#the hell horrible no good terrible side effects r all gone !!!

[faaun]

raised my tolerence to vyvanse too close to the sun

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 32

Warnings: some smut

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thorsbathroomchicken, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

His eyes flicker open as she returns to bed; lifting the comforter ever so slightly -even the smallest of movements or the faintest of noises often enough to snap him awake- as she slides in next to him.  Tucking her back snuggly into his front before pulling the heavy blanket up to her chin. She’s unsettled ; unable to get comfortable, readjusting her pillow several times; repeatedly sticking one foot out of the covers before drawing it back in,  continuously rubbing her ass against him in a vain attempt to find just the perfect spot in the mattress.  He presses a kiss to the back of her head, then loops his arm around her waist and drapes a heavy, muscular leg over hers.  Effectively stilling her movements and providing that weight and pressure that she often craves when having a rough a night. They’ve been few and far behind over the past three years; the Dhaka nightmares rarely making an appearance, and relatively tame when they did. Nothing like she used to experience. That first year following had been rough; there had been more restless nights than there had been good ones, and he’d gotten used to having to calm her down after the nightmares.

 “What time is it?” she asks, and he lifts his head just long enough to cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the digital clock on the nightstand.

 “Almost five thirty,” he replies, and then tightens the hold on her body and buries his face in her hair. Eyes closing as he takes in her soft, familiar scent. Body soft and warm against his. “Go back to sleep. Lots of time left before we have to get up.”

 “I can’t,” she laments.

 “Just try,” his hand moves in slow, smooth circles against her stomach. “Just close your eyes and try.”

 “I honestly can’t. I’m too busy worrying about when and if I’m going to puke again.”

 “That’s like the fourth time this week alone. Maybe…” his hand slides down a bit further.

 “That’s wishful thinking on your part. There is nothing…or should I say no one…in there yet. We just started trying two weeks ago. There hasn’t been enough time for things to develop. There’s no way I’d be feeling anything this soon.”

“Just because we weren’t trying before that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. You don’t have to actually be trying for it to happen. We never tried with the other ones. None of them were planned. And it’s not like we just started having sex in the past two weeks. We’ve always had it. A lot.”

 She can’t deny that. It has always been a huge component in their relationship. Right from the very beginning in Dhaka; two relative strangers that couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other, both igniting something in the other that had been missing for a hell of a long time.  And it is the one thing that they’re good at. No…scratch that.  The one thing they’re amazing at.  Even when things were rocky between them, sex had been the one constant. All the harsh words and the brutal arguments forgotten the second they were behind closed doors and they were able to take their anger and aggression out on one another.

 “I am definitely not pregnant,” she says. “I’d know. I think I’m used to it by now.”

 “You’ve been throwing up all hours of the day for four days. You’ve been complaining about headaches. Dizziness. That you can’t sleep. That sounds exactly like everything you’ve ever experienced.”

 “It’s not the same. I know my own body. I know what it feels like when there’s a baby inside of me. This is not it.  This is stress and worry and the fact I miss my kids and I want nothing more than to get home to them. That I’m thousands of miles away from them. From my babies. When there could be some sick fuck just out there watching them and waiting to hurt them….”

 “That’s not going to happen,” he pulls her even tighter against him. “There is no one after them. There’s no one waiting to hurt them. And even if there was someone out there, they’re safe. They’ve got Nik  and her guys there keeping an eye on things.  No one would even be able to get close to them.”

 “And they were okay? When you called today?”

 “They’re fine. They’re being spoiled rotten and enjoying bossing your mom around and driving her insane. Maybe this will be what she needed to snap that last thread of sanity. Mine snapped a long time ago. The second I had to read fucking Goodnight Moon six times in one night.”

 “I thought it was Paw Patrol that did that. That stupid theme song over and over again. Remember how Tanner was obsessed with it and he’d make you put it on repeat on your phone? I think you aged about ten years in those six months.  And let’s not even talk about the great potty training fiasco.”

 “No. Let’s not talk about that. I may have a nervous breakdown if I have to relive that. You think I have PTSD from the job? No. It’s from having those two.  Especially Tyler. What the fuck is up with that kid? Some kind of imbalance from your side of things? “

 “Please. He’s just like you. He’s wild and uninhibited and fears nothing or no one. Good thing he was the one that came out first. Because it totally makes sense that he’s a junior. He’s the one that you’re really going to have to keep an eye on when he’s older. He wanted to be just like you  before he found out that fight bad guys and safe good people.   How he think you’re some kind of super hero and wants to be one when he grows up.”

 Tyler gives a derisive snort. “I’m no hero.”

 “To him you are. To all your kids you are. To me you are.”

 Lifting his head from his pillow, he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I just do what I’m paid to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.  And it’ll be a cold day in hell when I sit back and watch any of my kids follow in my footsteps. They’re better than that. They’re better than this life. And they deserve better. No way am I letting any of them do what I do.”

 “You know…” she rolls over to face him, chest pressed against his.  “…you’re not the horrible person you think you are, Tyler.  You’ve helped a lot of people. You’ve gone into some dangerous and scary situations to get peoples’ loved ones back. And that’s pretty damn selfless when you think about it. That you’re willing to put your life on the line to save someone else’s.”

 “It’s not selfless when you’re doing it for money.”

 “What about Dhaka?” she challenges.  “When you found out that Mahajan fucked us over? When you knew there wasn’t going to be the pay out that you expected? You still did everything you had to do to keep Ovi alive. Even when Nik wanted you to just leave him in the street. Even when Gaspar was going to split ten million  dollars with you.  You still didn’t abandon or betray that kid. And that is selfless. You were willing to die for him. You were willing to die for me.”

 “I still am. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I had to. No questions asked.”

 “You’re a big man with an even bigger heart. I’m blessed because I get to see that side of you. I get to live with it every single day. You’re not a terrible person, Tyler. You’re a great person that’s been forced to do terrible things.”

 He thinks of his loss of control the previous afternoon.  When something inside of him snapped as soon as McMann put his hands on him. How easy it would have been just to kill him. With his bare hands. He’d known what he was doing; it wasn’t one of those ‘black out’ moments when he lost his shit and didn’t realize what was happening.  He’d been fully aware of what was going inside his own mind; of the power and strength that his body possessed. And yet still he hadn’t been able to stop.

 He’d wanted to kill him.

 “And they were terrible things…if you want to call them that…that you had to do to stay alive,” Esme continues. “So you could make it back home. To me and the kids.”

 “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do so I could make it home.”

 “You don’t kill because you want to. Or because you enjoy it. You kill because you have to. And believe me, I’d rather you take someone else’s life than have them take yours.”

 He smiles at that, then presses a soft, tender kiss to her lips.  He wants to tell her.  About how the plan to intimidate McMann into giving him information hadn’t gone exactly as planned. That he’d come so close to making things a hundred times more complicated by killing the man.  That he’d felt a rush at what he was able to do; seeing the colour drain out of McMann’s face, hearing him gag and choke and struggle to breathe,  the sheer terror in his eyes.   But it would scare her. He would scare her. And that’s the last thing he wants.

 “You have to promise me that if it comes down to saving yourself or saving the, that you’ll choose yourself,” she pleads. “I know that sounds horrible.  It know it makes me sound like a terrible person that I’d even think that, let alone say it.  Especially because they’re children and I’m a mother myself. But Tyler, if you have to make the decision, if it comes down to only being able to get yourself out, you have to promise me you’ll do it. That you’ll get the hell out of there. Because I need you. And your own kids need you.”

 Sighing, he smooths her hair away from the sides of her face and away from her forehead. “That’s not the job.”

 “Fuck the job. Fuck the money. I don’t care about that. All I care about is you.  And believe me, I don’t want it coming down to having to leave the kids behind. But if it does, you have to promise me that you’ll worry about yourself first.  Because I’m not ready to lose you yet. It’s only been five and a half years. That’s nowhere near enough time.”

 Pressing his lips against her temple, he lays a hand on the small of her back and draws her even tighter against him. Chin resting on the top of her head, eyes closed. “I’ll get myself out of there. I promise.”

 He feels her smile against him, and she nestles her face into his neck, lips against his throat. The hand that had been on his back sliding up to the space between his shoulders, fingertips tracing the outline of the large Nordic tattoo that graces his skin.

 “Now it’s my turn,” he says. “To tell you something.”

 “Something bad or….?”

 “It got me thinking. About when you said you were worried about me going to meet McMann alone. Because we didn’t know for sure if he was on the up and up. He can’t be trusted. He’s shown that time and time again.  So I called someone. For help. That would have my  back.”

 “I thought Nik said there wasn’t anyone that could help? That the three of us were pretty much on our own. And if Yaz was with me…”

 “I called Mark,” he admits, and she draws back to look at him.  “Which I’d never thought I’d ever do a million years.  But you were worried and it got my brain fucking with me and I didn’t want to take the chance that it was all a set up.  He’s the only one there was. Trust me, I would have called someone else if I had the choice.”

 “And he actually showed up?”

 “He’s not my favourite person and I know I’m definitely not his.  But he did what he said he would do. He’d said he’d show up and he did.”

 “Well, one thing he always was a good solider.  When it came down to protecting other people, he was loyal to a fault. I wasn’t one of those people, mind you. “

 “Which is exactly I didn’t want to call him. Because of everything between you too. And I still want to kick the shit out of him, just so you know. But I needed someone to keep an eye out. Half my back if I needed it. And he did. He showed up and he kept an eye on things. He keeps his word, that’s for sure.”

 “Until you’re married to him. And then his word means shit.”

 “Well it’s a good thing I’m not into guys and I’m already married,” he teases, and kisses her softly. “I almost killed him.”

 “Who? Mark?”

 “McMann. I went into just wanting to scare the hell out of him. Put enough fear into him that he’d crack and give me the information I needed. But things went south. Quickly. And if Mark hadn’t have been there, this entire thing would have been well and truly fucked. I would have screwed everything up. It would have fucked things up even worse and made things even harder.”

  “Tyler…”  her eyes narrow, brow furrows. “…what did you do?”

  “It’s what I almost did.   Everything went fine. At first. I got him off guard and scared the ever loving shit out of him.”

 “Physically?”

 “Well, yeah.  That’s how I do things. I’m not a psychological warfare master like you are.  I go in and fuck shit up and I leave.  So I went there to scare the shit out of him and it worked. It was the last thing he expected and he almost pissed his pants.”

 “But…”

 “But I fucking snapped. When he started to retaliate. I lost my shit.  Completely lost it. I almost killed him.  I almost choked him to death. And you know what? I wanted to do it. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t want to stop.  I wanted him dead. And part of me still does.”

 She falls silent. Slightly unnerved by his confession.  He’s not usually the type of person that revels in the chaos and violence he finds himself embroiled in. He doesn’t take pride in having to take the life of another a burden that has always weighed heavily upon him.  Killing for him is…and has always been…about survival. Self preservation.  No matter how much he hated someone, how badly they’d betrayed him, no matter how perilous the danger was they brought upon him, he ever revelled in the fact that he’d had to resort to such drastic acts.

 “I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn’t black out. My brain didn’t zone out. You know how it goes completely blank and I don’t realize what I did or said until later? When it all starts coming together?”

 She nods.  They’ve had many fights just like that. Where something inside of him has snapped and he’s been fully unaware of the things he is doing or saying.

 “That didn’t happen. I was in total control.  I knew what I was saying. What I was doing. I had my hand around his throat and I watched him struggle to breathe. And you know what, I liked it. I like that I had that power over him.  I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to kill him.”

 Her eyes are sad as she reaches up to clear his hair away from his forehead.  

 “Don’t like at me like that.”

 “Like what? I’m just…”

 “Like it makes you sick to look at me.”

 “Tyler…” she pecks his lips. “…I could never look at you that way. Your brain is telling you that I’m looking at you that way.  Trust me, I’m not.  I understand where you’re coming from. He lied to you. He’s been lying right from the start. He brought you into a crazy messed up situation. Which in turn brought me and the kids into it. Of course you’re going to be upset. Anyone would be.”

 “But like that? To lose control that bad? That’s not me.  When I snap, I don’t remember the things I said or the things I’ve done.  I’m not aware of it at the time. I just lose it. I don’t think about it. This was different. I knew exactly what I was doing and I knew I didn’t want to stop.  I wanted him dead.”

 “Is he still walking around and breathing? Is he still on this side of the ground? If you can answer yes to any of those questions, you were able to control things.  A lot of people wouldn’t have been able to.”

 “Mark stopped me. He’s the one that stepped in. If he hadn’t have been there….”

 “But he was.  He was there to protect you. To stop you from making things worse. I know he’s not your favourite person. And trust me, he’s not mine either.  But he at least showed up. He could have just said ‘fuck you’ and not bothered. But he was there and he stopped you. That’s the important thing. He stepped in and McMann lives to see another day. Which means those kids live to see another day.”

 “Do you realize how worse I could have made things? Or how bad things might get? What if he decides to try and take me out…or have someone else try and take me out…because of it?”

 “He won’t. He needs you. He knows he won’t get his kids back without you.”

 “He could come after you. Or send someone after you.”

 “He’s not that stupid. He’s a liar and a sexual deviant, but he’s not stupid. If he did something like that, you’d know it was him and he realizes that. Which only puts an even bigger target on him.  He’s crazy, but he’s not that crazy.   And lets look at this from your side of things. He lied to you. Right from the beginning.  He brought you here because he wanted you to blow things up and cause all kinds of shit and then take the fall for it.  And then he brings your family into it.  Especially your kids. Anyone would snap over that.”

 “I’m not anyone,” he argues.

 “You’re a goddamn human being.  You’re not a machine.  You have feelings, you know.  You have moments of weakness and anger and everything in between.  You have to let yourself feel things, Tyler. No matter how much it unnerves you. It doesn’t make you weak because you have weak moments. That’s all in your head. That’s your father’s doing; putting it in your head that any emotionally based reaction makes you less of a man.”

 “Are you sure you weren’t a shrink in your previous life?” he grins. “Because that sounds like something a shrink would say.”

 “I don’t need to be a shrink to know that your dad is quite possibly the most toxic person I’ve ever met and he had no right trying to raise you to be just like him.  And I meant what I said. You’re nothing like him. You never will be.  So you need to let go off all the shit that he’s put on in the last forty years.  Get all that crap out of your head. Because you’re a far bigger and better man than he could have ever hoped to be.”

 “You really do have a lot of faith in me.”

 “I do,” she admits. “And trust. And love. I happen to love you, you insufferable pain in  my ass.”

  “I bet right about now you’re thinking that’s the worst decision your brain ever made.”

 “Actually, it’s the first time I ever let my heart overrule my brain.  And I think things worked out okay.”

 “I do too,” he says, and the kisses her. Much longer this time yet still as tender; closed mouth upon closed mouth, her nails lightly scraping down his back.  And he pushes his hand through her hair; gently gripping the silky strands between his fingers as he feels her tongue pushing against his teeth.  He grants her access. The kiss deepening, one of her legs coming up to wrap around his waist, heel of her foot pushing into his ass. Allowing himself to pulled on top of her. Letting her take the full burden of his weight for several seconds, until he plants a palm on the mattress and lifts himself off of her.

 “Are you okay?” she asks. “I mean are you really are okay? Not just with what’s going on. Not with just this job. With everything. With life. Are you okay?”

 “I don’t know,” he admits.

 “Well, what do you know? What is your brain telling you?”

 “That I’m fucked up and I need professional help.”

“That’s something we can work on. When we get home. I think it might be good for both of us.”

 “It’s telling me that things are getting worse. I’m getting worse. The memory problems, my temper, all the pain.”

 “And that scares you,” she states.

 He nods. “I’m worried one day I’m going to snap like I did on McMann. That you’ll say something totally innocent and that my brain will take it the entirely wrong way and I’ll just lose it. And I don’t want that happening. I don’t want to be reacting towards you the way I did with him.”

 “You won’t.”

 “How can you be so sure? How can you have that much trust in me?”

 “Because you know I’d kill you,” she’s only half joking.  “You know I would beat the ever loving crap out of you. And I know you’d take it because you’d hate yourself for hurting me and you’d know you deserved a shit kicking.”

 “I’d kill myself. If I ever hurt you or the kids.  I’m not joking. I’ll end it if I ever get to that point.”

 “You won’t,” she assures him. “You won’t let yourself get to that point.  I know you won’t.  It’s not that I have an extra ordinary level of faith and trust in you. It’s because I know who you really are. The kind of person you are when you’re not on the job. I’m the only that gets to see that. Experience it.  You’re not a bad person, Tyler Rake. No matter what your brain tells you.”

 He kisses her again. Longer. Most intense.  His free hand tangled in her hair, tongues in each other’s mouth. Her hands beginning that slow, methodically exploring of his shoulders and back.  And she giggles against his lips when he presses his already rock hard cock against her.

 “Can you tell what my brain is telling me right now?” he asks with a grin.

 “That’s not your brain talking, Tyler. Unless your brain packed up and moved south.”

 “What do you think is sending the messages down there?”

 “No. No. I think it pretty much things on its own when it gets to this point,” she says, and then laughs and wriggles underneath him when he sucks a little too hard on the side of her neck.  “I swear to God if that leaves a mark….”

 “What are you going to do about? You weigh a buck fifteen soaking wet.”

 “Asshole,” she grumbles, and then grabs a hold of his hair and yanks painfully hard, using his initially startled reaction to get her knee into his stomach and push him over onto his back. “You were saying…” her grin is wicked as she straddles him.

 “That doesn’t count. I let you do that.”

 “Mm…hmm….” She leans over to press a series of kisses along both sides of his throat, over his Adam’s apple and across his collarbone.  “What’s your brain telling you now?” she asks with a grin, his hands on her thighs, fingers biting into the fresh.

 “My brain’s clocked out. I’m only listening to my dick now.”

 “Yeah? And what’s that telling you?”

 “That it wants to put a baby in you.”

 She grins.   “Very good answer.”

 ****

“You guys are good to go,” Yaz says, over the two way radios they each wear in their ear, the transmitters clipped to the hip  pockets on their jeans.   They’d been expecting his call; parked half a block away from McMann’s house, engine idling as they waited to be given the all clear.  “He left ten minutes ago. Satellite isn’t showing any other cars or warm bodies within a half a kilometre radius on either side.  There’s no one watching the house.”

 The ruse had worked; Mark calling McMann and arranging to meet him half an hour away to ask him more questions in regards to the wife’s background and her possible hand in snatching the kids.   Depending on how the ex Marine could stall for, it gave them at least ninety minutes to search the property without worrying about McMann showing up unexpectedly. The radios would make communication a lot easier; Yaz could use remote satellite links and neighbourhood security cameras he’d hacked into to keep and eye one the outside and alert them if any possible trouble was on the way.

 “Make sure you guys keep in contact with me.  And each other if you get separated for whatever reason.  I’ll keep an eye on the outside. You guys do what you have to do inside. Good luck. Hopefully you find something.”

 Tyler kills the engine and shoves his keys into his pocket.  It’s safer to walk; less chance of anyone spotting the unfamiliar vehicle in McMann’s driveway and alerting either him or the cops.  They paused at the back of the car and he pops open the truck; a handful of weapons and other paraphernalia hidden under the false floor. Including a smaller sized Kevlar vest that he removes, tearing open the Velcro fasteners and then holding it over her head.

 “Arms.”

 “This is going a little overboard don’t you think?”  

 She’s nervous enough without thinking about what the bullet proof vest represents. While going into the house the first time had been anxiety inducing, the second time has her feeling nauseous.  Her nerves are on edge and have been since his confession that he’d wanted to kill McMann the day before.  It was something she’d never thought she’d hear; that he could actually get joy out of taking another human being’s life. It was acceptable when he had to do it; killing a means to an end, ensuring his own safety and survival. But to hear that he could have easily done it and have no lingering remorse.  He didn’t scare her; he’d never given her a reason to be afraid of him.  But she was scared of the lingering effects of years on the job and PTSD were doing to him.

 “Arms,” Tyler repeats, and she obeys the requests.  “It’s just better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons, and then pulls the straps tight around her sides and across the chest.

 “In that case, you should be wearing one too,” she points out, as he removes the transmitter from her pocket and then clips it to her left shoulder.

 He sighs.  “Don’t start.”

 “I wouldn’t be the only one they shoot at if someone shows up,” she says, as he clips his holster -Glock already securely inside- to his waistband. “How come I don’t get one? How come you get all the cool toys?”

 “I’m the muscle, remember? You’re the brains. It’s always been that way. It’s why it works as well as it does,” taking her face in both his hands, he presses a kiss to her forehead before adding, “Why we work so well.”

 “Holy shit, you’re actually admitting it for once.  That we make a good team.”

 “When have I ever denied that? We make an amazing team.  Even way back when in Dhaka.”

 “You mean when you thought you were my boss and completely order me around.”

 “Well, technically, I do have more experience so I was…in a way…in charge.”

 “Still delusion. Even five and a half years later. That’s okay, baby. I’ll let you think you’re the boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

 “Let’s compromise. You can be the boss at home, I’ll be the boss when we do things like this, yeah?”

 “Okay,” she relents. “I’ll give you that.  But only because of your fragile masculinity.”

 He snorts.

 “So who’s the boss in the bedroom then?” she inquires, as they fall in step alongside of each other.

 “You have to ask that? It’s me. It’s always been me. Because that’s the way you like it.  Don’t tell me you’re going to pretend that it isn’t. That you don’t like when I get all mean and shit and boss you around and pull your hair.”

   It’s the farthest they’ve taken it; aside from extremely rough sex.  Her penchant for ‘fuck me like you hate me’ sex has been an ongoing and much enjoyed them for five a half years now.  He draws the line at anything more intense; refusing to call her degrading names or using any other kind of physical force.  He’s much bigger. Far more powerful. And often didn’t have a grasp on just how strong he actually is.  And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

 “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this right now,” she laments.

 “Yaz can’t hear us unless we press the button. So…”

 “No I mean talking about this like there’s nothing majorly serious going on here.  We’re talking like it’s just another day and we’re talking just a normal walk somewhere. It’s kind of….weird.”

 “What are we supposed to talk about?”

 “I don’t know. Something job related.”

 “We can talk about that shit when we actually get to where we’re going.”

 “Do you think he can pull it off? Mark? Do you think he can actually spew enough bullshit to stall McMann long enough for us to get a good look around and get the hell out of there?”

 Tyler shrugs. “I don’t know. He spewed enough bullshit to me when he came to our house. If he puts even half the effort into McMann that he put into me, he could be holding him off for hours. He really think’s highly himself, yeah? Mighty big chip he has on his shoulder.”

 “He’s actually pretty tame now. He was worse when I first met him and married him. Shit! Dog walker.”

 An elderly woman crosses the road and makes her way towards them; a yapping and feisty toy poodle on the end of a retractable leash.

 “She’s going to see the vest. She’s going…”

 “Just relax,” Tyler says, and then pulls her into a long, deep kiss, both arms wrapped around her slender body, drawing her tight against him and effectively hiding any sign of the Kevlar from the other woman. Who merely calls them ‘kids’ and grumbles about the inappropriateness of their very public display of affection.   And he keep as a hold on his wife as he watches the elderly woman and dog continue on their walk. Never given them a second glance over her shoulder and then disappearing around the corner.

 “I’m impressed,” Esme grins, as they continue on their way. “Very effective. Nice thinking on your feet. You kiss everyone you work with like that?”

 “Only the cute, tiny brunettes,” he says, and gives her a playful nudge with his elbow.

 “Go through here,” Yaz’ voice comes through their ear pieces. “There’s an alley way between the back of this house and the back of McMann’s.  There’s a gate to his place.  Can’t tell if it’s locked or not. Someone may have to hop the fence.”

 Tyler looks at his wife, eyebrow arched, amused smirk tugging at his lips.  

 “Why are you looking at me like that? Why would have to be my job.”

 “Because you’re smaller and can probably climb it a lot faster than I do. Come on. Take one for the team. You climbed the fence when we were at Mahajan’s place.”

 “Only because Ovi was too scared to do it.   You’ve got longer legs. It would take you less time to get over it.”

 “What’s the saying? Good things come in small packages? You might taste better to the guard dogs and keep them occupied while I get in, get what we need, and get out.”

 “You’re such a dick,” she grumbles, and he playfully tousles her hair and then takes her by the wrist, pulling her backwards and tucking her behind him.  If there was anyone watching them and waiting to ambush them from the alleyway or McMann’s backyard, at the least the bigger and stronger one would the first person they’d encounter. He stood a better chance at fighting someone off than she would.

 They make it through the backyard of the first house; bypassing an inground pool and an elaborate guest house, then stepping through an unlocked wrought iron gate. The squeak accompanying it seeming a hundred times later than what it should normally.   Trash and gravel crunch and pop under their feet; the alleyway in such a high class and influential area at look more disgusting that they’d thought it would be.

 “No lock,” Tyler says, as he tests the latch in McMann’s gate.  “Looks like you don’t have to work too hard today. Sorry. You don’t get the chance to commit B and E again.”

 “You’re just full of smart ass comments today,” she mutters, as he holds the gate open for her and allows her to pass through before once again stepping in front of her.  And she takes the opportunity to smack his ass. Painfully hard. Both hands. “Nice bum where ya from?”  

 “What are you? Like twelve?” he’s grinning at he says it.

 “Not my fault you have a crazy hot ass.  This was place is insane…” she takes in their surroundings; an enormous kidney shaped inground pool with a twelve person hot tub and smaller pool solely for swimming laps alongside of it.  Immaculately landscaped grass and garden areas, outdoor showers, a guest house, a three tiered wooden deck, even an area that boasts an outdoor kitchen and living room space.  Immaculately landscaped grass and garden areas.  “What kind of jobs is he taking that he can afford to live like this?”

 “All this is not from the job,” Tyler says. “There’s no way. You know what kind of payouts you’d have to be pulling in to not only afford all this but keep it up? There’s no way you’d be able to do all of this and take care of it just being on the job.”

 “Maybe it’s her money,” Esme suggests.  “Old family money.  The Buckmans were into some pretty shady shit. They have been for decades. Just what are we looking for?”

 “An entrance. Something that leads into a bunker or a cold cellar or a storm shelter.”

 They split up; each taking a side of the house and working from the very back of the yard and moving slowly towards the deck.  Shoving furniture aside, kicking away piles of loose grass and debris that could possibly be covering up a doorway.  The possibility become more and more remote the closer they get to the rear of the house; turning their attention to the sides.

 “Tyler!” Esme whispers, sticking her head around the corner of the house. “I think I found it.”

 He keeps an eye on the surroundings as he joins her; eyes surveying the windows, not just of McMann’s house but his surrounding neighbours.  Making sure that someone hadn’t heard them moving around the backyard and were now peeking out from behind curtains and through the slats of mini blinds.

 “This?” Esme asks hopefully, and nods down at wooden double doors that sit flat against the grass. “Is this what we want?”

 “Exactly what we want,” he replies. “Good job, babe.”

 The smile says it all. The way she happily gives a little bounce on her heels.

 “Shit.  Locked. Go and find a rock. About this big…” he makes a circle with his hands, roughly the size of a baseball. “…or anything else I can use to break it open.”

 “Shoot it,” she suggests. “You have a gun.”

 “You don’t think someone will hear a gunshot and call the police?”

 She frowns. “Very good point.”

 “Make sure you keep an eye out. For anything. For anyone. We don’t know for sure that there’s no one watching. Just be careful.”

 She nods, and then hurries off around the corner and into the main area of the backyard.  He stands; hands on his hips,  eyes sweeping back and forth between the windows of adjacent houses, the back alleyway, and down the narrow path between this home and the next.

 “Here,” she says as she returns, with one of the bricks that she’d pried out of the dirt; being used an ornamental border around one of the gardens.   “I didn’t see or hear anything weird. You?”

 “Nothing,” he takes the brick from her, then crouches down in front of the doors. “Give me the sweater.”

 She shrugs out of her hoodie…his hoodie…and passes it over.  Whether it’s nerves or the slight breeze in the air, she crosses her arms over her chest and rubs at her bare arms in an attempt to warm them.

 “Here,” he slips his gun from his holster and holds it out to hear. “You see anyone come down this path or come in from the alley, you shoot them. Don’t ask questions. Just shoot. Got it?”

 She nods.

 Tyler lays the sweater over the lock, muffling the sound as he smashes the brick down on top of it. The first one breaks the dial, while the second causes not only the entire lock to shatter several into several pieces, but tears off one of the door handles.

 “Please tell me you brought a flashlight,” Esme laments, as he opens the doors. “Because this has shades of disgusting Dhaka sewer written all over it. It’s been five and a half years and that smell is still stuck in my nostrils.”

 “Wait here, keep an eye on things, and I’ll tell you when it’s okay to come down.”

 “What if someone is down there?” she frets.

 “I have a gun,” he motions for her to hand the Glock over. “They probably don’t. So it’ll be okay. Just wait here. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t go around snooping or whatever you want to call it. Just stay here and don’t move. Anyone comes in the yard, just yell. I’m not going far. I’m just looking to see if there’s electricity down there.”

 She stands at the top of the stairs, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, once more folding her arms across her chest as she watches him journey down the stairs and then disappear into the darkness. She can hear the faint drip of water,  the rustle of the soles of his boots as he passes over dirty and whatever debris may be down there. Then furtively glances around the yard and down the path towards the road, then to the back alley and up into surrounding windows.  Breathing a sigh of relief when a light flickers on below.

 “Be careful,” Tyler says, as he stands on the second bottom step and offers a hand. “The stairs are steep as shit.”

 “What’s it smell like?” she asks, as she curls her fingers around his hand.  “Because the last time you made me go into a place like this, I threw up in my mouth. A lot.”

 “It smells damp. Like a basement. Doesn’t smell like shit. And there’s no rats. So….”

 The cellar is impossibly narrow; he has to turn slightly to the side, shoulders too broad to fit in the space, and a protective hand falls on the small of her back, guiding her in front of him.  The walls are brick; cracked and faded in some spots, weeds and mould growing in some of the crevices. Floors are a mix of dirt and concrete; cracked and worn in a number of places.  Above them, bare light bulbs hang from a single strand of wire.

 “It goes pretty far back,” he nods down the hallway.  “There’s a couple of rooms off of it. Might be more.”

 “It’s like some kind of bunker,” she observes. “What the hell have we walked into?”

 “I don’t know,” he says. “But lets get to work.”

[willddheartt]

Babylon: Neon Lights | C.H. Chapter Three: Empty Wallets

DISCLAIMER: SOME PARTS MIGHT BE R RATED !! Series warnings: Substances (alcohol & cigarettes), Anger (snappy comments), that’s it??

Series Masterlist

July 7th Ashton’s birthday. Violet and I were lucky enough to get the day off of work, letting us sleep in as preparation for the events of this evening. Waking up at the early time of 1:00 PM, in the afternoon, I ran out to get Violet and I breakfast. Since it was already the afternoon our breakfast consisted of burgers and fries from the restaurant down the street. 

Before I knew it we were getting ready for the club. I ended up slipping on some really short black shorts with a pair of fishnets underneath them, paired with my normal, red high top converse and a black halter top and my normal plaid shirt over top of that. My short hair hung along the sides of my face in its natural waves as I pulled the entire look together with perfectly winged eyeliner and a black lip.  Violet and I walked to the club where it was only two blocks away from our apartment. The guys were waiting for us outside when we arrived, I greeted Ashton with a hug and a happy birthday before we went inside. 

The night started off alright, everyone did everything in their power to keep Calum and I separated to keep the conflict to the minimum and I kept my glares to myself. The music was too loud for me to be able to hear his snarky comments if he made any. But as we all became more and more intoxicated, the thought of keeping Calum and I separate slipped their minds and they began dragging both him and I to dance at the same time. Standing by the bar, and evidently next to Calum, I was telling Violet that I would join her in one second. I was just getting another drink. But none of that went to plan as someone from the crowd bumped into me, causing a domino effect as I stumbled backward into Calum and he spilt his beer. 

“The fuck!” He yelled, pushing me off him in response.  “Jesus, It was an accident,” I responded to his irritated reaction “Like fuck it was!” He shouted at me, everyone and the bartenders getting ready to stop anything violent if it were to happen. The air was tense and it almost seemed as if the music stopped. “Oh yeah, you really think I’d bump into you on purpose?” I snapped, “You know irritating you isn't high on my priority list Hood,”  “Well you seem to be doing a good job at it, you know how hard it's gonna be to get it out of the leather?”  “I don’t really care,” 

By now Ashton, Luke, Michael and Violet noticed the conflict that had been taking place and stood back but they were around enough that if anything were to happen they could step in.  “I don’t understand why you can't just remain neutral. I get that we can't be friends, Calum, but why do you have to be so overly aggressive and annoyed for no reason, I try to get along and you just don't fucking care!” I yelled, waiting for an answer but he looked dumbfounded. “Fuck you,” I mumbled before leaving to get some air. 

I lit a cigarette and leaned against the uneven cement wall, my left leg bent at the knee resting on the wall, and threw my head back as I blew the smoke from my lungs. Everything within myself wanted to scream at Calum right now, maybe even throw a few punches at him, but I knew nothing but more trouble would come from that. The uneasy look on Ashton's face I saw as I left was enough to make me regret everything.  The sound of the heavy club door closing pulled my attention from the empty sky to my right. As if the gods wanted me to suffer exponentially tonight, Calum stepped out of the club, looking both ways down the street until he saw me. 

“The fuck do you want?” I sighed as Calum approached “Bum a smoke?” He mumbled, just like the other day.  I shook my head and shoved my pack back into my back pocket. “Out,” Turning my attention to the street, watching the cars passing and ignoring him as he stood next to me.  “I'm trying to be civil, Rossa,” He sighed     I scoffed, “Civil? Now? Wow do you have bad timing,” I shook my head.  “That's what I’ve been trying to do all along.”

“You! What reason do you have to bring civil up to me? The last I recall you were the one initiating the snarky bickering.” Quickly I looked over at Calum, he looked as if he were going to say something but I shook my head and cut him off before he could get it out, “You know what, I don't even wanna hear it.” I dropped my cigarette butt to the ground, putting it out with the bottom of my shoe, “I’ve been trying to get on your good side for three years Calum, three fucking years. At this point I don't even think you have one, or if you do there's no way in hell I'll get on it, so forget it, I'm done trying.”  All my bottled up anger from the past years finally was bubbling up and it all came out at once, “If you really mean those things about everyone not wanting me around that you were mumbling at dinner the other night, you got your wish. I’m gone. Now just fuck off.”  I pulled the pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit another one as I took off, walking down the street in the direction of Violet and I’s apartment. 

Maybe I was just drunk with no filter, or maybe I actually meant everything I said to him, it didn’t matter anymore. I finally had it my way and there was no way in hell I was going to voluntarily see Calum Hood. 

August 7th   Friday movie night at Ashton’s turned into Friday movie night alone at the apartment. I wasn’t going to make the other change their plans just because I couldn't stand one of their friends, obviously, Calum was right and I had been the problem. The Friday after Ashton’s birthday I apologized for everything that happened in the past and for ruining his birthday, and we went out to lunch. He looked really disappointed when I told him I didn’t plan on joining them on movie night but told him I’ll be there next week even though I had no plans of going next Friday. I just didn’t know how to break it to him that I was becoming a stranger. Luckily I didn’t have to because distancing myself was easier than I expected. The Monday following movie night, I got calls and texts asking why I missed it, but when I missed out Wednesday dinner, they started to get concerned, until they all just stopped trying to contact me, only sending messages for me through Violet who would text me or tell me when she got home. 

As the sunset over the buildings in the city, and the sun twinkled off the various skyscrapers that were visible from the 12th story apartment balcony, my Friday movie night turned into a Friday club night. Pulling on an outfit nicer than sweats and a sports bra, I didn't really care what I looked like, I wasn’t looking for a one night stand I just wanted to get wasted.  Surprisingly the club was emptier than last time, and the music a touch quieter. Although the vodka was watered down just the same. Everything was going amazingly, I forgot about the massive FOMO I was having over movie night with each new drink I consumed, at least until I saw the same leather jacket I was sticking to, on the uncomfortable wicker couch less than a month ago, hanging off its owner's shoulders. Calum and I locked eyes for a moment before he left a bill at the bar and walked out. 

I felt stupid for doing it, but it was my turn to chase after him. After telling him off about two days ago, I was now running after him. 

It was a perfect parallel, Calum leaned on the wall the exact way I had a month before. His left leg lifted, bent at the knee foot flat on the uneven cement wall, and head thrown back resting against the concrete.  I walked up to Calum, noticing the cigarette that hung between his lips.  “What did I do?” I asked, catching Calum’s attention.  “Hm?” He asked  “What did I do,” I repeated, I knew how desperate and broken I sounded but at this point, I didn’t care, I was just so fed up and down with everything I needed answers.  “You really don't know?” He asked  I shook my head, “Does it seem like I'm fucking with you, Hood?” 

He took a long drag from his cigarette before holding it out to me, not starting his story until I took it from him. 

“I don't remember how long we had known each other when this happened but remember when we started out good? Like we could get along?” He asked I nodded my head for him to continue as I finished off the cigarette he handed me, “When my birthday came around you completely blew me off, and the plans we made for dinner, all to hang out with some guy. I looked forward to those plans for weeks, and you just blew me off, no ‘something came up’ text, not even an apology.” By this time I had already lit my own cigarette, chain-smoking had become a habit I couldn't shake since last month, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I- I don't know how that just slipped me.”  Calum nodded, taking the cigarette from my hand, “I understand. Now that I say it out loud I see how petty I was being,” He admitted,  I shook my head, “No, I was terrible, a bitch even. I feel horrible now. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” 

[popwasabi]

What “The Dark Knight” says about our bad politics

Waaay back in the summer of 2008, me and my dad drove up to Northern California to attend San Jose State University’s freshman orientation.

It was a long drawn out process where first-year students basically were told and shown a bunch of things they would forget and relearn by their first day anyways and culminated with all of us spending one night in the campus dorms so we could all get a taste of the “campus life” experience.

I wanted it to end badly for a couple reasons. Being an introvert, I was not comfortable sharing a room with anyone, let alone a stranger, for a night but more importantly, I was being kept from the biggest movie premiere of the year that day: “The Dark Knight.”

As soon as I woke up the next morning, I rushed my dad to find the nearest theater and purchased tickets immediately for a late-night screening. I was already a huge fan of “Batman Begins” but every trailer to Christopher Nolan’s epic follow-up indicated we were in for an even bigger blockbuster than before and I was beyond pumped.

(Me getting the fuck off campus to watch “The Dark Knight” that day.)

Two and a half hours later I left the theater blown away by the experience. “The Dark Knight” was everything, at the time, I was hoping for in a comic book movie; angsty, dark, edgy (all things I thought I was as a teen), cinematically sharp, thrilling, a fantastic score once again by the legendary Hans Zimmer, and fulfilled just about every fanboy wet dream I had at the time for a perfect Batman movie.

To this day it remains the most satisfying theatrical experience I’ve ever had seeing a movie, not that it’s my favorite movie of all-time anymore, mind you, but that I have never gone into a movie with such high expectations and had them blown away quite like that since.

(Conversely, this^ was my most disappointing experience...)

I’m a different person now, of course. If you were to wipe my memory of the film and had to watch it again today I doubt I would have the same fanboygasm I had then as the cynical 30-year-old I am now but I’ll argue that “The Dark knight” still remains a high mark, if not the standard, for comic book movies today.

That said, parts of this film have definitely not aged well. Visually the film still holds up, the action is still exciting, the performances are all stellar (though Bale’s Batman voice is still bad) but what hasn’t aged well, for me, are the movie’s politics.

“The Dark Knight” is, of course, a post 9/11 movie, in fact, it’s arguably the definitive one as its pop-cultural footprint dwarfs pretty much all within its sub-genre. This Nolan sequel deals heavily in themes of terrorism with its iconic villain The Joker, played maniacally by the late great Heath ledger, wreaking havoc across Gotham with various explosive devices. Though the Clown Prince is more an anarchist than someone with an ideology, like those in Al Qaeda or the Taliban, the results of his beliefs/non-beliefs are more or less the same; cause pandemonium and fear in the masses. Batman, representing the power of justice and order, does battle with this in a war to save Gotham’s soul and again this is still a damn entertaining and thrilling story.

(Seriously, it’s still a rock solid entry in the comic book movie genre.)

But where the film’s 9/11 politics become problematic is toward the end of the film when the Joker begins his final act to plunge Gotham into unstoppable chaos. Batman becomes desperate; The Joker has eluded him at every turn, always two steps ahead of him, escaping justice no matter what Bruce Wayne does so he concocts a plan to finally to locate and stop the Joker for good.

He creates an elaborate sonar system using every cell phone in Gotham, effectively creating a massive surveillance state to spy on its citizens in order to locate the Joker.

(And it’s the only time we have ever got the real Batman eyes on screen, damn it!)

Lucius Fox, played by Morgan Freeman, appropriately calls this out telling him he’s wrong and that he cannot support this but Batman insists that it’s the only way. Fox reluctantly agrees and tells him he’ll resign once this is over as he can’t morally support such a system. The sonar, of course, works and Batman is able to stop the Clown Prince once and for all and upon Fox entering his name into the sonar computer the program dissolves and is deleted presumably for good.

This is of course to wash Batman’s hands of this deed to the audience. Our protagonist knows this is wrong, the audience is told it is wrong but by ending the surveillance he shows he would never abuse such a program, that sometimes good men have to do terrible things to defeat evil and that makes it ok.

For years, as a bleeding heart liberal (at the time) who grew up in the Bush years but loved the hell out of this movie, I tried to reconcile with this part of the story because Batman was the hero. I thought maybe this kind of action is ok because if the “good guy” is in charge bad stuff is fine because he/she won’t abuse such power. That’s real justice, right?

The problem is in the real world, at the top, there really aren’t any good guys and they are counting on you to believe that they are when they get a hold of such power because that’s how we are programmed.

The Patriot Act, which was the signature Bush-era reform post 9/11, created our current surveillance state. In the interest of national security and ensuring those “dern turrists don’t go killing lil’ Timmy riding his tricycle out in Des Moines, Iowa” our elected leaders, both republican and democratic (make no mistake), effectively signed away our constitutional rights to “ensure our safety” by spying on us basically without warrants. The proponents proudly claimed its necessity in fighting the “War on Terrorism” and those naysayers either shouldn’t worry “if you have nothing to hide” or worse were un-American Taliban sympathizers.

For progressives, of course, this was an evil violation of our civil liberties but for many conservatives, this wasn’t a big deal. They are just trying to keep us safe after all. 

But conveniently ignored by many on the left still today is the complicity they had in bringing about this era in warrantless surveillance. Yes, this policy started under Bush, of course, but it continued to be re-upped through the Obama administration and the Trump administration, not to mention revolving majorities in the House and Senate, showing no matter who was in charge they all liked the idea of keeping an eye on all of us with or without reason.

Considering the Patriot Act was made to win the “War on Terrorism” our leaders were never going to relinquish this power anyways because you can’t win a war on terrorism. Terrorism is not a country or a people, it’s an ideology behind many different ideologies. The US, no matter how you see it, be it as liberators or oppressors, will always have enemies and that’s all the reason they need to keep this power it seems.

Having the data on our lives mined like oil can easily be used against us in a variety of ways regardless of if any of us have terroristic or even criminal intentions. But for many in this country, it was only a problem if the wrong guy wielded that power. As soon as their “good guy” got in though, suddenly it was no big deal. I wonder why...

“The Dark Knight” puts forth a problematic view on who can and should wield supreme power, that even terrible choices can be made as long as the “right” person is the one making them.

Liberals are notorious for justifying them when it’s one of them who does it.

It’s a lie. A lie that both parties use to their advantage because they want you believe everything they do can be justified because you happen to be a part of their party; the “good guys” once again. But there is something extra cynical about the way liberals wield it as they parade themselves around as paragons and moral pillars against the Jokers of the Republican party.

For all the platitudes liberals give, that would make some superhero speeches seem benign, they wear masks about as well as the vigilantes do but not for the same reasons. When confronted by this blatant hypocrisy, liberal voters justify all kinds of horrible things as long as the other “bad guy” isn’t the one doing it. For all the shit Bush gets, and rightfully so, for plunging us into a military, financial, and humanitarian quagmire in the Middle East, Obama gets almost zero real pushback by liberals for effectively drone bombing the hell out of the same people. During these past three years Trump has more or less allowed ICE to run rampant on immigrant communities sure and liberals have been critical, again as they should, but who made the cages they were thrown into and who deported more of them during his first three years in office than Trump did?

(And once again, and I can’t emphasize this enough, Andrew Cuomo is NOT your fucking friend...)

Liberals often like to present themselves as the moral purveyors of good in the face of conservative opposition and they use it to their advantage to more or less do many of the same foul things those with R’s next to their name do. Sure, not all their actions are equally as evil but even then, we rarely truly hold either of our leaders feet to the fire because we believe their actions are somehow better because they have a “D” next to their name.

These horrific policies and actions will never see justice as long as we keep justifying them because the “right” person is behind them.

No, this is not an all sides are equally bad take. That discussion requires more nuance and for a different time, but I will say both sides are varying degrees of bad that should be taken seriously instead of not at all and can’t be pushed aside again and again and again because “the other guys are worse.” 

We are running into the same situation today as our presidential election features a credibly accused rapist, sexual predator, who supports Bush-era tax cuts, who takes money from major corporate lobbyists, who is against Medicare for All, has open disdain for millenials, and not only supports but openly bragged about the aforementioned The Patriot Act.

Hmmm, sounds an awful lot like someone we know, huh?

You could argue that one of these two men mitigates, or even vastly mitigates, harm if in office and I’m not here to necessarily scold you for making what you feel is morally the least awful choice but the point still remains; we are justifying evil again because our “good guy” is in charge.

Being liberal, just on its own, does not vastly minimize the problematic nature of a bad person.

Regardless of how you feel about this election and what choice you plan to make this November (and again, I’m not here to tell you what to do), bad things and bad policies will be continued to be enacted by bad people because that’s what choices we’ve been given. There isn’t a good one and the most vulnerable will be hurt the most by it regardless of who wins. There is a reason so many are disillusioned with voting and it’s not just voter suppression laws.

I can already hear some of you screaming “OH MER GERD pURiTy TeStS,” but this is far more cynical a standard we have than simply choosing a less than perfect candidate. Many are already making rather tone-deaf comments about people being “privileged” for choosing not to compromise their morals anymore. What’s “privileged” is voting for the guy who will do less harm for you but ultimately still disproportionately harm more people of color no matter who is in office.  

(The country and the world can really begin to truly heal when a Democrat is in charge of one of these Freedom Machines once again!)

Yes, I might agree that one is probably a net positive for the world at this point but to act like someone choosing to not participate anymore in what is effectively a never-ending cycle I can’t say I blame them either. At some point, our society has to draw a real line in the sand on these things with our leaders and force a more moral standard for our government instead of the status quo.

We can’t go on this endless “pragmatic” path picking “the lesser of two evils” until we gradually just become evil. You can make the argument that maybe the time isn’t now, and you might be right but when? These folks at the top are COUNTING on us accepting circumstances and justifying terrible beliefs and actions over and over again because of the state of our politics.

“The Dark Knight” believes that sometimes bad things must be done to defeat evil but the real world can be so much less cynical if we stopped compromising on our beliefs. It’s not entirely too late for us to do the right thing. We can’t go on forever letting bad behavior go because the “good guy” will be the one doing it instead of the other one.

Taking money from corrupt billionaires is wrong. Extra-judicially drone bombing the Middle East endlessly is wrong. Throwing migrants in cages like fucking animals is wrong. Rape and sexual assault are wrong. Mass warrantless surveillance is wrong. Doesn’t matter if its Batman or fucking Superman doing any of these things; immoral behavior cannot and should not be ever justified.

Otherwise, we really will live long enough to see ourselves become the villain...

Looking forward to the comments on this one...

[spycethra]

Title: Love Hack (Part 1) 

Pairing: Gavin Reed x RK-900

Relationship Level: Dating for over a year / A bit rocky

Rating: Fluff 

Story Summary: RK-900 gets hacked and loses his normal inhibitions. In turn, he’s become far more jealous and lovey dovey than ever and ironically more humanlike. But with only a few hours to experience this unbelievable version of the investigator, what’s Gavin to do after RK-900 resets back to his normal composed self?

Chapter Summary: Mission -> Survive the Coffeeshop Date

Gavin Reed did not know what to do.

He sat at a table of a local corner coffee shop with a scowling RK-900 seated just across from him. He’d been that way for nearly twenty minutes now. Normally the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans was enough to keep anyone upbeat.

But it was damn a shame that same effect didn’t manage to roll over to androids.

Richard tapped indignantly at the table’s slightly sticky surface with his index finger, appearing absolutely incensed.

“You know why we can’t go back to the office today.”

“No. Quite frankly, I don’t.”

Gavin stared at his partner in exasperation to which the android gave a conceding growl before resting his chin in his palm, still on the lookout for god knows what. It was like having a snarling pure breed that was utterly nettled by anyone (and anything) that wasn’t the man sitting across from him.

“Fine. By your horribly flawed human logic,” Richard began, sounding more vexed than ever as he proceeded to recollect the details for disaster of that very morning, “the department assumed that some amateur coder managed to successfully compromise the integrity of my programming.”

RK-900 placed his hand over his own chest with great emphasis for his state of the art configuration - still years ahead of all the rest.

“I am the RK-900, Reed. Top of the line of my series, equipped with enough security measures that with the very power to topple even the most ardent of minds. Through utilizing the Cephilax Firewall 22-78-3SR...”

And then the act of tuning out all the techno babble began…  

Gavin did well not to roll his eyes as he instead just pursed his lips into a thin line, trying hard not to fall for old habits by needling the android. RK-900 just left himself so wide open that it was hard to resist teasing him. Instead, he nodded at all the right moments, allowing the android his moment to rant away his problems and boast of his higher tier qualities all at the same time.

It was what a good boyfriend would do, right?

But as far as the detective was concerned, the RK unit could keep defending himself until he was blue in the face, they still weren’t going back to the office.  

“Does this crude summary seem accurate, detective? I have far more advanced capabilities to speak of but after analyzing the amount of time it would take to verbalize each and every one to you, it would appear the work day would be over,” Richard concluded with a little less edge in his voice than before.

Gavin mentally winced at the mention of work. RK-900 was still under the impression that they’d be going back.

“Richard, there’s no way I’m taking you back today.”

The android visibly stiffened, sitting straighter than before with his arms crossed in front of him as though he were suddenly on trial.

“Do I have to repeat myself, Reed? I already gave you conclusive evidence that I am operating at optimal capacity.”

This isn’t getting us anywhere. I have to be direct with him… Gavin thought, trying to keep things as cool as they could be.

He’d already witnessed what happened if RK-900’s stress levels increased a little over half.

And it wasn’t pretty. Hell, it got them kicked out of the station for the remainder of the day.

Fowler’s orders.

But Gavin wasn’t so much of a jerk as to torture his partner with that information. Richard was staunchly dedicated to maintaining an unblemished record.

Taking a breath, Gavin’s stone grey eyes flew up to meet with the sharpness of arctic blue. He tried staring back about understandingly as an asshole like him could for someone he actually gave a damn about. Not that he could hold the stare for very long.

It was terrifying how well Richard’s eyes seemed to dig into him so well. Averting his gaze, Gavin nervously interlaced his fingers together, a cheap attempt at buying time, while leaning forward with a small rise in heartbeat. It wasn’t even that warm in the cafe and yet beads of perspiration were already beginning to form along the contour of his neck.

Relax. This’ll either go really well… or with Richard throwing me through this very nice display window. He carefully eyed the android with a weak smile… who provided none in return.

Well, if I’m lucky and he hurls me far enough, a speeding driver might end all of my troubles for me right then and there. ...Considering that the RK-900 series doesn’t have the capacity to resuscitate the dead.  

Gavin slowly raised his head again to his now glaring partner, whose neck and shoulders had tightened with considerable impatience.  

“Reed.”  

Fuck. Moment of truth.

“Rich... You, uh, you do remember putting Connor’s chair through the wall, right?” He reminded the android carefully, while making note of RK-900’s every move.

Fortunately, the RK unit merely narrowed his eyes as though insulted by the memory.

“...It wasn’t even a very good chair anyway. It made all sorts of infernal noises when I was used it,” he argued flippantly.

“...Before or after you broke it clean in half?”

Gavin quickly raised his hands in deference after practically feeling the slicing movement of RK-900’s frozen stare. The robotic investigator’s hands were balling in fists just between them atop the flimsy wooden tabletop. One strike from the overpowered cop and it would no doubt become kindling.

“J-Just getting the details, Nines. It was actually pretty impressive that you did that with just your bare hands. You know, if you ask me,” the detective added anxiously while keeping a very close eye on his partner’s hands.  

The remark seemed to settle the matter for the moment, but android was still shifting awkwardly on the ridiculously uncomfortable stool. Why did coffee joints insist on keeping these terrible things? Gavin almost wondered if he might toss it through a wall too...

“It doesn’t matter. I said it was in poor condition. I merely… emphasized its natural state.”

“Of... being trash?” Gavin offered perplexedly, not entirely following if RK-900 was making a joke or just acting childish.

“Why are you on his side?” came the cryptic question that sent a fresh bead of sweat gliding down the detective’s throat.

“Ah… I don’t really know what you’re referring to-”

“Oh hey fellas!” The peppy barista had suddenly arrived in her green apron and cherry lipsticked smile, both highly unwelcome considering RK-900’s frightfully intolerable mood.

His sharp cold gaze flicked to her, seeming to size her up, before returning back to Gavin with an inscrutable countenance that left his partner uneasy.

Please don’t hit this girl, Nines… Gavin pleaded the android mentally despite knowing the other couldn’t hear him.

Somehow she failed to notice the thick tension entirely as she removed a coffee cup labeled ‘Gavin’ from the tray she was carrying, handing it personally to the detective. He struggled to provide a friendly smile back but upon feeling the death glare directed straight for him, he immediately gave up .  

“Here you goooo, Gavin! I hope you enjoy it, sweetie!” she chirped cheerily while purposefully brushing their fingers together with a final decisive wink that he prayed didn’t just put him in his grave.

“A-Ah, yeah. Thanks.”

The girl was barely gone when Gavin felt a bone crushing grip atop his hand, squeezing ever so slowly like an anaconda with a cold vendetta. He could almost swear he could hear violins trilling his never ending misery in the background.

“Nnnnrggh… N-Nine… What-” He started to yell but quickly bit his tongue.

Gavin could barely say anything without instinctively screaming at the insane android to get the fuck off him. But he knew that this wasn’t RK-900’s fault. Yelling wasn’t going to fix anything. This just wasn’t Richard’s doing.

He wasn’t in control.

His mind flicked back to roboticist tech’s debriefing just before Fowler gave the order.  

“Detective Reed, please bear in mind that though Richard may mostly act normal, his inhibitor locks have been… Well, to make it easy to understand, he’s going to be irrational and far more sensitive than you are accustomed to. Situations normally addressed with calm reason will instead be handled haphazardly on the first whim. ...Please be careful.”

They explained that the hacking was committed by a disgruntled employee; and even those idiots at Cyberlife were still debugging the RK mainframe, they had said it might take till long into the evening before effects could be taken care of. 

...But a whole nine hours of this felt like it was going to be a very, very long time.

“R-Rich… Pain. Lots. Of pain,” Gavin ground out as tolerantly as he possibly could through the amount of duress his android was hurling at him in broad fucking daylight.

Long story short.  

“Who is she to you?”

Oh my god. Gavin’s mind groaned as he tried not to make any further eye contact. If he did, he knew that he was done for.

The hacker somehow made his partner into an obsessively jealous highschooler.

And he found this notion to both as equally terrifying as he found absolutely hilarious.

And his sick sense of humor was probably going to get him killed as he kept his lips tightly pursed as humanly possible to keep from laughing.

“Reed, don’t you dare lie to me. I saw your fingers touch. Did you enjoy that? Were they soft and filled with tender memories of your boyhood?” RK-900 accused bitingly.

Gavin bit his lip so hard that it nearly bled as he vigorously shook his head from side to side.

Don’t feed into it. Doooon’t do it. He warned himself, wanting nothing more than his asshole side to be let loose.

There were so many ways to bother his partner and get a rise out of him that it felt almost impossible to resist.

You’re gonna die. Make a crackshot at any of this, and make no mistake, RK-900 will kill you.

“I don’t. Know. Her,” Gavin barely managed to squeeze out, still containing his need to make light of a terrible situation while his hand was still very much prisoner to the android’s steel grip.

“Really? And how did she know your name?”

What the fuck kind of hacker shit is this!? Holy shit... This isn’t fair. Gavin felt his mouth fall open, absolutely stunned by the insane question. If only I could pull out my phone right now. Richard isn’t gonna believe any of this shit when I tell him.

The employees of Cyberlife may have also mentioned that the RK unit was going to have a soft reset which would return him back to yesterday’s state, but it would also erringly erase the dozen hours of pure gold from his memory.

“Rich,” Gavin started, trying so very hard not to say anything stupid, “Rich, you were standing right next to me when she asked me for it. You know, when she needed a name for when I ordered this coffee?”

“A likely story.”

No fucking way.

Obviously, Richard wasn’t convinced and his hand squeezed even tighter, causing Gavin to cry out but immediately muffle the sound into his arm. Okay, this wasn’t as funny as he’d thought. His squeezing was threatening to crush the detective’s knuckles into dust.  

“Tell me why she’s so familiar with you. Tell me or you can consider learning how to live the rest of your life left handed.”

“H-Hey, better idea! H-how about we do that thing I said we shouldn’t do because I am an idiot and you are obviously the smarter one,” Gavin offered desperately while trying to sound as normal as possible amidst contorting from the immense pain.

In an instant, the hold loosened. As if having never happened in the first place, the android’s once ruthless touch suddenly became more gentle and affectionate as he caressed the back of Gavin’s poor hand with a tenderness only a shy girlfriend would do.

He looked up to find RK-900 smiling bright and the image nearly gave him a heart attack.

“Do you mean it, Reed? You’ll hold hands with me as we walk home together?”

Home was over a two hour walk away.

But considering how uncharacteristically docile and adorable RK-900 had become on account of the hack… how could he possibly say no?  

AN: So it became longer than expected? Sorry, @frog-batter ! But hopefully you enjoy this segment. I like the next bit more though since they’ll both be out and about. So much to interact with! Especially with a jelly robo bf. I hope everyone else enjoyed it too! Let me know if there’s maybe something in particular you’d like to see lovedrunk-RK-900 do and I might incorporate it! 

Also, there’s a Connor mention in part 2 (since he is also hacked.) Stay tuned, lovelies! <3  

[richmegavideo]

My Horrible Records Time Capsule, Subtitled: Crapsule

  Cuing up "That Smell" by Lynryd Skynyrd

Related to Elements: Crate Digging, DJ, Underground

Every evening as I descended the basement stairs on my way to my nightly music-listening ritual in the man cave, I'd be forced to ask myself "What is that God-forsaken, moldy-ass smell?  ...And why are the stairs squishy feeling?"  I knew the answer already, but I was afraid to look and find out.  I ignored it until the smell became unbearably strong and it was obvious at that point it was time to act for the health and safety of my family.  

So after a little liquid bravery on a quiet Saturday morning it was time to bust out the power tools and demo some basement walls!  After a little sweat and a lot of noise I found a hidden crawlspace right next to the basement steps where the smell was emulating from.  

IT WAS ABSOLUTELY NASTY!  As soon as I removed the paneling hiding the hell hole, the smell rushed out of there and grabbed my nose hairs.  Thankfully my family was gone for the weekend and luckily I had a dust mask to help at least keep some of that death out of my lungs. Well now I did it.  I just created a huge job for myself, but it was one that couldn't be avoided any longer.  I knew looking at the hole what I had to do.  It was time to man up and seal this place up properly.  But only AFTER dealing with the mold that came courtesy of the dumbassery of the previous owner of my house.  I've watched enough Holmes on Homes on TV to know it needed to be "done right the first time or not at all!" Don't worry, I'm not going to go through the entire child birth process, I'll skip right to the baby.

Removed the nasty, poured concrete, sealed with Dry Lok Paint, insulated properly!

Long story short, after a lot of work the smell was finally gone!  Now I can seal this up properly and I'll know there will be no problems with moisture or moldy insulation again.

Water Tight, Air Tight, Sealed Space = Time Capsule

Before I seal this small crawlspace up behind walls for "eternity", I knew I had one chance to leave behind a permanent message for future archeologists or pissed off home-owners.  Something that I can leave behind that represents my lifestyle as a human being.  After pondering a while on the dilema with a few beers it hit me, "Duhhhhhh, RECORDS!!!" Records Last Forever!  Well, they do if stored andor played properly, and this was now the perfect sealed-off from the elements environment.  But there's no way in hell I'm going to leave behind any of my cherrished records!   Even some of my crappy records can still be sold for cash, so I couldn't just throw in random crap that some people would enjoy. I had to choose the most horrible records I had.  Stuff I'd have a hard time selling even if I wanted to.  I had to choose records that were horrible quality pressings or massively overproduced or just terrible music.  So I chose 3 records that represented all of those qualities and gifted it to the future inhabitants of my little corner of Earth.

Time Crapsule: The List!  My 3 Worst Records Left Behind in No Particular Order

Relax!  It's the Mexican Pressing

1.  Devo ‎– Freedom Of Choice "Libertad De Eleccion" LP (Warner Bros. Records) Mexican Pressing 1981 Look, I LOVE Devo.  It pained me to even THINK about dissing Devo in any way.  But this pressing was not their fault and if anything it probably pissed them off more than it did me.  I actually bought this record earlier this year from an online seller.  It was never the best album they did but it was a Devo album I didn't yet have on wax, still sealed for only 6 dollars!  What could go wrong with that deal!?!  Well, I guess I didn't pay attention to the "Mexican Pressing" footnote on the product listing.  

  "I'm on a Mexican, (woah woah) Radio!"

"What's so bad about a Mexican pressing?" you may ask.  After all, they invented the world's only perfect food, the taco, so how could they possibly screw up something as simple as pressing a record?  Well apparently they didn't have the speed setting right at the pressing plant that day because this record sounds like the Chipmunks doing Devo.  No lie, this thing somehow plays too fast at 33 RPM.  

But hey, no problem, I have a deck with pitch control, so I'll just slide it way down and then it will sound normal right?  Well it helps a little, but screw that!  Any time you have to use your pitch control to make ANY record sound right you are literally bending over and taking it from the record companies.  Even with the pitch adjusted the entire thing sounds hollow and without any nuances.  This is probably one of the worst cases of quality control I've ever seenheard in all my years of collecting records.  

So Naturally I couldn't sell this to anyone in good conscious knowing the look on their faces would be similar to the look on my face when the needle was dropped on it for the first time.  I can't pass on crap to others, that's the opposite of paying it forward.  Besides, Devo deserves more respect than that.  So I whipped it into the hell hole!  (sorry, bad pun!)

$12 from 720 records, this was unofficial as all hell, a DJ Shadow boot to boot

2.  DJ Shadow ‎– March Of Death / Karmacoma 12" BOOTLEG (Mo Wax) 2005 I love DJ Shadow's music and I love Zach De La Rocha's music so the thought of hearing a collaboration between them was WAY to intriguing for me to pass up when I saw this back in 2005.  I'll admit, I knew it was a boot when I bought it, but there was no other way to get that music back then, and, as it is often the case, curiosity killed the cat.   This sounds like pure ass.  It sounds like it was recorded from telephone and then pressed to record.  There is almost ZERO bass, it is muffled, it doesn't even begin to sound good at any point.  Even with my EQ highly tweeked it was not enjoyable to play on either side.  

As with all bootlegs, the artists on here didn't make a penny off this sale.   Shadow himself mentioned it's existence on his website and obviously if it was legit it would have gone through quality control until it sounded great... Like it does here...

The Real Deal.  Buy THIS if you want to actually enjoy that song.

Once I bought the Handmade record, there was no way I was going to keep that bootleg around, and I couldn't justify passing the buck onto a fellow Shadow fan even if he or she knew what they were buying.  They deserve better and the musicians deserve better.  It was clear that this boot deserves permanent dark days in the hole.  

  3. Natalie Imbruglia ‎– Smoke (Remixes) 12" Promo (RCA) 1998

Horrendous music doesn't even begin to describe this

Why in the name of all that is unholy do I even have this?!  I don't even REMOTELY LIKE Natalie Imbruglia so why is this vile record touching my other records?  It's not that she's a bad musician, (well yeah, she's pretty horrific or maybe average sounding on her best days) it's that this is an overproduced sounding remix clusterfuck.  The remixers didn't even attempt to use her vocal track in a respectful way, in a way that accentuated her vocals, or even left the vocals alone.  These songs were all about over-effect-processing trippy-trance sounding beats and basically they were trying to make it get played at some upcoming rave.  

I think I bought this on year one of my record collecting days, when I was an utter newb.  I clearly didn't play it before I bought it or I would have left it in the store.  I'm pretty sure I bought it because I liked some of Rae and Christians productions at the time.  Yet even that remix, the only remix I bought it for, sounds abominable.   There is literally nothing about this collection of corny, predictable-build filled, and utterly outdated sounding remixes that sounds even remotely tolerable.   I attempted to sell it a few times and I got blank stares from the record store owners I showed it to.  The last guy I brought it to said "Dude, I have like 5 of those online right now for a buck, so even if you want to donate it to me, I don't want it."  I swore that would be the last time I took it home feeling embarrassed and defeated, so into the hell hole it goes with the rest of the heinous archaic black discs!

A Warning for the Future

  And now the message.  Time to write something that will be my legacy, something awe inspiring...  I could leave a written http link to this blog, but blogs are too temporary and who knows if the Intenet won't be directly responsible for Skynet in the future.   

Hmmmm....

Ah hah!!!

Sometimes I just can't leave well enough alone

Cuing up Taps

  It's the moment of truth!  Now it's time to permanently seal the horrible record time capsule.   2" pink foam was cut to size, but not too tight yet leaving room for expansion foam to cement it firmly into place.

Closing the coffin lid on wack records

  Lastly I sealed off the capsule forever with Great Stuff expansion foam.  

Using expansion foam around all 4 sides for an airtight, watertight seal

That's all folks!  Nothing more to see here!

The expansion foam has now cured, the cavity is officially sealed off forever.  Now I'll cover it up with drywall and hopefully the next guy won't see it until I'm dead and buried.  

And on the day I die, I can do so with a small sense of fulfillment knowing this little piece of history was left behind for future generations to hopefully enjoy hating as much as I did.

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[horror-movie-blog]

HMB: Creepshow 1 & 2 AND Tales From the Dark Side

Original Publishing Date: May 22nd, 2015 

So let's talk about horror anthology series. Whether it be mature like Twilight Zone and Amazing Stories, for children, like Goosebumps or Don't Be Afraid of the Dark, or even movies like the two we'll talk about today, there's just something so likable about a bundle of cheesy, campy horror movies. You're either going to get something absolutely terrible or something pure genius. So let's talk about two, or rather three, movies that fit this description, Creepshow 1 & 2, and Tales from the Darkside Movie. Tales from the Darkside was a horror anthology series like the examples I listed above. The reason why I'm talking about this movie along with the Creepshow francise is because many fans consider it the unofficial third installment. George A. Romero and Stephen King, the writer and director of the Creepshow series, had involvement in this movie when King's book Cat from Hell was turned into one of the shorts, and it was directed by Romero. So why the hell not include it? When am I ever going to talk about this movie again? So let's take a look at all the shorts from this movie series, starting with the first Creepshow movie, with the short, "Father's Day". It sucks. Plain and simple. It's just about some old fart who wants a birthday cake. He comes back to life and he kills a bunch of people, and places a woman's head on a birthday cake. Stephen King... the master of horror... sigh. The next skit is "The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill". A hill-billy played by King himself, find a meteorite that seems to grow some strange alien plants. The plants take over his home and Verrill kills himself. Again... Stephen King, the master of horror. I'll admit it was fun seeing King act so silly in this short, but it doesn't distract from the lazy story. The third skit is where things get interesting. "Something to Tide you Over", which sounds stupid, is actually my favorite in the movie. Leslie Nelson, a man known mostly for parody, plays a rather sinister man who buries his wife and her lover neck deep in sand and leaves them to be drowned by the coming tides. Holy shit is that a scary concept, I mean, can you think of anything more scary then waiting to be slowly drowned. To make things even more creepy Nelson is watching them as they drown. The next one is probably the longest of the movie but it's okay, not as good as the third but better than one or two. It's called "The Crate", a man in a miserable marriage gets a create, and inside the create is a murderous Yeti. The man hatches a plan to try to get his wife to look inside the create. The majority of the short is just build up to the woman's destined death, and boy is it suspenseful. It's long, but it works. And finally we end on a weak note, "They're Creeping Up on You". A germophobe's house gets invaded by cockroaches. That's it. But it's okay, because he's a jerk! Stephen King, the master of... You know what, I've been picking on King too much. This was a great movie, I don't care if half of them were crap, for me, the middle two was enough for a watch. Okay, now let's move onto Creepshow 2. Keep in mind, King and Romero had nothing to do with this, although Romero did write. Instead of five skits, it's three. The first one is called Old Chief Wood'nhead. A giant wooden indian comes to life and kills a bunch of teens, but it's okay, because those teens killed an elderly couple. Make sure to throw in a naked lady to get that R rating, then pat yourself on the shoulder movie, you're a mature movie! Yeah, this skit sucks. The next one is called "The Raft". Side fact, there's a show called Lost Tapes on Animal Planet that completely stole this concept. Sadly I saw that first so the chills and suspense that came from this concept was gone when I saw this particular one. Although to be fair, Lost Tapes used an actual scary monster rather then what this movie used; a blob like piece of garbage. The plot centers around teens trapped on a raft in the middle of a lake. A blob monster circles around the raft so there's no way to escape. The teen are picked off one by one until one boy has the balls to swim to shore. This was a very suspenseful idea and is probably the best in the movie, too bad Lost Tapes ruined it. Lastly we have Hitch-hiker. A woman has an affair with her husband, and while driving home she strikes and kills a homeless man trying to Hitch-hike. She drives away but the man comes back as a zombie, only he doesn't seem to be attacking her, he just constantly says "Thanks for the ride, lady". That's it. The woman constantly tries to get away from the zombie, but it keeps poping up to say, "Thanks for the ride lady". I don't get it. So Creepshow 2 sucked. The middle part was good but the other two shorts didn't make it worth watching. Which I can unfortunately say the same thing about Tales from the Darkside. The first short from the unofficial sequel was "Lot 249", based on the Sir Conan Doyle's story of the same name. A man extracts his revenge on the people who wronged him by sending a mummy after them. If this sounds familiar to you, that's because this story is considered the first horror story to feature a mummy as the monster, so the Universal movies took inspiration from this when making The Mummy. Unfortunately this short doesn't try as hard as Universal. The acting is wooden, even with critically acclaimed actor Steve Buscemi and Julianne Moore, the acting in this movie feels very bland. There's a scene where Buscemi is tied down to a chair and is about to be set on fire, and he looks like he doesn't care. There's a scene where Moore sees the killer mummy coming straight at her, and she doesn't seem to care. Basically this whole short felt like a simple Goosebumps episode with blood and gore to keep that R rating. The second short is called "Cat from Hell", adapted from Stephen King's story of the same name, and directed by George A. Romero. Even though the rest of the movie is directed by a different person, it's because of this short that people call Darkside the third Creepshow. And honestly, I can perfectly see why. This is by far the best in the movie, and if this was a franchise, I'd say this was the best in the franchise. It's about a dying old man hiring an assassin to kill a cat. Why? Because the old man is convinced the cat killed his sister, her friend and butler. I'll admit what ruins the short are the kills, the kills are just too goofy. The only death that was convincing was when the cat lied underneath the woman's legs, causing her to fall down the stairs. But besides that, the kills in this short really do ruin it. I mean, the cat jumps into the assassin's mouth and is shallowed alive. That's how the assassin dies. It's hilariously stupid. But the reason why I think this the best is because of how the story is told, up until the stupid deaths of coarse. Oh, and the cinematography. It feels like something straight from the 1940's, the muted colors, the amazing camera work, it feels like belongs in the golden age of horror. Romero did a great job in making King's work into a masterpiece. And finally we have "Lover's Vow". An artist sees a gargoyle kill his friend, but the gargoyle spares him if the man promises not to tell a soul. So the man keeps his promise, he marries, has children, his art career takes off, and it seems all is going right with his life. On their ten year anniversary, the man tells his wife the truth, feeling closer to her then ever and feeling she has the right to know. But... spoilers, SHE WAS THE GARGOYLE! And... OH NO, THE KIDS ARE GARGOYLES TOO! Oh the horror. So the gargoyle bites the man's neck, grabs the kids and flees. Okay, let's talk about everything else first. The short starts off with the gargoyle looking down at the artist's studio in stone form, giving us the idea that the gargoyle is always watching him, I thought that was pretty cool. But boy oh boy, is everything else dumb. The gargoyle effects are horrible, it looks like a broken puppet, and the twist doesn't make any sense. Why would she be so emotional over her husband telling her the truth? He did it out of love, shouldn't that tump her stupid rule? And she was a nice person, she could have understood. Or at the very least gave the man the choice of staying with her after discovering her true identity. You know what? That's what this short should have been about! A test of faith. Would you love me if you found out I was a murderous, friend killing gargoyle? But no... We have the horror equivalent of a kid breaking the friendship oath. So overall, check out Creepshow, try to only see the Raft part of Creepshow 2, and watch only the Cat from Hell from Darkside, but keep in mind some of the silly things.