#warehouse surveillance systems

[aragenlifesciences]

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[securens-systems]

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[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"There are several reasons prison violence, prevalent in the 1960s through the 1980s, has subsided. The most important of these is that prison planners and prison administrators have succeeded in developing a prison operation that greatly reduces the potential for violence. In the new California prisons, the layout of the housing units, the yards, and the entire prison compound facilitates surveillance and rapid response to any disturbance. But more important, the existence of supermax prisons with Segregated Housing Units (SHUs), in which 10,000 prisoners can be kept in secure lockup, has greatly reduced violence in the lower custody prisons. California prison administrators transfer prisoners who have been involved in several violent events or have a high violence potential (because of gang affiliation or some other characteristic) to supermax prisons. This and the fact that prisoners in the lower-custody prisons know that if they cause too much trouble, they will be transferred to the harsher supermax prisons have reduced violence. A Solano prisoner commented: “The minute they opened New Folsom [a supermax prison] things settled down in Old Folsom.”

- John Irwin, The Warehouse Prison: Disposal of the New Dangerous Class. Afterword by Barbara Owen. Los Angeles: Roxbury Publishing Company, 2005. p. 92.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Amazon's bestselling "bitter lemon" energy drink was bottled delivery driver piss

Today (Oct 20), I'm in Charleston, WV at Charleston's Taylor Books from 12h-14h.

For a brief time this year, the bestselling "bitter lemon drink" on Amazon was "Release Energy," which consisted of the harvested urine of Amazon delivery drivers, rebottled for sale by Catfish UK prankster Oobah Butler in a stunt for a new Channel 4 doc, "The Great Amazon Heist":

https://www.channel4.com/programmes/the-great-amazon-heist

Collecting driver piss is surprisingly easy. Amazon, you see, puts its drivers on a quota that makes it impossible for them to drive safely, park conscientiously, or, indeed, fulfill their basic human biological needs. Amazon has long waged war on its employees' kidneys, marking down warehouse workers for "time off task" when they visit the toilets.

As tales of drivers pissing – and shitting! – in their vans multiplied, Amazon took decisive action. The company enacted a strict zero tolerance policy for drivers returning to the depot with bottles of piss in their vans.

That's where Butler comes in: the roads leading to Amazon delivery depots are lined with bottles of piss thrown out of delivery vans by drivers who don't want to lose their jobs, which made harvesting the raw material for "Release Energy" a straightforward matter.

Butler was worried that he wouldn't be able to list his product on Amazon because he didn't have the requisite "food and drinks licensing" certificates, so he listed his drink in Amazon's refillable pump dispenser category. But Amazon's systems detected the mismatch and automatically shifted the product into the drinks section.

Butler enlisted some confederates to place orders for his drink, and it quickly rocketed to the top of Amazon's listings for the category, which led to Amazon's recommendation engine pushing the item on people who weren't in on the gag. When these orders came in, Butler pulled the plug, but not before an Amazon rep telephoned him to pitch him turning packaging, shipping and fulfillment over to Amazon:

https://www.wired.com/story/amazon-let-its-drivers-urine-be-sold-as-an-energy-drink/

The Release Energy prank was just one stunt Butler pulled for his doc; he also went undercover at an Amazon warehouse, during a period when Amazon hired an extra 1,000 workers for its warehouses in Coventry, UK, in a successful bid to dilute pro-union sentiment in his workforce in advance of a key union vote:

https://jacobin.com/2023/10/the-great-amazon-heist-oobah-butler-review

Butler's stint as an Amazon warehouse worker only lasted a couple of days, ending when Amazon recognized him and fired him.

The contrast between Amazon's ability to detect an undercover reporter and its inability to spot bottles of piss being marketed as bitter lemon energy drink says it all, really. Corporations like Amazon hire vast armies of "threat intelligence" creeps who LARP at being CIA superspies, subjecting employees and activists to intense and often illegal surveillance.

But while Amazon's defensive might is laser-focused on the threat of labor organizers and documentarians, the company can't figure out that one of its bestselling products is bottles of its tormented drivers' own urine.

In the USA, the FTC is suing Amazon for its monopolistic tactics, arguing that the company has found ways to raise prices and reduce quality by trapping manufacturers and sellers with its logistics operation, taking $0.45-$0.51 out of every dollar they earn and forcing them to raise prices at all retailers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

The Release Energy stunt shows where Amazon's priorities are. Not only did Release Energy get listed on Amazon without any quality checks, the company actually nudged it into a category where it was more likely to be consumed by a person. The only notice the company took of Release Energy was in its logistics and manufacturing department – the part of the business that extracts the monopoly rents at issue in the FTC case – which tracked Butler down in order to sell him these services.

The drivers whose piss Butler collected don't work directly for Amazon, they work for a Delivery Service Partner. These DSPs are victims of a pyramid scheme that Amazon set up. DSP operators lease vans and pay to have them skinned in Amazon livery and studded with Amazon sensors. They take out long-term leases on depots, and hire drivers who dress in Amazon uniforms. Their drivers are minutely monitored by Amazon, down to the movements of their eyeballs.

But none of this is "Amazon" – it's all run by an "entrepreneur," whom Amazon can cut loose without notice, leaving them with unfairly terminated employees, outstanding workers' comp claims, a fleet of Amazon-skinned vehicles and unbreakable facilities leases:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

Speaking to Wired, Amazon denied that it forces its drivers to piss in bottles, but Butler clearly catches a DSP dispatcher telling drivers "If you pee in a bottle and leave it [in the vehicle], you will get a point for that" – that is, the part you get punished for isn't the peeing, it's the leaving.

Amazon's defense against the FTC is that it spares no effort to keep its marketplace safe. As Amazon spokesperson James Drummond says, they use "industry-leading tools to prevent genuinely unsafe products being listed." But the only industry-leading tools in evidence are tools to bust unions and screw suppliers.

In her landmark Yale Law Review paper, "Amazon's Antitrust Paradox," FTC Chair Lina Khan makes a brilliant argument that Amazon's alleged benefits to "consumers" are temporary at best, illusory at worst:

https://www.yalelawjournal.org/note/amazons-antitrust-paradox

In Butler's documentary, Khan's hypothesis is thoroughly validated: here's a company extracting hundreds of billions from merchants who raise prices to compensate, and those monopoly rents are "invested" in union-busting and countermeasures against investigative journalists, while the tools to keep you from accidentally getting a bottle of piss in the mail are laughably primitive.

Truly, Amazon is the apex predator of the platform era:

https://pluralistic.net/ApexPredator

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/20/release-energy/#the-bitterest-lemon

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[seleneprince]

Part 2 of my MC's file from the yandere!batfam au

HER ARSENAL:

-Lucia's skills as a hacker are inspired by the Watch Dogs universe.

-She can remotely hack phones to access data, disable alarms, or track locations. Tamper with security cameras for intel or to map out routes. Overloard junction boxes to create distractions or disable power.

-Even manipulate traffic lights to cause accidents or create a escape route.

-She can also override vehicle systems, remotely controlling cars or locking people inside.

-She's also an inventor. Her fascination with tech doesn't end only in programming. She loves creating and developing tech stuff. Robots and drones are her favourites, designed for surveillance, as weapons, or other related tasks, such as planting bugs and retreiving items.

-With time, she learns to build specialized tools like signal jammers, EMPs, or hacking tools disguised as everyday items. Nothing escapes her.

-She has many hiding spots in Gotham, after years of finding routes by jumping through rooftops and sneaking around, but she mostly frecuents her main safehouse, that's located within an abandoned warehouse in The Narrows, and extends below utilizing portions of the closed underground station.

-She knows no one would think of looking down there, unless they know what they're looking for.

-It serves her as a workshop, but also as an operations center and her own personal heaven, where she can rest and enjoy herself in peace. She feels more at home there than in the Wayne manor.

-She puts her gymnastic skills to good use, sneaking through rooftops, alleyways, and urban infrastructure to her advantage. Sometimes she'll rely on drones for mobility instead, controlling them to scale virtually any wall and obstacle that she can't by bypass with parkour.

-She's not a fighter, but years of judo classes have allowed to defend herself when the situation calls for it. She's usually armed with compact, high-voltage stun weapons that incapacitate people without killing them. All of which designed and developed by her.

-She operates with an alter ego, Ghost, and later Zero, with which she manages her "errands" and communicates with people who hire her services. At first, the alter ego only exists online, but with time, she begins to intervene more in her missions, and it's not unusual for her to sneak into places to do her work, so she uses a disguise.

-When she's acting as her alter ego, she wears form-fitting athletic wear for unrestricted movement, with a jacket over it with deep pockets and hidden compartments, that helps conceal her shape. A sleek, high-design mask that covers from her nose to her forehead, equipped with augmented reality features for hacking on the go and a voice modifier, which creates a robotic tone that makes impossible to discern her age or gender. She also uses gloves, to keep her fingerprints away from any surface.

-She started doing some hacking here and there for hiring, but eventually, she associates with villains and works with them. She does some morally and legally questionable stuff (downright crimes) for money and also for the thrill of power, for the self-validation.

-Regardless, she doesn't really follow anyone. She works on her own terms and mostly does her own things. She's friends with some other hackers too and they work together from time to time, but otherwise, she acts alone.

-The classes and extracurricular activities she took in an effort to impress her family (judo, gimnastics, programming, drawing) have proven to be very useful with her new job, giving her a set of skills that she's honed for her not-so-legal endevours.

-She has her own motorbike, her favourite gift from Alfred that she treasures. She calls it "my baby", and has given it a few not very legal modifications to improve the design to her taste.

Personal info:

-She doesn't call Bruce "dad" or "father". It's always Bruce, or Mr Wayne if she feels particulally petty.

-She was banned from judo competitions after accidentally breaking her oponent's leg. In her defense, she had an awful day and the poor bastard decided it was a good idea to taunt her into hitting him. She claims she's gotten over it already (lies, she still gets pissy over it).

-She's been practically raised by Alfred, and they have the sweetest bond. He's the only person in the manor she respects, and wants to make him proud. That's why she does her best to hide her double life from him, knowing he would dissaprove.

-Funny enough, because Alfred is the same one who taught her how to shoot a gun and where to stab someone to render them helpless. The man is no fool, he knows he can't stop a teenager from doing dumb shit, but he can at least make sure she's prepared for the worst outcomes.

-She has the habit of moving around the manor like a monkey, climbing and jumping around like the proud gymnast she is. The manor is like a obstacle park for her. Why take the stairs when she can just jump off the rail and land gracefully on the ground? It's much faster.

-Alfred had to patch her up more than once from stunts gone wrong, but always encouraged her that "there's no victory without failure".

-She's grown up helping Alfred around the manor, slowly but surely taking his tasks from him and doing them herself so he can rest. She's worried about his high activity at his old age, fearing he might drop dead one day out of exhaustion.

-They share the house chores, and he calls her "his little helper", even though she's taller than him now. Lucia's heart melts when he calls her that, but pretends to complain with "she's not a kid anymore"

-She's fixated with the color red ever since her mom's death, specially with the kind of red that resembles blood stains. At the same time, she has severe claustrophobia.

-She hates the color green ever since Damian tried to kill her. It reminds her of his eyes.

-Speaking of it, she's either indifferent or polite with the others, but she hates Damian with passion. He gave her trauma, nightmares and a permanent scar on her neck that would never dissapear, among being an absolute bully whenever their paths cross. She avoids him entirely.

-Even thought she's stranged, she's still known as Bruce Wayne's daughter. She got kidnapped not much later after moving in to Wayne Manor by Penguin, whom she won over by being overly nice and polite with despite her circumnstances. Her mother taught her that bowing her head and be pleasant could save her life in the worst situations (pity it didn't save her)

-She was rescued quickly enough by Bruce, but he handled the ordeal as if it was an inconvenience rather than his daughter having been in a life-threatening situation.

-She's been kidnapped and attempted to more times over the years, each one cementing her belief that she had to save herself because no one else would.

-Her little brother, Marco, is a year younger than Damian, and has dyslexia, which is one of the reasons Lucia works so hard to provide him the best from a distance. She knows the educational system doesn't fit kids with special needs like him, specially if they're orphans.

-She's taken upon herself to be a mother for Marco, unconsciously seeking to cope with their mom's death by taking her place in his life. She visits him frecuently at the orphanage and pulls strings so he doesn't get adopted. It's selfish, she knows, but she can't stand the idea of another family getting him and losing contact with him.

-Being possessive with family runs in her blood.

-She adores him, but her relationship with the boy is also built on her feelings of neglect and the trauma of losing their mother. She holds unto him not only out of love, but because she feels he's the only true family she has. The only brother who loves her unconditionally and doesn't make her feel like shit.

-She's a parentified oldest daughter at its finest, used to act like an adult even at a young age. The only times she allows herself to be a girl her age is when she's alone with Alfred or with her best friends.

-She smokes and has some self-destructive tendencies, but crosses the line at getting drunk.

-She has discounts at the Iceberg Lounge whenever she goes. Gets along surprisingly well with Oswald Cobblepot, with him being somewhat fond of her since the kidnapping.

-Because of this, she has met a couple of villains already and even talked to them. Ivy and Harley are secretly scouting her for Siren potential, trying to see if she's worth it.

-All of them at some point have met her alter ego online. She has contacts everywhere.

-Marco's biological father is a pillar in both their lives since they were kids, and Lucia has a complex dynamic with the man. His identity is relevant to the plot.

-Out of all her "siblings", she likes Duke the most. He's the only one who's been friendly with her since the beginning and hasn't gotten bored of her, unlike Stephanie. They were close before, but after Lucia found out their secret identities, she kept her distance from him, much to his sadness.

-She doesn't mind Barbara and Cassandra. She's polite when she sees them and has no particular problem with their presence.

-She strongly dislikes Dick, Jason and Stephanie, and she doesn't have an opinion on Tim, beyond that he has assholes vibes.

-My Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne from this au are inspired by the ones from @solelifauna. If you want to get an idea, go check her works and you'll understand.

-Lucia knows all of their vigilante lives, but pretends she doesn't so to not give them a reason to bother her. Alfred is aware that she knows, since he was there when she found out, in an accidental way.

-Long story short, she snuck in the Batcave and saw all the stuff, including the uniforms. She had a mental breakdown right there and rushed to pack her stuff, determined to run away. She's a criminal, she doesn't want to share space with the people who hunt down those who break the law. Alfred caught her and managed to convince her to stay, agreeing that she would keep the secret and the family wouldn't have to know about this incident.

-Alfred thinks he reacted like that because she's afraid of being targeted by the Batfamily's enemies.

-In reality, she's afraid of being targeted by the Batfamily themselves.

@bunbunboysworld

[radiance1]

You know what?

*Kicks Danny across the universe.*

Get that motherfucker outta here, we talking about Tucker now.

Yes, Tucker, not Danny.

So, Tucker gets dropped into this new universe, entirely by mistake really, he probably shouldn't have fucked around with that experimental portal to... wherever he ended up that the GIW had. But really, what's life without a little risk huh?

He found out because he was left resourceless and friendless in an entirely new dimension with waaaaay more than just one hero, ghosts aren't the norm (But really in his dimension they both were and weren't) and a bunch of supervillains and what do you mean earth's been invaded more than once-

He's shocked, obviously, but being suddenly cut off from his friends and family hasn't properly set in yet, so he'll make the most of his time before then.

Ends up managing to get himself a nice little abandoned warehouse (there's a lot of those around here, really) that'll take a bit of fixing up but hey, safety from the elements first, safety from others next, and then food. So, with the materials he's found, he makes a security system, not the greatest because poor materials and he doesn't have the Fenton gene but it works itself out.

He had data, so he hacks into nearby places to get a proper feel for the city he's in.

Lots of crime, like, a whole lot that has Tucker slightly worried not going to lie.

But hey, he meets this person called Oracle, and they're a fun one to hang with. Digitally of course, obviously he's also hidden his signal so they can't track him in the off chance.

Then he somehow finds himself helping the Batclan here and in return he asks for money, Oracle obliges and by the Ancients are they loaded. Upgrades, upgrades, here he comes!

Most of it is surveillance, and a wee bit of tracking and hacking and also defending.

He thinks Oracle and him make a pretty good team! One full offense, the other defense, hell. They could both go offensive or defensive and it's pretty fun.

Oracle: Yea, I know a guy.

Also Oracle: Refuses to elaborate on who said guy is, how they met and so on so forth.

[spirantization]

me five minutes into kerblam!: oh i see, this is a commentary on how giant corporations exploit and dehumanize their workforce with extensive surveillance, unachievable work targets, poor compensation, micromanaging social interactions, etc while slowly replacing them with automation

kerblam! five minutes to the end: explosive bubble wrap actually

kerblam! five minutes to the end: the real villain all along was *looks at smudged writing on hand* the working class wanting the dignity of honest work and not wanting to be replaced by automation

the doctor at the end of kerblam!: "the systems aren't the problem! how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" [who want to work and not be replaced by robots]

the worst part is that the first half of the episode is a somewhat cogent criticism of amazon's warehouse labour practices. i assume someone higher up got their grubby hands on the script and forced a rewrite of the ending. but now there are artifacts of that previous story in the end product, so you see everyone getting fitted with ankle monitor trackers, and how management treats the workers poorly, and how coworkers aren't allowed to socialize during their shift, and all these moments of reflection about the system by ryan & graham & yaz as they interact with other workers that come directly from their own working class experiences. and because the episode lands on "the system is fine, actually" as the take home message, all of these very clear instances of warehouse workers being treated horribly just get folded in.

nine would kill thirteen on sight as a class traitor.

[the-cauldron-witch]

Protecting his Peace part 2

Part 1

As requested by the dear @redsrooftopprincess, here is part 2!! I hope you enjoy my dear!

A special thanks to @thelaundrybitch @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins for giving me a hand when I got stuck!

For the better part of two hours, after you had promptly slammed Raphael’s door shut and locked it with the keypad hidden behind the movie poster, the two of you sat tangled together in his massive bed holding one another. Large arms cradling you in his lap and beak nuzzled into the nape of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair for comfort. Hands reached up and around his neck, rubbing the back it gently and humming a low soothing tune as you held him to the best of your ability given the size difference. Having let out his tears of frustration and allowed you to dry them, Raph simply needed the physical comfort now.

The gentle knock at the door would have gone unheard had the TV been on or music from his radio been playing. He gave you a loving firm squeeze before letting you slip from his muscular arms, feeling the cool air against his skin in the space you left behind. Striding across the room in only a few steps, you took a deep breath and paused just a second long enough to still your nerves.

Lifting the corner of the movie poster again and letting your fingers dance across the keypad, you unlocked the door. Opening the door with slight force, expecting one of his towering brothers, you had to shift your gaze downward to meet Master Splinters. One of his hands holding a pizza box and the other wrapped around his trusted staff.

“I ordered dinner for you two,” He spoke gently, offering the pizza boxes for you to take and just conveniently putting them in the way of the door. “Unless…my son might be ready to speak with me a moment?”

The fact Master Splinter seemed to genuinely ask permission made something in your chest tighten a little. Turning your head to look over your shoulder at the son in question your eyes locked with Raph’s, asking for his input without verbally asking. Taking a deep breath Raph thought for a moment before nodding, motioning for you to allow Master Splinter to enter. Taking the pizza boxes from the elderly rat you stepped out of the way, allowing him to enter.

Shoving a pile of dirty laundry off the nearby rolling chair, Raph cleared a spot for his father to sit while he made his way through the scattered remnants of furniture and other belongings across the floor. Master Splinter took mental notes to perhaps see if Donatello’s welding skills were good enough to make furniture. While the elderly rat made his way to the chair, you grabbed a folded TV table from the corner of the room and made your way to the bedside. Standing the tray table on its legs you remained standing for a moment longer, simply observing. The three of you remained silent for a moment while Splinter got comfortable.

“I spoke with your brothers about the events over the past few days,” Master Splinter shifted his grip on the knob of his staff as he spoke gently, “Before coming to speak with you, I wanted to give you more time to calm yourself and spoke with your brothers first. While speaking with Donatello, he had the idea to ‘hack’ as he says, into the warehouse surveillance system and watch the footage of that night. It showed exactly as you had described that night; the vent giving out from under you and falling”

The elderly rat now holds both you and Raphael’s attention fully. Sitting up straighter now Raph studied his father for a long moment, not bothering to speak or do anything that might prompt this to turn this into a trap to lecture him. A small creak from the bed interrupted the quiet pause as you sat next to Raph, placing a reassuring hand on top of his thigh and giving it a firm squeeze to pull him from his thoughts. The small action didn’t go unnoticed by Master Splinter, tugging a small smile at the ends of his lips. Taking a deep breath, Master Splinter continued speaking while Raph defensively crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’d like to first apologize, my son,” Lifting his head to look Raphael in his emerald eye, Master Splinter apologized sincerely, “I should not have simply went along with those accusations, you didn’t deserve that from your brother’s and especially not from myself. I did not take your emotions into account and turned a blind eye to the disregard towards your possessions. I’m deeply sorry and hope that you can forgive me”

Any sort of anger or frustration that simmered within Raphael’s chest slowly evaporated, sighing the remaining imaginary steam audibly. A lump formed in his throat while remaining quiet, mulling over his word choice before speaking. This wasn’t what he was expecting, he half expected to be scolded for lashing out and busting up his room. Yet his father was openly apologizing and asking for his forgiveness. Clearing his throat of the lump that climbed up his throat, Raph shifted awkwardly on his bed as he unfolded his arms.

“I forgive ya, dad…Not really mad at you in tha’ first place, really. It’s just…” Raph grumbled, his thumb swiping over your knuckles in a soothing motion as he mentally pieced the words to his feelings. Glancing down to the floor as though the words were written there Raph went silent again, a nervous habit his father knew well and patiently waited for his second eldest to speak.

“I made a mistake and owned up to it- if ya could even call it a mistake. Not like I chose that way knowin’ my big ass was going to fall through tha damned ceiling! But it’s like…it was just easier for them ta jus’ say it’s my fault than believe me, Leo didn’t even try to listen ta me. Just told me I was being reckless and defiant again…” The way Raphael’s shoulders slouched as he spoke tugged at your heart. To have someone push aside Raphael’s emotions, his own family especially, so carelessly lit a fire within your chest that smoldered with frustration.

Reaching a bony hand outward Master Splinter placed it gently on Raphael’s shoulder, giving a gentle nudge to coax him to look up. You watched as Raph lifted his saddened, dulled emerald eyes to look his father in the face. Blinking sadly back, Master Splinter rubbed his thumb over the smooth scales of his shoulder.

“And I am very, very sorry that you were made to feel that way. I truly am,” He gave his sons shoulder a gentle but firm squeeze before continuing to speak reassuringly, “Leonardo and Donatello are currently both serving their respective punishments in the ha-shi while Michelangelo is cleaning up your work-out room. I have given him very strict instructions; he is not to leave that weight room or have dinner until he has finished”

It was as strange feeling; open recognition and acknowledgment that Raph had been telling the truth the entire time and beingapologized directly to. Smiling warmly as your boyfriend leaned down, wrapping his arms around his smaller rat father carefully, you felt a warmth in your chest after helping your boyfriend find some resolution. To the best of his ability, Master Splinter reached up and patted his son’s shell in a tight embrace.

“Thanks dad…I really appreciate it,” Raph spoke with a genuine smile of gratitude once separated. A sense of relief washed over you, noticing the way Raph’s features softened from their rigid defensiveness for the first time today.

“And I would like to personally thank you,” Turning his attention to you, Master Splinter slid out of the computer chair his feet silently touching the floor, “Your fierce protectiveness for my son’s peace opened my eyes, showing me how wrong I and my sons were towards Raphael. I very much appreciate your actions, thank you,”

“Any time, somebody has to be in this big guy’s corner,” Patting Raph’s thick thigh gently you couldn’t help but look up at him with a playful wink. He turned that same grateful and sincere smile onto you, leaning down briefly to peck your forehead and send a small rush of heat to your face. That was probably the first time Raph had ever been so openly affectionate towards you in front of his father, at least on purpose. With a small, amused chuckle Master Splinter strolled away with the help of his staff. As he began to shuffle past, he paused for a second long enough to reach out and affectionately patted the top of your hand still resting on Raphael’s thigh before continuing to the door.

“You two take your time and eat dinner, please. When you’re finished, come see me in the ha-shi so we may put this whole mess to rest, Raphael” With that said, Master Splinter quietly opened the door once again and slipped out silently with a small click. The silence that hung in the air felt lighter than it had been before, the electrical charge fading entirely.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starved” Was all Raph said before grabbing the top pizza box and opening it, grinning with delight that his father had gotten him his favorite, deep dish meat lovers with onions. Opening the second box it was your turn to be pleasantly surprised at your own favorite pizza inside. Whatever guilt you felt for landing your boyfriend’s brothers in hot water was set aside for now.

“Mike’s gonna be pissed,” Raph snickered, “He loves meat lovers too but absolutely hates onions, I get them whenever I don’t want him to steal my leftovers…now I gotta worry about Donnie, though” He continued to lament with a devious snicker, knowing that his father had purposefully added onions for just that reason. Taking a mental note of this tidbit of information for yourself, just in case you want to keep Mikey away from your food later down the road, you pulled out a slice of your own pizza with a pleased grin as strings of cheese stretched from the inside of the crust. Master Splinter had even gotten stuffed crust for you, how sweet.

You two ate in comfortable silence, Raph finishing his entire pizza with ease while you still had more than half leftover by the time you were full. Snagging a sharpie from his side table, Raph scrawled your name on top of the box so that- hopefully- no one would steal it from the fridge. Exiting Raph’s room and heading for the kitchen, the first thing that was noticeable was the stench of paint remover hanging heavily in the air. Nose wrinkling as the smell grew stronger, you made your way to the kitchen to put away your pizza while Raph turned to find the source of the smell.

“Oof” Raph huffed as he followed the scent and entered the weight room, nearly choking on the heavy stink of paint thinner. A large canister sat open in the middle of the room next to a growing pile of dirty cleaning rags. Sitting in front of the massive mirror attached to the far wall was Mikey with a rag in hand, wiping the paint off the bottom half of the mirror.

Eyes glazed over and swaying in his seat, Mikey’s blinked rapidly to focus his blurry vision so that he could continue working. A sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, that wasn’t his own motion trails, caught Mikey’s attention and he turned himself to look over his shoulder. The small motion nearly knocked him on his shell, had Raph not been behind him to steady him with his foot.

“Hey, whassup Raphie?” Mikey slurred as he turned around unsteadily, having to plant both palms onto the ground to keep upright. Had Raph not known any better, he would have assumed Mikey was drunker than a sailor on shore.

“Easy, Mike. The hell are ya doin’?” Raph questioned; nose wrinkled as he tried to breathe past the heavy unseen fog that burned his eyes and sinuses. Finally steadying himself in a comfortable sitting position he blinked slowly, mind slowly piecing words together as a dull ache began to settle within his sinuses

“Dad said…I gotta clean this up ‘fore I can get dinner,” Tripping over a few words Mikey explained slowly, reaching up with his free hand to massage between his eyes, “And I’m…sorry about earlier, real uncool of me-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now,” Raph chided gently as he knelt to the youngest brothers’ side, taking the damp rag from his other hand and tossing it into the pile.

Entering the weight room with your chin ducked into your chest and shirt pulled up over your nose in a desperate attempt to block out the heavy smell of paint thinner, you quietly walked up from behind Raph while he was bent over and helping Mikey from the floor. The orange banded turtle stumbled on his feet even with his elder brothers’ help, nearly sending both to the ground had you not rushed over to steady Mikey’s other half.

“The exhaust from the paint thinner must have gotten to him,” you told Raph with concern, steadily walking in sync with the two massive turtles as you and Raph led the youngest out of the gym and into the living room.

“M’head hurts,” Mikey grumbled while you and Raph steered to the couch, guiding him to sit gently as his knees buckles against the frame of the couch. Had you and Raph not helped, Mikey would have simply ended up tumbling onto the couch like a ragdoll. Watching his younger brother rub his forehead trying to soothe the pounding behind it, Raph sighed and shook his head. “For real though…M’sorry about earlier, I feel bad, honestly dude,”

“Ah…I forgive ya, dumbass” Raph sighed, slightly dispirited and shaking his head. Getting an apology and the paint removed from his weight room was what Raph wanted, but not at the expense of Mikey killing what braincells he had. The paint was cleaned from his equipment and weights, the mirror wasn’t a high priority on the list. The mirror was mostly clean anyhow…along with the ceiling.

“I’m goin’ to go and talk to dad really fast. Just sit here for a minute with [Y/N] and get your head straight,” Raph told him, patting his shoulder reassuringly before heading for the ha-shi. Making sure Mikey wasn’t going to fall ass over tea kettle, you slipped into the kitchen and snagged an empty glass from the counter and headed for the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and grabbing four tablets of some strong ibuprofen you turned on the faucet to fill the glass. You came back to the living room a minute later where Mikey still silently sat holding his head.

“Here, take these, hon” Gently nudging his shoulder for Mikey to pull his head from his hands, you offered the medicine and glass of water to him. Blinking away the foggy confusion he slowly reached out a tentative hand and took the glass while the other accepted the tablets in his upturned palm.

“Thanks, Angelcakes... You’re a sweetheart, even though I was a such a jerk earlier,” Tossing his head back as he threw the tablets to the back of his throat he chased them down with a few gulps of water. A smile broke across your face at Mikey’s self-reflection, at least your outburst from earlier had some silver lining.

“Raph already said he forgave you and so do I. Thank you for cleaning up as much as you did,” You chuckled, unable to help yourself and wrap your arms around his shoulders for a quick hug. He returned the gesture for only a second before excusing himself to lay on the couch for a moment. A wave of nausea twisted and rolled Mikey’s stomach as he shut his eyes. The fumes from the paint thinner were starting to wear off, leaving a sickly feeling behind as the headache settled particularly harsh behind his still blackened eye.

---

“Shit, shit, shit-” Donnie muttered as his arm snapped outward to catch the errant ping-pong ball with the paddle, popping it up into the air so that he could catch it with the other one. Thankfully Master Splinter, who watched from the other side of the room like a hawk, stopped caring long ago about swearing openly and simply continued to observe. Sweeping his sharp gaze from Donatello to Leonardo, who was rigid as stone while balancing the eggs as instructed.

Raph stood in the entrance in silence, observing his brothers struggling to keep up their performances under their father’s ever watchful glare. Although he had noticed his second eldest son after he walked through the threshold, Master Splinter didn’t acknowledge him right away and allowed Raphael to watch for himself.

“Hey, dad,” Raph announced, voice cutting through the air like a knife, “you wanted me ta come see ya?”

“Yes, Raphael,” Master Splinter pinned Leonardo and Donatello each with a harsh glare that silently ordered them to continue their exercises, then slowly made his way over to Raphael. “I know I already spoke to you earlier, but I’d like to apologize again for these past events. My judgement was unfair and unjust towards you, as were your brothers.”

Turning his head to look at his struggling sons, it was a silent prompt from their father for them to speak. They both briefly glanced at one another, neither sure who should speak first, before Donnie decided to just go first.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t believe your side of the story about the vent collapsing and then shot my grappling hook through your punching bag! F-fuck!” Donnie struggled for a split second as the ping-pong ball decided to arch in a direction that it was not supposed to go, “I thought you had another punching bag honestly- saying that out loud I realize that was an asshole assumption- but either way I have already replaced it myself!”

“You did?” Raph questioned, not remembering seeing a punching bag in the space it usually hung. Thinking back on it briefly, he remembered seeing something black attached to the wall but didn’t stop to get a good look at it.

“I did! It was- shit- supposed to be a Christmas gift, but it seemed appropriate for now” Donnie caught the ping-pong ball before it bounced out of range, “It kind of works like a dance control pad but for boxing! I’ll show you how it works later, I have it programmed with games and-”

“Okay, Donatello, thank you for apologizing,” Master Splinter interrupted politely in order to give Leo his time to speak “Leonardo.”

Clearing his throat of the awkward lump that had formed in his throat during every ha-shi, Leo managed to force himself to look up at Raph. The fact that he was not only wrong but proven so after Donnie pulled up the security video, now he had to openly apologize for it. Thankfully, Raph didn’t look smug or like he was going to tease, just simply crossed his arms and kept a neutral expression.

“I’m…sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said it was an accident. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt and been a better leader in the situation by being more considerate and reasonable,” Leo grunted, straining to keep the eggs balanced in their place as they wobbled at the ends of the chopstick. Taking a deep breath to steady his balance, Leo opened his mouth to continue only for the tap of his father’s staff to interrupt him.

“The inconsideration of not only Raphael’s explanation and situation, but his own emotional wellbeing and personal belongings is rather disappointing to me. I raised the four of you as not only an equal team, but equal in family.” Watching as Leo turned his gaze to the floor again as the guilt weighed heavily on his shell, Master Splinter turned his gaze to Raph, “While your brother is physically the strong among you, that does not make him immovable or without limits and I fear you may have forgotten this fact. With that being said, this punishment may come from me, but the resolution lies with your brother. Raphael, when you feel you are ready to forgive them, I will release them from the ha-shi”

Staring down at his father and absorbing his words, Raph exhaled through his nose with a slow steady sigh while he thought. On one hand, Raph was slightly getting a kick out of the fact that he was very much getting retribution for these past few awful days, but on the other hand…the ha-shi sucked, he knew that, and this didn’t feel as satisfying as Raph would have thought. Neither of his brothers said anything, both equally sharing expressions of guilt and regret as they looked to him.

“Let ‘em go, dad,” Raph sighed, waving his hand dismissively in the air, “I already turned Mikey loose a few minutes ago anyhow…But, I have two conditions”

Having snatched the ping-pong ball between his finger and thumb, Donnie continued to balance with wide eyes while Leo stayed perfect perfectly still, both staring at Raph with mix of emotions. Confused by the fact Raph was letting them go after only a few hours of the hashi, while also concerned and worried by what the conditions could possibly be.

“First condition; I get to do something I have always wanted to do,” Cracking a toothy, devilish grin at his brothers- particularly at Leo, Raph spoke with a slight air of smugness.

“Very well?” Master Splinter gestured vaguely with an open palm, just as confused as his two sons. With permission granted by his father Raph crouched low to the ground, extending his right foot and with one quick motion swept the stacked milk crates from beneath Leo’s feet. A loud thud echoed off the walls as Leo was unceremoniously dropped onto his shell, knocking the wind clean out of his lungs with a burning wheeze.

Crack! Crack! The two eggs flew up into the air and gracefully landed on Leo’s plastrons, yolk and egg white sliding down his sides.

“Punk ass bitch” Leo grunted, blinking up as he coughed and sputtered for air as Raph laughed above him. Slapping a hand over his mouth Donnie tried to stifle the snort that threatened to crack from his throat while hopping off his balancing post. The defiant comment from the downed leader made Raph laugh harder, briefly holding his sides as a stitch formed in his ribs. Reaching out a hand to help Leo up, Raph continued to chuckle at his brother’s misfortune. Taking his hand, Leo was hoisted to his feet and roughly tugged under one of Raph’s biceps for a firm embrace.

“My second condition, since you failed to be a leader to me, I was thinkin’ I lead you for once” Raphael smirked down at Leo, green eyes shining with mischief.

“You want to lead the rest of the mission?” Leo assumed, raising an eyebrow with uncertainty.

“Nah, that would jeopardize the mission, I ain’t that stupid. I’m gonna be leadin’ you in my regular work out regime for the next few weeks,”

Silently blinking at his brother, waiting for a punchline or follow up joke, Leo’s bright blue eyes scanned Raph’s emerald-green ones to see if he was serious. He was. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Leo let his shoulders sag in defeat.

“I feel that is a fitting punishment for the crime. Did Michelangelo clean up to my specifications?” Master Splinter questioned.

“Well, he didn’t exactly finish,” Raph rubbed the back of his head, having forgotten that small fact for a moment. “The fumes kind of got to him and made him a little loopy, he was slurring and acting kind of drunk when me and [Y/N] got to him. He’s sitting in the living room with them right now,”

“What!?” Donnie barked, dropping the ping-pong paddles and ball to the ground and rushed out of the ha-shi. “I told him to turn on the vent fans and wear a damn N-95!” He could be heard grumbling rather loudly, marching his way back to his lab to retrieve a gas mask with a determination to finish the job himself. Grabbing some rubber gloves so that the smell wouldn’t permeate his skin Donnie marched his way to the gym.

-----

While waiting for Raph to talk with his father and brothers in the ha-shi, you sat on the edge while Mikey rested on the rest of the couch, laying on his side and draping his arm over his eyes to keep the light out. Worried about Mikey’s health after inhaling the paint thinner fumes for a good few minutes, you stayed by his side, a hand gently reached out and rubbing the side of his shell in a soothing gesture. You wondered for a minute if Mikey had dozed off as he lay there silently.

“How is he feeling?” Master Splinter questioned as he silently wandered into the living room, startling you and making you slightly jump.

“I’m alright, dad” Mikey grumbled, removing his arm that was draped over his eyes and taking a deep breath. You stood so that Mikey could get up himself, peeling himself off the couch and swinging his legs over the side so he could stand. “I’ll go finish cleaning-”

“Donatello is taking care of the rest, do not worry. Thank you for doing as much as you did, but next time your brother instructs you to use proper equipment, please take the advice” Master Splinter requested with a tired smile.

“I’ve used paint thinner without a mask before! I didn’t realize it was that strong,” Mikey defended himself, rubbing the bleariness out of his eyes as he slowly reanimated himself. Walking out of the living room to allow Master Splinter and Mikey to speak, you heard from around the corner Leo’s low voice talking to Raph, vaguely making out what they were talking hushed tones.

“Seriously though, I am sorry about everything. I promise it won’t happen again,” Leo genuinely apologized, wanting to show his sincerity to Raph outside of the ha-shi. Admittedly, Leo still felt like a bit of a dick.

“Thanks, I forgive ya bro. You ain’t gettin’ out of the workout, though” Raph told him back, a smug but still genuine smile still on his face.

“I know, I know. I’m not trying to get out of it... Did you see the boxing thing Donnie set up for you?” Leo changed the subject, knowing well there wasn’t any way around the future work out sessions. He was going to be incredibly sore the next few nights, the ache already setting into his entire muscular system.

“Nah, I didn’t, what is it? He said it was supposed to be a Christmas present or something”

“It’s like a wall mounted Simon Says but for boxing, I guess you could say? Donnie said he found it after a gym went out of business and left it out for trash pick-up. Come check it out with me,” Leo gave Raph’s shoulder a coaxing pat and walked in the direction where his punching bag normally hung.

A warm smile tugged your lips as you watched the two walk towards where the punching bag normally hung, feeling a small sense of pride that your stubbornness had achieved some peace for your boyfriend. After a moment you decided to follow them, curious about this gift as well.

Taglist: @silverwatergalaxy @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @yorshie @truffle-draws-turtles @ninnosaurus @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @luckycharms1701 @tmnt-tychou @suksiskovaikkakuuseen

[taleeater]

Fragile Part 4

Remember Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle? Well, that’s you this chapter :]

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’ and ‘princess’)

Warnings: injury, wholesome, lots of cleaning, not proof read

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“You IDIOTS!” A crash resounded in the room as Stockman knocked over a table full of metal tools. “How could you let go the ONE MUTANT that survived all the testing phases!” Another crash as beakers and chemicals were knocked off a table. “I never should have left you FOOLS in charge of guarding the lab. This could set us back months of progress. If we don’t find that girl, Karai will have my head!”

With an angry huff Stockman fell into his dusty office chair and spun over to his computer. He was working on updating all the computer systems there in the old Sacks building. He had joined the Foot in taking up residence there since you had compromised their position at the warehouse laboratory by the docks. They couldn’t risk a raid from the turtles and losing all his research. This location wasn’t the most inconspicuous considering its history, but since the Shredder’s initial defeat at the hands of the turtles and April, the building had been deemed unstable and labeled condemned. Since it was difficult to dismantle such a large skyscraper in the middle of the city, it had been mostly left unoccupied for the past several years. Making it the ideal base for Foot activity.

As he was sorting through old records on the computer, he came across an interesting clip in the archived surveillance videos. 

“Hmm…. interesting…. Yes, if I do that- yes…. YES! This will work nicely.” Stockman chuckled darkly to himself as he got up from his chair. Bebop and Rocksteady shared a confused look and shrugged, not understanding the sudden change in the scientist’s mood.

“Uuuuuh, hey boss, so what are we going to do about them?”

“You two aren’t going to do anything. …. yet.” Baxter’s dark chuckle echoed as he disappeared down the hallway.

It has been 2 weeks since you met the turtles. 

Initially, April had brought you a duffle bag full of comfy clothes a little bit too big for you, and some essential toiletries. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a hot shower with conditioner and soft sweatpants to put on after. Leo’s bed was warm and clean, Michelangelo cooked you delicious comfort food, and Donatello downloaded all of your favorite movies and shows you had missed. Raph one night had even knit you a cozy cardigan. The boys were all making an effort to make you feel more comfortable. But you couldn’t help but notice the reason. 

You were still scared. 

Every night you woke to terrible nightmares. And every day you felt like you were still walking on broken glass. Startling at any sudden sound or slightest touch. You noticed how Leo looked at you with pity, and Mikey wore a faltering smile. Donnie kept busy working on tracking the Foot, aside from regularly changing your bandages, and Raph- Raph just tried to keep his distance. 

You didn’t blame them. You were a stranger in their home. You were finally in a safe place, but it was like your body was still in survival mode. High strung and anxious. You wanted to do something for them. Anything, to repay them and make yourself feel useful. A distraction.

Master Splinter had on many occasions noticed your stressed and mousy demeanor. He felt the unease in their home and the distance his sons kept with their new ward. Like neither party knew how to find common ground. 

One night, he requested you join him in his meditation room for tea. You obliged.

“I sense your unease.” He stated casually.

You hesitated, then nodded. You didn’t know how to respond.

“There is nothing to be ashamed about. For so long, you lived every day, not knowing if it would be your last. You lost your autonomy, your freedom. And yet you escaped all on your own. You are very brave.”

 “….Thank you. I just wish I could feel that way. I feel so… scared. Like I’ll wake up back in that lab again and all of this would have been a dream. I… I don’t know what to do with myself.” You fussed with the teacup in your hands. 

Splinter reached across the table and offered you his hand as a comfort. You took it gently and sighed. 

“It will take time before you begin to feel like yourself again. My boys can be a little… reserved at times. It is not often we get to interact with friendly humans. Trust me when I say, they also wish for your comfort and safety. It just may take some time for them to get used to another presence in our home. In the meantime, perhaps there is something you can do that will make you feel more at home?”

You were surprised by his suggestion. They had already offered their home up to you, you wouldn’t dare ask anything more of them. But maybe…

“….a-actually… there might be something. If I could have your permission of course.” 

Splinter smiled at you.

Once your injuries had fully healed, Splinter had called upon April and Casey’s help to assist you. There was some materials you needed of course, and Mikey was let in on the big secret. You felt guilty roping in so many people just to help you feel more comfortable, but there was something you wanted to do for them, as a thank you for taking you in. April seemed ecstatic at the proposition and was eager to bring you the supplies. Casey just seemed confused that this was something you wanted to do of your own free will. And Mikey- well, he was just excited to share a hobby with you.

The cooking part, that is. Not the cleaning.

Ever since you had been brought down to the lair for safe keeping, you had noticed one glaringly obvious thing. This was a man cave in every sense of the word. The lair was terribly dirty. Dust and grime everywhere. The only clean places you noticed were the dojo, Leo’s room, and Master Splinter’s quarters. You understood that they were all living in a sewer, and they had clearly made a bit of an effort to keep it clean. But you were through avoiding sticky spots on the floor and sitting on a dirty couch. 

First things first: Donnie’s dirty coffee mug hoard. The purple turtle was currently napping in his room after an all nighter doing surveillance in coordination with the police, so now was the perfect time to clean up his station. You were extremely grateful to April for including a pair of rubber gloves in the bags of cleaning supplies she brought for you. Mikey helped you collect all the mugs and bring them to the sink, where he was in charge of washing them while you cleaned off all of Donnie’s work tables where he tinkered. You were careful not to move any projects, but wiped it clean of all its dust and stains. Then carefully sanitized all his keyboards and mouse, cleaned all of the monitors (yes all of them), and swept away the crumbs on the floor around his chair. 

Once that was complete, you moved on to the living room. Leo was currently preoccupied meditating with Master Splinter in the dojo, so no one was around to notice you swoop in and descend on the couch. Thankfully the boys no longer had a couch made of empty pizza boxes, and had upgraded to a large sectional that Casey had found them used for cheap up top. You were certain that the couch covers had never been washed since it was brought down to the sewers. You were doubly certain that the boys probably didn’t even know the cushion covers could be removed and washed. You threw the covers into the washing machine on hot water with a healthy amount of soap. Mikey then helped you move the couch so you could clean the floor underneath, and smashed the cockroach that had scrambled out from underneath. The coffee table was wiped down, the rug was taken to a railing to be hung and the dust beat out by Mikey with his nunchucks, and the floor mopped clean. 

Next was the workout room. Raph had just finished his exercise and left for the bathroom to take a shower, so you rushed in and started cleaning off every dusty and grimy sweat covered surface you could find. There was a musky scent of dirt and sweat permeating the room. All the dumbbells had a build up of grime from their sweaty hands using them for so many years. You also made sure to sanitize all of the mats and floors as well. By the time you were finished, Raph was leaving the shower and went to his room. You hid so he wouldn’t notice you as he passed by, unassuming. Then you were left with the big task.

The bathroom.

You were certain if there was a soundtrack playing in the background, dramatic horror music would be playing. You rolled up your sleeves and went in. Toilets, showers, sinks, and the massive bathtub, all scrubbed down with an unholy amount of bleach until every tiled surface shined. By the time you were finished, Mikey had come in to tell you he was ready to start on the kitchen. That was Mikey’s domain.

You were grateful that all the dishes were already clean by the time you entered the kitchen. But Mikey needed your help when it came to the cupboards and fridge.

“Mikey? ….Why do you have 3 year old expired sour cream in the fridge?”

“Huh? Isn’t it supposed to be ‘sour’? It still looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Mikey there is black mold growing in it.” 

“Oh, so…. That’s not pepper then.”

By the time you had finished clearing out the fridge and cupboards of everything expired or moldy, you had filled 3 trash bags full of garbage. Mikey helpfully took out the trash while you cleaned and organized the fridge and cupboards, and wiped down all the surfaces. By the time Mikey returned, you were rifling through the brown paper bag April got you full of ingredients and spices you had requested. 

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” Mikey cheerfully greeted you as he rejoined you in the now clean kitchen. 

“Well… if I remember the recipe correctly, I want to make the dish my mom always made for me…”

Mikey looked at you surprised for a moment, then excitement overtook him. “Cool! Can I help?” 

You perked up at the suggestion. “Will you? I’d,… I’d love that, thank you!” Your expression melted into a warm smile, and Mikey felt his heart skip a beat. 

You looked so pretty when you smiled, he thought to himself. 

He wanted to see you smile more, just like that.

You both washed your hands and got to work. On the freshly clean kitchen counter, you had Mikey kneed cold butter into flour to make a dough, while you cut vegetables and cooked chicken on the stove. By the time Mikey was ready with the dough, there were 6 pie tins lined up to add the crust. The oven dinged and the base crust went in to brown while you stirred a large pot on the stove. Then you took out the pies and added the filling, and covered the tops with more dough. You were surprised at how large their oven was, but they were 4 giant mutant turtles and a rat. You had no doubt that each of the boys would eat a whole pie themself. The extra 2 were for Splinter, you, April, and Casey, who would be joining everyone later.

Once the oven door closed, Mikey turned up the radio that had been quietly humming tunes in the background as a fun song you hadn’t heard before played through the speakers. (‘Bad idea right?’ by Olivia Rodrigo started playing.) Mikey’s head started bobbing and he grabbed the wooden spoon you had been stirring with and began mouthing the words into it like a microphone. You giggled at his antics as he pointed a green finger at you and beckoned you out into the open of the room. You felt drawn to join him as the pop song got your head bobbing to the beat. You felt a feeling well up in your chest as the chorus started building up. Excitement bubbling until the chorus peaked and your head bobbing turned into jumping around. Before you knew it, you were dancing around the living room with Mikey holding your hands and spinning you around. You lost yourself in the freeing feeling of the stress and anxiety getting washed away by the music. All the cleaning you had done was so stress relieving you were starting to feel like yourself again.

Little did you know, the music had drawn the attention of the other brothers. Leo and Master Splinter came out from their meditation to watch in the doorway, Leo smiled and crossed his arms as he looked at you. Raph came out freshly dressed and looked surprised but shared a look with Leo that made them smirk at you and their little brother’s antics. Then Donnie trudged out and leaned against his door frame and fixed his glasses to make sure he was in fact seeing you correctly. 

You were smiling, laughing, and dancing.

“It seems as though we are seeing Miss (y/n) for the first time today.” Mused Splinter, the old rat brushing his beard.

Just then April and Casey walked in, carrying boxes they had brought down from up top.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” April asked putting down her box.

You were happily giggling as Mikey spun you around at the end of the song. April grinned, happily surprised at the scene. Casey walked in behind her and started looking around the lair like he was seeing it for the first time, setting his box down next to April’s. This prompted Leo, Raph, and Donnie to also take a better look around their home. They slowly all walked out into the living space, looking in all directions. 

“.... Where did all my coffee cups go…?”

“Hm? Oh! They’re washed and in the cupboard!” You answered cheerily.

“.... Does…. Does the gym smell like oranges?” Raph said, baffled.

“.... Where did all the dust go? ….Does the couch look clean to you?” Leo nudged Donnie to bring his attention to the freshly washed couch covers.

There was a beat of heavy silence as the boys took in the new state of their home, then the timer above the oven dinged and you ran over to put on your oven mitts.

“The food’s ready!” You called out cheerfully.

In the next few minutes, everyone was sitting around the small kitchen table. Each turtle with a full pie in front of them, and large slices cut for Splinter, April, and Casey, and a smaller cut for yourself.

“Damn, what’s this? Smells great!” Casey exclaimed. 

“My mom showed me how to make this, it’s chicken pot pie. I hope you like it!” You said a bit shyly now that you had calmed down a bit. 

You watched as all the boys and April picked up a spoon and dug in, taking their first bite. There was a chorus of groans of approval as the boys hummed approvingly around their bite.

“Oh my god my mouth is singing!” Mikey exclaimed, trying to shovel the pie into his mouth. 

“How did you manage to get this level of flakiness into the crust? Was there any special preparation when kneading the dough?” Donnie questioned. Then Mikey mumbled out around a full mouth, ‘cold butter, dude’ which Donnie had to ask him to repeat when his mouth wasn’t full.

“Wow… I’ve never had anything like this before. Did you make this?” Leo asked. Raph was grunting in approval with each new bite he took, absorbed in his food from across the table.

You blushed and nodded. It didn’t take long for everyone to clean their plates. Casey, Mikey, and Raph all fought for seconds. Master Splinter and April were sharing very pleased looks on their faces, like they were conspiring all along. Once everyone was finished, you stood up and started to collect plates from the table.

“Oooooh no, you did enough cleaning today, let someone else take a turn, shortie.” Raph stood up to stop you.

“I don’t mind, really!” You urged, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking and bumped into Mikey who was taking his own plate to the sink. 

The plate dropped from his hand in surprise, and faster than anyone could react, your freehand shot out and grabbed the plate. There was a cracking sound and everyone froze to look at you. There you were, balancing 5 large heavy ceramic plates stacked in one hand, while your other hand was holding onto Mikey’s plate that had cracked and fractured in your grip. You were stunned.

“Woah… what just happened?” Mikey broke the silence.

Part 5

@itsberrydreemurstuff @thecreat0r64 @eli-chris @kurlyfrasier @autisticnutcase @drenix004 @donniesgirlie @cherryp-op @foggyturtleknightangel

If anyone else wants to be tagged for the next update, let me know in the comments! :]

[fioredeciliego]

Chapter 10

Seoul, South Korea

2024

A low hum from the flickering lights filled the warehouse room, casting irregular shadows on the faces of Yizhuo, Aeri, and Irene. The remnants of adrenaline from the heist buzzed in their veins, but Jimin, Y/N and Minjeong were far from safe. Irene’s focus, typically unwavering, had fractured as unshakable doubts gnawed at her.

Yizhuo crouched near a stack of boxes of the warehouse, her fingers deftly swiping across the screen of her tablet as she monitored the building’s surveillance. She watched a cluster of guards moving steadily through the north wing on the security feed. “There’s only a three-minute gap in the rotation. They’ll need to be fast if they’re using the south exit.”

Irene’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Fast won’t be enough if they get cornered. We need a secondary route.” Her tone was sharp, more so than usual, but Yizhuo and Aeri exchanged only a brief glance before nodding. They both knew Irene’s mind was always a few steps ahead, but tonight, she seemed wound even tighter than usual.

Aeri unfolded a frayed, annotated blueprint of the building, her finger trailing along a network of hallways. She jabbed at a spot marked “Basement,” her brow furrowing. “There’s a service tunnel down here, probably an old passage that leads to the loading dock, but we’d need to get past at least two checkpoints for them to make it there. And it’s a narrow space, not ideal for moving fast.”

Yizhuo glanced up from her tablet, meeting Irene’s eyes with a steady gaze. “If we can remotely seal the northern stairwell, I could re-route the security flow. It’ll take some luck, though, and I’d have to lock down a couple of the system triggers. Risky move.”

“Do it,” Irene said, the command immediate and absolute. She didn’t waver, but Aeri noticed her clenched fists, her nails digging faint crescents into her palms. Irene turned to her. “Aeri, you’ll monitor them on foot. Keep an eye on that south exit, make sure it’s clear. I’ll cover any pursuit if it comes down to it.”

Yizhuo’s expression darkened, a rare moment of concern breaking through her usual cool confidence. “Irene, if you’re out there alone…”

“I’ll manage.” But as she said it, the slight waver in her voice revealed a hint of vulnerability. She caught herself quickly, covering the lapse by stepping closer to the blueprint, her voice resolute. “Our job tonight is to ensure Jimin, Minjeong, and Y/N get out safely. I’ll take care of whatever comes up.”

But Yizhuo could see it—the familiar furrow of doubt in Irene’s brows, the telltale sign of something else weighing heavily on her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Yizhuo asked, her voice softer than before. “You’ve been…distracted. More than usual.”

Irene hesitated. For a fleeting moment, she felt the impulse to share the thoughts that had been plaguing her since they began. The vision of Minjeong’s gaze from earlier that evening flashed in her mind—a gaze colder, more distant, as if something dark had taken root within her. Irene had sensed the shift, the subtle hardening of Minjeong’s demeanor, and each fleeting glance had fed a creeping unease.

Yet, voicing those fears felt like giving them life, solidifying the worst possibility. So she simply shook her head. “I’m fine,” she murmured, then, as if to convince herself, “This isn’t about me. Let’s focus.”

Aeri studied Irene, her own thoughts rippling beneath her quiet exterior. “We’re focused, Irene. But if something’s off, we need to know. If Minjeong is… if she’s feeling off her game, we need to be prepared.”

A flash of irritation crossed Irene’s face, and she turned her gaze to the ceiling, breathing out slowly. “Minjeong is fine,” she replied, her tone a touch sharper. “She’s under a lot of pressure, just like the rest of us. Don’t start reading into things.”

But her words rang hollow to her own ears. She knew Minjeong’s current strain ran deeper, rooted in something more complex than just the heist. She reminded her of Seulgi.

A cold shiver ran down Irene’s spine. Seulgi had left her own mark on Irene’s past, a mark that still ached, a scar she’d never truly healed from.

Yizhuo’s gaze softened as she watched Irene’s mask slip just a fraction, catching that brief flicker of pain. “You don’t have to hold all this alone, Irene,” Yizhuo murmured. “You brought us back together for a reason, remember?”

Irene’s mask fell back into place, her gaze hardening as she nodded. “Then let’s get them out of this in one piece.”

Aeri straightened, her resolve settling over her like armor. She folded the blueprint back into her coat, her fingers ghosting over the lines as if memorizing them for what lay ahead. “We’re all in,” she said firmly, and Yizhuo echoed her nod, both of them feeling the weight of Irene’s hidden burden without needing to pry further.

Irene glanced back at the hallway, the shadows elongating as the lights flickered. Her eyes narrowed, as though searching the darkness for some hint of what lay ahead. The mission had taken on a new layer of danger—a danger she couldn’t shake, despite her best efforts.

In the back of her mind, Seulgi’s words from years ago echoed ominously: Sometimes the greatest power lies not in those who lead, but in those who know how to pull the strings.

For Irene, it was a warning. For Minjeong, manipulated and torn by half-formed promises of a future with Y/N, it was a temptation.

--

The girls managed to find a safe place where they could rest. In the empty silence, Minjeong felt a prickle of something foreign—anticipation or perhaps guilt—as her phone vibrated quietly in her pocket. She stepped back into the shadows of the building, just beyond where Irene's eyes might catch her if she were looking through any cameras. The message glowed in the darkness, a single name lighting up her screen.

Seulgi.

They’d exchanged coded words over the past few months, subtle enough to pass unnoticed by anyone else. But now, standing amidst a heist, with Jimin mere yards away, Seulgi's words burned in Minjeong's mind, fueling a flame she hadn’t realized she’d lit. “Take her down, and Y/N is yours.” The message replayed in her mind like a mantra, her pulse quickening each time.

The line crackled as Irene's voice sounded in her earpiece, steady and unwavering, issuing instructions with an edge only her teammates could recognize. She trusted them—she trusted her. Minjeong’s fingers brushed her weapon, and for a heartbeat, she wondered if she was making a mistake.

Nampo-dong, South Korea

2021

The small café was dim, tucked into the back corner of a forgotten neighborhood. Minjeong liked it that way—she’d chosen it precisely because it didn’t demand anything from her. Here, she could linger over the edge of her coffee cup, watching the steam rise, drowning in the noise of clinking cups and muffled conversations. The aftermath of the failed heist lingered in her mind like a wound that refused to heal. She could still see Irene's disappointed gaze, hear Jimin’s words urging them forward when she had been ready to back out.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the door’s bell chime. A figure slid into the seat across from her, breaking the bubble of isolation she’d so carefully cocooned herself in. Minjeong’s gaze snapped up, and her defenses flared.

The woman was striking—her presence undeniable, as if she belonged in every room she entered. Yet her eyes carried something dark and knowing. There was no mistaking the subtle calculation as she sized Minjeong up.

“Minjeong,” the woman said smoothly, leaning forward with a faint smile. She acted as though her appearance here was the most natural thing in the world. “Do you mind?”

Minjeong’s hand dropped to the edge of the table, her posture tense. “Who are you?” she replied coolly, her eyes narrowing. In the shadows of the café, she kept herself cloaked in indifference, but her pulse beat louder, cautious.

“Seulgi,” the woman replied, her voice warm but undeniably commanding. She didn’t miss the way Minjeong’s gaze turned guarded at the name. “Relax. I’m an old friend of Irene’s.”

Minjeong froze. Irene hadn’t mentioned anyone by that name in all the months they’d spent planning and executing together. She didn’t trust it, nor did she trust Seulgi’s unhurried demeanor.

“You’ve heard of me then?” Seulgi tilted her head, reading Minjeong’s wariness with an unsettling familiarity. “Or perhaps Irene just doesn’t like talking about her past. It’s funny how even the most powerful people have secrets, isn’t it?”

Seulgi’s words cut through Minjeong’s carefully built detachment, and she could feel a sense of unease pricking at her composure. It was true; she’d always sensed something held back in Irene’s unwavering gaze. And now this stranger—a remnant of that hidden life—was here, sitting across from her, as if materialized from Irene’s shadow.

“What do you want?” Minjeong asked bluntly, forcing herself to sound steady, almost uninterested.

“Nothing you don’t already want for yourself,” Seulgi replied, her eyes piercing. She leaned in slightly, her voice soft, measured. “You look like someone who’s been betrayed. Left out, maybe.” She gave a faint shrug. “Irene always has her plans, but she rarely thinks about the people around her. She has a habit of using people… until they break.”

Minjeong’s fists clenched involuntarily, Seulgi’s words touching on unspoken resentments she’d harbored for weeks. She thought back to the heist, to Irene’s steely focus, to Jimin’s relentless push forward, and how she’d found herself just another cog in the machine. She’d wondered if anyone truly saw her beyond her role in their orchestrated chaos. Jimin’s expectations of her, Irene’s silent trust—they’d all added up, burying her own desires, her own thoughts, beneath the weight of their goals.

Seulgi noticed the flicker in Minjeong’s gaze, the way her jaw tightened, and pressed forward, voice a low murmur. “You’re more than just a tool, Minjeong. But it’s easy to lose sight of yourself when you’re constantly being told who to be and what to do.”

Minjeong didn’t respond, but her silence spoke volumes. Seulgi smiled softly, as though offering a lifeline. “I know what it’s like. To be in someone else’s shadow, following someone else’s plan. It’s an easy trap to fall into, especially with people as… compelling as Irene and Jimin. But is that really where you see yourself?”

The question landed like a hammer, striking a nerve that had been raw for too long. Minjeong bit her lip, her gaze drifting to the side as she fought to keep her turmoil hidden. “You don’t know anything about me,” she replied defensively, but even she could hear the slight tremor in her voice.

Seulgi’s gaze softened with practiced sympathy, a hint of warmth filtering through. “Maybe not everything,” she admitted, “but I know enough. And I can tell you one thing, Minjeong—you deserve a future that belongs to you. Not one where you’re just an extra in someone else’s story.”

The words stirred something dangerous and undeniable in Minjeong’s chest, something that had been dormant, waiting for an opportunity to rise. For the first time in months, she felt seen, as if this stranger understood her better than her own teammates ever could.

“What exactly are you offering?” Minjeong asked, her voice laced with a reluctant curiosity.

“A chance to find out what you’re truly capable of,” Seulgi replied, her eyes glinting with unspoken promises. “You have power, Minjeong. Strength. You don’t need to stand in anyone’s shadow. Irene might be brilliant, but she’ll never see you for who you really are. Neither will Jimin. They’re too focused on themselves, on their own ideas of loyalty and sacrifice.”

Seulgi leaned back, letting her words settle, observing the subtle shifts in Minjeong’s expression. She knew she was close, but she didn’t push. “Think about it,” she said finally, standing up. “I’ll be around.”

Minjeong watched as Seulgi turned and walked away, her figure disappearing into the café’s dim lighting. A strange feeling lingered, the urge to follow—to know more. The things Seulgi had said continued to echo in her mind, fanning the flames of her resentment and ambition.

Seulgi’s final words lingered long after she’d gone: "You don’t have to share your future with anyone you don’t choose. And if it’s Y/N you want... there’s a way."

As Minjeong left the café, the seed of betrayal had been planted.

Seoul, South Korea

2024

As the minutes ticked by in the eerie quiet of the bank’s dim corridor, Jimin surveyed their surroundings, her eyes narrowed and calculating. They had come so far to reach this point, but the final hurdle felt like a chasm. She raised a hand to signal for silence, her gaze darting to the flicker of security lights in the distance. “We wait until Irene gives the all-clear,” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. “Yizhuo’s handling the surveillance feeds, but we can’t risk being seen before that last window.”

Minjeong leaned against the cold wall, the solid feel of her gun like an anchor in her hand, though her mind was miles away. She felt Y/N’s steady presence beside her, a comforting contrast to the storm brewing within. Y/N’s soft breaths filled the small, enclosed space, a subtle rhythm against the tension in the air.

She glanced over at Minjeong, sensing the restlessness beneath her calm exterior. “We’re almost there,” Y/N whispered, her voice low yet soothing, meant only for Minjeong’s ears. “Once we’re out, this is all behind us. We’ll be safe.” She offered a small, reassuring smile, one that tugged at the remnants of warmth within Minjeong’s chest. The same warmth Seulgi had urged her to ignore.

But Minjeong couldn’t shake the twisted web Seulgi had woven in her mind. Take her down, and Y/N is yours. The words thrummed in her veins, an intoxicating promise laced with betrayal. She glanced away from Y/N, her jaw tightening as Seulgi’s hold on her thoughts took root again, deeper than she’d ever admit.

Jimin’s voice broke through, direct and authoritative, snapping her from her daze. “Minjeong,” she called, her eyes hard and unyielding. “Are you with us?”

Minjeong hesitated, feeling the weight of both Jimin’s trust and her own silent deception. She forced herself to meet Jimin’s gaze, nodding slowly. “Of course,” she replied, the words feeling hollow even as she spoke them.

Jimin seemed to scrutinize her for a moment longer, searching for cracks in her resolve, but then she nodded and turned back toward the hallway. “We move in two minutes. Yizhuo will ping us if there’s a change in the guards’ positions.”

In the dim light, Y/N’s fingers brushed Minjeong’s, an unspoken reassurance. She squeezed her hand gently before pulling back, her eyes soft and understanding. “This will be over soon,” she whispered again, her voice a quiet balm against the tension clawing at Minjeong’s insides. “Just a little longer, and then we’re done.”

But Minjeong’s thoughts were already miles away, entangled in the memory of Seulgi’s dark, compelling gaze. The words Seulgi had said echoed, a dangerous promise twisting within her: “When this is all over, it’ll just be you and her. No one else.” She had whispered it like a prophecy, something inevitable, inescapable.

The earpiece crackled, and Irene’s voice filled the silence, her tone steady but with a subtle urgency woven through. “Jimin, the south corridor is almost clear. You’ll need to move fast. Yizhuo and Aeri are in place, but there’s no backup if this goes wrong.” Irene’s voice dropped lower, as if bearing the weight of something heavier. “Keep each other close.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened as she absorbed Irene’s words, her expression set and unbreakable. “Got it.” She glanced to Y/N and Minjeong, her gaze lingering on each of them for a beat longer than usual. “We do this together. No one breaks formation. Understood?”

Minjeong gave a firm nod, but her mind was fracturing, the pull between loyalty and desire tearing at her conscience. Her fingers twitched, brushing against her weapon as the thought lingered—a single, irreversible action could sever the bond holding her here. Just one moment of weakness, one decision, and Seulgi’s promise could be hers to claim.

Y/N, sensing Minjeong’s turmoil, gave her a small, encouraging smile, her hand reaching out briefly to rest on Minjeong’s shoulder. “We’re almost there,” she whispered again, her words a tether in the mounting chaos of Minjeong’s thoughts. “We’ll be okay.”

In the shadows, Jimin straightened, signaling for them to get ready. She was already moving into the lead, her figure outlined against the faint emergency lighting, a vision of strength and resilience. Y/N fell in behind her, her trust in both Jimin and Minjeong evident in her calm steps.

As Minjeong moved to follow, a whisper of doubt flickered in her heart, brief yet piercing. She couldn’t silence it entirely: the gnawing ache that if she chose Seulgi’s path, she might lose more than she’d ever anticipated. She clenched her fist, steeling herself against the uncertainty, her eyes fixed on the figures of Jimin and Y/N just ahead, their trust heavy upon her shoulders.

And as they moved closer to the exit, Minjeong felt herself unraveling further, the dark promise within her intensifying, urging her forward even as the weight of her choice bore down on her soul. The path to freedom was clear, but with each step, she sensed the beginning of her betrayal—and its consequences—looming closer, undeniable and unstoppable.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: January 1, 2025

Reworked Group #4: S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S.

Overview

Tequila and Red Eye successfully dismantled a rogue military organisation engaged in illicit human trafficking and arms dealing, which had also planned to launch a global bioterrorist attack in collaboration with the Pipovulaj. The plot involved spreading a zombie plague to control the population, transforming numerous innocent civilians into violent Man Eaters as a means to create a twisted form of super-soldier. Impressed by Tequila and Red Eye's exceptional performance as highly capable spies, the Intelligence Agency and the Regular Army jointly established a covert operations branch, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., through a mutual agreement.

The S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. is responsible for gathering intelligence and managing information to prevent public panic and global hysteria. They provide their members with specialised training in high-risk covert operations that surpass the scope of regular Intelligence Agency agents, which are all conducted with utmost discretion and situational awareness. Some of these special covert operation missions involve precision targeting of high-priority threats and strategic disruption of complex criminal schemes.

Insignia

It features a cerulean square Iberian shield, rimmed with a spiky teal vine that’s outlined in bronze. Above the shield, the words "S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S." are inscribed in bluish-white, surmounting a stylized pair of bronze eyes with a yellowish-white star at their centre. The shield is flanked by a stylized peregrine falcon holding a gilded blade on the right side and a male house sparrow clutching an olive branch on the left side.

S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. Base

The Intelligence Division is tactically positioned adjacent to the Joint Military Police Headquarters, deeply entrenched within a dense and remote forest in Northern Russia. The rectangular military compound features a forest-inspired camouflage colour scheme, a secure warehouse for military vehicles, multiple surveillance cameras, and several elevators leading to a subterranean base. They have a rooftop array of parabolic antennas that enables real-time surveillance, threat detection, and situational awareness, preventing surprise attacks and informing strategic decision-making. The base features comprehensive protection through an advanced security system and a defensive magnetic field, which automatically activates in response to potential threats, safeguarding against enemy attacks.

The subterranean base features a state-of-the-art command and surveillance centre, equipped with cutting-edge technological systems to orchestrate and execute operations. Additional facilities include:

An armoury housing the group’s most cutting-edge, high-clearance weaponry and specialised ordnance.

A high-tech meeting room with a high-resolution, encrypted display screen and multi-axis, AI-enhanced holographic projection system.

A state-of-the-art gymnasium for maintaining elite physical readiness, featuring biometric monitoring systems and AI-driven training programs.

A fully equipped, high-tech medical bay with regenerative treatment capabilities and telemedicine connectivity for remote expert consultation.

A secure dining area serving optimised, nutrient-rich rations for peak performance.

A high-security quarters with biometrically locked storage for personal gear and AI-monitored, secure communication arrays.

A Combat Academy, led by Margaret Southwood, featuring a heavily fortified training area with advanced combat simulation zones, tactical obstacle courses, stealth and surveillance training areas, and high-tech weapons testing ranges.

Extra Information

S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. stands for Special Pursuit Agents and Rapid Response Operations Worldwide Strikeforce.

Members of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. are commonly known as "Sparrowers" or "Following Falconers", reflecting their affiliation with the unit and their close relationship with the P.F. Squad.

Despite being part of an elite covert operations branch, Sparrowers face a significant pay disparity: males earn a quarter of the average government agent's salary, while females earn about a third. Additionally, underperforming Sparrowers, both male and female, experience further financial hardship due to delayed salary payments, often waiting between one to two months to receive their overdue compensation.

The S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. conduct their covert operations in collaboration with the Peregrine Falcons Squad who provide primary firepower and protection for their agents.

The handguns carried by Sparrowers are the Murder Model-1915 .38 Mk.1Am or Classic Murder .38 for short. It’s a double-action revolver that features a 6-round cylinder. Originally designed to enhance the Enfield No.2 .38 Caliber revolver in 1915, the Murder Model retained only the frame and grip from the original. All other components were replaced with newer parts in later years.

[iww-gnv]

A French regulator announced Tuesday it had fined the manager of Amazon’s large warehouses in France 32 million euros ($34.7 million) for excessive monitoring of its employees. The French Data Protection Authority (CNIL) said Amazon France Logistique gave employees scanners in order to record workplace tasks such as removing items from shelves and packing. This data was then used to calculate the “quality, productivity and periods of inactivity of each employee.” CNIL ruled it was “illegal to set up a system measuring work interruptions with such accuracy, potentially requiring employees to justify every break or interruption,” it said. The system for monitoring employee activity was described as “excessively intrusive,” including the company’s policy of keeping data and statistical indicators on employees for 31 days was also described as “excessive,” even in light of the “high performance targets” at the business. CNIL said Amazon France Logistique committed several breaches of the European Union’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), specifically around data minimization and lawful processing.

[securens-systems]

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[phantom-z0ne]

Chapter 2: Impressions and Investigations

CW: Minor Character Deaths, Corpses, Disfigured bodies, Cults, Blood

Damian was missing and Dick was going crazy.

Damian hasn't responded to any inquiries of his location since he missed his scheduled check in time. It had already been two hours past that and they still didn't have any clue where he was. Last they knew, he was heading towards Chinatown. Damian knew a couple of the locals and regularly visited some animals, mostly cats and dogs but occasionally a bird or two.

They would have been able to track him with his comm, but Damian had modified it so that it was untrackable unless it was being used. Unfortunately, they hadn't learned of it before today. If they were to track him through his comm, they would only have a short time to triangulate his position. Damian stated that he wanted his privacy, likely so he could disobey orders without them realizing. They had allowed it because they trusted his judgment, not to mention they all had their rebellious phase, but now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.

It was unfortunate they didn’t have Barbara helping, she was off on her own mission with the Birds of Prey and not in Gotham. Finding Damian would have been way easier with her help, she was an expert in navigating the surveillance systems around Gotham.

Dick could tell he wasn't the only one concerned about their youngest, the others were worried in their own ways. Jason fidgeted with his gun, which Bruce was just barely tolerating, as he paced the rooftop while Tim ran the diagnostics multiple times, his fingers flying on his wrist hologram.

Cass and Bruce’s unease was less noticeable, the only reason he caught it was that he knew them for such a long time. Bruce double checked his trackers and flew across the roofs in search of Damian. Cass was tense and alternated standing near each of them, subtly clenching her hands into fists as she did.

“Robin, come in.” Bruce demanded, Dick felt the desperation in his voice although it was hidden well. He didn't want to lose another son while Dick didn't want to lose another brother. 

There wasn’t a reply, only the sound of static filled their ears.

Dick sighed, running his hands through his hair. They needed to find Damian quickly. The longer they didn't locate him, the longer his captures had to smuggle him out of the city. If Damian was taken out of the city, it would be infinitely harder to find him. 

He couldn’t let that happen, especially to Damian. He’s already had a tough life, what with how he grew up. His integration into the family was difficult on everyone, B was gone and Tim had chosen to pursue a theory he had thought of at the time insane. Jason wasn’t on talking terms with them at that time and Cass had her own responsibilities across the world. Steph was also busy with juggling her hero and civilian lives, though her attitude towards Damian did turn around in the end.

The comm crackled, faint sounds coming through. Dick jolted, jarred out of his thoughts from the abrupt opening of the comm. Both Cass and Tim’s hands went to their comms as Jason stilled. The shuffling of cloth was most prominent, though he could hear a quiet voice.

“Robin, report. What is your location?” Bruce asked, hope underlying his words.

There was the sound of shuffling before a young, unfamiliar voice sounded, “Is this comm trackable?”

That was not Damian. Did he kidnap Damian and was going to ask for a ransom or gloat? Another also kidnapped alongside Damian? Or perhaps a concerned civilian who had nothing to do with Damian’s disappearance?

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded, treating the unknown as a hostile. It was understandable, this was a stranger who possibly abducted his son.

“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” The voice responded. ‘You can call me Polka?’ Was he implying that Polka wasn’t his name or the only one he goes by? Dick’s siblings crowded closer to Bruce as if they couldn’t hear out of their own comms.

The good news was that they now knew where to search. Most warehouses were either near the docks or the Warehouse District. That meant they had two areas to search if Tim didn't triangulate where Damian’s comm was during the short conversation. He could see Tim hunched over, one hand typing swiftly in his wrist hologram. 

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Bruce said curtly, his cape snapping as he turned to Tim and asked if he captured the location of the comm. Tim gave him a thumbs up and sent the coordinates. 

They piled into their own vehicles and sped their way across the city, heading towards the warehouse Damian was held in. 

They surrounded the warehouse once they arrived, Bruce entering first before they snuck in from different entrance points. Dick shivered slightly as he situated himself behind the boy who Damian was laid out on. His siblings spread out and surrounded the boy from all sides.

The warehouse was a mess, blood pooling from the disfigured bodies laying every which way. Dick could faintly spot a chalk circle underneath a pool of blood. Another cult, he surmised grimly. There have been too many cults running around lately for his liking, though it looked like this one had fallen victim to their own summoning. 

There wasn't much he could tell about the boy from behind, his baggy clothes hiding his frame. His hair was what stood out the most, cropped silver hair. It seemed to almost glow in the dark warehouse. Dick’s attention went back to Bruce who stepped out from the shadows and addressed the boy after taking Damian back into his custody, though he kept an eye out on the boy.

“None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?” The boy asked, standing. That was interesting. Everyone from Gotham knew who Batman was, and even if you weren't, Batman was still a famous figure.

Bruce answered in his signature low voice, obviously gearing up to interrogate the boy. That was his cue to step in. They’ve done this routine before, good cop and bad cop. It was surprisingly successful.

“Happened to find him?” Dick questioned, rolling down from the support beam he was perched on and revealed himself. The boy turned to him, his hair fanning across his face. A black stripe cut into his silvery hair. It was the inverse of Jason’s hair, Dick thought absently. 

The boy’s face was blank, unsurprised to see another vigilante popping up behind him. Dick’s eyes were drawn to the scar on his neck. It spanned most of the neck and would be most definitely fatal if it was deep enough. The boy was 15, 16 years max. Where would he have gotten a scar like that? Not to mention, he was too calm in this situation. Blood and viscera surrounded him and all he seemed was bored. 

Slight motion to the right made Dick’s eyes snap to the plush on the boy’s shoulder, almost certain that it moved on its own. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”

The boy took his time to answer, his face slightly scrunched in thought. Faint sound of movement emerged from his comm but he showed no signs of hearing it.

He pointed to the body of the cultest then to the mound that Dick hadn’t paid much attention to as he answered, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids. They killed the others. Who are you?

Dick heard a sharp inhale, likely in reaction to the dead children. It looked like they were thrown there uncaringly, Dick thought angrily. They were piled on top of each other, some of their limbs bent unnaturally. Most of the injuries were from a slit neck, but there were signs of other injuries. These poor kids were likely tortured first then slaughtered. 

He could see Bruce soften after the boy answered, likely thinking the same things as Dick.

Dick sighed silently, sheathing his escrima sticks as he walked to stand closer to Bruce and Damian. “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?”

“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Jason cursed. They were too late, for both the kids and the summoning. Not to mention the ominous name of the being that was summoned. Just what were these cultists planning for summoning such a being? Probably to ‘rid the world of impurities’ like every other cult he came across.

Bruce asked for confirmation of the being, pulling out his ‘victim voice’. It was significantly softer than what he usually spoke as Batman. The boy nodded, affirming their suspicions on the being. Though, where was it? Usually, summoned being raged and caused destruction in their wake, especially ones with such ominous names. There was no sign of this one.

Dick pasted on a smile and bent closer to the boy, “Did you see where the God of the Dead went?” 

The boy nodded as he bit his lips, visibly nervous. It was a bit strange to see such an expression on the child when he was blase for most of the conversation. He leaned forward as the boy cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “He’s still here.” 

Dick felt a shiver race down his spine, one of his siblings sucked in a breath. That was… not good. Was this a trap? Had the God of the Dead been lying in wait and observing them since they had arrived?

The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was tense and ready for battle. Of course, that was when Damian began to stir, calling out to Bruce once he opened his eyes. Bruce adjusted his hold on Damian, beginning to answer Damian before he was cut off by the boy.

“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Dick most certainly couldn't let a key witness, and a most definitely traumatized child, wander off without supervision. 

“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Dick said apologetically. 

The boy did not like that. He crossed his arms and gave them an annoyed look. “Why?”

Jason, Tim, and Cass took this as the perfect time to reveal themselves. They hopped down from their respective posts and gathered near Bruce. Tim, however, aimed for the cultists as he responded, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.” 

The boy's eyes lingered over Cass and Jason before focusing on the latter, his expression curious. Jason obviously noticed but didn't pay it any mind, more interested in fussing over Damian who wasn’t having it, swatting Jason’s hovering hands away. 

“Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.”

Jason answered as he finally relented from teasing Damian, “Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” This did nothing to stop the boy from looking apprehensive. Good job, Jason, Dick thought tiredly.

Tim interrupted the boy when he stated that the cultists were, in fact, not dead. It blindsided Dick. Many of the cultists were in pieces as others had bled enough to be six feet under.

Damian looked mildly curious as Bruce and Tim questioned the survival of the cultists, likely thinking over the logistics of how they still lived. Eventually, Bruce asked Tim to alert the hospital and GCPD. They wouldn't be arriving in a long while, it was still Gotham after all.

Dick walked over to them as they discussed the boy and the cultist, hearing the tail end of Tim’s suspicions. 

“—clearly up with him. Despite the situation he’s in, he is unusually calm.”

That was true, not many kids were so nonchalant about almost being ritually sacrificed. Or seeing mangled bodies and pools of blood laying around.

Dick glanced at the boy—he really should be calling him Polka by now, since it was the only name he was given—seeing him grow red-faced as he spoke with Jason. 

The almost silent crackle of a radio signaled their time was up, they needed to leave before the police arrived. 

Herding Polka out of the building and out of sight was easy, all they needed to do was avoid cameras and stick to the shadowed side of the alley. Those who saw the group were quick to run away.

Losing Polka, however, was not something Dick expected to happen. They all were hyper aware of their surroundings, and in turn, the kid. How he managed to disappear under the scrutiny of six highly trained vigilantes, Dick didn't know. 

They had to admit defeat after searching the area and beyond for an hour and a half, Damian being sent back for an examination despite his objections early into their search, and trudge back to the cave unsuccessful. 

Dick watched Jason walk into the infirmary—jokingly nicknamed the “batfirmary” by Steph— and remove his helmet from his seat next to Damian’s cot. Steph walked in after him, plopping down on the end of the mattress next to Jason and ignored Damian’s hissed demands for them to get off. 

Cass slunk in a moment later, Tim behind her. He was still typing on his wrist computer as he sat on the opposite side of Damian. Cass leaned on the arm of his chair, gazing curiously at the screen.

Off to the right, through a sliver of the thick cloth that blocked the med bay, sat Bruce. The light from the Batcomputer illuminated his bent figure. 

Dick pursed his lips, not liking the expression that crossed his father’s face. Whenever there were children involved, Bruce always got into a mood. It wasn’t that the rest of them didn’t, but Bruce’s mood was always the worst. He wouldn't accept any food or comfort until he solved the case and got justice for the innocent children. 

As his child and fellow vigilante, Dick couldn't let Bruce neglect himself like that, least of all when it wasn’t his fault the children died. He stood, walking over to Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, offering all the comfort that was allowed. Bruce gave him a weary smile.

“You should join us.” Dick said, retracting his hand to cross his arms. “It does you no good just sitting here. Damian needs you right now.” 

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I need to give those children justice.”

“Bruce, they aren’t going anywhere. You need to focus on the child in front of you.” Dick winced at how that came out. “I mean, Damian should be your priority right now. He’s recovering from being kidnapped!”

“You're right.” Bruce sighed, straightening his back slightly. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

Dick walked back to his seat, pleased with the sound of Bruce’s footsteps behind him. He watched as Damian’s face brightened when he spotted his father, and the subsequent haughty look he made to cover it up. 

“How are you doing, Damian?” Bruce asked, sitting on the cot. 

“I am fine, Father. It was just a scratch.” Damian answered, lifting his chin then frowning. “I didn't need to be hauled to the infirmary. I could have helped track down the boy.”

“We had to check if the cultist had done anything else to you. Would you rather not know if they had? And how did they manage to even snatch you anyways?” Tim intervened, crossing his legs as he looked up from his wrist computer. 

“They used defenseless animals against me.” Dick almost cooed at Damian’s pout. He was always glad to see Damian act his age. 

“What kinds of animals?” Steph leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. 

“… Kittens.” Damian admitted quietly.

“They lured you in with kittens?!” Jason said hysterically. Muffled snorts came from all around, Dick himself wasn't exempt from laughing either. Everyone but Jason quickly pasted on an innocent face when Damian furiously glared at them, he didn't bother covering up his laughter. Even Bruce seemed amused, his eyes darting between them with a fond look on his face.

“Do you remember what happened?” Cass signed. Dick could tell she was still worried about Damian, the sides of her eyes were creased and her lips held together tightly.

“I passed out after I was hit over the head.” Damian began, the bedding clenched in his fists. “I remember waking up a couple of times but it wasn't for long. The last time I awoke, the boy was there.”

Bruce put his hand over Damian, his lips pursed. He clearly didn't like how his son was treated, and looking around, none of them were. “Did he do anything?”  

“He told me to rest.” Damian said simply, brows furrowed.

“And you did?” Tim asked, dumbfounded. Dick was just as confused, Damian barely took orders from them that he deemed unnecessary, so him listening to a random civilian? It was unheard of.

“That was the strange thing. The moment he told me to, I was overwhelmed with drowsiness. I couldn't help falling asleep.”

A magic user? Dick thought speculatively. Or perhaps a meta? There were many abilities that could cause someone to fall unconscious with just a word, and just as many with aftereffects. Dick prayed that there weren’t any lasting effects on Damian, he wasn't sure what he would do if there were.

“I knew there was something up with him!” Tim announced, jumping up from his seat. “The fact that he was so calm in such a bloody environment was the first clue. Why would he be calm, let alone stay in that warehouse, when he was abducted and watched others be sacrificed? Plus, despite telling us the Corpse God—or God of the Dead, whatever— there was no sign of the being other than the cultist’s dismangled bodies. Why did he lie?” He paced back and forth, letting his theories flow like water.

Cass knocked on the wall, gathering their attention. She signed, “He didn’t lie.”

“He didn’t?” Dick questioned, understandably confused.

She shook her head, “He was truthful the whole time, but was he hiding something.” 

“He could have been misleading you.” Steph crossed her arms. “He was being pretty vague in the recordings I watched. Plus, some of his words could have been taken in a different way.”

“That's true. The way he slipped away from us wasn’t something a civilian could do. Even a meta would be hard pressed to disappear from right under our noses.” Jason spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I’ll call Zatanna.” Bruce sighed, getting up from his seat. “Get some rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“He’s right. We need to conserve our energy for interrogating Polka tomorrow.” Dick ushered his disgruntled sibling towards the staircase leading to the manor.

Once he was sure they were in their rooms, Jason deciding it was too late to go to his own safehouse, he returned to the cave. Damian was unsurprisingly still awake, his stubbornness fighting against his weariness. 

Dick dimmed the lights of the cave and headed towards the infirmary. Giving his brother a quick peck on the forehead and tucking him in, much to Damian’s displeasure, he grabbed a tablet and wrote up a report next to the cot. He made sure to include his sibling’s theories in the notes margin.

Soft muttering sounded off to the side, behind the infirmary’s curtain. After making sure Damian was asleep, Dick crept towards the sound. Around the corner, Bruce’s frustrated voice spoke. He ended the call a minute after he spotted Dick leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

“Constantine?”

“Zatanna was busy.” Bruce ran his hands through his hair. He was clearly tired after the eventful day, but Bruce would continue working despite his complaints, Dick bitterly thought. He shook his head, now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts. 

Dick hummed and walked towards the Batcomputer. He sat down, Bruce a couple feet away typing away on another monitor. He transferred his half finished report to the computer in front of him, finding a keyboard easier to write with than a tablet. 

He let out a yawn. He had been up for more than twenty four hours, most of that time spent patrolling and studying cases in the Batcave. He laid his head on his arms, a quick nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

Distantly, he felt a heavy weight cover him. He let out a murmur of thanks for the blanket and fell asleep, not hearing the whispered response. 

The insistent buzzing of the tablet woke him. He stretched, his back popping, before unlocking the tablet. A gasp escaped him once he laid eyes on the screen.

“Uh, B? You’ll need to see this.” Bruce looked at him in question before rolling closer, eyes widening slightly once he read the article.

In strikingly bold letters, the headline was “JOKER MAULED BY THE UNDEAD”.

Wrote a large chunk of this months ago and just sat on it since I didn't know how to write batfam interactions. I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out :)

<< Chapter 1 | Masterpost | Chapter 3 >>

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Denise Hearn and Vass Bednar’s “The Big Fix”

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/05/ted-rogers-is-a-dope/#galen-weston-is-even-worse

The Canadian national identity involves a lot of sneering at the US, but when it comes to oligarchy, Canada makes America look positively amateurish.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/05/ted-rogers-is-a-dope/#galen-weston-is-even-worse

Canada's monopolists may be big fish in a small pond, but holy moly are they big, compared to the size of that pond. In their new book, The Big Fix: How Companies Capture Markets and Harm Canadians, Denise Hearn and Vass Bednar lay bare the price-gouging, policy-corrupting ripoff machines that run the Great White North:

https://sutherlandhousebooks.com/product/the-big-fix/

From telecoms to groceries to pharmacies to the resource sector, Canada is a playground for a handful of supremely powerful men from dynastic families, who have bought their way to dominance, consuming small businesses by the hundreds and periodically merging with one another.

Hearn and Bednar tell this story and explain all the ways that Canadian firms use their market power to reduce quality, raise prices, abuse workers and starve suppliers, even as they capture the government and the regulators who are supposed to be overseeing them.

The odd thing is that Canada has been in the antitrust game for a long time: Canada passed its first antitrust law in 1889, a year before the USA got around to inaugurating its trustbusting era with the passage of the Sherman Act. But despite this early start, Canada's ultra-rich have successfully used the threat of American corporate juggernauts to defend the idea of Made-in-Canada monopolies, as homegrown King Kongs that will keep the nation safe from Yankee Godzillas.

Canada's Competition Bureau is underfunded and underpowered. In its entire history, the agency has never prevented a merger – not even once. This set the stage for Canada's dominant businesses to become many-tentacled conglomerates, like Canadian Tire, which owns Mark's Work Warehouse, Helly Hansen, SportChek, Nevada Bob's Golf, The Fitness Source, Party City, and, of course, a bank.

A surprising number of Canadian conglomerates end up turning into banks: Loblaw has a bank. So does Rogers. Why do these corrupt, price-gouging companies all go into "financial services?" As Hearn and Bednar explain, owning a bank is the key to financialization, with the company's finances disappearing into a black box that absorbs taxation attempts and liabilities like a black hole eating a solar system.

Of course, the neat packaging up of vast swathes of Canada's economy into these financialized and inscrutable mega-firms makes them awfully convenient acquisition targets for US and offshore private equity firms. When the Competition Bureau (inevitably) fails to block those acquisitions, whole chunks of the Canadian economy disappear into foreign hands.

This is a short book, but it's packed with a lot of easily digested detail about how these scams work: how monopolies use cross-subsidies (when one profitable business is used to prop up an unprofitable business in order to kill potential competitors) and market power to rip Canadians off and screw workers.

But the title of the book is The Big Fix, so it's not all doom and gloom. Hearn and Bednar note that Canadians and their elected reps are getting sick of this shit, and a bill to substantially beefed up Canadian competition law passed Parliament unanimously last year.

This is part of a wave of antitrust fever that's sweeping the world's governments, notably the US under Biden, where antitrust enforcers did more in the past four years than their predecessors accomplished over the previous 40 years.

Hearn and Bednar propose a follow-on agenda for Canadian lawmakers and bureaucrats: they call for a "whole of government" approach to dismantling Canada's monopolies, whereby each ministry would be charged with combing through its enabling legislation to find latent powers that could be mobilized against monopolies, and then using those powers.

The authors freely admit that this is an American import, modeled on Biden's July 2021 Executive Order on monopolies, which set out 72 action items for different parts of the administration, virtually all of which were accomplished:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

What the authors don't mention is that this plan was actually cooked up by a Canadian: Columbia law professor Tim Wu, who served in the White House as Biden's tech antitrust czar, and who grew up in Toronto (we've known each other since elementary school!).

Wu's plan has been field tested. It worked. It was exciting and effective. There's something weirdly fitting about finding the answer to Canada's monopoly problems coming from America, but only because a Canadian had to go there to find a receptive audience for it.

The Big Fix is a fantastic primer on the uniquely Canadian monopoly problem, a fast read that transcends being a mere economics primer or history lesson. It's a book that will fire you up, make you angry, make you determined, and explain what comes next.

[argyrocratie]

"I immediately got involved in the ongoing socialization process. My group, the one that had occupied the barracks, immediately created a food depot, open to all, in the neighborhood where I lived. We assesed consumption needs and, subsequently, we intervened with certain workshops to intensify production. For example, I, who knew how to make bread, remember going, in the midst of a shooting, to help out at the neighborhood bakery. We were very imbued with the Kropotkinian idea - developed in The Conquest of Bread - according to which any revolution which proves incapable of feeding the people is lost in advance.

From there, we got our hands on all the grocery stores and warehouses in the neighborhood and we would go to the surrounding villages to exchange industrial products for foodstuffs. It was not a question of robbing the peasants, but of making them understand that we needed eggs and milk for the wounded in the hospitals. Knowing that the Catalan peasants are a little selfish, and being armed with our weapons, we could have proceeded authoritatively, but we would only have gained their antipathy. So we brought fabrics, canned goods and anything else they needed and exchanged them for chickens, potatoes and beans, which we loaded into our trucks. In the neighborhood, the products of the grocery stores, whose owners had been driven out, were centralized in a single place, where the people were invited to help themselves freely.

And how did it work?

Money having been abolished, the distribution of edibles was organized in the neighborhood on the basis of tickets, but they were only used for very specific items. For essential foodstuffs, all you had to do was go to the central grocery store and help yourself. We had, of course, a surveillance service responsible for spotting and investigating hoarders. I happened to go, one day, myself, to a lady who we were told had bread and bags of potatoes in quantity, which was true. There were controls. The market was free, open, but no abuse was tolerated.

A week after this system was put in place, an official from the regional committee of Catalonia visited us and, as he knew me, he began to explain to me how we should organize ourselves:

- It is essential, he told me, to create supply commissions to organize supplies...

I started laughing, and took him into the collective store.

- Look, that’s exactly what we did, without waiting for you...

In fact, the initiative returned to the people, without slogans or oders. They took the lead, without even the intervention of the CNT authorities. The workers had collectivized spontaneously, occupying the workshops of their own accord and putting them back into operation. The CNT did nothing other than confirm what had happened and which, for a lot of it, had been the work of their militants. The committees, too, were overwhelmed and waiting. This was, on my small scale, my experience in the field of collectivization."

-"Un entretien avec José Peirats" (1976)