover investigation commissioned by…outside parties.”

No need to admit he was the outside party.

“The results indicate that not only are your containment measures insufficient, but the run-off from that waste is close to entering the groundwater, which could jeopardize Gotham’s entire water supply. Possibly even on a global scale if it gets to the ocean and reacts with the salt water.” He holds his hands in front of him. “I’ve held back on having this released to the public as a curtesy to you to get your affairs in order today.”

“What?” Powers growls and there’s not even an attempt to keep his charming mask on.

“I’ve asked you here so that we can finalize the dissolution of Wayne Enterprises partnership with Powers Tech,” Tim continues. “It’s a fairly cut and dried situation, so there was no need to call in the board.”

“That isn’t going to happen—”

“In exchange for an uncontested dissolution of our agreement and a clear plan to fix the problem, I continue to keep this information from going public—along with several other discrepancies I’ve discovered in your company, many of which are such blatant health-code violations that if they’re made public, you’ll be declaring bankruptcy by nine o’clock tonight. Personally, that isn’t the path I’d choose; your recent indiscretions aside, Powers Tech has the potential to do great things—if it’s being run by someone with half a conscience.”

Which you clearly don’t possess.

“You’d do well to watch your tone, boy,” Powers growls. “Does your father know the career suicide you’re committing right now?”

“He trusts my judgement or I wouldn’t be sitting at this desk,” Tim shrugs, unconcerned, and slides two more folders across. “These are to dissolve our partnership. Feel free to have your lawyers look it over, but I am serious about the nine o’clock deadline. If you intend to keep your company operating for the foreseeable future, you will sign it and send it over before then. You’ll also make an announcement that you intend to step down from your position as CEO, since you are taking full blame for your company’s blatant disrespect for environmental laws.”

“I will do no such thing! That’s tantamount to an admission of guilt—and I have no intention of going to jail over these…these fabricated accusations.”

“The choice is yours, of course. And you are pretty well-off, so even though this is an open-shut case, I’m sure you’ll land in a white-collar institution that’s nicer than most of Gotham’s criminals enjoy. But make no mistake—either you come forward on your own, which will be helpful in negotiating a lesser sentence, or you wait for the evening edition of the Gotham Gazette, which I know won’t paint you in a very favorable light.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Actually, it’s extortion,” Tim corrects him, reaching for his half-filled coffee cup. As Powers eyes gleam at him, a small smirk forming, Tim continues, “Oh, and just so you know, anything we’ve said in this meeting is completely confidential. I took the liberty of installing a scrambler in this office, which knocks out all mechanical devices. Your phone and the recorder in your pocket won’t have caught any of our conversation. To ensure neither of us chooses to play any unfortunate quotes out of context, of course.”

“Of course,” Power grunts tightly.

“I would go with the first option,” Tim says, switching back to the previous conversation with ease. “This way your company’s stocks won’t fall too badly. And this way your son has a chance of being a better man and better CEO than you. I look forward to discussing the changes with Derek at the Green Energy Expo in Hong Kong next week.”

Powers looks as if he’s about to jump across the table and throttle Tim, who casually reaches for his intercom, “Mr. Powers will be leaving early, please ensure someone can escort him down to the lobby.”

“I can find my own way,” Powers snaps, shoving his chair back and grabbing the folders Tim gave him. “And this isn’t over, you jumped-up little brat. You’re going to regret this.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that before,” Tim replies, adopting the cold, distant smile of Janet Drake. “Have a nice day, Mr. Powers.”

As soon as the older man has stormed from the office, Tim lets out a breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. It only occurs to him when the tight feeling in his chest dissipates. He leans back heavily in his chair, feeling like he’s run a marathon, which makes no sense. It’s not the first time he’s had to strongarm a partner or competitor.

He notices he has been bouncing his knee up and down under the desk, and scowls. Good thing Powers didn’t notice that, or he might have taken it as a weakness.

He’s hungry, but the effort involved in procuring food is too much. The stupid cane is not worth it, and despite his stomach complaining, he has no appetite. Not worth it.

On screen, Jason flips a table through the restaurant window. 

Damage control, Tim decides, relegating his hunger to the back of his mind and preparing to scrub any footage of Jason’s activities. It’s not keeping tabs.

So, yeah, Tim’s in denial and Jason doesn’t do warm and fuzzy family feelings. And Roy is way more observant than he would like heehee.

Sorry there was a lack of direct jaytim interaction this chapter, but I’d kind of like this fic to be more than boy-broods-about-other-boy-every-chapter. I find it makes for a more authentic slow-build relationship if they also have other stuff going on in their lives. But next chapter, we shall have dialogue once more!

TBC

NEXT CHAPTER ( in progress)

[adamwatchesmovies]

Universal Soldier: The Return (1999)

Every source I encountered reminded me that Universal Soldier: The Return has been stripped from the series' canon. Rightfully so. Say what you will about that first picture. It was an ok Terminator 2 knockoff at best, but you could see the appeal. This movie feels like a slap-dashed effort to squeeze more money out of a dying franchise, more like an 8th direct-to-video prequel that stars none of the original cast than a wide theatrical release.

Seven years after the first film, Luc Deveraux (Jean-Claude Van Damme) is now a normal man working for the U.S. Government to perfect the UniSol program. When the new UniSols are taken over by an artificial intelligence named S.E.T.H. (Self-Evolving Thought Helix), the world counts on the former UniSol, and his partner Maggie (Kiana Tom) to stop Judgement Day.

Ah, so there were aspects of the Arnold Schwarzenegger franchise that hadn’t been ripped off yet. This time Van Damme has to pit his trademark kicks against a computer that’s become self-aware and has declared mankind the enemy. It's as believable a setup as Van Damme being American. I have a hard enough time believing the U.S. Government would restart the UniSol program considering they were so prone to malfunctioning. One went rogue and fell in love with a reporter (and no, Ally Walker does not appear in this film), another was so stupid it couldn’t throw a grenade right and blew itself up and the third made himself a necklace of ears before going on a homicidal rampage. Now we’re supposed to believe they’ve made better, deadlier soldiers… and convinced Deveraux to come along for the ride? The man’s not qualified! He was a soldier in ‘Nam, not a geneticist! Anyway, it’s a taste of just how bad the writing gets. S.E.T.H. has got the underground military compound under lock and key… except when it doesn’t so that its own super UniSols, led by a thoroughly uncharismatic Bill Goldberg can leave without authorization (how they bypass the soldiers surrounding S.E.T.H. I don’t know) or so Deveraux can sneak in and poke around.

This sequel culminates in a climax so brain-dead I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. In case you care about spoilers, here’s your warning.

It isn’t enough that S.E.T.H. wants to kill those who would cut its funding and therefore kill it. The artificial intelligence wants to fight for its life, literally. With the help of a rogue cyberpunk named Squid (Brent Hinkley), it transplants itself into a new, even deadlier UniSol body (played by Michael Jai White). I have a hard enough time believing SkyNet would want a human form (one of the many flaws in Terminator: Salvation), but be placed in a physical, vulnerable body? I know it's partially because of a built-in system that’ll wipe its memory but come on. That’s not the “real” reason. It's done because this stupid action film needs as many scenes of muscly men punching each other as possible. And topless ladies. Cue the scene where the heroes barge into a strip club and a brawl ensues!

Universal Soldier: The Return is the kind of film you won’t remember once it’s over. It’s dull and unimaginative, filled with logical holes and explosions. I wouldn’t be shocked to hear someone sleeping right through it. (On VHS, March 12, 2018)

[romancatholicreflections]

22nd November >> Saint of the Day for Roman Catholics: Saint Cecilia martyr

Cecilia was a Roman martyr of the 3rd century but practically nothing certain is known about her life. About the 4th century AD there appeared a Greek religious story based on the loves of Cecilia and Valerian, which were a glorification of the celibate life. It was intended to replace the more sensuous romances such as that of Daphnis and Chloe, then very popular. Cecilia’s later popularity is mainly due to legends dating from the 5th century, some 200 years after her death.

The tradition is that she was a Christian of noble birth and promised in marriage to a non-Christian called Valerian. But, as she had already made a vow of virginity to God, she let her husband know that she did not want to consummate their marriage. As a result, her husband and his brother, Tiburtius (Thateus), themselves became Christians. They were arrested and martyred about the year 230 under the Emperor Alexander Severus. Soon afterwards, Cecilia herself was brought before the prefect.

She refused to offer pagan sacrifice, converted her persecutors to Christianity but was then sentenced to death. Her executioners first tried to kill her by locking her in an overheated sauna-type bathhouse. When this failed, she was to be decapitated but, after her executioner failed in three attempts, he fled the scene. Cecilia survived for three days in a semi-conscious state before finally succumbing. In the last three days of her life, she opened her eyes, looked at her family and friends and then closed them forever. Those keeping vigil knew that she had entered paradise. Later her house was dedicated as a church by Pope Urban, who had encouraged her in her fidelity. Unfortunately this story finds no confirmation in any other contemporary source. She is not mentioned in the writings of Jerome or Ambrose, for instance, although they were particularly interested in the martyrs.

While many legends arose in the case of many early saints, in Cecilia’s case, her very existence is uncertain (similar to Christopher and Philomena). The only basis on which her existence might be argued is the existence of a church, called the titulus Ceciliae in the Trastevere, Rome, and which was founded by a certain Roman lady called Cecilia. It dates from about the 5th century, was magnificently rebuilt by Pope Paschal I about 820, when her supposed relics, with those of her companions, were brought there by the pope. The church was again rebuilt by Cardinal Emilio Sfondrati in 1599. Then the tomb of Cecilia was opened and the body was found incorrupt but it quickly disintegrated through contact with the air. The sculptor Maderna, however, made a life-size marble statue of the body “lying on the right side, as a maiden in her bed, her knees drawn together and seeming to be asleep”. A replica of this statue occupies Cecilia’s supposed original tomb in the cemetery of Callistus. The church was in recent times the titular church Cardinal Carlo Martini, former Archbishop of Milan.

Cecilia is one of seven women, excluding the Blessed Virgin, commemorated by name in the First Eucharist Prayer of the Mass. She is probably best known as the patron of musicians and choirs since the 16th century. The origin of this seems to be found in the antiphon taken from her Acts: “As the musical instruments (at her wedding feast) were playing, Cecilia sung (in her heart) to the Lord, saying: ‘May my heart remain unsullied, so that I be not confounded’.” The traditional account of her life is famous as the Second Nun’s Tale in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. In art her principal emblem since the 16th century is an organ (as in Raphael’s painting at Bologna) or some other musical instrument such as a lute but she appears without emblem in ancient representations such as the mosaic in S. Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna (6th century), and in Roman frescoes in the catacomb of Callixtus and in the church of S. Maria Antiqua.

Reflection

Readings: Hosea 2:16b,17b, 21-22; Ps 44; Matthew 25:1-13

The Gospel reading comes from Matthew’s account of the end times where Jesus speaks of the coming destruction of Jerusalem and mingles it with images about the Second Coming of Jesus for the General Judgement. This section also contains three important parables linked to the Final Judgement.

We have the first of these parables as our reading for today’s feast. Not surprisingly, it is the parable of the 10 bridesmaids, often referred to as the Ten Virgins. Jesus says that the Kingdom of God (he uses the word ‘heaven’) can be compared to ten bridesmaids going out to welcome the bridegroom at a wedding.

Five of them were sensible and had foresight and the other five were foolish. The sensible ones took a reserve of oil for their lamps while the foolish ones did not. Then the groom took much longer to come than expected and all the virgins became heavy-eyed and sleepy.

At midnight the call went up, “The groom has arrived! Go out to greet him!” But as the bridesmaids trimmed their lamps, the foolish ones realised all their oil was used up. They asked the sensible virgins to share some of their oil. They refused on the grounds that all of them would end up with not enough. They told the foolish girls to and get more oil.

But, while they were on their way, the groom arrived and those who were ready went into the wedding hall with him. And the door was locked. When the foolish virgins arrived, they begged for the door to be open. “Lord, Lord, open the door for us.” But he answered with one of the most chilling statements in the Gospel: “I’m sorry but I do not know you.”

The moral is then given: keep your eyes open for you do not know the day or the hour.

We know that in the very early Church many believed – and it is reflected in the earliest letter of Paul – that Jesus would come again during the believers’ lifetime. (Even in our own days, there are preachers who talk about the imminence of the ‘end times’. One date being given is 21 May 2011.) Or there are people who work on the principle of ‘eat, drink and be merry’ and straighten things out just before the end comes.

Jesus is warning that this is not a very good idea. We do not know when the Bridegroom will come. We have no idea when life on our planet will come to an end. Even more practically, we do not know when our own time on this earth will terminate. The point of these Gospel texts is that, whenever it happens, we be ready, that our lamps are burning bright.

This is not a question of piling up good works and putting them into some celestial account. It is clear from the Gospel that God does not work that way. What is important is that at any given moment we are in a right relationship with God. And how do we do that? We do it by seeking, finding and serving God in every experience of every day, finding and loving God in every person that comes into our life. Sometimes we will fail but we just turn round and start all over again. What is most important is where we are when he calls us. Strangely enough, we guarantee the future by focusing on the present, on the here and now.

Cecilia was just such a faithful virgin who had consecrated her whole life to God and in bringing others to know and love him and unhesitatingly gave that life back to God.

The First Reading is a short passage from the prophet Hoseah. The words describe Yahweh speaking to Israel but they can be understood as describing the Lord calling someone to be espoused to him as his bride, very appropriate for someone who has vowed virginity and makes Christ her Spouse.

“I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart,” says the Lord. And “she shall respond there as in the days of her youth, when she came up from the land of Egypt.”

The Lord then makes his proposal of marriage: “I will espouse you to me forever; I will espouse you in right and in justice, in love and in mercy. I will espouse you in fidelity, and you shall know the Lord.”

Words again which apply so well to Cecilia who was truly a Bride of Christ, a Bride who was always ready with her lamp burning to greet her Lord.

[knowhowcook]

"Terminator 2: Judgement Day" deleted scene

"Terminator 2: Judgement Day" deleted scene Source