#wmd

[jimpluff]

Oxygen Destroyer plush from Premium Bandai revealed in the Godzilla Fest stream

[petterwass]

[seethrusaturday]

————

What is STS without ms Khovanski and her mighty mellons?! What a sight to behold…

Happy STS!

[whumpninja]

W.M.D., Part 2: Search and Rescue

I haven’t written a team dynamic in forever so this chapter took a bit. Finally done!

Featuring: living weapon, winged whumpee, drowning, unconscious whumpee, team dynamic

Taglist: @whumperofworlds @mysticalburntpaper @scoundrelwithboba @paperprinxe @fruitypineapple00 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @lancedoncrimsonwings @1seaweedbrain1 @whumppsychology @ziptiesnfries @maracujatangerine @whumpsoda

“Luke. Luke. Hey, Luke.”

Luke groaned, opening his eyes. “What, Shane?”

His friend stood over his bed, grinning. And shirtless. Luke grimaced. “Dude, it is way too early for you to be in trunks.”

Shane bounced on the balls of his feet, his sandy hair fluttering up and down. “I’m going surfing. Wanna come?”

“Man, is there a day you don’t go surfing?” Luke glanced over at the alarm clock, his eyes widening. “Shane, it’s five in the morning!”

“Come on, man! Dawn patrol! It’s epic surf right now, and no one around! Please?”

Shane was unfairly difficult to resist when he wanted something. His big green eyes and even bigger smile just…couldn’t be argued with. He put Luke in mind of a puppy begging for a treat- a Labrador puppy with messy fur that loved surfing too much and never wore shoes. Too early for metaphors, Luke decided.

He threw back the blanket and sat up. “I’ll go with you to the beach, but I am not going into the water this early in the morning. I’m gonna lay on the sand and catch some more Z’s while you try to get the ocean to kill you.”

“Meet you outside in five minutes!” Shane shot out of the room with entirely too much energy for five a.m., forgetting to close the door on his way out. Luke sighed.

Still half-asleep, he fumbled for a shirt and a pair of shorts, tugging the shirt on twice because he put it on the wrong way the first time. How does Shane have so much energy in the morning? Luke found his sandals and a beach towel, throwing one more longing glance toward his bed before he headed out into the hallway.

Shane stood by the stairs, spinning the keys to his station wagon on one finger. “Do we have to take that thing?” Luke asked.

“Yep!” Shane replied cheerfully, because he was basically incapable of being anything else.

“If it falls apart on the beach, you’re pushing it back.” Luke stretched his arms up, unable to resist another yawn. “Also, dude, are we even allowed to go off to the beach without telling anyone?”

Shane shrugged. “Jones knows I surf. Recruited me at a competition. He can’t get upset with me for needing a little practice.”

Luke snorted. “If he buys that you need practice surfing-“

Shane flashed a grin at him over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

The hallways were quiet this early, and Shane stepped so softly that Luke couldn’t even hear him. He was so busy trying to hear Shane’s footsteps that he ended up tripping over a chair. “Shh!” Shane hissed.

“Sorry!” Luke whispered back. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t wear shoes? Shane’s bare feet were quiet, while his own sandals made a flup-flup-flup noise that seemed loud enough to wake up the whole base.

Luke had always thought that base was a bad term for the building. Base meant security and soldiers and barbed wire fences and all of that nonsense. Their “base” was just an old building that had gotten fancy locks put on the doors and the windows nailed shut. Sure, it was more secure than a regular apartment, but it wasn’t that state-of-the-art.

The locks were still going to be a problem, though. Jones locked the doors when he left for the night and unlocked them when he came back in the morning. “Shane,” Luke whispered.

“What?”

“Do you do this every day?”

“Pretty much.”

“How do you get out?”

Shane fumbled in his pockets and held up two little metal sticks. Luke almost fell over his own feet. “You know how to pick locks?”

“Yeah.”

“And you do it regularly?”

“Dude, I’m usually already at the beach by now. I’m back, dried off, and making myself breakfast before the rest of you even wake up.” Shane bent down to the lock on the main door, slipping his picks in and turning them carefully.

“So that’s why your hair’s always wet in the morning,” Luke said. “I thought you were just really particular about showering before everyone else.”

Shane snorted. “No, dude, it’s the ocean. The only mornings I don’t go are if it’s flat or too stormy. Also, shut up and let me break us out of here.”

Luke watched as Shane manipulated the lock picks one way and then the other, wondering when-

“Got it!” Shane swung the door open, grinning like an idiot. “After you.”

“I’m not even gonna ask how you learned that,” Luke muttered, and shuffled out of the building.

Shane’s car sat waiting by the street, two surfboards lashed to the roof. Luke didn’t even really feel like car was the right word for the ancient, rickety, wood-sided station wagon Shane had allegedly bought off the side of the road and fixed up himself. It definitely drove like he’d fixed it up himself- the thing was prone to jostling around and bumping anyone who dared ride in it until they wished they had walked. Shane loved the car. Luke hated it. Shane called it Leroy. Luke called it a death trap.

“I’m still not going surfing,” he said, sliding reluctantly into the passenger seat.

“Aww, really? It’s gonna be epic waves!” Shane started the car, which meant putting the keys in the ignition and whacking the dashboard until the engine turned over.

“It’s gonna be cold, is what it is,” Luke grumbled. “I’ll watch you get eaten by a shark instead of risking it myself.”

Shane laughed, pulling the car out onto the main roads. “Wouldn’t mind that.”

“Huh?”

“What? It’s a cool way to go. Besides, it’s their ocean, I’m just playing in their front yard. There’s a reason we call ‘em the landlords.”

“You’re worried about whether or not your death will be cool enough?”

Shane flashed him the Shaka sign along with his signature grin. “Sure. What sounds better- ‘Here lies Shane Carter, who died at eighty-five from slipping in the bathtub and breaking his hip’ or ‘Here lies Shane Carter, who surfed an epic wave straight into a shark’s jaws and it was crazy sick’?”

“You’re crazy, man.”

Despite Shane’s terrible car, the drive to the beach wasn’t so bad. Shane hummed something that sounded jazzy and was only a little off-key. Luke watched the sun come up and thought about sharks. “Where are we going?” he asked when Shane drove right past the public beach.

“Secret surf spot,” Shane replied. “Gets the best waves.”

They went about a mile or so down the coast, out into the sand dunes. Shane’s car actually drove smoother once it was off the paved roads, and Luke wondered if he’d somehow rigged it to do that.

Finally, Shane pulled over, and Luke had to admit it was a good spot. Shane had found a little stretch of beach, shielded from passersby with a tall dune and a rock outcropping. Waves crashed on the shore, which made Shane’s grin get even bigger.

While Shane hopped out to get his surfboard down from the roof of the car, Luke climbed out at a more reasonable speed and watched the ocean. Maybe this was worth waking up early for. The last of the sunrise had turned the ocean golden, and the roar of the waves was actually a peaceful sound once you got used to it. The smell of salt hung in the air, and Luke was almost tempted to go in the water.

Almost.

He shaded his eyes and looked out to sea, wondering if there might be a pod of dolphins or a whale enjoying the morning the same as him. And to his surprise, he did see something. “Hey, Shane!” Luke called. “There’s a seal out there!”

“Really?” Shane had his surfboard tucked under his arm, locking the car and coming to Luke’s side. “Where?”

Luke pointed towards the dark spot in the water. “Right there!”

Shane looked where he was pointing. His grin faded. “That’s not a seal.”

“How can you tell? And what is it?”

Shane gripped his surfboard tighter. “That’s someone in the water, man.”

“What?”

Shane took off running for the edge of the water. “Come on!”

“Shane!” Luke raced after his friend. Shane was unfairly fast, even running barefoot on sand. Luke just barely managed to catch him before he plunged into the water. “Shane, what are you doing? We should find some way to call the Coast Guard or something.”

“Whoever that is out there, they need help a lot faster than that. Are you coming with me?” Shane’s usually cheerful face had turned to something determined and serious. It didn’t look right on him.

“But- what are we going to do?”

“I can get out to them with the board and hold it steady. If you can help them onto it, I think we can get them back to shore.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Luke stripped off his shirt. “This is crazy, Shane.”

Shane handed him the surfboard. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“Paddle out on it. I can get to them faster if I swim.” Shane took a few deep breaths and ran into the ocean without hesitating. Luke gripped the surfboard and followed. Man, how do I get myself into these predicaments?

Shane was already swimming by the time Luke got the surfboard floating with him on top. The ocean didn’t seem to like him the way it liked Shane- a wave smacked him right in the face. Cold, salty water filled his mouth. Luke spat it out, shaking out his hair. How does Shane do this every morning? His friend was swimming like he had been made for it, already halfway to the motionless dark spot bobbing in the waves. Luke kicked as hard as he could, trailing far behind.

Shane reached the person first, treading water around the still form. Luke saw him go under once, resurfacing on the other side. "Are they alive?" he yelled.

"Don't know!" Shane called back. "Get the board over here!"

Luke slid off the board and into the cold sea. Man, I hope sharks aren't awake this early. He positioned himself next to the body and pushed the board over to Shane. The person was at least floating face-up- Luke saw pale skin and dark hair. He couldn't see the face very well beneath the strings of hair covering it, but it looked like it might belong to a guy about his own age.

"I'll hold the board still, you get him on top," Shane directed.

Luke slipped his hands under the person's body. Something limp and wet and oddly soft met his fingers. Grimacing, he lifted it out of the water. "What the-"

Shane's mouth dropped open. "Is that a wing?"

It was. Huge, black, and feathered like a bird's, soaked with the sea. "Gotta be some kind of flight suit, right?" Luke asked. But the guy was shirtless, and the wing felt...attached.

"Don't think so," Shane replied. "Can't worry about it right now. Gotta get him out of the water. Come on, help me."

��—————————————————————————

Paul stared in dismay at the picked lock on the main exit door. "Shane, you idiot," he fumed under his breath. "And you had to take Luke with you. If Jones doesn't kill me, I'm going to kill you."

"Who are you killing?" asked Ana behind him.

Paul jumped, putting a hand to his chest. "Don't do that! Shane, if he comes back. He's run off with Luke. Jones'll be here in about ten minutes, and if they're not back here-"

Ana raised her eyebrows. Her hair was damp, and she ran her fingers through it. "There'll be trouble."

"Tons. Especially for me."

"Well, at least it's only those two," Ana said. "Viv's in the lab, Diego's in the kitchen."

Paul ran his hands through his hair, slumping down against the wall with a sigh. "I just- I'm the leader. Whatever you all do reflects back on me. So Shane running off to go swimming or whatever it is he does- I'm the one responsible for that. And Jones knows it. Ugh, I just wish he'd think for once!"

"Jones? Or Shane?" Ana stuck out her hand.

"Shane." Paul accepted Ana's hand, standing up from the floor. "Let's go. I'm going to eat Shane's share of whatever Diego's cooking."

Just as Ana had said, Diego was in the kitchen. The radio had been tuned to a Spanish-language station, and Diego used a spatula as a microphone as he sang loudly along. He spun around, spotted Ana and Paul in the doorway, and grinned. Ana snorted as her twin brother wiggled his eyebrows and jiggled his hips, grinning all the while. "You're loco," she told him.

"Completely," Diego replied, still smiling. "Hey, where's Shane and Luke? Their eggs are going to get cold."

Paul sighed. "They're gone. Shane dragged Luke off to the beach, probably."

Diego sucked in his breath. "Ooh, el jefe isn't gonna like that."

"Since when is Jones the boss? I thought I was the boss." Paul stole Diego's spatula to get himself a serving of eggs.

"You're boss-y," Ana teased.

The joking of his teammates made Paul feel better. They sat around the kitchen eating breakfast and talking animatedly among themselves. The absence of Shane and Luke still tugged insistently at the back of Paul's mind. He was the leader. He knew that the responsibility would fall on him the moment Jones arrived.

Jones, naturally, took that exact moment to do so, flinging the kitchen door open with a bang. As always, he was in uniform and already scowling at them. His sharp dark eyes did not miss the absentees. "Where's Carter, Evans, and Tai?" he said gruffly.

The question wasn't directed to anyone in particular, but Paul answered it anyway. "Viv's in her lab. The other two snuck out. Shane probably dragged Luke off to the beach."

Jones raised an eyebrow slowly, his jawline tight and a nerve standing out in his forehead. But all he said was "I see."

Paul grimaced inwardly. Oh, we're in for it.

As if he could read Paul's mind, Jones snapped out orders. "Ten minutes to get downstairs. Alvarez- both of you- clean this up. Price, if Carter and Evans come back, I want to know before they get in the door. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Paul answered. Ana echoed him half-heartedly. Diego didn't bother.

Jones left with just as loud a slam as before.

Paul slumped into his chair, sighing. "He's furious."

"Duh," Ana replied, dumping her plate into the sink. "We're gonna be sore tomorrow."

Paul brushed brown hair out of his eyes. "I don't care how long he makes us train. I care about him thinking I'm a bad leader because I can't control my team. Can't stop them from running off whenever they feel like it. Maybe he shouldn't have picked me."

"Hey." Ana dropped down into the chair next to him, wrapping her hand in his. "You're a good leader, Paul. It's not your fault Shane hasn't gotten with the program yet. Jones will blame you anyway, of course, but it's not your fault. You're doing a good job. And he might yell and bluster and make us all run laps until we drop, but I know Jones knows that too."

Paul offered her a smile. "Thanks, Ana."

"Por supuesto." She tapped his hand and got up to help Diego with the dishes.

The main door banged open. Paul shot to the hallway, almost skidding into Jones, who had come up from the basement. Their commander's face was grim. "Is that them?"

"Hey! Guys!" Luke's voice rang out loudly.

Paul moved to stand beside Jones, folding his arms and making as stern a face as he could.

Shane barreled around the corner and nearly into them, Luke hot on his heels. Both of them were soaked to the skin. "Jones!" Shane gasped, his hands on his knees. "We-"

Jones cut him off. "Where were you?" His voice was flat and cold.

"The beach. But we-"

"Your idea, I assume."

Shane seemed to realize that neither Jones nor Paul looked happy. He straightened up, shoving a string of wet blond hair out of his eyes, and faced Jones directly. "Yes. It was."

Jones nodded tersely. "Evans, clear off," he said to Luke.

Luke gulped. "Um, sir-"

Jones had already moved on. "Why?"

Shane shrugged. "I needed some practice."

"Don't even try that," Jones snarled, flipping from cold disdain to hot anger in the space of a second. "You know what, Carter, I am sick and tired of your disrespect. You're the only one here who-"

"Jones," Shane tried to cut in.

Jones bulldozed him and kept going. "-hasn't gotten their head on straight. You'd rather run solo than be part of a team, is that it? You've got nowhere to go if I throw you out, remember. I saw potential in you, but if you want to waste that-"

"Jones, I-"

"And if I don't expel you from the program, you can be sure that you are in a whole mess of trouble, Shane Carter. You are going to wish that you had never met me, starting-"

"Jones!" Shane shouted.

Paul's eyes went wide. He'd never heard Shane raise his voice- and certainly never at Jones.

Jones' eyebrow arched. His voice dropped to an almost soft, dangerous tone. "Did you have something to say, Shane?"

Shane's eyes were blazing, and Paul saw his fist clench. "Yeah," Shane said, his own voice trembling with effort as he fought to keep it steady. "Yell at me later, because I've got an unconscious guy in the back of my car!"

"What?" Paul blurted. Even Jones looked startled.

"We pulled him out of the ocean!" Luke added from over Shane's shoulder. "He's alive. But he's in real bad shape."

"Paul, can you get Viv?" Shane asked. "This guy needs serious help."

"Just a minute." Jones crossed his arms. "Why did you bring him back here? Why not the hospital?"

Shane glanced to Luke. "That's the other thing. Whoever he is...he's got wings."

[gamat3000]

[johaerys-writes]

pls pls pls pls pls drop more lore on WMD!

Oh gosh can I just tell you how much I love you for asking me more about this alsfhdj original fic writing is so much lonelier than fanfic because you can't really scream about your OCs the same way you would about a well known character, but so much of my brainpower has been going into writing & plotting this one lately so YEAH anyway thank you thank you 🥹🙏 Here's a few tidbits of lore:

1. WMD is short for "watch me drown" which is the temporary title of the doc, both because I've had "Oh No" by Biig Piig on repeat for this story, but also because part of the story has to do with eldritch horror-type entities that pull your mind into a separate plane which is like an abyss/the bottom of the sea 👀

2. The main character is a human/synthetic hybrid who was recruited as a child into a company/organisation that created super soldiers essentially, so he was vigorously trained and he also underwent a series of procedures to give him extra abilities (resistances to the elements and certain kinds of damage, having a sort of built in "interface" in his head so he can communicate with others in his team without risk of interference, being able to scan and map out places quickly etc). People like him are often used as mercenaries or members of private armies or are hired by the actual army or the police force for sticky and difficult situations. When children start disappearing under mysterious circumstances and their bodies are found under more mysterious circumstances, he and a few members of his team were hired as extra guns and also to investigate the places where evidence was found as reconnaissance experts. After years of fighting bullshit wars and seeing ppl in his crew dying over and over again, he sort of becomes obsessed with that case and makes it a personal mission to find those kids and stop whoever is behind the abductions/rapes/murders. Only he does a little TOO well, he gets too close and sees things he shouldn't have and his team is wiped out, but he manages to save one kid and take it to relative safety before fleeing (of course after that he is blamed for everything that had been going on and the media goes on a sort of crusade against synths)

3. The other protagonist, the kid, grows up barely scraping by and basically fending for himself in the Big City, blending into anonymity as much as he can. Eventually he gets involved with the underworld in order to survive and he makes some questionable connections, but he manages to track down the main character, and together (alongside a crime boss whom the kid has befriended and who is helping them for his own nefarious reasons LOL) they try to find whoever was behind that ring because the abductions never stopped.

4. Needless to say the kid has a MASSIVE crush on the MC and has been thinking about him for years at this point LMAO he definitely has a saviour kink and no one else could ever compare 😩🙏 The MC is way more sceptical bc the boy is like half his age and also despite how full of horror and tragedy his life has been he has little to no experience with love/romance since so much of it was spent either following orders or surviving. So he definitely has a crisis right there the moment he sees the skinny and terrified little creature he'd rescued back then all grown up and drooling after him ahah. They end up having their fair share of awkward sex and complicated feelings for each other, in the process of dismantling that child trafficking ring (/unhinged eldritch monster loving cult 😬)

Anyway lol I'll stop here but once again thank you so much for letting me ramble about this story 🙏💙

[vividfragments]

(2019)

[swankyangles]

alright, alright, alright...

[sklira]

WMD | trauma ray

We sink into the sea Reminding you and me That I regret Everything

[nando161mando]

"When my partner first told me the Oppenheimer movie didn't talk about this AT ALL, I immediately lost whatever little interest I had. Gross to make so much money off of them, yet not even mention the victims. 35 infants died the month after the test bomb alone.

Idk, call me a buzzkill or whatever but I don't think there's enough special effects in the world to make me feel less gross about this. I really thought part of the movie would be him facing the reality of what he created tbh."

[theexodvs]

Even if Spain was responsible for the destruction of the USS Maine (it wasn't), the Spanish-American War was worse.

Pearl Harbor was bad. Nagasaki and Hiroshima were worse.

The policies Allende would have implemented would have been bad. The US installing Pinochet was worse.

What David Koresh did was bad. What the FBI did in response was worse.

9/11 was bad. The War on Terror is worse.

Many of the things Sadaam did were bad. Bush's lies about WMDs, and the war these lies justified, were worse.

What Hamas did was bad. What the IDF is doing in response is worse.

This isn't hard, people.

[seethrusaturday]

————

Here are some proper weapons of mass destruction. Ms Khovanski, looking cute, and boobing for all she is worth. Trademark sheer sweater leaves nothing to the imagination. Love it.

Happy STS!

[whumpninja]

W. M. D, Part 1.5: Icarus

(I’m not counting this as a full chapter because it’s tiny, but it’s also important so I didn’t want to lump it in with the next full chapter!)

Featuring: living weapon, heavy dehumanization, winged whumpee, falling

Taglist: @whumperofworlds @mysticalburntpaper @scoundrelwithboba @paperprinxe @fruitypineapple00 @silly-scroimblo-scrunkl @lancedoncrimsonwings @1seaweedbrain1 @whumppsychology @ziptiesnfries @maracujatangerine @whumpsoda

The light was too bright. It hurt the eyes. Kestrel squinted in the sun as the blindfold came off, blinking in the glare.

The Doctor was there. Kestrel was not glad to see him- weapons didn’t feel things like glad- but the Doctor was familiar, and familiar things were better than unfamiliar ones. Kestrel stood very still while the Doctor unbuckled the harness around the wings, waiting for the command to stretch them out fully. The breeze ruffled the feathers.

They stood on the edge of a little cliff overlooking the ocean- Kestrel, the Doctor, and another man Kestrel didn’t know very well. The Doctor called him “Mr. Abel.” Kestrel had been ordered to hunt him the day before, but the Doctor had stopped the attack before Kestrel could kill him, or even do any real damage. Kestrel did not understand why the Doctor had done that, but a weapon did not need to understand why it was being used.

“Good day for flying,” the Mr. Abel said, grinning. He grinned too wide- it felt like a predator’s grin, and Kestrel shifted the feet with something that would have been nervousness if a weapon could feel such a thing.

The Doctor toyed with the harness. Kestrel knew that the Doctor did not like the harness being off. It made him nervous for some reason, as if Kestrel would fly away. Kestrel stood very still and tried to look like flying away was impossible to even think of.

“Is he going to just stand there?” the Mr. Abel asked. He shifted his feet in a way that meant he was upset. Kestrel watched his hands carefully in case he struck out.

The Doctor scoffed. “I do not send him out often. He is not accustomed to it.” He stepped close to Kestrel, his gloved hand wrapping around the shoulder. “Go, Kestrel,” he commanded.

Kestrel froze, blinking in confusion. Go? Go where?

The Doctor put his lips next to Kestrel’s ear and whispered the words, the secret words that meant obey. Kestrel's mind stopped, the words obey and go the only things left in it. The wings rose of their own accord, the feathers rustling and arranging themselves in preparation for flight. The eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and glassy. The legs ran, pounding the grass beneath the feet until suddenly there wasn’t any ground beneath them anymore. And the wings were pumping and Kestrel was flying.

The eyes came back into focus as the influence of the secret words faded. Kestrel glanced down at the ocean, breathing in and out hard. Flying was a lot of work, especially for one not used to it. And there had been no instructions. Just go. Kestrel was always given very specific instructions- attack, pounce, kill. Be still, don't fight, don't resist. Follow orders. This kind of ambiguity was new. And, if weapons were allowed to feel fear, it would have been frightening.

Kestrel wheeled into the wind, letting it lift the wings up, up, up, heading further out to sea. Weapons did not feel things like joy- but Kestrel had never had any difficulty obeying on the rare occasions when the Doctor said fly. Most of the time it was shorter than this- circle around the clock tower twice, then come back to me. This- getting to fly for apparently however long it took for the Doctor to call him back- was new. So much today was new.

Kestrel flapped the wings once, twice, propelling the body higher and higher. The wings were powerful, lifting Kestrel easily. Weapons were supposed to be strong, and the wings were the strongest part of all. A seabird flew past, squawking at what it might have thought was an unusually large bird. Kestrel smiled at it before realizing the mistake, and quickly pulled the face back into a neutral expression. The Doctor would have been very angry if he had seen that...but the Doctor was not here.

It was hard, trying not to feel. Kestrel liked flying, as much as a weapon could like something. The wind under the wings, the sea mist in the hair, the sun in the eyes. Freedom, or as close as Kestrel would ever get to it.

But there was a drawback.

Kestrel had not been told where to go, only to go. When orders were unclear, the usual course of action was to follow the orders until a new one was given. In this case, that meant fly until Kestrel was told to stop flying.

Kestrel couldn't fly forever. The muscles were strong from training, but unused to flying for so long and so far. It was becoming harder to keep the wings pumping, and the wind could only lift Kestrel so high. But there had been no order to land, no order to turn around.

The wetness in the hair was sweat now, rather than just salt. The lungs heaved harder than before. Soaring high was no longer an option; Kestrel skimmed the surface of the sea. The salt stung the eyes, and the weight of the spray was starting to settle more heavily on the wings. Kestrel reached up to brush the damp hair back.

The head ached. Kestrel had never gone so long under one single order. The mind hurt, it wanted the Doctor to call his weapon back. But the Doctor was silent. Kestrel strained to hear a whistle, a call, anything.

There was nothing. Perfect silence. Kestrel couldn't stop flying without an order, but the body couldn't keep flying without a rest. An impossibility. The Doctor liked that word. He liked to do impossible things.

But Kestrel cannot do impossible things. Kestrel can only obey.

That was the last thought in Kestrel's mind before it happened. The wings ran out of strength. They stopped pumping, fluttering limp in the air. Kestrel fell.

Kestrel did not cry out, because Kestrel had not been told to. The weapon fell in perfect silence, plunging into the ocean below.

[gamat3000]

[garthnadermemestash]

I identify as anti war

Democrats are right wing

[pedroam-bang]

Green Zone (2010)