#Infrastructure Orchestration

[shonatanwer98]

What Is Orchestration in DevOps? Understanding Its Role in Automating Workflows- OpsNexa!

Learn what orchestration in DevOps is and how it helps automate and manage complex workflows. Discover the benefits of orchestration for improving efficiency, What Is Orchestration in DevOps? Reducing errors, and accelerating software delivery, along with the tools and strategies commonly used in modern DevOps pipelines.

[daintilyultimateslayer]

Certified Kubernetes Administrator (CKA)

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 Basic knowledge of Linux and containers

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Master Kubernetes, the leading container orchestration platform, with hands-on training. This course covers cluster setup, management, and troubleshooting, aligning with CKA certification.

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Deploy Kubernetes clusters

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Prepare for CKA certification

Course Curriculum

Lesson 1: Introduction to Containers and Kubernetes

Lesson 2: Setting Up a Cluster

Certified Kubernetes Administrator (CKA) Online Exam & Certification

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[newcodesociety]

[creativeera]

Multiservice Provisioning Platform Market Poised to Grow at a Robust Pace Owing to Increasing Demand

Market Overview The multiservice provisioning platform market allows operators to deliver a variety of telecommunication services such as voice, data, and multimedia over a single network infrastructure. The platform enables service providers to seamlessly roll out new converged data, voice and multimedia services for residential and business customers. It offers a simplified and automated approach for adding new connection types and innovative service bundles. Leveraging software-defined networking and virtualization technologies, multiservice provisioning platforms help operators maximize resource utilization, simplify operations and improve time-to-market for new services.

Global multiservice provisioning platform market is estimated to be valued at USD 47.83 Bn in 2024 and is expected to reach USD 65.27 Bn by 2031, exhibiting a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 4.5% from 2024 to 2031.

Key Takeaways Key players operating in the multiservice provisioning platform market are Alcatel SA, Ciena Corporation, Cisco Systems Inc., ECI Telecom Ltd., Ericsson, Fujitsu Network Communications Inc., Lucent Technologies Inc., Marconi Corporation plc. The Multiservice Provisioning Platform Market Size  is expected to witness growing opportunities due to increasing demand for cloud-based, software-defined and virtualized services. Multiservice provisioning platforms enable simplified, automated and unified delivery of various digital services including voice, data, content, mobility and smart home solutions. Globally, North America dominates the multiservice provisioning platform market currently. However, Asia Pacific is anticipated to witness the highest growth over the forecast period supported by rapid infrastructure development, 5G deployment and growing population. Major players are focused on expansion opportunities in emerging economies through partnerships and collaborations. Market Drivers The increasing demand for convergence services is a major growth driver for this market. Customers expect seamless access to different services through multiple devices. Multiservice provisioning platforms allow telecom operators to offer innovative converged service bundles across different technologies through a single solution. Multiservice Provisioning Platform Market Size and Trends simplifies operations and improves customer experience. Multiservice provisioning platforms also help operators maximize infrastructure utilization and monetize existing network assets through efficient rollout of new services.

PEST Analysis Political: The globalization and emergence of multinational corporations has led many nations to form regulations and policies encouraging digitalization and connectivity. This has positively impacted the adoption of multiservice provisioning platforms. Economic: Growing economies worldwide have increased spending on network infrastructure. Telecom operators are investing significantly in upgrading legacy systems to keep pace with rising data usage and demand for high-speed networks. This presents opportunities for multiservice provisioning platform providers. Social: Widespread internet and smartphone adoption have changed consumer behavior and preferences. People now demand high-speed reliable connectivity for accessing real-time entertainment, social media, and collaboration tools from anywhere. This has accelerated the need for platforms offering centralized operations. Technological: Emerging technologies like 5G, IoT, and edge computing require more flexible, software-defined infrastructure that can rapidly deploy new services. Multiservice provisioning platforms allow dynamic service creation, integration and optimization across physical and virtual networks through open APIs and SDN/NFV principles. The market in terms of value is concentrated primarily in North America and Western Europe. This is due to high mobile and broadband penetration along with major telecom operators headquartered in these regions who are leading adopters for modernizing their networks. The Asia Pacific region, especially countries like China and India, presents the fastest growth opportunity. Rapid digitalization initiatives by governments coupled with increasing consumer demand for broadband and rising smartphone usage are driving massive network investments. Key telecom firms view multiservice platforms as strategic to handle exponentially rising data traffic and support new technologies.

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[ellipsus-writes]

The words they're afraid of.

(Read on our blog.)

The recently appointed Department of Defense head Pete Hegseth (formerly Fox News pundit, perpetually soused creepy uncle, and current group chat leaker of classified intel) banned images of the Enola Gay from the Pentagon’s website for the offense of “DEI” language. In keeping with the far right’s stated war on anything vaguely resembling diversity, equity and inclusion, even historical photos are up for cancellation. When a literal weapon of mass destruction is censored for being a bit fruity under the Trump administration’s war against inconvenient truths, what exactly is left untouched?

This is clown show stuff, but the stakes are far from funny. While some might be hesitant to compare the current administration to the very worst history has to offer, we can at least all agree that they are dyed-in-the-wool grammar Nazis. Policing language has been the objective of the MAGA culture war long before Project 2025’s debut—the wave of book bans orchestrated by astroturf movements like Moms for Liberty, and Florida’s 2022 Don’t Say Gay bill have already had a profound effect in the arena of free speech and freedom of expression (despite the far right’s long tradition of doublespeak performative free-speech martyrdom to the contrary). Don’t Say Gay ostensibly targeted K-3 education, but LGBT+ content at all levels of education (and beyond) was either quietly censored or entirely preempted in practice. The results were not just a war on so-called ideology, or words alone—but on reality and essential freedoms.

Now, words as innocuous and important as racism, climate change, hate speech, prejudice, mental health, and inequality are targeted as subversive. Entire concepts are being vanished from government institutions, scrubbed not only from descriptions but from metadata, search indexes, and archival frameworks.

If you don’t name a thing, does it exist?

These words are as numerous as they are generic: women, race, Black, immigrants, multicultural, gender, injustice. But what is painfully unserious is also particularly dangerous in its real-world consequences. The process of controlling words is a well-worn authoritarian tendency. Fifty-two universities are now under investigation as part of the President's effort to curb “woke” research and thought crimes. Institutions are being coerced to comply with a nebulous set of ideological demands, or face budgetary annihilation. That means cutting funding for entire departments, slashing financial aid, defunding scientific grants, and pressuring faculty to self-censor.

The possibilities for censorship extend far and wide—interfering, by extension, in everything from reproductive healthcare programs, to libraries and museums. The Trump administration’s proposed budget slashing all federal funding for libraries, including the Institute of Museum and Library Services, will effectively gut an infrastructure that supports over 100,000 libraries and museums across the country—community centers, educational lifelines, internet access points, and archives of marginalized histories (starting with the Smithsonian Institution).

When you erase access, you erase participation. And when you erase participation, you erase people, and the means by which future generations might even learn they existed. A culture that cannot remember is a culture that cannot resist.

The erasure is, yet again, unsurprisingly targeted at minorities and LGBT+ people. The National Parks Service quietly revised the Stonewall Monument’s website to remove references to transgender people—a fundamental part of the original protests. Not an oversight, not a mistake, but a deliberate excision—one point in a wider plan of erasure depicted in stark detail in Project 2025, a blueprint to dismantle civil rights, defund LGBT+-related healthcare, and rewrite history from the ground up.

Dehumanization by deletion—welcome to the reactionary resurgence of doubleplusungood governance. In Trumpland, words are weapons—but not in the way they intend. Their fear of language betrays its power; that’s why they’re trying so hard to police it.

Words hurt them.

Hurt them back.

- the Ellipsus Team

[mariacallous]

https://meidasnews.com/news/republican-mayor-of-3rd-largest-city-in-az-endorses-harris

John Giles, the Republican Mayor of Mesa, Arizona, wrote an OpEd today for the Arizona Republic stating the reasons why he is endorsing Kamala Harris for President. Mesa is the 3rd largest city in Arizona, and the Arizona Republic is the largest newspaper by circulation in the crucial battleground state. 

Giles listed the following reasons why he can't support Donald Trump: 1. He refused to accept the outcome of the 2020 election, and continues to do so. 2. He continues to trash the American legal system to delegitimize it. 3. He orchestrated the "fake elector" scheme in Arizona. 4. He orchestrated the sham "audit" of the election by the Arizona Senate and Cyber Ninjas. 5. He blocked the bipartisan border bill negotiated in the Senate. 6. He treated Infrastructure Week like a joke when cities like his badly needed it.

7. He is a convicted felon and threat to the nation. 8. He has threatened to abandoned NATO. 9. He has eroded public confidence in our institutions. 10. His advisors and associates drafted Project 2025, which is a threat to our freedoms. 11. He is crude and vulgar. Giles then listed the reasons why he isn't just anti-Trump, he is also pro-Harris: 1. The Administration delivered on their promise with infrastructure funding for the Phoenix-Mesa Airport, and made technological investments in the transportation sector. 2. Thousands of new jobs are being created in Arizona with the CHIPS Act. 3. She has taken a strong stand against gun violence. 4. She has taken a strong stand for women's rights which are under assault from MAGA Republicans.

Giles then concluded with the following: "We can choose a future for our children and grandchildren based on decency, respect and morality — or succumb to the crudeness and vulgarity of Trump and J.D. Vance and the far-right agenda they would champion.

Arizona leaders like McCain and Sen. Mark Kelly have embodied the commitment to country over party. And it’s that same high caliber of character and leadership I see in Vice President Harris.

That’s why I’m standing with her. Kamala Harris is the competent, just and fair leader our country deserves. This year too much is at stake to vote Republican at the top of the ticket.

It will take Arizona Republicans, independents and Democrats standing together against a far-right agenda. Let us put country over party by voting to stop Trump and protect our democracy."

Powerful stuff. 

Winning back Arizona is crucial for Donald Trump. It is difficult to see any electoral path to victory for Trump without Arizona. He has continued to support candidates in that state like Kari Lake and Blake Masters who are toxic to moderate voters. He continues to attack the McCain family, who remain popular with those same moderate Arizona voters. 

This endorsement by Giles certainly doesn't help Donald Trump, and gives a big boost to Kamala Harris in Arizona.

[ceruark]

all we are is bullets

summary: the city knows him as phainon, but you know him as khaslana. -> now playing: "demolition lovers" by my chemical romance

words: 2.4k cw: slightly suggestive but no explicit nsfw notes: vaguely dystopian/cyberpunk au a/n: i'm sorry in advance </3

the city knows him as phainon.

phainon, the deliverer, a chrysos heir, one of okhema’s great heroes who saved the capital city and nation at large from the subjugation of a corrupt organization that had already targeted other nations, like the xianzhou luofu. 

the chrysos heirs had led the rebellion against the lord ravagers, an international crime group that had attempted to infiltrate amphoreus and implement a shadow government. lygus and his division had nearly succeeded, but somehow, the heirs had managed to create internal strife, and without a unified front, lygus’s plan failed and the ravagers were chased out of amphoreus— at least, those that evaded persecution were.

though all of the heirs are revered and praised for the sacrifices they made during the uprising, phainon and cyrene in particular were made the faces of it as the ones who brought it to an end. at that point, all the other heirs had been detained, so the two of them had shouldered the brunt of the work at the tail-end of the struggle— cyrene from the shadows and phainon in the spotlight, as the two had always been. 

now, just a little over a year since the dust settled, okhema is rebuilding— figuratively and literally. the operation that phainon had orchestrated involved bombing multiple of lygus’s bases after civilians had been relocated, and some major infrastructure needed to be rebuilt. additionally, CEOs and government officials that had been affiliated with lygus needed to be replaced, a process which was tedious and couldn’t be resolved as simply as the damaged parts of town could be. aglaea and anaxagoras had been at the helm of amphoreus’s temporary governing body for the time being, as some of the only unanimously trusted figures in the nation.

despite the threat having been vanquished, the heirs were more than happy to continue aiding and protecting the nation, no one moreso than phainon, the city’s knight in shining armor. 

the city knows him as phainon, but you know him as khaslana.

he’d shown up years before the other heirs were aware that amphoreus’s sudden string of tragedies were being caused by the ravagers— right on lygus’s doorstep. 

or yours, to be more accurate.

you were a runner for the ravagers, born into a life of crime thanks to your parents who had sold their souls long ago. some pitied you, but you were indifferent— you didn’t know any different than this life.

it’d been a lax day at the base the night he showed up. you collected some cash from some big mogul earlier that day and dropped it off to one of lygus’s lackeys before heading back to sit on your ass all day and be on standby. your boss and the other henchmen of the base were sat around a table playing poker when there was a knock at the door.

around the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, your boss had nodded in the direction of the door. “get that, yeah?”

you set your phone to the side and got to your feet, arming yourself with a high-voltage gun tucked behind your back as you cracked the door open.

the deliverer stood on the other side. 

through the sliver of the cracked door, you made out the guards stationed outside the base lying on the ground, unconscious.

you took the safety off the gun.

“elysiae’s golden boy,” you’d drawled, loud enough to immediately send the people behind you leaping into action. “to what do we owe the honor?”

he’d grinned at you, a thousand-watt smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“i’m here on official business,” he’d said pleasantly, as if you two were merely discussing the weather. “may i speak to lygus?”

he was quite possibly the only person in all of amphoreus that could show up to a ravager base, demand to speak to a lord, and get away with it— after all, he had.

over the next few years, khaslana had begun sowing the seeds necessary to ensure that lygus’s amphoreus operation would implode before it saw success. of course, lygus was aware that the young man had ulterior motives, but he was so fixated on wearing khaslana down into a true ravager and turning him into a lord that he decided to play along with his little game anyway.

ultimately, lygus had failed, but at a great personal cost to khaslana. the public didn’t notice it, but those close to him— the other heirs— had noticed the way his brightness withered away, the way the days, weeks, months and years spent masquerading as a ravager, as the flame reaver, and carrying out unspeakable acts in the name of gaining lygus’s trust and amassing power and status within the ravagers changed him. destroyed him.

you had noticed; after all, you had a front row seat to his demise.

it’d been nothing more than just an innocent fling at first, meant to be nothing more than a one-night stand. you were just a means to blow off some steam after a particularly rough mission, and he was just a pretty face and nice body. there was nothing emotional about it.

but then one night turned into two, into three, into fifteen before you ended up losing count altogether. fifteen, the last number you remember because it was your fifteenth time in bed with him when he’d broken down on you. 

in the aftermath, at some point, he’d started quietly weeping to himself. his back was turned to you, but in the dim lighting you could make out the way his broad shoulders shook, and feel the way the bed lightly trembled with the force of his sobs.

you weren’t a stranger to gentleness— in the dark corners of rooms, away from prying eyes, your mother had shown you it as a child before she’d been shot on a mission. it wasn’t something that came easy to you given the lack of expressing and receiving it in your adolescence, but it was buried somewhere deep, resurfacing for this man who had the will to withstand the sacrifices demanded of one’s personhood when running with the ravagers, but not the heart.

you’d gently pressed a hand to his bare back, and he’d stilled beneath it.

you hesitated— it felt cruel to call him khaslana at a time like this.

“phainon?” you’d called out, your voice softer than you’d ever heard it be in your entire life.

you’d held him. you pulled his head into your lap and held him as he wept, saying nothing and just running your fingers through his hair as he did.

you lost count after the fifteenth time because it stopped being soulless after that. you’d stopped being just a body— now, you were a comfort.

somewhere between seven and nine months after that night, you weren’t quite sure, you’d woken up before him for a change. dressed in nothing but his shirt and your underwear, you perched yourself on the windowsill of your bedroom, sipping on a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

he’d woken up some minutes ago— you could feel his stare on you even though your back was turned to him.

“why don’t you report me to lygus?”

it hadn’t been a question you were expecting.

“you’re not as dense as you make yourself out to be,” you responded easily. “you know as well as i do that lygus is aware you’re trying to take us down from the inside. why would i need to bother him with information he already has?”

“he doesn’t have proof,” khaslana had said. his voice sounded closer now, and you turned to meet his eyes. they were prettier than usual as they gleamed beneath the rays of sunlight that filtered in through the window. “you do.”

you looked back outside at the sprawling city beneath your apartment. “i don’t care whether or not lygus succeeds.”

khaslana settled down into the space beside you on the windowsill. “he doesn’t have your loyalty?”

“i’m not a ravager by choice,” you said, “i was just born one.”

he’d laughed lightly, but you caught the edge in it. “no fealty for your blood? that’s not the amphoreus way.”

you hummed, setting your cup and getting to your feet. throwing a look over your shoulder, you answered, “perhaps elysiae and okhema have been kinder to you than this place has been to me.”

he killed lygus with his bare hands nearly a year later.

you’d spent your last night with him not knowing that that’s what it would be. certainly he did, but he hadn’t said anything. maybe he wasn’t good at saying goodbye.

maybe you just didn’t mean as much to him as you thought you did.

the rebels ransacked your base last— perhaps, a final act of mercy, khaslana allowing you enough time to escape and evade arrest, and worse, possible execution. as a mere grunt, it was easy to slip off to some other shady part of amphoreus and find other underhanded means of making a living. you didn’t have much of a moral compass growing up, and you weren’t about to start having one now. 

it’s been nearly a year and a half since you’ve seen him. you do your best not to think about him, but that’s difficult to do when his face and legacy are plastered all over amphoreus and he’s the only memory of gentleness you have besides the woman who raised you.

you’re slogging through another shift at a bar in okhema’s red light district, a handful of streets tucked away by the slums that manage to just barely fly under the heirs’ radar now that they have their hands full with rebuilding efforts. you’re wiping down a table and entertaining conversation with a boisterous group in hopes of getting a larger tip when the bar owner stumbles onto the floor, clearly thrown.

he rushes up to you, sweating bullets, and demands, “need you in the back, now.”

brows furrowing in confusion, you watch as he flags down another waiter at the same time he begins ushering you toward the back. you drop the wet rag onto the table and flash the group a sweet smile, saying, “i’ll be back in just a minute, but they’ll take care of you in the meantime.”

you follow the owner into the back. just as he’s about to storm into his office, you ask, “the hell’s going on?”

the door flies open. khaslana— no, phainon— stands on the other side of it.

your voice withers out and dies somewhere in your throat. you feel rooted to the tile beneath your feet as his gaze rakes over you and lingers in places, leaving you feeling more exposed than waking up barren next to him had.

the owner, to your chagrin, shoves you inside the office with nothing but a rough “handle it” before slamming the door shut, trapping you inside with him.

when phainon meets your eyes, a strange fury bubbles up and bursts within you. maybe he can tell, the way his eyes soften when your gazes meet. 

you keep your tone neutral, feigning indifference. “what are you doing here?”

he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you. you hug your arms to your sides and fold into yourself. in lieu of an answer, he says, “you made it out.”

“i did,” you confirm. “if that’s all, you can go now.”

he laughs— that same laugh, soft and fluttery but undercut with some abrasiveness. “am i not welcome here?”

you make a show of giving him a once-over. “this is no place for okhema’s savior,” you say slowly, watching each word sink into him and weigh him down. “you should leave before you’re spotted.”

there’s something wry about his smile when he says, “i’m not as soft as i look.”

“maybe not,” you agree. “but this is still not somewhere a chrysos heir belongs.”

his face tightens, and oh, you hate that kicked puppy look. perhaps you’d feel worse if you didn’t know that he knows exactly what he’s doing, that he leans far more into manipulation than he cares to admit. “why are you pushing me away? why are you treating me like a stranger?”

“we are not familiar with each other,” you choke out.

hurt flashes across his face, tinged with rage. “you mean to tell me all of that meant nothing to you?”

“i mean to tell you that you are not the man i did that with.” before he can say anything, you push on, “you are not khaslana.”

phainon laughs. it’s wet with unshed tears, raw with emotion.

“how absurd,” he utters, “to say these are not the hands that are covered in so much blood. that touched you. that loved you.”

“you are not khaslana.” you say it firmly, like it’s the only truth in the world you are sure of. “khaslana does not have friends that worry after him, that would skin him alive if they found him here. khaslana does not have an entire nation’s adoration and a hero’s welcome every time he enters an establishment. khaslana’s smile does not show in his eyes before it even begins to cross his lips.”

phainon watches you— in shock, in silence.

“khaslana is dead,” you say lowly, the warble in your voice audible despite your best efforts to conceal it. “he perished in the final standoff against lygus.”

you force yourself to turn away from him once the first tear slips out of the corner of his eye and rolls down his cheek. you crack the door open, hesitating before him one last time.

“go live in the sun, phainon of aedes elysiae.”

you shut the door behind you. you briskly walk back toward the bar, swiping at your eyes as you go.

you cross the threshold and plaster on the best grin you can muster, winking at the first customer who flags you down.

you work through the late night into the early hours of the morning, when the bar is bustling and the crowds are booming and the most tips are to be made.

and by the time the sun rises, you’re already tucked into your bed, curtains drawn, hidden from its gaze and untouched by its warmth.

[unsolicited-opinions]

More on the Bankstown NSW Health nurses who claimed to have murdered Israelis at the hospital where they were employed and expressed the desire to do so again.

According to news reports from SBS and the ABC (which appear to be reputable) both nurses will (at least) be prevented from working as registered nurses in Australia.

That's good. That's the obvious, low-hanging fruit, no-brainer response and neither NSW Health Minister Ryan Park nor the Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency could do otherwise.

This is what any regulatory body would do, anywhere in the civilized world, if any licensed health professional was recorded claiming to have harmed (and/or intending to harm) any patient based on any national origin, any religion, or any ethnicity. Revoking their registration/license is the obvious, necessary action.

I think the bigger issue here is how widespread, normalized, and acceptable Jew hatred appears to be in Australia as so many defend the pair of nurses.

Here's Senator Fatima Payman defending them:

Senator Payman's pivot to an attack on an Imam seems to be the very same "whataboutism" which the illiberal left keeps saying they loathe.

Nobody smeared the reputation of Muslim Australians...except these two Muslim Australians.

Muslim neighborhoods in Sydney are not experiencing firebombings. They're not having nursery schools attacked. Nobody in the public health infrastructure has threatened the lives of Muslims, Palestinians, or Afghans.

Her claim that double standards are at play here is beyond ridiculous and the framing of these nurses as victims is profoundly dishonest.

If two Jewish Australian nurses were recorded claiming they'd murdered Muslim/Palestinian/Afghan patients at Australian public hospitals and planned to do so again, would Senator Payman make a video complaining that they've been punished and it's time to let it go? (Hint: No. She would not.)

The Muslim Vote Australia released this video claiming "...this is not just a double standard-it's an orchestrated moral framework where outrage is not dictated by the severity of an action, but by the one who commits it." (A conspiracy theory?)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by TheMuslimVote (@themuslimvoteau)

Text accompanying the video says that this is an "...orchestrated framework manufactured for political convenience while silence shields the powerful." (Again, this sounds like a conspiracy theory about Jewish media control.)

This video argues that the nurses' behavior is acceptable because of the "atrocities" and "genocide" taking place in Gaza. They should not be faulted, he argues, for their profound failure of professional ethics because of their feelings about the war.

If two Jewish Australian nurses were recorded claiming they'd murdered Muslim/Palestinian/Afghan patients at Australian public hospitals and planned to do so again, would this Imam make a video complaining that the subsequent outrage would be inappropriate? (Hint: No. He would not.)

I see the illiberal left constantly claiming that Israel uses the Holocaust to excuse atrocities. I see the illiberal left claim that antisemitism is a myth, a tool used by Jews to avoid accountability for crimes and moral failings.

This claim and these videos appear to be DARVO. They're doing exactly the same thing they accuse Jews of doing. They're weaponizing fears of Islamophobia in order to excuse crimes and moral failings while excusing them by lying about the war in Gaza.

I believe that if Jewish nurses anywhere in the civilized world claimed to have killed patients based on religion/ethnicity/origin and expressed the desire to do so again, mine would be only one of millions of Jewish voices calling for such Jewish nurses to be immediately sacked, de-registered, and investigated.

The thought I keep having isn't charitable and I'm concerned that it is bigoted, but it echoes in my head so loudly that I need to get it out:

Is it a part of Muslim culture to embrace the FA part of FAFO while refusing under any circumstances to accept the FO part?

Why are consequences for poor choices made by Muslims preaching/practicing violence never embraced as a matter of personal responsibility? In their world, the Palestinians have no agency and no responsibility for the horrible consequences of starting a war. These nurses, in this worldview, have no agency and no responsibility for their behavior because they're upset about the war which Islamist Muslims began and engineered to generate civilian casualties. In this worldview, any Muslims commiting crimes are exclusively victims, whose crimes are a response to oppression against them. This worldview casts Muslims only as victims, never as adults with agency and responsibility.

Can I recognize this as a repeating pattern without seeing myself as a bigot?

I don't think the Muslims I know and admire are Islamists, Jihadists, or Salafists. I don't think they endorse violence in the name of their faith.

I do think, though, that many of the moderate Muslims of the West, including some I know and like, do seem routinely to excuse it...using precisely these sorts of arguments and this very same counterfactual worldview.

So, am I an Islamophobe now?

That's not rhetorical, I'm actually asking. I'd like to know your thoughts.

[papoochu]

Next in the council series is "The Machine", Tomoe Tsurugi! Though for ArtFight, she'll go undercover as Tachibana Nagi!

Now that I have 3 council members up, I think I'll make a pinned masterpost on my blog if you want to see the others! 3 down, 9 more to go!

Background

Tachibana = noble samurai clan name symbolizing honor and legacy, deeply tied to Japan’s warrior history

Nagi = meaning “to mow down” or “to sweep away”; often used to describe the motion of a naginata, a sword, or wind in battle

Born 1967 in Tokyo to a strict traditional family, proud of their samurai lineage

Learned various martial arts and weaponry, but excelled in swordsmanship

Raised on stories of Onna-Musha, Tomoe Gozen, and the codes of bushidō

On her mother’s side, descended from survivors of the Nagasaki atomic bombing (1945)

Childhood During Japan’s Economic Miracle:

Raised amid Japan’s postwar boom, a time of gleaming technology and rising prosperity

While her father, a bureaucrat in the Ministry of International Trade and Industry, embraced modernization, her household remained steeped in samurai values: discipline, tradition, duty

Unbeknownst to them, Nagi had inherited genetic mutations from her hibakusha grandparents, survivors of Nagasaki’s blast

Frequently ill as a child (chronic fatigue, joint pain, unusual sensitivities), she was in and out of hospitals

Medical professionals were evasive, classmates cruel; whispers of “tainted blood” followed her

Early medical trauma and social alienation planted a seed of hatred for human fragility and societal hypocrisy

Early Signs of Blindness (Age 13):

Began experiencing night blindness, trouble reading, and disorientation in dim light

Eventually diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa: a progressive, degenerative eye condition

Her doctors quietly suggested the condition may be linked to her family’s radiation exposure, a lingering curse of Nagasaki

For Nagi, the diagnosis became not just a personal tragedy, but proof that the past can reach forward and rot the present

University Years:

While studying engineering and mathematics at the University of Tokyo, her sight deteriorated rapidly

Already known for her genius and prowess, she was approached by the council, who provided her with the resources to adapt her skills for her failing sight

By 24, she was legally blind

This coincided with the peak of Japan’s Bubble Economy: wealth rising, but so was corruption and moral decay (Recruit Scandal)

Rejected from elite job programs despite top academic performance

Her fury crystallized: flesh is weakness, society is hypocritical, and machines do not discriminate

She vowed to build a future where the flawed human body and corrupt human systems would be rendered obsolete

Founding Tachibana Tech (Age 24–28):

As Japan entered the Lost Decade, Nagi founded Tachibana Tech: a cybernetics and AI firm based on one principle: refining the human form through technology

She personally underwent neural interface surgeries, experimenting on herself to convert her remaining senses into data streams

Her vision did not return, but she received augmented perception - a new kind of sight born of code and signal

No longer “blind,” she became The Machine - detached, calculating, and unbound by human limitations

1995 – Kobe Earthquake & Technological Control:

Great Hanshin Earthquake devastated Kobe, exposed fatal weaknesses in Japan’s infrastructure and disaster readiness

Nagi quietly offered her AI to the state for predictive modeling and emergency logistics, then used the data to expand her surveillance reach

The state was incompetent. The people were panicked. Only machines-maintained order

Solidified her belief: Japan doesn’t need democracy - it needs an operating system

Rise of Tachibana Industries:

With Japan’s population aging and its political system paralyzed, Nagi’s company became indispensable - providing predictive governance tools, infrastructure AI, and covert intelligence services

Privately, she orchestrated digital blackmail campaigns, economic disruptions, and political reshuffling to consolidate influence

2011 – Fukushima Nuclear Disaster:

The Fukushima meltdown reopened national trauma - once again, revealing humanity’s hubris and helplessness

To Nagi, it was the final confirmation:

Nagasaki made her blind

Kobe made her a player

Fukushima made her sovereign

Emotion, tradition, empathy - these were relics

Only through data, order, and engineered governance could civilization survive itself

Present Day (Age 49):

Leads a corporate-state hybrid that quietly shapes policy, surveillance, and commerce across East Asia and beyond

Believes that Japan must return to its warrior roots - but not through swords or blood, through discipline, hierarchy, and machine logic

Her mission: eradicate human fragility; a society where order is no longer maintained by the fallible human hand, but by precision systems

Design Notes/Character Study

Character Inspo for main outfit:

Garuda (Warframe), Shen (Kung Fu Panda)

Note: Garuda is based on Indian mythology, while Shen is based on Chinese - use other references for cultural nuance, as this character is Japanese

Modernized kimono

Red, black, white

Tech inspo:

Neon Genesis Evangelion, PCB, Signalis

Parallels to Gendo Ikari

Evangelion Unit-01

Cultural/historical references

Mu = nothingness

Oni

Onna-bugeisha and Tomoe Gozen

Nagasaki

Seismic patterns on shirts

Rising sun/chrysanthemum seal on obi = authoritarianism/conquest

Wields a naginata

Watched videos of national women's competitions @ 0.25 speed T-T

Has devoted her life to the council

Retinitis pigmentosa does not usually have any physical symptoms

Her eyes are pale red/pink from the tech implants

Glowing for artistic flair

Glasses are blackout glasses (opaque)

Company emblem is a sword

Believes her mother gave her weakness

President Snow: No objections to violence; but always with reason

[naxalbari1967]

Israel Is the Empire’s Last Fortress in the Arab World

Western powers did not fall in love with Israel because they cared about Jews, democracy, or shared values. They loved Israel because it served a purpose. From the moment of its creation, Israel offered imperialism exactly what it needed in the Middle East: a loyal outpost armed to the teeth, hostile to anti-colonial movements, plugged into global finance, and willing to do the dirty work the West did not want to be seen doing. Israel is not just a country. It is a geopolitical project. A colonial watchdog. A forward operating base. A Western aligned ethnostate sitting on top of oil routes, radical movements, and strategic chokepoints. Its job was always to break the back of Arab unity, sabotage Third World socialism, and keep the region too fragmented, too unstable, and too intimidated to ever challenge Western extraction or corporate dominance. That is why the West loves Israel. Not because it is good. Because it is useful.

From the start, Israel was a settler colonial mirror of Europe itself. It was founded not just by survivors of genocide but by ideological Zionists who believed in colonizing land with armed pioneers, displacing natives, and building a new society through force. That is the same template the British used in Kenya and Rhodesia. The same one the French used in Algeria. And Israel knew it. The first Zionist settlers studied British colonial manuals. They mimicked the language of bringing civilization to the desert, even though the land was already alive with people and history. That framework made Israel instantly legible to Western colonial elites. It looked familiar. It sounded right. It followed their logic. It was not a challenge to empire. It was the continuation of it under new branding.

When the British left Palestine, they did not destroy colonial infrastructure. They handed it over. Israel took the legal frameworks, land seizure laws, and counterinsurgency methods the British had used to crush Arab revolt in the 1930s and used them again, this time as an independent state. The Nakba was not just a spontaneous war. It was a carefully orchestrated campaign of expulsion, ethnic cleansing, and military dominance, justified through the same civilized versus savage dichotomy that Europe had been using for centuries. And when the dust settled, the Western powers recognized Israel immediately. They gave it arms, loans, and diplomatic cover. Not because they believed in Jewish safety but because they saw a strategic ally in the heart of Arab land.

The timing was not a coincidence. After World War II, the Middle East was boiling over with anti-colonial revolutions. Egypt under Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal. Iraq overthrew the British backed monarchy. Syria was wobbling between military coups and Baathist socialism. Palestine was a powder keg. Oil had turned the region from a colonial backwater into a centerpiece of global power, and Western powers had to choose. Either lose control to Arab nationalism, or insert a proxy that could tip the scales. Israel was that proxy. A garrison state armed for war. A place where white Europeans could settle, militarize, and serve as a permanent threat to any Arab regime that stepped out of line.

This is why the United States, Britain, and France did not just support Israel. They armed it. Funded it. Protected it. In 1956, Britain and France literally teamed up with Israel to attack Egypt after Nasser nationalized the canal. That war exposed the declining imperial reach of the old European powers, but it also made something else clear. Israel was not just defending itself. It was an extension of colonial power. That pattern never changed. In 1967, Israel’s preemptive strike destroyed Egypt, Jordan, and Syria’s air forces on the ground. It seized huge swaths of territory. And the West cheered it on. The United States started pumping in more aid. NATO allies opened the floodgates of weapons transfers. Israel became a cornerstone of Western military architecture in the Middle East. Just like Turkey to the north and Saudi Arabia to the east. All dictatorships. All repressive. All serving Western interests.

But Israel was not just a military asset. It became a tool of psychological warfare. Western media portrayed it as a democracy under siege surrounded by irrational, violent Arabs. That framing did two things. It erased Palestinian suffering. And it gave the West moral cover for propping up apartheid, occupation, and war crimes. The Israeli soldier became the poster child for Western civilization defending itself against the chaos of the Third World. It was imperial porn. A way for the United States and Europe to indulge their fantasies of toughness and innocence without getting their hands dirty. Every Israeli bombing raid, every checkpoint, every assassination was repackaged as self defense. As if Israel were just a small house with a big gun trying to survive in a bad neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Israel exported counterinsurgency tools around the globe. It trained Latin American death squads, helped South Africa during apartheid, sold surveillance tech to dictatorships, and advised on torture methods used in United States black sites. Mossad became a brand. Israeli weapons companies made billions selling battle tested gear. Tested, of course, on occupied Palestinians. For Western powers, this was perfect. They got to support a technologically advanced ally that could fight their enemies, experiment on colonial subjects, and sell the results back to the empire. That is not an alliance. That is subcontracted colonialism.

And let us be clear. The West never loved Israel out of guilt for the Holocaust. The same countries that claim to stand with Israel today were the ones that closed their borders to Jewish refugees in the 1930s. The United States turned away ships full of Holocaust survivors. Britain locked Jews in camps in Cyprus. After the war, Europe’s goal was not to protect Jews. It was to get rid of them. Zionism gave them an excuse. Let them go to Palestine. Let them fight Arabs instead of asking for reparations. Let them build a nationalist state far from Europe’s shattered conscience. That was not solidarity. It was strategic displacement. And when Israel started pulling its weight militarily, the West rewarded it. Not because it was moral. But because it was effective.

Israel’s role today has not changed. It is still the front line of empire. It still receives more United States military aid than any country on Earth. It still gets cover at the United Nations while it bombs refugee camps. It still licenses its security tech to every fascist regime that can afford it. It still fragments the Arab world, sucks up resources, and destabilizes any movement for regional independence. And every time the United States needs a war tested, a drone system trialed, or a resistance movement crushed, Israel is ready to perform.

The Western love for Israel is not about shared democracy, religion, or history. It is about control. It is about empire. It is about having a nuclear armed, heavily surveilled, militarized enclave sitting on top of Arab oil and resistance. Doing what Western powers used to do directly. Now outsourced to a nation that built itself in their image. Israel wins wars because it was designed to win them. And the West cheers it on because it built Israel to do exactly that.

[girlactionfigure]

Yes, You Are Right, 6 Million Is Not a True Number... It Might Actually Be Higher...

To those who dare question the reality of the Holocaust or minimize its horrors: your denial is an insult to history, truth, and the memory of millions who perished. plus the evidence is overwhelming, the testimonies irrefutable, and the suffering immeasurable. Holocaust denial is not just ignorance—it's an sinister form of antisemitism that seeks to erase the atrocities committed by the Nazis. 

As we witness more and more how some try to deny out painful history, here's a detailed account to reaffirm the undeniable truth, we will review some of the death camps, killing techniques, and casualty figures.

1/ Intro: The Holocaust, well recorded.

Orchestrated by Nazi Germany, it resulted in the systematic murder of approximately 6 million Jews. However, recent research suggests this figure might be even higher. The full extent of the atrocities is staggering and still being uncovered. The scope of this genocide went beyond the initial estimates, with ongoing studies revealing more mass graves, hidden documents, and survivor testimonies that paint a grimmer picture of the Holocaust's true scale. The meticulous records kept by the Germans provide detailed insights into the numbers and methods of murder, underscoring the planned and methodical nature of this genocide.

2/ Auschwitz-Birkenau.

The largest and most infamous Nazi concentration and extermination camp, saw the deaths of at least 1.1 million Jews. Located in Poland, it became a symbol of the Holocaust's horror. Victims were subjected to inhumane conditions, forced labor, and medical experiments before being murdered. The camp's infrastructure, designed for maximum extermination efficiency, included gas chambers capable of killing thousands at a time and crematoriums to dispose of the bodies, highlighting the industrial nature of the genocide. Detailed records of transports, prisoner numbers, and deaths were meticulously kept, leaving a chilling account of the atrocities committed.

3/ Treblinka.

Another extermination camp in Poland, witnessed the murder of around 870,000 Jews. The camp operated with a singular purpose: mass murder, primarily through gas chambers. Victims were transported to Treblinka in tightly packed trains that was made to use to transport livestock, often enduring days without food or water, only to be killed upon arrival. The camp's operations were covered in secrecy, with few survivors to testify to the horrors. This near-total annihilation of those sent to Treblinka exemplifies the ruthless efficiency of the Nazi death machine, and here again they detailed and saved all transport lists and death counts and meticulously recorded it.

4/ At Belzec. 

Also in Poland, approximately 600,000 Jews were killed. The camp's efficiency in extermination, with most victims murdered upon arrival, underscores the industrial scale of the Holocaust. Belzec's gas chambers, initially primitive and later more sophisticated, were capable of killing thousands daily. The camp's location, chosen for its proximity to major Jewish populations, ensured a steady stream of victims. The methods of murder at Belzec were continuously refined, demonstrating the Nazis' relentless pursuit of their genocidal goals. Detailed records of each transport and extermination were kept, providing a grim accounting of the lives lost.

5/ Sobibor. 

Yet another death camp in Poland, saw the deaths of about 250,000 Jews. Sobibor was part of Operation Reinhard, the Nazi plan to exterminate the Jews of occupied Poland. The camp's gas chambers, disguised as showers, were used to deceive and murder. Despite its short operational period, Sobibor's impact was devastating. The camp's destruction by the Nazis in an attempt to hide their crimes could not erase the evidence of the atrocities committed there, which have been painstakingly reconstructed through survivor testimonies and archaeological efforts. The Nazis' meticulous record-keeping included transport lists and death counts, which have been crucial in reconstructing the scale of the atrocities.

6/ Majdanek. 

A concentration and extermination camp near Lublin, Poland, resulted in the deaths of around 78,000 Jews. Originally a labor camp, it later incorporated gas chambers to increase the killing efficiency. Unlike other camps, Majdanek was liberated largely intact, providing a grimly detailed picture of the Holocaust's mechanisms. The camp's dual function as a labor and death camp highlights the varied methods the Nazis used to exploit and exterminate Jews. The vast array of personal belongings left behind bears silent witness to the lives lost. Detailed German records, including death certificates and transport logs, provide further evidence of the systematic nature of the genocide.

7/ Chelmno. 

The first extermination camp established, killed approximately 152,000 Jews. Located in Poland, Chelmno used gas vans to murder its victims. The victims were deceived into entering these mobile gas chambers, believing they were being transported to new locations. This method of murder, though less well-known, was an early experiment in mass killing that paved the way for the more extensive gas chambers of other camps. Chelmno's role in the Holocaust was crucial, setting a precedent for subsequent extermination efforts. The Germans kept detailed records of each transport and the number of victims, underscoring the methodical planning behind the genocide.

8/ The Einsatzgruppen. 

Nazi death squads, were responsible for the mass shootings of over 1 million Jews across Eastern Europe, particularly in the Soviet Union. Mass graves continue to be discovered, revealing the true scale of their operations. These mobile killing units followed the advancing German army, executing Jews and other perceived enemies in mass shootings. The Einsatzgruppen's activities are among the most brutal and direct forms of genocide, often involving local collaborators and leaving behind a legacy of terror and loss in countless communities. The Germans meticulously documented these operations, with reports detailing the number of victims and locations of mass shootings.

9/ Ghettos.

In addition to extermination camps, ghettos played a significant role in the Holocaust. The Warsaw Ghetto, the largest, confined over 400,000 Jews. Starvation, disease, and deportations to death camps decimated the population. The living conditions in the ghetto were inhumane, with overcrowding, insufficient food, and rampant disease. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, a heroic but doomed resistance effort, stands as a testament to the resilience and courage of the Jewish people in the face of systematic annihilation. The ghetto's eventual destruction symbolized the relentless nature of Nazi persecution. German records of ghetto populations and deportations provide detailed accounts of the suffering endured by its inhabitants.

10/ The Lodz Ghetto. 

With around 160,000 Jews, suffered similar fates. Ghettos served as holding areas before deportations to extermination camps, with many inhabitants perishing due to inhumane conditions. The Lodz Ghetto, one of the longest-lasting, was marked by forced labor and brutal living conditions. Its eventual liquidation sent tens of thousands to their deaths in Auschwitz. The ghettos' purpose was multifaceted: to isolate Jews, strip them of their possessions, and ultimately, to facilitate their extermination. The Nazis kept detailed records of ghetto inhabitants, work assignments, and deportation lists, all of which contribute to the historical understanding of the genocide's scope.

11/ Theresienstadt.

Presented as a "model ghetto" to deceive the world, was actually a transit camp for Jews sent to extermination camps. Around 33,000 Jews died within its walls, while many more were deported to their deaths. Theresienstadt was used for Nazi propaganda, showcasing it as a "self-governing" Jewish settlement to mislead international observers. In reality, it was a place of suffering and death, where cultural and intellectual life persisted only as a fragile form of resistance against the overwhelming oppression and impending doom.

Too much for 1 thread.

There are dozens of more camps, massacres, events and figures, that it is impossible to include everyone, so in the next chapter we will briefly go over all the other known facts. 

Summing up the horrific toll, we have:

- Auschwitz-Birkenau: 1.1 million Jews - Treblinka: 870,000 Jews - Belzec: 600,000 Jews - Sobibor: 250,000 Jews - Majdanek: 78,000 Jews - Chelmno: 152,000 Jews - Einsatzgruppen mass shootings: 1 million Jews - Warsaw Ghetto: over 400,000 Jews - Lodz Ghetto: 160,000 Jews - Theresienstadt: 33,000 Jews - Mauthausen: approximately 38,000 Jews - Bergen-Belsen: around 37,000 Jews - Dachau: about 28,000 Jews - Buchenwald: approximately 56,000 Jews - Ravensbrück: around 20,000 Jews - Sachsenhausen: about 30,000 Jews - Gross-Rosen: around 46,000 Jews - Stutthof: approximately 65,000 Jews - Plaszow: around 8,000 Jews - Westerbork: about 103,000 Jews - Drancy: approximately 70,000 Jews - Natzweiler-Struthof: around 20,000 Jews - Neuengamme: approximately 42,000 Jews - Poniatowa: approximately 14,000 Jews - Janowska: about 40,000 Jews - Kaiserwald: around 25,000 Jews - Malines (Mechelen): approximately 17,000 Jews - Sered: around 12,000 Jews - Jasenovac: around 25,000 Jews - Maly Trostenets: about 65,000 Jews - Babi Yar: over 33,000 Jews killed in just two days - Kovno Ghetto: approximately 30,000 Jews - Vilna Ghetto: about 55,000 Jews - Rumbula: around 25,000 Jews - Riga Ghetto: approximately 30,000 Jews - Minsk Ghetto: around 50,000 Jews - Kaunas Ninth Fort: over 30,000 Jews - Minsk Fort: around 65,000 Jews - Lublin Ghetto: about 40,000 Jews - Lvov Ghetto: approximately 100,000 Jews

Adding these additional figures gives us: 1.1 million (Auschwitz-Birkenau) + 870,000 (Treblinka) + 600,000 (Belzec) + 250,000 (Sobibor) + 78,000 (Majdanek) + 152,000 (Chelmno) + 1 million (Einsatzgruppen mass shootings) + 400,000 (Warsaw Ghetto) + 160,000 (Lodz Ghetto) + 33,000 (Theresienstadt) + 38,000 (Mauthausen) + 37,000 (Bergen-Belsen) + 28,000 (Dachau) + 56,000 (Buchenwald) + 20,000 (Ravensbrück) + 30,000 (Sachsenhausen) + 46,000 (Gross-Rosen) + 65,000 (Stutthof) + 8,000 (Plaszow) + 103,000 (Westerbork) + 70,000 (Drancy) + 20,000 (Natzweiler-Struthof) + 42,000 (Neuengamme) + 14,000 (Poniatowa) + 40,000 (Janowska) + 25,000 (Kaiserwald) + 17,000 (Malines) + 12,000 (Sered) + 25,000 (Jasenovac) + 65,000 (Maly Trostenets) + 33,000 (Babi Yar) + 30,000 (Kovno Ghetto) + 55,000 (Vilna Ghetto) + 25,000 (Rumbula) + 30,000 (Riga Ghetto) + 50,000 (Minsk Ghetto) + 30,000 (Kaunas Ninth Fort) + 65,000 (Minsk Fort) + 40,000 (Lublin Ghetto) + 100,000 (Lvov Ghetto) = 6,706,000 Jews.

This sum, combined with other unrecorded deaths, ghetto liquidations, and hidden or lesser-known massacres, underscores the sheer scale of the tragedy. 

So when you feel the need to gain some attention by exploiting our painful history, know that this is one of the most recorded events ever, so beside being an absolute evil person, you also expose yourself as a dumb person as well.

REMEMBER, THAT EACH NUMBER REPRESENTS A LIFE BRUTALLY CUT SHORT!! 

NEVER AGAIN!! 

AP

@APbrooklyn_NY

[daintilyultimateslayer]

CBDC technology partner India

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OUR CONTACTS

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+91 97044 56015

[blackstarlineage]

Thomas Sankara (1949–1987) was a revolutionary leader, military officer, and president of Burkina Faso who became an iconic figure in African politics for his commitment to self-reliance, social justice, and anti-imperialism. Born on December 21, 1949, in the then French colony of Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso), Sankara joined the military in his youth, where he rose quickly through the ranks. He was influenced by progressive and revolutionary ideas, particularly those of Pan-Africanism and socialism, and sought to transform his country into a model of independence and development.

Sankara came to power in a 1983 coup d'état, overthrowing the government of Jean-Baptiste Ouédraogo. At the age of 33, he became president of Burkina Faso, and immediately set about implementing radical reforms aimed at eradicating poverty, corruption, and dependence on foreign aid. He changed the country's name from Upper Volta to Burkina Faso, meaning "Land of Upright People," to reflect a new national identity based on dignity and self-determination.

Sankara’s leadership was characterized by bold, progressive policies. He launched large-scale public health and education campaigns, promoted gender equality (appointing women to key positions in government and supporting women's rights), and emphasized environmental sustainability through reforestation projects. He also spearheaded the construction of infrastructure and took a strong stance against foreign influence, particularly the exploitation of African resources by Western countries. Sankara's government was anti-imperialist, and he worked to reduce Burkina Faso's dependence on foreign aid, promoting self-sufficiency through initiatives like domestic agriculture and local production.

Despite his popularity among many Burkinabé people and in Africa as a whole, Sankara’s policies and bold reforms created enemies, both domestically and internationally. His strong stance against corruption and the privileges of the elite alienated many, and his efforts to challenge the influence of the West led to tensions with France and other former colonial powers.

On October 15, 1987, Sankara was assassinated in a coup orchestrated by his former ally, Blaise Compaoré, who had served as his close confidant and vice president. The circumstances surrounding Sankara's death have remained controversial, with some believing that it was a conspiracy involving both internal and external forces. Following his assassination, Compaoré took power and reversed many of Sankara’s policies, leading to a period of greater reliance on foreign aid and the return of more traditional political structures.

Thomas Sankara's death was a tragic turning point in Burkina Faso’s history, but his legacy endures. He remains an enduring symbol of revolutionary change, self-determination, and the fight against imperialism. His vision of a united, self-sufficient Africa continues to inspire activists and leaders around the world. While his life was short, his ideals and his commitment to justice have cemented him as one of Africa's most influential and admired leaders. 🇧🇫

[jewish-sideblog]

Ilhan Omar tweeting “Follow the money” and “It’s all about the Benjamins” is so funny to me because. Obviously, it’s intended to weaponize leftist anticapitalist sentiments against the Scary Jews that supposedly control international banks.

But if you do actually go follow the money, you find out that the people who orchestrated the attack and rekindled all this violence are multi-billionaires living in Qatar. You find out that the reason Gaza’s infrastructure has been in shambles for twenty years despite receiving millions in financial aid is that Hamas funnels hundreds of millions of dollars into their military, and hundreds of millions more into investment portfolios and cryptocurrency for their leadership while ignoring the plight of the average Gazan. You find out that after Hamas leadership convinced impoverished Gazans to murder children living in farming communes, they sat back and watched from a thousand miles away.

Follow the money, and you’ll find class warfare disguised as an international conflict. Follow the money, and you’ll find what you always find: The richest among us, patting themselves on the back for once again managing to get a bunch of poor peasants to kill each other for profit.

[limesquares]

Could you talk about the ‘dead god’s blood’ you keep mentioning?

Like what kinda god did it come from and how does the freak (Regan) get it 🌚

Aether, also known as giant’s blood, god’s blood, or sometimes quintessence, is a formless, superphysical substance and integral part of life for people in Balor. It is mined out from the colossal corpse of a dead giant whose skull rises over the city, and whose flesh-like remains lay beneath it. Below are concepts for how aether is mined.

 Pure aether (below) is extremely volatile and is contained by specialized materials, except for in specific laboratory settings.

While people like Regan (freak) can integrate it into their bodies, the majority of aether is used in infrastructure, a large circulatory system embedded into the city that keeps it functioning; like keeping railways operational (below) and heating the city to keep it from freezing over, among other things.

As for how someone can get their little freak hands on it, there are legal ways of doing this, and it helps to work at the corporation that monopolizes aether engineering. Although Regan got her spectrals as a result of a DIY bathtub infusion in grad school that she orchestrated all by herself :)

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 3: Denial and Discovery

Warning: This man manhandling you 🫠🥵😵

Ever since you woke up that chilly Tuesday morning, you felt something was off. The sirens outside were more prevalent than usual, the garbage man haven’t arrived as usual, and your wifi was gone. You assumed it was just another disastrous day in the world’s most dangerous city, but you soon learned that it’s much more than that. On your way to work, you had a chance to discover city’s chaos.

The bus, packed with the usual Tuesday morning crowd, lurched to a sudden, screeching halt. The abrupt stop sent you flying forward, your forehead connecting with the unyielding plastic of the seat in front. A collective groan, a symphony of commuter misery, rippled through the vehicle. "What the hell?" someone grumbled, their voice laced with frustration. The driver's voice, usually a monotonous drone, crackled with an unusual urgency over the intercom. "Folks, looks like we've got some kind of…system-wide malfunction. The city's going haywire. All the systems are down. We're stuck here for now.”

Your gut clenched. This wasn't just a momentary lapse in the city's technological infrastructure. This was something far more deliberate, more insidious. This was the kind of meticulously orchestrated digital disruption you'd only witnessed in dystopian movies. The kind that…well, the kind you knew how to do. But it was the kind of thing you would never actually do. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You had to get to Byte Me. Mark would be panicking. You pushed my way off the bus, joining the throng of frustrated commuters spilling onto the street. The city was a mess. Traffic lights blinked erratically, causing gridlock. Digital billboards flashed static. Even the automatic doors of shops seemed possessed, shuddering open and closed at random.

Each malfunctioning piece of tech was a nail in the coffin of your apprehension. This was bad. Really bad.

Reaching Byte Me, you fumbled with the keys, your hands shaking. The bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open. "Mark?" You called out, half expecting him to be buried under a mountain of frantic customers.

The shop was empty.

You phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number. I answered it hesitantly.

"Hello?"

A woman's voice, thick with tears and choked with sobs, filled your ear. "(Y/N)? It's… it's Mark's wife, Sarah. He… he was in a car accident. The traffic lights… they weren't working… he lost control and crashed. He’s at Gotham General. He won’t be coming to work…for a while…" The sentence hung in the air, a devastating blow that stole the breath from your lungs.

The phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering onto the counter, the sound echoing the shattering of your world. Mark. Mark was in the hospital, possibly fighting for his life, because of this digital chaos. The abstract fear you'd been wrestling with, the intellectual understanding of the disaster unfolding, suddenly solidified into a cold, heavy weight in your chest, a crushing burden of guilt and dread. This wasn't just a city-wide malfunction; it was personal. And you had a terrible feeling that you might be somehow responsible.

The rest of the day dissolved into a chaotic, indistinct haze. Byte Me, usually a sanctuary of quiet tinkering and the comforting hum of electronics, transformed into a pressure cooker, the air thick with anxiety and the frenetic energy of a digital emergency. The phone rang incessantly, a relentless chorus of distress calls that grated on your already frayed nerves. Each one was a desperate plea, a frantic cry for help to fix a broken link in the collapsing digital chain that held Gotham together. Small businesses, unable to process payments, teetered on the brink of ruin. Homes were left vulnerable, their smart security systems rendered useless, turning safe havens into potential targets. People were losing their livelihoods, their ability to provide for their families ripped away in an instant.

You worked until your fingers were raw, the tips stinging from constant typing and re-wiring. Your eyes burned, gritty and bloodshot, from staring at the flickering screens for hours on end. You felt like a lone sailor desperately trying to stem a raging tide with a leaky bucket, the sheer volume of the problem overwhelming you. Guilt, cold and heavy, gnawed at you from the inside out. Were you somehow involved in this catastrophe? Was Whispernet somehow responsible for the city’s collapse? Did one of your informants misused your services?

Hours after closing, the streetlights flickering outside cast long, distorted shadows across the shop. You hunched over my monitor, navigating the dark web, chasing whispers and rumors. The air hung thick with unease, a premonition you couldn't shake.

Hours after closing, the streetlights outside cast long, distorted shadows across the shop floor, turning familiar tools and equipment into menacing silhouettes. The only light came from the glow of your monitor, illuminating the obsessive concentration etched on your face. You hunched over your keyboard, navigating the serpentine pathways of the dark web, chasing whispers and rumors, hunting for any clue that could explain the digital apocalypse unfolding around you. The air hung thick with unease, heavy with an unspoken dread. It was more than just the stress of the day; it was a premonition, a dark feeling deep in your gut that you couldn't shake off. Something even worse was coming

Crack!

The sound ripped through the silence, making me jump. The front door had been forced open with one hit.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Thugs. Gotham was overrun with them, especially after a night like this. You scrambled behind the counter, your hand closing around the familiar grip of the baseball bat you kept for emergencies.

"Hello?" you called out, your voice trembling. "I have a bat, and I'm not afraid to use it!" Liar. You were terrified.

The figure moved closer, a hulking silhouette framed by the flickering neon sign outside, casting long, distorted shadows across the already cluttered shop. Panic seized you. You swung blindly, aiming for where Iyou thought the head might be.

The bat connected with… something solid. A grunt, more of surprise than pain. Then, a swift, strong movement, and the bat was ripped from your grasp. The force nearly threw you off balance. Old Bessie clattered to the floor, abandoned and useless.

You stumbled back, fear paralyzing me. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The figure stepped fully into the dim light filtering from the single working fluorescent tube overhead, and your breath hitched in your throat. It wasn't a thug. Not exactly.

Red Hood.

He was real. Standing right there, in your shop. You'd seen him on the news, read the talks online, heard the rumors swirling through the underworld. A vigilante, some said. A merciless killer, others claimed. Either way, he was a myth made flesh, a nightmare walking into your reality. And he looked pissed.

“We need to talk."

He was a figure sculpted from shadows and anger. His presence filled the room, a palpable threat that sent a shiver down your spine despite the layers of firewalls you usually hid behind.

He growled, his voice distorted by the helmet's modulator. "These attacks, their comms are routed through your system. You're behind this, aren't you?"

"I run a service," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "People use it. I don't control what they say." My mind raced. Deny. Deny everything. That was my only hope. "I just… I fix computers. Broken screens, fried motherboards, viruses… that's it.”

Jason’s mask didn’t betray his emotions, but his body language screamed disbelief. He took a step closer, and I could feel the heat radiating from his armored suit. The air crackled with unspoken threat. "Don't play coy with me. You built this. You know who's using it." The modulated voice was menacing. "You gonna tell me willingly, or am I gonna have to… persuade you?"

He was wrong, but denial felt futile.

Your carefully constructed wall of denial crumbled. "Okay! Okay, I… I do some… freelance work. Security consulting mostly. Some… less legal stuff too. Pentesting, vulnerability assessments… stuff like that. But I swear, I didn't… I didn't unleash any virus!"

"What kind of 'less legal stuff'?" He pressed, his tone unrelenting.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling like a jagged stone. "Information gathering… a little… hacking. Corporate espionage, mostly. Helping companies stay ahead of the competition. But nothing that would destabilize a whole city! I swear! I wouldn't even know how to do something like that."

Before he could respond, the front windows of Byte Me exploded inwards, showering us in shards of glass. Gunfire ripped through the air.

"Maroni's boys!" Red Hood roared, grabbing you roughly by the arm. He shoved you down, covering your body with his. The weight of his armored form was surprisingly comforting, a small shield against the hail of bullets that peppered the walls and shattered what was left of the electronics around us.

"Stay down!" he yelled over the din, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air. Without waiting for a response, he scrambled to his feet, a dark, armored behemoth against the backdrop of destruction. He returned fire with a deafening roar of gunfire, his pistols barking with a ferocity that matched the assailants. Brass casings rained down around us, glinting in the dim light.

He was fast, brutal, and efficient. But the shooters were relentless. You had to get out of here.

He hauled you up like a paper doll, pulling you to your feet. "Move! We gotta go!"

He didn't have to tell you twice. Together, you sprinted out the back of the shop, through the alleyway, bullets chipping chunks out of the brick walls around you. You stumbled and fell, scraping your knees on the pavement. Red Hood pulled you up again, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

You burst onto the street, and you saw it – his motorcycle, a sleek, black machine that looked like it belonged more on a racetrack than in Gotham's grimy streets.

“Oh no no no… I’m not getting on-”

Before you could finish that, his hands encircled your waist. He practically threw you onto the bike, settling you behind him. "Hold on tight!" He ordered, revving the engine.

"Wait! I can't just…"

His response was a snarl. "Shut up and hold on!"

And then you were moving, tearing through the streets, the roar of the engine drowning out the sounds of the chase. The wind whipped through my hair, carrying with it the scent of burning rubber and fear.

Two cars peeled out from the broken storefront of Byte Me, their headlights cutting through the night. Maroni's men. They were gaining on you.

Red Hood weaved through traffic with reckless abandon, narrowly avoiding collisions. Cars honked and swerved, their drivers enraged and terrified. He was skilled, you had to give him that. But the cars were relentless, gaining on us with every turn.

Then, you heard a sickening thud beneath the bike. An explosion ripped through the night, a blinding flash and a deafening roar. You were lifted off the ground, momentarily weightless, before crashing back down hard.

You tumbled off the bike, skidding across the ground towards the edge of the elevated highway. The impact stole your breath and sent waves of pain radiating through your body. You clawed at the ground, desperate to stop your slide. Below, a churning, black abyss.

The last thing you saw was Red Hood’s figure silhouetted against the flickering city lights before you plunged into the icy waters of Gotham Harbor.

The shock stole your breath, a physical blow that amplified the panic rising in your chest. You flailed, arms and legs thrashing uselessly, trying to orient yourself in the disorienting darkness. But the current was a relentless force, a churning, icy hand pulling you further and further under. Your lungs burned with the desperate need for air, a searing pain that intensified with each passing second. Your vision blurred, the city lights above dissolving into hazy, distorted shapes. The despair began to creep in, a cold and suffocating blanket threatening to extinguish your will to fight.

Just as you were about to succumb to the darkness, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, a sudden and unexpected salvation. The grip was firm, unyielding, hauling you upwards against the relentless pull of the water. You gasped for air, choking and sputtering, the frigid water burning your throat and lungs. Coughing violently, you managed to focus, your eyes blurry but recognizing the familiar red of his jacket. Red Hood. He saved you.

He dragged you, half-conscious and shivering uncontrollably, through the treacherous waters. The current fought against us, threatening to pull us both back into the depths. He was silent, his movements driven by a fierce determination. We finally reached the grimy docks of the Bowery harbor, the rough wood scraping against your skin as he hauled you onto the slippery surface.

His helmet, usually a symbol of intimidating anonymity, was cracked, almost shattered, its polished surface now marred by deep fissures. He reached up, his gloved hand hesitating for a moment, before pulling it off, revealing… a face. A surprisingly… appealing face, despite the harsh lines etched by the jagged scar that bisected his eyebrow. Rugged. Intense.

"Come on," he grunted, his voice rough but laced with a surprising urgency. He pulled a dark hood over his head, obscuring his face once more, but not erasing the image that had been briefly revealed. "We gotta move.”

He was injured. You could see him grimacing with every step, his movements stiff and labored. He favored one leg, his weight unevenly distributed. You limped through the deserted docks, the silence broken only by the lapping of waves against the pilings and your own ragged, gasping breathing. The air hung heavy with the scent of salt and decay, a familiar aroma in this forgotten corner of Gotham.

Finally, you reached it – a towering structure that loomed over the Bowery like a gothic sentinel. The Belfry.

He pushed open a heavy steel door, the hinges groaning in protest, and ushered me inside. The interior was surprisingly clean and high-tech, a stark and unexpected contrast to the grimy, decaying exterior. Banks of monitors glowed with complex data, casting an eerie light on the polished surfaces. The air hummed with the muted thrum of sophisticated technology.

And then you saw them – Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Robin – all staring at us, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. The weight of their gazes settled upon you, adding to the chill that already permeated your bones.

Jason was in worse shape than when he left, sporting numerous bruises and cuts that were rapidly blooming into angry purple welts. And then there was you, soaking wet, shivering, and looking utterly out of place.

You shrunk back, trying to blend into the wall, wishing you could disappear into the shadows. The guilt and fear were a heavy weight in your stomach.

Red Hood launched into a terse explanation, cutting you sideways glances every now and then. He recounted the events leading up to your near-drowning, painting you as a potential suspect but also acknowledging the lack of direct involvement.

When he finished, Babs spoke first, her voice calm and measured. "So, you think she's involved in the attacks, but you're not sure."

"She's got the skills, that's for sure!" said Jason with a pointed glare at you.

"And she’s been shot at by the Maronis," Tim added thoughtfully, his gaze sharp and analytical. "That suggests she's either involved in something they want, or she's become a liability to them.”

"She could be a target, or a useful pawn. Either way, we can't just let her go," Dick finished, his blue eyes filled with a concern that felt surprisingly genuine. He was assessing you, trying to gauge your intentions, your capabilities.

"So, what are you saying?" Jason asked, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. He shifted his weight, his muscles tense.

"What we're saying," Babs said, turning to you with a serious expression, "is that until we know for sure what's going on, and until it's safe for you to leave, you're staying here. At the Belfry."

"Oh…" was the only thing you managed to choke out, the word barely audible above the pounding of your heart. You were still trying to process everything that had happened in the past few hours - the attack, the fall, Jason rescuing you, and now, this. So, you were stuck with a bunch of superheroes who thought you were a criminal. At least Red Hood hadn't broken your legs over this. Yet.