#digital registration system

[ruelpsen]

Hey USAmerican followers: if you are eligible, please for the love of all that is good, go vote tomorrow if you haven't already voted early. There's so much on the line not only nationally, but internationally given how powerful and influential the US is on a global scale. Everyone presently worried about what the future might hold under a wannabe-fascist dictator wants you to do your part in preventing that outcome.

No matter what anyone tells you, voting is important and you should do it. If it didn't matter, why are many conservative politicians fighting tooth and nail to make it harder for you to vote? Of course, voting's not the only way to do your civic duty- getting involved in mutual aid, volunteering for causes and movements that matter to you, showing up for local politics, and many other ways are all important too!- but it's a damn good start and means a lot when it comes to elections this important.

[mysterioushimachal]

India’s Digital Addressing Revolution: DIGIPIN by India Post and ISRO

[kampalaedgetimes]

NIRA Pre-registration Step-by-Step full Tutorial

What is the new Pre-registration portal by NIRA? As Uganda embarks on a nationwide National Identification mass registration and renewal exercise, the National Identification and Registration Authority (NIRA) has rolled out an updated online pre-registration system. This system is designed to help ease congestion at registration centers and speed up the process of obtaining or renewing a…

[allhindinews24h]

प्रॉपर्टी रजिस्ट्री के नए नियमों से घर खरीदना हुआ आसान! जानिए 4 बड़े बदलाव Land Registry Rule

Land Registry Rule: अगर आप एक आम आदमी की तरह अपने सपनों का घर खरीदना चाहते हैं, तो ये जानकारी आपके लिए बहुत जरूरी है। पहले जब लोग घर या ज़मीन खरीदते थे, तो उन्हें बहुत परेशानियों का सामना करना पड़ता था। सरकारी दफ्तरों के चक्कर, बिचौलिए, फर्जी कागज़, और कई बार तो पैसा डूब जाने का डर भी बना रहता था। अब सरकार ने Land Registry Rule में 4 बड़े बदलाव किए हैं, जिससे प्रॉपर्टी खरीदना पहले से ज्यादा आसान…

[townpostin]

Jamshedpur’s MGM Hospital Launches App-Based Registration System

New Abha app initiative aims to cut waiting times and streamline patient processing Jamshedpur’s MGM Hospital introduces QR code-based registration system using the Ayushman Bharat Health Account app to reduce queues and improve patient experience. JAMSHEDPUR – MGM Hospital has rolled out a new patient registration system utilizing the Abha mobile app, aiming to significantly reduce waiting times…

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Keir Starmer appoints Jeff Bezos as his “first buddy”

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

Turns out Donald Trump isn't the only world leader with a tech billionaire "first buddy" who gets to serve as an unaccountable, self-interested de facto business regulator. UK PM Keir Starmer has just handed the keys to the British economy over to Jeff Bezos.

Oh, not literally. But here's what's happened: the UK's Competitions and Markets Authority, an organisation charged with investigating and punishing tech monopolists (like Amazon) has just been turned over to Doug Gurr, the guy who used to run Amazon UK.

This is – incredibly – even worse than it sounds. Marcus Bokkerink, the outgoing head of the CMA, was amazing, and he had charge over the CMA's Digital Markets Unit, the largest, best-staffed technical body of any competition regulator, anywhere in the world. The DMU uses its investigatory powers to dig deep into complex monopolistic businesses like Amazon, and just last year, the DMU was given new enforcement powers that would let it custom-craft regulations to address tech monopolization (again, like Amazon's).

But it's even worse. The CMA and DMU are the headwaters of a global system of super-effective Big Tech regulation. The CMA's deeply investigated reports on tech monopolists are used as the basis for EU regulations and enforcement actions, and these actions are then re-run by other world governments, like South Korea and Japan:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

The CMA is the global convener and ringleader in tech antitrust, in other words. Smaller and/or poorer countries that lack the resources to investigate and build a case against US Big Tech companies have been able to copy-paste the work of the CMA and hold these companies to account. The CMA invites (or used to invite) all of these competition regulators to its HQ in Canary Wharf for conferences where they plan global strategy against these monopolists:

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/cma-data-technology-and-analytics-conference-2022-registration-308678625077

Firing the guy who is making all this happening and replacing him with Amazon's UK boss is a breathtaking display of regulatory capture by Starmer, his business secretary Jonathan Reynolds, and his exchequer, Rachel Reeves.

But it gets even worse, because Amazon isn't just any tech monopolist. Amazon is a many-tentacled kraken built around an e-commerce empire. Antitrust regulators elsewhere have laid bare how Amazon uses that retail monopoly to take control over whole economies, while raising prices and crushing small businesses.

To understand Amazon's market power, first you have to understand "monopsonies" – markets dominated by buyers (monopolies are markets dominated by sellers – Amazon is both a monopolist and a monopsonist). Monopsonies are far more dangerous than monopolies, because they are easier to establish and easier to defend against competitors. Say a single retailer accounts for 30% of your sales: there isn't a business in the world that can survive an overnight 30% drop in sales, so that 30% market share might as well be 100%. Once your order is big enough that canceling it would bankrupt your supplier, you have near-total control over that supplier.

Amazon boasts about this. They call it "the flywheel": Amazon locks in shoppers (by getting them to prepay for a year's worth of shipping in advance, via Prime). The fact that a business can't sell to a large proportion of households if it's not on Amazon gives Amazon near-total power over that business. Amazon uses that power to demand discounts and charge junk fees to the businesses that rely on it. This allows it to lower prices, which brings in more customers, which means that even more businesses have to do business with Amazon to stay afloat:

https://vimeo.com/739486256/00a0a7379a

That's Amazon's version, anyway. In reality, it's a lot scuzzier. Amazon doesn't just demand deep discounts from its suppliers – it demand unsustainable discounts from them. For example, Amazon targeted small publishers with a program called the "Gazelle Project." Jeff Bezos told his negotiators to bring down these publishers "the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle":

https://archive.nytimes.com/bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/10/22/a-new-book-portrays-amazon-as-bully/

The idea was to get a bunch of cheap books for the Kindle to help it achieve critical mass, at the expense of driving these publishers out of business. They were a kind of disposable rocket stage for Amazon.

Deep discounts aren't the only way that Amazon feeds off its suppliers: it also lards junk-fee atop junk-fee. For every pound Amazon makes from its customers, it rakes in 45-51p in fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

Now, just like there's no business that can survive losing 30% of its sales overnight, there's also no business that can afford to hand 45-51% of its gross margin to a retailer. For businesses to survive at all on Amazon, they have to jack their prices up – way up. However, Amazon has an anticompetitive deal called "most favoured nation status" that forces suppliers to sell their goods on Amazon at the same price as they sell them elsewhere (even from their own stores). So when companies raise their prices in order to pay ransom to Amazon, they have to raise their prices everywhere. Far from being a force for low prices, Amazon makes prices go up everywhere, from the big Tesco's to the corner shop:

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

Amazon makes so much money off of this scam that it doesn't have to pay anything to ship its own goods – the profits from overcharging merchants for "fulfillment by Amazon" pay for all the shipping, on everything Amazon sells:

https://cdn.ilsr.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/AmazonMonopolyTollbooth-2023.pdf

Amazon competes with its own sellers, but unlike those sellers, it doesn't have to pay a 45-51% rake – and it can make its competitor-customers cover the full cost of its own shipping! On top of that, Amazon maintains the pretense that its headquarters are in Luxembourg, the tax- and crime-haven, and pays a fraction of the taxes that British businesses pay to HMRC (and that's not counting the 45-51% tax they pay to Jeff Bezos's monoposony).

That's not the only way that Amazon unfairly competes with British businesses, though: Amazon uses its position as a middleman between buyers and sellers to identify the most successful products sold by its own customers. Then it copies those products and sells them below the original inventor's costs (because it gets free shipping, pays no tax, and doesn't have to pay its own junk fees), and drives those businesses into the ground. Even Jeff "Project Gazelle" Bezos seems to understand that this is a bad look, which is why he perjured himself to the American Congress when he was questioned under oath about it:

https://www.bbc.com/news/business-58961836

Amazon then places its knockoff products above the original goods on its search results page. Amazon makes $38b selling off placement on these search pages, and the top results for an Amazon search aren't the best matches for your query – they're the ones that pay the most. On average, Amazon's top result for a search is 29% more expensive than the best match on the site. On average, the top row of results is 25% more expensive than the best match on the site. On average, Amazon buries the best result for your search 17 places down the results page:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/03/subprime-attention-rent-crisis/#euthanize-rentiers

Amazon, in other words, acts like the business regulator for the economies it dominates. It decides what can be sold, and at what prices. It decides whose products come up when you search, and thus which businesses deserve to live and which ones deserve to die. An economy dominated by Amazon isn't a market economy – it's a planned economy, run by Party Secretary Bezos for the benefit of Amazon's shareholders.

Now, there is a role for a business regulator, because some businesses really don't deserve to live (because they sell harmful products, engage in deceptive practices, etc). The UK has a regulator that's in charge of this stuff: the Competition and Markets Authority, which is now going to be run by Jeff Bezos's hand-picked UK Amazon boss. That means that Amazon is now both the official and the unofficial central planner of the UK economy, with a free hand to raise prices, lower quality, and destroy British businesses, while hiding its profits in Luxemourg and starving the exchequer of taxes.

The "first buddy" role that Keir Starmer just handed over to Jeff Bezos is, in every way, more generous than the first buddy deal Trump gave Elon Musk.

Starmer's government claims they're doing this for "growth" but Amazon isn't a force for growth, it's force for extraction. It is a notorious underpayer of its labour force, a notorious tax-cheat, and a world-beating destroyer of local economies, local jobs, and local tax bases. Contrary to Amazon's own self-mythologizing, it doesn't deliver lower prices – it raises prices throughout the economy. It doesn't improve quality – this is a company whose algorithmic recommendation system failed to recognize that an "energy drink" was actually its own drivers' bottled piss, which it then promoted until it was the best-selling energy drink on the platform:

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

There's a reason that the UK, the EU, Japan and South Korea found it so easy to collaborate on antitrust cases against American companies: these are all countries whose competition law was rewritten by American technocrats during the Marshall Plan, modeled on the US's own laws. The bedrock of US competition law is 1890's Sherman Act, whose author, Senator John Sherman, declared that:

If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

Jeff Bezos is the autocrat of trade that John Sherman warned us about, 135 years ago. And Keir Starmer just abdicated in his favour.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/22/autocrats-of-trade/#dingo-babysitter

Image: UK Parliament/Maria Unger (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Keir_Starmer_2024.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jeff_Bezos%27_iconic_laugh.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[kumkaniudaku]

Midterm

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

Reading a congratulatory email with kind words and instructions to sign a lucrative offer was easy. Simply slip out of your third boring morning meeting, disappear into the surprisingly vacant courtyard, and spend no less than 30 minutes oscillating between excitement and sheer panic while clicking through pages of contracts to add your digital signature to an encrypted document. Kelvin followed the plan to the letter and then some. 

The hard part was stifling the urge to scream at the birds and trees during peak business hours. 

Voice low and eyes shifting in search of potential eavesdroppers, he sat in pensive silence to contemplate the gravity of his decision. In a little over a month, he'd be a Chicago resident. He'd wake up in his Chicago apartment, walk the Chicago streets, pass by Chicagoans on the way to his Chicago office, and then grab dinner ingredients at a Chicago grocery store. His license would change. Mail would need a new forwarding address. Updated voter registration, new doctors, a change in insurance, learning a transit system; change after change both excited and unnerved Kelvin all at once.

Part of him wanted to barge into his Head of Creative's office and slam his resignation on the table before clicking his heels together on the way out the door. Fuck this job. New and greener pastures were on the horizon! The other part, the terrified part of him that'd been worried sick since Saturday morning, couldn't even say the words out loud for fear that the wooden benches would absorb and tell his secret before he'd had time to craft poetic, well-thought-out lines. 

In his mind, Kelvin thought he'd managed to maintain an impenetrable poker face. To a stranger or work acquaintance unschooled in Kelvin-ology, he could come across as convincing enough to overlook. For Asia, watching him from the communal kitchen, worry causing his knee to bounce in triple time told a different story. 

"You know you can just go out there and talk to him, right?" Savannah's sarcastic introduction to an otherwise quiet moment cut through Asia's brain fog enough to garner attention as she shifted her weight from one side to the other. "I'm joking," Savannah laughed, trying to ease the tension between them. Asia's quick glance at the back of Kelvin's head provided the final number of a winning lottery sequence. "Wow, you really like him. Like, you two are a couple! I knew it." 

Asia tried to remain casual as she crossed her arms and shrugged. "What are you talking about? Kel is my work friend." 

"Must be a hell of a work friend for you to spend the night from his place. I noticed the cabinets, but I couldn't confirm until later that day when Kelvin took a meeting from the same place." 

Savannah's cheeky grin sparked fear in Asia's heart. Widening her eyes, she craned her neck to see who may have heard her business in the area.

She leaned closer, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "You can't say that out loud," she cautioned. "We're being discreet!" 

"Love you so much, Asia, but literally everyone knows."

"Everyone like who?" 

"Asia," Savannah reiterated. "Every. One. The main crew has a group chat and everything. You just won me $20 bee-tee-dubbs. I'll share, promise."

Panic should've set in for Asia. Maybe dread and a tinge of fear. They'd broken another rule and crossed another carefully considered boundary in the pursuit of each other. Asia should've been nervous about how their not-so-secret pining had run through the office rumor mill and what it might mean for perceptions of her professionalism as one of the few Black women in the building. But relief was the only emotion worth exploring in the immediate aftermath of Savannah's revelation. 

No more hiding. No more planning entrances five minutes apart or driving separate vehicles in busy morning traffic when one would suffice. They could share dinner leftovers during lunch and stop sneaking quiet giggles at jokes shared via text. No more hiding. 

Relief helped Asia slowly release the extra air tightening her lungs and expanding her chest. She nodded at nothing in particular. "I expect my cut in all ones. It's for our strip club fund." 

"Oooh, spicy," Savannah sang, stepping closer to speak in a hushed whisper. "So… how's it going with you two? How different is personal time Kelvin from work Kelvin?" 

"Uh, I mean, you know. He's…you know." 

Any sense of calm that offered a reprieve from an onslaught of complicated feelings was quickly replaced by the need to run out of the room and vomit. Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different. 

Words sputtered from her lips as she tried to offer an explanation vague enough to get Savannah off her ass. The quiet roar of glass panes sliding on a metal track clipped Asia's start-and-stop sentence, turning all attention to Kelvin as he stepped in, looking like he'd just had his heart ripped in two and was trying but failing to keep his emotions intact. Savannah didn't seem to notice when she flagged him over. Asia couldn't take her eyes off his frown and sullen expression. Kelvin knew his face had betrayed him as soon as he was close enough for a thorough look at the questions knitting Asia's brows together. 

Trying to play it cool, he swiftly pulled his hand out of his pocket and offered a wave to both ladies. "What's up?" A greeting he'd used a million times suddenly sounded bizarre. First mistake. 

"Hiii!" Savannah's severe lack of subtly pulled a reluctant laugh from Kelvin before he shifted his gaze to focus on Asia. 

"Asia. You good?" 

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? You good?" 

"I'm good now, yeah." 

Anxieties feasting on his mind momentarily paused in reverence for Asia's presence. A true breath of fresh air. One he'd fight tooth and nail to keep in his life, distance be damned. 

Savannah stood between the pair and their smitten grins, looking back and forth to see who'd make the first move. "This is just the cutest shit ever. I can't take it." Googly eyes slowly turned into blank stares aimed in her direction. Hint taken. "No, you're so right. I should get out of here. Asia, remember to put the thing on the slide at some point. In the one deck."

"Bye, Savannah!" Kelvin and Asia watched Savannah awkwardly scurry off to do only God knows what until they were safely alone. 

Without a buffer to fill in the gaps, all the nausea-inducing worry from the morning's events came flooding back for Kelvin in another crushing wave. Had he been thinking straight, he would've opted to save such delicate news for the privacy of his living room when all the thoughts sitting jumbled like Soul Train board letters were sorted into the proper place. Unfortunately, life-changing information sure to shake the still-wet foundation on which they'd built their relationship ran off with his rationale long ago. 

Kelvin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when words didn't come out. He tried again. Then, one more time before finally forcing, "I have…something to tell you," into the atmosphere. 

Asia tilted her head in curiosity. "So do I. Is yours good news or bad news?" 

"Doesn't matter," he answered, trying to smile through the rapid thudding in his ears. "You go first." 

Don't press, Asia. Resist! An inner monologue determined to usher Asia away from the sins of her past forced back 101 questions to make way for her surprise. "You know how the Moët client is looking for new artists for that summer series activation?" Kelvin nodded, vaguely remembering project details he'd contributed to in a past life. Asia reached into her back pocket to showcase two laminated passes on lanyards. "I convinced Chris and Sid to give me their passes so we could pull up. Now, we don't have to go all the way to Australia to see RINI. Fun, right?" 

Kelvin recognized the big reveal as something he should be excited about. And, had present circumstances not reared its ugly head, he'd have no trouble sharing Asia's toothy grin and silly dance. He tried to fight the heavy haze clouding his day by raising his hand for a high five and flashing a vacant smile. "That's great, baby. I'm excited. Really." 

So much for honesty.

Asia couldn't hide her skepticism, pushing her eyebrows high, and Kelvin couldn't hide his discomfort, which made him fidget with the contents of his front pockets.  

"Yeah," Asia answered, disappointment in his half-assed reaction instantly stealing the light in her eyes and turning her bright smile into a shell of itself. "Um, what was your news? Anything good?" 

Tact was never Kelvin's strong point. Breakups over text and ghosting were more his speed, no matter how much he hated that fact about himself. What everyone else saw as sleazeball behavior reserved for fuckboys deserving of eternal banishment to hell, he saw as protecting feelings. 

Promises were promises, and Asia was worth more than slipping back into bad habits. Kelvin had to rip the band-aid and deal with the residual blood later. "Remember the Chicago job?" he asked, wringing his hands.

Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks, but, dammit, she thought that meant traffic on the interstate or an annoying client ask, not the nagging tug of the Midwest. 

"Yeah," she answered cautiously. 

Kelvin adjusted the hydrant-red beanie on his head and sighed. Rip. The. Band-Aid. "They…called me back with all my negotiation demands met. And…”

"You took the job." 

Patience was never Asia's virtue. Why beat around the bush when they could lay all the bad shit on the table and try to salvage a few pieces good enough to keep for fond memories later? 

"Yeah." The finished sentence turned an abstract concept into reality, weighing so heavily on him that he found looking Asia in the eye and lifting his head too difficult. He repeated after her in a low, measured voice, "I took the job." 

Suddenly, Asia couldn't help but hyper-fixate on her surroundings. The low hum of two French door refrigerators holding employee lunches was annoying. It always had been, but today, it sounded like an army of flies buzzing around the mess Kelvin's news had created. Distant laughter made her nostrils flare. How dare someone find joy in a time like this? The kitchen was too big and too open to contain the grief rising within her. Then, the stupid ping of notifications on Kelvin's phone threatened to blow her gasket. The stimuli converged simultaneously, bringing fresh tears to prickle at her waterline. 

Asia forced them all back while Kelvin waited for her to say something to prove she didn't hate him. She extended a closed fist in his direction to match a closed-mouth smile. "Congratulations, Kel. I'm so proud of you. If we were somewhere else, I'd hug you." 

"Hug me to sneak in for a choke or a real hug?" 

"A real one," Asia chuckled, the sound of it returning to her stilted and lacking the mirth she intended. "I know you're bored here. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?" 

Past all the hurt feelings and rage bubbling in her chest, Asia couldn't allow herself to stomp out Kelvin's fire with negativity. She'd save that for a tearful phone call with Sabrina or a good cry in the shower. Kelvin needed reassurance that he'd made the right decision, not the moaning and wailing she had planned for a moment alone. 

"Yeah…" Kelvin paused to scan Asia's face for any sign of an impending adverse reaction but found none before he answered. Nothing. Not a shred of any identifiable emotion presented itself to Kelvin. Anxiety gripped him again. "Asia, don't shut me out. I know you have questions and fuckin' feelings. C'mon. Don't leave me out here by myself." 

"Not here." An almost undetectable waver in her voice was enough to shatter Kelvin's heart into a million pieces. He watched her blink back tears to speak again. "Can we just be happy, please? For a little longer?" 

He sighed, accepting defeat. "Okay." A mental reminder to add 'needs a moment before tough conversations' to his running list of things to know about Asia ran through his brain like neon letters on a marquee. 

His index and middle fingers brushed across his puckered lips, collecting affection he quickly passed on to Asia. She kissed the spot his lips once occupied as a silent promise to revisit the subject when heightened emotions had time to return to baseline. 

"You hungry? My treat." 

An olive branch. Collective ease passed between them once Kelvin flashed a toothy grin at Asia and gestured ahead of him toward the courtyard doors. "After you."

What Kelvin couldn't have in her raw, unfiltered thoughts, he was more than happy to gain in a spare moment of mindless chatter over sushi a block away. 

Something was better than nothing. 

If left up to Asia, Chicago and all its complications would disappear because of her commitment to ignoring them.

City sounds and radio chatter on Saturday evening had spent more time filling silent gaps of conversation than Kelvin and Asia had for two straight days. The elephant in the room quickly became the elephant at the dinner table late Thursday night when Asia side-stepped the topic to discuss Married at First Sight instead, the elephant in the bedroom when the thought of Chicago kept her mind wandering too much to enjoy Kelvin feasting between her legs, and the elephant in the backseat while she pretended not to notice her boyfriend stealing glances at the red light.

Given the chance, Asia could avoid broaching the topic for weeks. Kelvin, on the other hand, couldn't ignore issues festering into resentment day by day. Before long, he'd carefully label boxes and precious belongings to ship to their new home. Being on the brink of drastic change without a resolution wasn't an option.

Standstill traffic and a small car accident separating them from their destination provided the perfect opportunity to catch Asia in close quarters and force the issue. Kelvin took a deep breath and slowly turned the volume down on one of Tyler the Creators' piano-heavy tracks, earning a confused side-eye for his behavior. 

"Everything okay," Asia asked, shifting her body towards Kelvin so he could feel the full weight of her annoyance. 

He shrugged. "You tell me, Asia. I'm not the one tiptoeing around some really important shit right now. Is everything okay?" 

"Kelvin, not right now. We can talk about it when we get back tonight." 

Arms crossed at her chest, and a deep frown sent Asia retreating into herself, frustrating Kelvin to the point of no return. When he imagined the first roadblock in their relationship, hogging the covers or choosing the thermostat's temperature came to mind. He expected little hurdles to make room for the big stuff. The relationship-altering, make-or-break whammies either strengthened a couple or sent them careening toward total implosion. This behemoth was a tsunami of complications he didn't expect but wouldn't allow to throw him off course. 

"You said that last night and the night before. I'm tired of 'tonights!' It's happening, Asia! We can't get around the shit. So, talk to me right now!" Kelvin's body vibrated in time with his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel until he practiced in and out deep, soothing breaths brought him back off the ledge. Asia watched his shoulders slowly slump away from his ears before he reached over to rest a warm palm on her inner thigh to stroke his thumb against smooth denim, his eyes apologetic as he looked over at her. "I didn't ask you to be with me for no reason. Can we talk about what all this means for us?" 

Asia rested her hand atop his to twist the ring on his finger while she tried to gather words and explanations she'd practiced for days on end. "I don't know." 

In all her soul-searching and reckoning with the inevitable, she realized that she had no idea what the next steps were. 

She always had the answers, the plan, and the foresight to know how to proceed in any situation. This one, though – this flurry of warm feelings filled with complicated explanations and head-spinning romance – she couldn't figure out. Not even when she turned to practical skills and timeline plotting to make it all make sense. 

I don't know. Kelvin wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to corner Asia for an answer, but that wasn't it. Not knowing was worse than not caring. He could deal with the finality of no longer giving a fuck. However, the uncertainty in what he thought was a reasonably black-or-white scenario was unnerving. Kelvin let the gut punch settle until Asia spoke again to soothe the pain she'd inflicted.

"How…how would it work," She questioned in a small voice, her eyes low to avoid cracking the nerve she'd built. "Tell me you have a plan. Because, if you don't, I –" 

Kelvin rushed to reassure her. "I have a plan. Trust me." For once in his life, Kelvin was moving intentionally. No stone left unturned; no possibility left up to chance. "I leave in six weeks. Give me two to get my shit together, and you're on the first flight into O'Hare." 

"And after that?" 

"We'll talk every morning and every night. Then I'm on my way to you every other week, baby. And every other month, I'll make sure you get to me. Nonstop flight. The price doesn't matter. All you need is a packed suitcase. Or not. You can be naked the whole time. That's fine by me." 

Two nonstop flights a month, airport pickups and drop-offs every other week, Fridays in, Monday mornings out, constant connection over the phone when the physical was out of the question—simple enough. There was no fluff, only a concerted effort to make a less-than-ideal situation work. The happiness didn't have to die if they didn't let it. 

Still, Asia wrestled with separating idyllic assumptions from reality. What happened when schedules presented challenges? Or when the weather interrupted? Did distance make the heart grow fonder or help intertwined lives push away the realities of life together hundreds of miles apart. 

Kelvin could see the wheel turning for Asia while she mulled over his proposal from every angle. "Give me a little more time, okay?" Deflating. The air in Kelvin's sails came through his nose in a disappointed huff just as traffic began to pick up enough for steady motion. She held his hand in place, hoping he could feel the intention behind her hesitancy. "I'm not closing the door on us. I need to make sure we're prepared. That's all." 

The absence of an enthusiastic yes wasn't a no – another tidbit to add to Kelvin's growing Asia file. He'd have to find comfort in the details to keep her in his life. And damn, did he want to keep her in his life. His plan had more legs, including a permanent address change for Asia. 

"That's okay. Take your time," he answered as he laced their fingers together and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "Just don't leave me hanging like that again." 

"I won't. I'm sorry."

Relationships came with a learning curve Asia had to experience to understand. No one in her life had prepared her for conflict resolution. Being an only child taught her how to play by herself and keep her secrets close to her chest. There was nothing in the manual about coexisting with another human she cared for more and more each day. She didn't know how to share items or feelings. But Kelvin made her want to try. That had to count for something. 

Once tense quiet returned to the comfortable, wordless quality time Kelvin and Asia had come to enjoy, it followed them for miles to the venue until the need to mix and mingle took center stage. 

In a room full of strangers intermixed with a few familiar faces, they moved around like a couple for the first time. Introductions as a tandem flowed naturally. Seeing them move from group to group hand in hand amused but didn't surprise team members who'd long had their suspicions confirmed by Savannah. 'Alvin' as one member of the group named them. Not their preferred choice, but good enough for the moment. 

As alcohol flowed and inhibitions were disarmed, smooth crooning and soul-stirring baselines from the artist of the hour pushed tomorrow's problems further down the road. 

Kelvin kept a hand on Asia's hip while she allowed her body to sway along with RINI's soulful cover of Leon Bridges' "That's What I Love." Hearing his voice beyond the warbling of his JBL speaker from Asia blasting music far too loudly reminded Kelvin of the first time she shared her new favorite artist with him. She made him listen to Ultraviolet twice all the way through, forcing him to commit more lyrics to memory than he ever did for any other artist. Truthfully, the music didn't hit the same when she wasn't in the room. He tried listening on his own, but it was missing something or someone to add the depth he needed to make the album spin worth his time. 

Applause filled the room just after the final strum of RINI's guitar reverberated. Asia beamed from a spot toward the back. Asia claimed she was fine where she was, but Kelvin knew she was too scared to get close and act like a crazed fan. His lips found her temple for a quick kiss as RINI prepared to end his showcase. 

"I gotta find a way to get out to the States more. This is great," he laughed, causing the audience to join him. "My time is ending, but I can't go without singing the song that put me on your radar. Big thanks to Moët for letting me spend some time with you tonight. I'm excited to get to work this summer. Until then, this is Meet Me in Amsterdam. I hope you enjoy."

Asia couldn't contain her squeal, earning a low laugh from Kelvin once the open notes of her favorite song began. 

I would sail across the world

Row this boat from dusk till dawn

Kelvin and Asia had heard the song plenty of times together, so much so that Kelvin was tired of its slow drone and accompanying music video. Both RINI and Meet Me in Amsterdam were on his list of things he could live without and still die a happy man. 

Until the lyrics started to circle too close to home. A plea for the songwriter's love to make the leap and meet him in a foreign land felt like a page ripped directly from Kelvin's journal. Had he possessed the talent, he would've sung into Asia's ear while she leaned against him, caught in the rapture of beautiful lyrics. 

She didn't need Kelvin's additional vocal performance to know her partner had fallen victim to the magic. She was right there with him, letting the music speak where neither her heart nor mind could reach. 

Won't you come closer; let it take over

I don't need anything; I just want you

"I just want you." The words came out before Asia could stop them. She was never one to fall into the melodrama of romance, but maybe she'd never had an adequate opportunity. Maybe all she needed was a few glasses of white wine and a man looking back at her like universes formed in her eyes to give in to what she'd always considered unrealistic and a little corny. 

Kelvin wrapped an arm around her waist before dipping his head to meet her parted lips as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face. "You got me." 

Turning in his arms, she faced him head-on. "I want to try. For you. Let's make it work." 

"Every other week. I swear."

"I know. I believe you." 

Rolling waves filled with blinding passion set their bodies aflame, connecting them for a kiss too searing to start and end in a room full of people. Some things were best experienced behind doors clumsily kicked closed after Kelvin and Asia burst through the door of his apartment connected at the mouth. 

Small items clattered on the ground as they bumped into the wall, sending anything not bolted to Kelvin's entryway table scattering in the darkness. The moonlight streaming through his balcony door was the only light to illuminate their path. They couldn't care less. Kissing and fondling were their only priorities on the way to shedding extraneous clothing. 

The bedroom was too far, and the couch didn't provide enough leverage for what Kelvin wanted to do for Asia. The counter was too high off the ground, unfortunately. The table, though, was perfect. 

Kelvin thanked God for weightlifting as he hoisted Asia up into his arms, tongues still dancing as he walked them across the room. Asia used her forearm to swipe decorative mats and rattan charger plates to the floor so her backside could fill the empty space. 

Soft panting and the light smack of lips coming together and separating rhythmically filled charged cold air. Asia flinched when Kelvin slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt to reach her bra's front clasp. 

"Take this off. Hurry up," Kelvin demanded as he stepped back to pull his crewneck over his head.  He didn't have time for frilly language and sweet kisses. Maybe later, when they'd calmed down from their high. This first fuck was for all the sessions they'd missed between quiet nights in and words left unsaid. A little something to take the edge off. 

Zippers sliding down, garments rustling, and leather sliding out of thin loops made Kelvin's apartment sound like a department store dressing room until they were reconnected in mind and body.

Half-dressed with goosebumps pebbling an expanse of rich brown skin, lovers let their hands roam freely while they grinded against each other. 

Asia moaned at the feel of teeth gently tugging her bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. "C'mon, Kel. Right now," she rushed on in one breath. "I need it." 

"What about the condom? It'll only take a second." Kelvin asked, half-hoping but not expecting Asia to abandon her primary stipulation. 

"Fuck a condom. C'mon." 

The go-ahead to proceed with caution thrown to the wind put them on a path to the sort of carnal and fleshly satisfaction Kelvin's father warned him about before he left home at 18. 

Sorry, dad. This shit feels way too good to miss out on, Kelvin thought to himself as he slid into Asia's warmth inch by inch. He was weightless for a moment, floating in otherworldly bliss while he fit himself inside her body. "Fuck," he whispered. 

"Oh…yes. Yesyesyes." Asia's toes curled, gripping at nothing in a desperate attempt to remain tethered to the atmosphere. "Wait a second. Don't move." Crossing her ankles at the small of his back, Asia pulled Kelvin in a little deeper, smiling at the small groan he muffled against her skin. She just needed to feel him. In six weeks, they'd have to plan moments of intimacy and simulate sex through a screen, waiting for the day they could be together in the flesh. Tonight, with his body filling every dip and ridge like the final piece to a puzzle, they could kick the can down the road for a few more days. "Okay. I'm ready." 

Agonizingly slow thrusts helped them get acquainted with one another in a new way. Kelvin lifted his head from the crook of Asia's neck, yearning to look her in the eyes for an added layer of closeness. He pecked her nose, lips, chin, cheeks, and lips again, trying to keep those three words at bay. 

"Faster, baby." A firm request teetering on begging broke through Kelvin's haze while Asia tried to pull him into her body by his shoulders. 

He smirked. "Oh, you can talk now?" His taunting made Asia squirm against him for extra friction before he stopped and held her in place. "You up for another lesson?" 

"Mhmm," she forced out, hoping her compliance would get her closer to the real fun. 

"You been quiet all week. Imma need to hear you tonight if you wanna cum."

A horny, exasperated sigh preceded a short whimper. "What? I don't know how t –"

"Yeah, you do," Kelvin encouraged. Tell me what you want, and then I'll give you what you need." 

Near painful throbbing has Asia ready to agree to anything if it meant she could finally come off some of the pressure from a stressful week. Quick agreeance earned her a return to Kelvin's slow back and forth, a shiver hitting both their spines as he took a shallow dive inside.

Asia took a deep breath and tested her voice. "You - you feel so good?" She closed her eyes, hoping Kelvin would take pity on her feeble attempt only to be rewarded with nothing. She tried again. "Right there, baby." 

"We'll be here all night. Relax. Be confident." 

Relax. Be confident. The gentle reminder and suckling at her neck helped Asia partially release the valve on her nervousness. Kelvin rocked into her expert precision and care, waiting to hear more. 

A choppy moan caught in her throat before she could speak again. "You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?" 

Kelvin groaned and sped up enough for Asia to notice. She smiled, palming the back of his head to keep him close. 

"There it is," he whispered. "Keep goin', beautiful. Tell me some more." 

Bingo. Electricity sparking between them opened up a whole new world of vocal possibility. "I want all you got tonight, baby. Can you do that for me? Fuck me until I can't take anymore?" 

"Uh-huh. I got you." 

Asia rubbed circles at the nape of his neck, feeling a jolt in her body from another change in pace. "Mmm. Deeper, baby. You can do better than that, right? For me?" Her provocation ignited a burning desire for Kelvin to perform. He needed the glory. Asia dropped her talking display long enough to moan through her man putting his entire being into testing the limits of his little circular wooden table. 

If sweet talk couldn't get him to knock the rings out of her, goading him with a challenge undoubtedly did the trick. Scratching against his back, demanding more depth, more speed, and more kissing spurred Kelvin into fast, furious fucking. 

In no time, they were close. Deliciously, dangerously close. No protection meant no staying for the final hoorah. He had to time his exit perfectly for the right mix of precision and mutual satisfaction. Though Kelvin seemed to care, Asia was just hitting her stride. 

"I think about you all day, waiting for you to fuck me just like this. I want you so bad sometimes." Asia confessed while Kelvin fucked her on his toes. "Even at work, when we’re not supposed to. That’s when I need you the most.” Grabbing the sides of his face with both hands, Asia forced him to look her in the eye. "Be good for me, baby. Make me cum."

Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing. He needed to focus. Focus on Asia's nipples rubbing against his chest and how her breaths and his started to become one. Then, the light sheen of sweat helping their bodies slide against one another. He focused on the sticky coating of arousal inviting him to rub his thumbpad against her clit.

Asia squealed, then licked Kelvin's open mouth. He rasped out a command of his own. "Come on! Come on!" Resolve began to wane. Any longer, and they'd be in the nearest drug store taking the walk of shame toward the Plan B pills.

If the walls ever decided to talk, they'd blush when recounting the vision of Asia forcing Kelvin's mouth against one of her breasts, trying to balance the sting from his hand colliding with her thigh with his warm tongue tracing braille on her areola. 

Her body seized, making it almost impossible for him to pull out. Every other week on a stuffy flying bus sounded like hell, but if he had this to look forward to after the wheels touched the tarmac, he could drum up some enthusiasm in no time. 

At the last moment, Kelvin forced himself out of his favorite place on earth just in time for the fruits of a mind-bending orgasm to spill from his head onto Asia's inner thigh. Together, they watched fresh semen coat supple skin, their chests heaving and ears ringing. Kelvin couldn't speak. He could only watch as Asia gathered a small amount on her fingertip and swiped it against her tongue. 

Kelvin moaned when Asia moaned to relish the sensory experience of his taste. "Did I pass?" Her question fell on deaf ears, with Kelvin more focused on gathering more semen on his fingers to pop into her mouth. She treated him to a show, sucking the digits clean. She spoke again. "Answer me, baby. Did I pass?" 

"With flying colors," Kelvin finally answered. Asia smiled into a searing kiss, reveling in her accomplishment. A new skill had been unlocked, and one more accolade had been added to her mental trophy case. 

Another lesson to take her mind off of the inevitable. At least until the morning rolled around to wash the fresh coat of paint she'd forced over a very real, immovable problem. 

RINI blasting from phone speakers dampened behind the bathroom door reminded Asia of the night before and how she'd allowed the heat of the moment to lock her into a contract she'd neglected to read the fine print on. 

Facing the bedroom window, Asia snuggled deeper into warm sheets and scanned the pros and cons list on her phone. Pro #1: She could eat deep-dish pizza every other month. Con #1: Her man wouldn't be nearby multiple days a week. Which was more important. She couldn't decide. Food or the comforts of stable, local partnership? 

She had started typing a new con when Kelvin emerged from the bathroom naked and moisturized from head to toe. "You awake now?" 

Fuck. Asia thought she had more time to plaster on her happy face. She used a pretend yawn as her buffer. "Yeah," she answered, faking the funk. "Good morning, baby." 

"Morning." Unbrushed teeth could never stop Kelvin from getting his first kiss of the day. He nuzzled his nose against hers before speaking. "Sleep okay?" 

"Mhm. You?" 

He nodded and slipped into bed beside her. "For the most part. I gotta show you something, though." Kelvin reached back to retrieve his phone from the nightstand's charging station. A few taps against the screen presented a short list of apartment options for Asia's inspection. "I started looking at some spots in the middle of the night. This one has a crazy second room for an office. Look at that view." 

A wall of windows overlooking the downtown cityscape made Asia's stomach churn. Reality smacked her in the face. He was leaving and waiting on her approval on an apartment she couldn't stand in a city she wished didn't exist. 

"That's so nice, baby. You can get a nice couch in there as a gaming room, too." 

Kelvin considered her suggestion and nodded. "Damn, that's a good idea. I need to take you with me when I look next week. You down?" 

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'll come." Asia shook off her rapidly increasing heartbeat and scooched closer to rest her head on Kelvin's shoulder. "Can you show me another one?"

Enthusiasm fading into meaningless sounds turned Kelvin into Charlie Brown's teacher as he gushed over layouts and natural light. She nodded along to nothing in particular. Smile. Rub his arm. Act supportive. Be the perfect girl. Just be happy for a little longer. 

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[gas-writer]

Working After Hours...

I don't use Tumblr that much, and already posted this new story over on DeviantArt. But if you haven't already read it over there, maybe you'll like it here: A happier, more positive, and longer anesthesia story! Let's see if tumblr will do 9000 words in a single post...

I power down the last computer at the registration desk. The screen clicks off.

Friday nights at Riverside Surgical Center always end like this. Just me, alone in the building; wandering the halls, making sure everything is powered off, closed and packed up for the weekend. It's my favorite part of being the sole IT support specialist here. When everyone else rushes out, I get these perfect moments alone. With the equipment.

The hum of the building's air handling system becomes noticeable as I cross the deserted, silent lobby. My footsteps click against the polished vinyl flooring. I walk to the entrance, diligently checking that the automatic door is locked closed. It is. I’ll lock it again when I leave, but tonight I don’t want any unexpected visitors.

I turn and begin my rounds through the facility. The surgical center’s manager thinks I'm dedicated. In reality, I'm obsessed.

Medical technology has been my special interest since I was a teenager. While other kids collected posters of rock bands, I hoarded medical supply catalogs. By eighteen, I could name every component of an anesthesia machine and knew the admin passwords to a handful of patient monitors. The job here at Riverside isn't high-paying, but it gives me access to a playground of sophisticated equipment that nobody outside the medical profession would get to touch.

The pre-operative area is my first stop. Six curtained bays line the wall, each containing a stretcher with accompanying vital signs monitor. I walk slowly, making sure each monitor (a Phillips model I know well) is powered down. When in use, their screens show blood pressure, SPo2 and pulse rates. They’re seldom used with ECG leads in pre-op. I notice things like that. I’ve always been into the small details.

Regardless, they’re all dark now. The monitoring system's central station sits at the nurse's desk. They’ve already turned it off.

I walk into one of the bays, and push an IV pole out of my way. Mounted on the pole is an infusion pump, its digital display dark. I check the bay's cabinets, making sure the stock of IV catheters, saline flushes, and adhesive dressings are orderly. I don’t really have to do this; it’s a med tech’s job, but… I want to.

As I check the next one, I pocket a couple of alcohol prep pads. Then a few pairs of purple nitrile gloves from the wall dispenser. Nothing that would be missed. I've been collecting “supplies” for months this way. I tell myself I’m building my own personal medical kit for home, but I know I just like having this stuff.

The staff lounge is next. There’s not really anything in here that I need to power off; we’d all be in trouble if I shut the refrigerator down. Nothing seems out of place here. It was one of the nurse’s birthdays today, and there are cake crumbs on the table. I skipped the party, but I helpfully wipe them up. There’s a box of masks by the door, though, and I take one, adding it to my scrub pockets. My heart rate increases slightly at the thought of what I'm planning later, but for now, I just turn out the breakroom’s lights.

Moving on with my patrol, I enter the post-anesthesia room; the PACU. This is more or less a mirror of pre-op, but with closer monitoring. The ECG traces on the monitors get used here. Eight recovery bays face a central nurse's station where the staff can observe all of the waking patients at once. Like pre-op, I verify each is powered down, and catch one that the nurses missed.

I pass through the automatic double doors that separate the PACU from the main corridor. My pulse quickens as I approach my actual destination tonight: the surgical suites. Riverside has three operating rooms; more than average for the facility’s relatively small throughput. Each is specialized for different types of procedures.

OR 1 is the largest, equipped for general surgery. Its boom-mounted equipment arms hang suspended from the ceiling in standby mode. The room lights are off, and the surgical lights on articulating arms are stowed neatly against the ceiling. I stare through the door for a moment, then move on.

I walk to OR 2, which is set up primarily for orthopedic procedures. The C-arm x-ray unit is parked in the corner, draped with a protective cover. Riverside sees a lot of broken arms, ACLs that need repair, and the like, but I’ve never been that interested in medical carpentry. Everything looks alright here, so I move on again.

Finally, I reach OR 3. It’s the smallest of the three rooms, sometimes used for endoscopies, but also for gynecological and urological procedures. This one has always held a special fascination for me, for reasons I leave unexamined for now. The operating table here is equipped with integrated leg stirrups, really more like giant yellow boots, that can be positioned at various angles. The table itself is computerized with both foot pedals and a remote. It can be easily moved to nearly any position, which is why I’ve chosen it for tonight.

I hesitate at the doorway, my heart pounding. The room, like the others, is dark and still. My hand finds the light switch, and I flip it. The room lights and overhead surgical lights come on at once, uncomfortably bright. I let my eyes adjust for a moment, then I step inside and let the door swing shut behind me.

This is my plan. This is the reason I’m so helpful on Friday nights.

I move purposefully. The anesthesia workstations here are slightly older than I might find in an academic center, and frankly, that’s what I want. It still has physical knobs that I could twist, instead of a touchscreen. I approach it; running my fingers along its smooth surface. I think, just for a second, how embarrassed I’d be if someone saw me basically petting the machine. But I’m alone. That’s the point.

On the far side of the operating room is an entire wall of supplies. Opening a cabinet, I locate the components I need. A disposable breathing circuit, nicely packaged with a filter and a gas sampling line. A pair of rebreathing bags, and an adult-sized anesthesia mask. In another cabinet, I find a four-point head harness, designed to keep the mask securely in place during procedures. I lay these items out methodically on the anesthesia machine's work surface.

Next, from a different cabinet I retrieve a pulse oximeter sensor, and a blood pressure cuff. I return to the anesthesia workstation, and connect both to their respective ports on the machine. Even if I didn’t know where they went, the plugs are colored and fit only in the right place. It just takes a few seconds, despite my slightly trembling hands. I think about getting ECG pads; the machine is already setup for 5-lead, but I decide it’ll be too awkward to manage the wires.

I connect the breathing circuit to the outlet and inlets on the anesthesia machine, carefully attaching the corrugated tubing and the rebreathing bag. The mask will go at the end of the circuit, but for now, I just slightly inflate the plastic seal around the mask’s rim with a syringe, then I lay it down on top of the machine

I press the power button on the anesthesia machine, listening to the startup sequence of beeps and watching as the ventilator performs its self-test. When it’s done, I perform a machine check, following the same protocol the anesthesiologists use each morning. I verify that oxygen flows properly from the wall outlet through the machine's pipelines. The backup oxygen cylinder shows pressure on its gauge. The nitrous tank is open and full. I check the carbon dioxide absorbent canister; it's fresh, the granules still white instead of the purple that would indicate it’s all used up. This is good, because I’m not actually sure which cabinet would hold a replacement, and I don’t want to search.

It takes a few minutes, but the checks complete cleanly. The rebreathing bag inflates and deflates properly and everything holds pressure. I slip the mask onto the business-end of the anesthesia circuit, pressing it in place firmly.

This machine, I note, has two vaporizers on it, purple and yellow, iso and sevo. I don’t plan to use these, but I see that the liquid level indicator on the sevoflurane shows about a quarter full. I’m intrigued but volatiles are far too dangerous to mess around with.

With the electronic foot pedals, I adjust the operating table to its lowest height setting and position it at a slight incline, so I can sit comfortably on it. The table’s dual armboards easily fold down, out of the way completely. I’m relieved to see the stirrups are likewise folded down; I'll have no need for those tonight. When I’m done, the operating table resembles a very expensive, very black chaise lounge.

I wheel the anesthesia machine closer to the operating table, careful not to pull the gas supply hoses too far. With some effort, and a couple more change to the operating table’s pitch, I position it where I can just about reach the machine’s controls, while seated on the table.

I shimmy to the center of my operating-table-made-chair. I smooth out the sleeve of my left arm and wrap the blood pressure cuff around my own bicep. It’s awkward. I struggle with the Velcro, trying to get the cuff closed in the right place on my arm, and to tighten it appropriately. After a few attempts, though, I get it close enough. The pulse oximeter clip goes easily onto my right index finger, and rhythmic beeping starts to track my heartbeat. I reach to the anesthesia machine, and using my middle finger to put the button, start the cuff. Within seconds, the monitor displays my vital signs: heart rate 92, blood pressure 138/84, oxygen saturation 99%. My elevated heart rate and blood pressure doesn't surprise me. I've been fantasizing about this whole thing for months.

I reach out to the machine’s controls and set the oxygen flow rate to 6 liters per minute. The flow meter's ball rises in its chamber, indicating the gas is flowing as expected. The room fills with a quiet hiss.

I pick up the mask, and I feel a momentary hesitation. What I'm about to do crosses a line, from a special interest to something more dangerous and much more against the rules. But the temptation is too strong to resist. I've come this far, after all.

I bring the mask to my face, feeling the soft plastic seal against my skin. It's cool at first, but quickly warms against my face. I take a deep breath, smelling the significant plastic scent of the new breathing circuit and mask. The oxygen fills my lungs.

I pickup the black head harness, and, with a little more awkwardness, I secure the mask to my face, tightening the straps until it stays sealed tightly even when I’m not holding it.

My breathing sounds loud inside the mask. For a few moments, I watch the rebreathing bag inflate and deflate rhythmically with each breath I take. I watch my oxygen saturation maintain at 99% on the monitor. Everything is working perfectly. It’s time to take the next step.

I reach for oxygen flow knob again. This time, it twist down… and twist the nitrous oxide tap open. I know how the flowmeters work, and set the balls to a roughly 33% nitrous oxide flow. I take a deep, deliberate breath through the mask, and the effects begin almost immediately. A pleasant warmth spreads through my limbs. I hold the breath for a second, then deliberately take another very big breath. My fingertips tingle with a curious numbness. By the third breath, a buzzing sensation starts at the base of my skull, radiating upwards into my head. I’m surprised, and more than a little bit pleased, at how fast I’m feeling the nitrous. I've read about this feeling countless times in medical literature and online, but experiencing it firsthand is amazing; both the physical sensation and the forbidden nature of what I'm doing. I want more. I turn the oxygen down slightly again, and the nitrous up.

I lean back onto the operating table, letting my arms fall to my sides, and take in more of the gas as I relax.

The room maintains its sharp edges and clinical brightness, but my perception of it begins to shift. The surgical lights above me seem more intense, their glow extending just a bit beyond their actual boundaries. The rhythmic sound of the gas flowing through the circuit becomes hypnotic. My breathing is less intentional now, but even so, I’m still breathing slowly and deeply. The rebreathing bag inflates and deflates and I enjoy watching it for a couple of minutes. Inhale, exhale. Inflating, deflating.

I check the monitors with slightly unfocused eyes. My heart rate has decreased to 84 beats per minute; it’s still elevated from my normal resting rate but lower than before. My oxygen saturation remains good. The blood pressure reading cycles automatically every five minutes. The cuff tightens around my arm before letting go with a soft hiss: 125/76. The beep of my heartbeat has slowed.

I laugh, muffled by the mask. I watch the rebreathing bag some more.

The blood pressure cuff cycles again; time is stretching, I’ve floated here five minutes already, and dissociated without realizing it. There’s a clock on the OR wall, and I watch it for a minute. It moves simultaneously slowly and fast. I smile. I’m happy, and… I want more.

I decide to increase the concentration. My movements are deliberate, almost ceremonial, as I pull myself upright, then reach out to adjust the flowmeters. I’m already around 50%, and I want a bit more. I twist the nitrous upwards, nearly as high as it’ll go. I can tell the difference almost immediately.

The buzzing in my head intensifies, becoming a gentle vibration that extends through my entire body. The boundaries between myself and the room begin to blur. The operating table beneath me seems to become softer, much softer, as if I might sink through it if I relaxed completely. I don't, though; I still have the presence of mind to lower myself back onto the table gently, instead of falling off.

I let myself drift again. I think about the nurses and surgeons who work in this room, wielding their instruments, controlling life and consciousness with practiced hands. Now I'm doing the same, in a way. This thought seems somehow hilarious and profound. I don’t start laughing but I’m pretty close. Before I know it, the blood pressure cuff is cycling again.

I raise my hands in front of my face, fascinated by how distant and blurry they seem. I wiggle my fingers, watching the movement with detached curiosity. There's a delay between my intention and the action, as if I'm connected to a video game on a bad internet connection. I slide my palm along the cool surface of the operating table, the sensation of touch seems simultaneously intensified and muted.

A new thought surfaces through the haze of nitrous oxide: what would sevoflurane feel like? I know that nitrous, at normal pressure, can’t actually knock anyone out. But sevo, at even at moderate concentrations, induces unconsciousness within minutes. I don’t want that. Even while intoxicated, I clearly understand the consequences of gassing myself to far. But my understanding of MAC is that at lower concentrations, like, say, 1% or 2%, people my age will generally remain awake. At least for a little while.

I could try it. Just a little.

I know it’s dangerous, but the idea is irresistible.

I sit up again, and reach for the anesthesia machine, my movements a lot less coordinated now, through the nitrous fog. First, I turn down the nitrous oxide flow to zero, allowing pure oxygen to clear my system for a moment. I take several deep breaths, feeling some of the fuzziness recede. My thoughts sharpen enough for me to recognize the recklessness of what I'm about to do, but not enough to stop me.

I turn the yellow vaporizer dial just a bit, turning it to 1%, then to 2%. Enough to taste it, to feel its initial effects for real. I’m not feeling tentative now, like I was with the nitrous, even though I know I’ll need to quickly turn it off. I breath all the way out, and the sevo begins to flow.

The first breath is still mostly oxygen, and I let myself settle back onto the table. When I take the second breath, though, a distinctly sweet smell fills the mask. It smells chemical, like a harsh cleanser, but… not unpleasant. I don’t feel anything. I take another careful breath, then another. Only then, does the effect hit me.

A heavy warmth spreads through my body, like someone’s thrown a weighted blanket over me. Another breath, and I start to feel distinctly tired. The nitrous made me feel fuzzy primarily, this is making me feel drowsy.

I try to breath normally, and the edges of my vision begin to blur, the periphery darkening slightly. It’s as if a camera’s vignette effect has been applied to my eyesight. The beeping heartbeat sound in the room seems to recede, becoming muffled and distant. It’s much more intense than the nitrous, and much more intense than I expected. I understand, in a moment, how stupid I’ve been. I need to turn the gas back off.

I sit up, trying to reach the machine, and it feels like I’m moving through syrup. My intention to move my hand doesn’t match my muscles exactly; the same effect as the Nitrous but more severe. The machine seems farther away than it was a moment ago. I reach for the vaporizer dial, and my own hand seems disconnected, as if it’s not mine.

Before I can reach the dial, another hand appears in my peripheral vision. A hand that is, for sure, not mine.

I try to turn my head, movements sluggish, brain struggling to process this unexpected development. A figure in blue appears, standing beside me, and grabs my wrist, pulling it back from the vaporizer.

"What have we here?" a female voice says. "Someone's been playing with toys they shouldn't touch." The words have a British accent, and seem to echo strangely in my ears.

I start to speak, but the mask is still harnessed to my face. I try to reach up to remove it, but the woman grabs my other wrist, too.

In the harsh surgical lighting, I see it’s a woman in blue scrubs, a surgical cap covering reddish hair, bright eyes above a white surgical mask. It's a nurse, but in my disoriented state, I can't immediately identify which one. Panic cuts through the chemical haze. I wasn't supposed to be discovered. No one should be here. The staff all left. I made sure of it.

I’m not sure what to do. I try to stand, to pull away, but my reactions are dulled by the anesthetics already in my system. The sevoflurane continues to flow; I still haven't turned it off, and each rapid, frightened breath draws more of the agent into my bloodstream.

"Turn it off," I manage to say, my voice muffled by the mask. "Let go of me!"

"I don't think so," the nurse replies. I feel myself being pushed backwards, down onto the diagonal operating table. "You've set everything up so nicely. It would be a shame to stop now."

I'm larger than her, stronger under normal circumstances, but the sevoflurane has substantially undermined my coordination. She pushes me down easily. But I’m not done yet; I turn sharply, trying to break her grip, and succeed in pulling one arm free. I reach for the mask, intending to tear it away, but she’s fast, or I’m slow. She blocks my hand, catching my wrist again.

"Oh no, you don't," she says, her voice hard. "Keep that mask on."

Fear spikes through me. Each breath is drawing more sevo into my system. I thrash, but the head harness keeps the mask firmly in place despite my movements, and the continuing supply of anesthetic makes my fight increasingly clumsy.

The nurse adjusts her grip, pinning one of my arms under her body, while reaching for something on the anesthesia machine I’ve placed so conveniently close by. To my horror, I see her turn the sevoflurane vaporizer not down, but up. I can’t see where she’s set it, but I know anywhere above 3% will rapidly render me unconscious.

"No!" I shout this time, the word completely intelligible even through the mask. I buck upward, pressing my legs against the table, trying to get up. For a moment, I think I might break free. The pulse oximeter rips free from my finger, setting off a high-pitched alarm from the monitor.

I’m able to slide my right arm free of the tangle of limbs, and I grasp at the mask, fingers scrabbling at the head harness, but they just… won’t… get it… My fingers don’t work right.

The nurse recovers quickly, catching my free wrist a third time, and forcing it down. She swings one leg over me, straddling my chest and fully jumping on the table. Before I know it, she’s on top of me. She’s using her weight to pin me down. Her face is close to mine now. It’s aggressively intimate, her blue eyes intense above her mask.

"Don't struggle, love" she says, her voice simultaneously soothing and menacing. "You'll only make it worse for yourself."

With her full weight on top of me, my movements grow increasingly fruitless. Even if she wasn’t on top of me, the feeling of heaviness, the feeling that started after my first few breaths, is much stronger now. Each time I try to push her off, the physical exertion forces me to breathe harder, deeper, pulling more sevoflurane into my system. I realize that the more I fight, the faster the anesthetic is taking hold.

My vision begins to waver, the straight lines of the room twisting and bending. The nurse's face above me seems to split and rejoin, her mask and eyes turning blurry and confusing. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my head, but my eyelids are harder and harder to open each time I do. It doesn’t help at all.

"You're quite strong," she comments, sounding slightly out of breath, but in control. "But the sevo is stronger, love. Always wins in the end."

My strength is failing rapidly now. My arms feel impossibly heavy, as if I’ve been tied down with giant elastic bands. I still struggle, but my movements are feeble, uncoordinated. I’m losing.

The room begins to spin in slow, nauseating circles. The lights overhead multiply, separating into a rainbow of colors. My hearing seems more affected now too: the nurse's voice echoes strangely, as if coming from multiple directions at once. The alarm from the disconnected sensor sounds distant, as if I’m underwater.

I'm aware of my breathing becoming slower, deeper.

"That's right," the nurse says, her voice drifting to me through layers of distortion. "Stop fighting now. You're doing so well."

I watch the nurse as she climbs off of me, but somehow, her weight seems to stay. She maintains her grip on my wrists for another few seconds, but my arms have gone limp. She releases them cautiously, maybe prepared to restrain me again if I’m faking it, but I am very much not faking it.

I can barely lift them now. My eyelids feel impossibly heavy. I force them open only with tremendous effort, trying to focus on her face, but my vision is degraded, or my brain won’t control my eyes. I can’t tell which. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t.

"Good," she says, her tone shifting to something almost… sexual. "You're submitting beautifully now."

I hear the sound of electric motors as she repositions the table, I feel myself tipping backwards. She’s straightening my legs, raising the table, returning it to a flat configuration. She gently places my arms at my sides. I want to resist but can only manage the weakest of movements.

The nurse moves to the anesthesia machine, adjusting something I can't quite see. The sevoflurane concentration, I realize distantly. She's increasing it again. The time I breath, the gas rushes in forcefully, making me breath fully and deeply. She’s squeezing the rebreathing bag.

"Just close your eyes and drift off now," she orders, her voice seeming to come from very far away. "It’s dreamland for you."

My eyelids flutter. No amount of effort can keep them open. I realize with a distant sort of horror that I'm about to lose consciousness. I make one final, feeble attempt to sit up, to roll off the table, but my muscles refuse to cooperate.

A strange feeling of peace begins to replace my fear. The inevitability of going under becomes almost comforting. I can no longer remember why I was fighting so hard against this feeling. I’m so incredibly tired and I just want to sleep. With each breath into the mask, it gets stronger.

"Perfect," she murmurs, watching as my resistance fades completely. "That's exactly right. Let it happen." I hear her, but I don’t understand.

I can’t see the nurses’s face anymore, as spinning blackness rushes in from the edges of my vision. Yet somehow, I know she's smiling as she watches me fall down to oblivion. The world clicks off.

I drift up through darkness. Consciousness returns in fragments as my brain boots up.

First comes the sensation of touch: cool air on bare skin, pressure around my wrists, on my back, on my thighs and ankles. A moment later, my sense of position; proprioception. I’m on my back, my arms splayed outwards, my legs in a strange position.

I try to rub my eyes, but the pressure on my wrists keeps them from moving.

It takes several seconds, maybe a whole minute, to process what just those two senses are reporting, what all that means. I'm lying on my back, restrained somehow.

Next, I hear a steady beeping. It’s increasing in speed as I wake up. No memories yet, but the sound seems familiar.

My eyes are closed. Only with some effort am I able to force them open. As soon as I do, I blink against harsh, circular lights overhead. Surgical lights. The operating room comes into fuzzy focus, and with it, my fragmented memories.

I'm completely naked, immobilized, and splayed open on the operating table. I remember being caught, overpowered.

My mouth feels incredibly dry. I try to swallow but barely produce enough saliva. My whole body feels sore, like I’ve just run a marathon or fought a wrestling match, which, in a way I did.

I try to move my arms again, turning to look at my wrists restrained to the table’s perpendicular armboards. I’ve seen Velcro positioning straps used here before, the kind intended for patients at risk of pulling out IVs or simply moving too much while anesthetized for surgery. The restraints here are not those, but padded leather cuffs that more resemble something from a 1950s insane asylum. I don’t know where they came from, but I’m not sliding out of them any time soon.

I lift my head slightly, fighting against residual dizziness, and look down the length of my body. As I feared, I’m completely naked; my clothes and underwear both gone. ECG electrodes have been placed on my naked chest. That’s not good.

Much worse, my legs are elevated and separated, positioned in the yellow leg-lifting stirrups that hold my feet and ankles. I'm in the lithotomy position; as if someone’s positioned me for a gynecology, urological, or rectal procedure. I try to pull my feet down, but unsurprisingly, the yellow boots and straps are tight and strong enough that it’s useless. A strangled noise escapes my throat as I realize how completely vulnerable I am. My heart beats faster and I hear the heartbeat monitor on the anesthesia machine match it. I try to stay calm and finish examining my situation. I’m not going to find a way out by panicking.

I don’t see any people around, thankfully. But it’s obvious the room has been transformed since I lost consciousness. The anesthesia machine has been pushed back to its usual position above my head. I can stretch to see it; its displays glowing with data, my heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and now ECG and respiratory traces.

My eyes dart around the room, taking in details that send fresh waves of adrenaline through my system. Surgical instruments have been arranged on a Mayo stand beside the table; gleaming metal specula, retractors, forceps, and scissors. An electrocautery unit sits ready, its grounding pad visible but not yet attached to my body. A black endoscope is coiled on a blue-draped table nearby that I’m sure wasn’t there before. Everything is positioned as I’ve seen it used during the work week, all as if in preparation for an actual procedure. Or more than one procedure.

I remember the clock on the OR wall. It reads 6:17 PM. I try to remember when I started my self-administered anesthesia experiment; the surgical center closed at 4, so it couldn’t have been long after 5:00. More than an hour has passed that I can't account for. An hour during which someone, the nurse who caught me, has prepared this nightmarish scenario.

The door to the operating room swings open, and she enters, as if summoned by my thoughts. Now that I can think clearly, I know who this is. It's Nurse Evelyn, the British transplant who joined the surgical center staff six months ago. I suddenly recall it was her birthday cake crumbs I cleaned up an hour or so ago.

She’s fully attired for the OR now, a disposable yellow isolation gown tied over her scrubs, her hair tucked completely under a bouffant cap. No hint visible of her red locks anymore. Her hands are white latex.

Her bright blue eyes above her mask crinkle at the corners, suggesting the smile I can't see.

"Ah, you're awake," she says, her accent pronounced as she approaches the table. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How are we feeling, then?"

"What the hell is this?" I croak, my voice hoarse. "Let me go right now!"

Nurse Evelyn tilts her head, studying me with amusement. "That's not a very diplomatic way to address the person who caught you abusing clinic equipment, is it? You're in quite a sticky wicket. Imagine what administration would think if they knew you were playing doctor after hours."

She moves to the anesthesia machine, checking the displays as if we’re in a normal, professional situation. "Your vitals are stable. No worse for wear, I think. How’s the nausea?" I have no nausea, thankfully, but I don’t answer.

"Why am I restrained? Why am I…" I can't even say it, the vulnerability of my naked, exposed position.

Nurse Evelyn laughs, the sound light and warm despite the circumstances. "Why are you strapped down and undressed? Self-preservation, love. Couldn't have you waking up and bolting before we had our little chat."

"As for the stirrups, well, I needed to conduct a thorough examination while you were under. Very thorough. I had to make sure you were healthy enough for what I have planned, you understand."

Heat floods my face as the implication sinks in. I think she’s joking, but I have no way to really know. "You had no right…"

"Rights?" she interrupts, stepping closer to the table. "Let's discuss rights, shall we? Did you have the right to use the anesthesia machine on a lark? To use controlled substances for your personal entertainment?" She leans over me, her eyes intense above her mask. "No, you didn't. But I understand why you did it. We're not so different, you and I."

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. The beep of the heart monitor betrays me.

"I saw how you set everything up. The care you took with the preperation. The way you monitored yourself." She runs a gloved finger along my forearm, a strangely gentle and intimate gesture. "I think you’ve been planning this a long time. And I also think you weren't just curious about the physical sensation. You wanted to experience the vulnerability, the surrender of control. The submission."

Her assessment hits uncomfortably close to the truth. I don’t know what to say to her. She’s not exactly right, but it’s frighteningly close. There’s for sure some connection between the equipment I’m especially interested in and intense power dynamics; anesthesia has, along with it, the requirement to complete surrender to another's care. I, of course, don’t voice this, but my silence speaks volumes.

"While you seem to enjoy being the patient," she continues, "I prefer the other role. The one who decides what needs to happen. When consciousness begins and ends. The one who holds complete power over another human being." Her eyes glitter. "Quite the perfect match, wouldn't you say?"

"You're crazy," I whisper, though I think I don’t really mean it. I think she can tell that I actually do understand. I feel something inside me; not just fear, but a flicker of dark excitement I don't want to acknowledge.

"Crazy? No. Unconventional, perhaps." Evelyn moves to the foot of the table, between my spread legs, and I feel a fresh wave of vulnerability. "Here's what's going to happen. It's Friday night. No one's due back until Monday morning. You and I are going to this entire weekend exploring our mutual interests. I’ll send you under in various ways; different medicines, different combinations. I was an anesthesia nurse in England, you know. I'll take care of you quite professionally, of course."

"You can't just keep me here," I protest, though my voice lacks conviction. "People will look for me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Will they? The solitary IT worker who avoids social interaction and lives alone? Will anyone call on you?” I don’t answer, and again my silence speaks. “No. You're not due anywhere until Monday morning. Same as me."

I struggle against the restraints, panic rising again. "This is kidnapping!" I protest. It’s not halfhearted; I’m genuinely scared, even if that’s not the only emotion anymore.

"It’s hardly kidnapping," she counters smoothly. "You mostly did this to yourself. I just… helped you a bit.”

What you should realize now, love,” she continues. “Is that I could easily report what I caught you doing. That's career-ending at minimum, maybe even criminal charges." She leans over me, staring into my eyes. "Or, we could have a mutually beneficial weekend. You get to explore your fascination with anesthesia in ways you never could alone. I get to practice my skills and indulge my own… interests."

Her gloved hand rests on my thigh, the touch clearly intended to be suggestive, intimate. "Do we understand each other?"

I stare up at the surgical lights, my thoughts racing. The situation is surreal, terrifying, and yet… I can't deny the dark thread of excitement growing under my fear. Part of me has always wondered what it would be like to fully surrender to anesthesia in the hands of someone who knows what they're doing. To let go completely.

Something in her tone, in the absurd situation itself, makes a hysterical laugh bubble up from my chest. "This is insane."

"Perhaps," she agrees, "but I think it's exactly what you wanted. Just not how you expected to get it."

"What exactly are you planning to do to me?" I ask, my voice steadier now.

"I’m going to put you to sleep again," Evelyn tells me. "I’ll try different induction techniques. A sevo mask induction, as you've already experienced. We’ll try the isoflurane, too, I think. A standard propofol induction. Certainly ketamine in some combination. Perhaps etomidate, if I decide you’ll risk the side effects" Her voice takes on a dreamy quality. "I’m told each one feels different going under."

I swallow. “You can’t just anesthetize me over and over,” I object, but I don’t think I’m convincing.

She doesn’t seem convinced. “It’s definitely not recommended. But neither is the scheme I caught you playing out, is it? There are some risks, but you’ve already been taking some of those, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

I swallow hard, looking down at my spread legs. "And the position I'm in now? The surgical tools?"

"I think it's better if I don't explain everything I have planned," she says, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Fear of the unknown heightens the experience, doesn't it? You’re vulnerable. Exposed. At my mercy." Her eyes crinkle as the heartbeat tone speeds up. "All I’m going tell you is that you won’t feel a thing."

Nurse Evelyn leans closer. "If you cooperate, though, this could be quite pleasant for you too. Some patients report euphoria, lovely dreams. You may even find the experience… arousing." Her tone drops on the last word, sending an involuntary shiver through me.

I close my eyes, weighing my options. While she’s implied I have a choice, I suspect there really is none. She has me literally and figuratively tied down. Fighting seems pointless; she controls the drugs, the restraints, everything. But I’m not ready to trust her, even with the desire she’s ignited below my fear.

“Please, just let me go,” I protest again. But I’m not sure if I really mean it.

"I don't think you mean that, love" Evelyn reads my thoughts, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She moves to stand beside me, her white gloved fingertip tracing a line from my collarbone down my naked chest, all the way to my waist. "I think you're just scared to admit it."

The latex of her glove feels cool against my skin. I shiver again, and my breath catches involuntarily. Evelyn leans in close. I can feel her warm breath through the mask she’s wearing. She whispers in my ear.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you? When I caught you… when I held you down… when I made you breathe in the gas until you couldn't fight anymore."

My pulse quickens, betraying me on the monitor with an accelerating beep. My memories replay as she describes them; her weight on my chest, my useless struggle, the sweet smelling gas filling my lungs against my will. I realize, to my horror, that I’m getting noticeably aroused thinking about it.

"I saw your eyes before they closed," she continues, voice silky and intimate. "That moment when fear gave way to something else. When you realized you couldn't stop it happening. You want that feeling again, don’t you?" I don’t answer. My mind races. I can’t help but feel she’s right. But I think about all the surgical tools laid out. And I don’t trust that I have a real choice here.

"You're going to put me under again no matter what I say, aren't you?" I finally ask.

"Clever," she says approvingly. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time off with the fairies this weekend. But how pleasant that time is, and how pleasant the time in between is, depends entirely on your attitude."

She moves to the head of the table, starting up the fresh gas flows. "Shall we begin? Don’t answer. You’re right, you don’t have much of a choice. A little nitrous again to start, I think."

Despite everything, I feel my resistance beginning to crumble. The fear remains, but alongside it grows a perverse curiosity. What would it be like to experience all those different anesthetics, administered by someone who knows exactly what they're doing? I think I’m going to find out.

She lowers the mask towards my face, holding my chin only lightly with her gloved hand. I move my head to the side, trying to avoid the mask. It's a futile gesture, but some part of my brain, maybe the majority, still rejects the idea of submitting so. The mask follows my movement, and her grip on my chin tightens.

"Let’s have no foolishness," Evelyn scolds, her tone sharpening.

She presses the mask firmly against my face, creating a tight seal. "Deep breaths now. Be sensible."

Against my better judgment, I feel myself relaxing slightly. The fact that it’s all being decided for me is strangely reassuring, even as the situation remains profoundly frightening. I do as instructed, and begin to breath, deeply.

She turns the nitrous oxide flowmeter, and I hear the gas begin to hiss through the circuit. "Just breathe normally. Fifty percent to start, I think. You'll feel it soon enough."

I inhale obediently. I can’t really smell it, but within moments, the familiar warm tingling begins in my extremities, slowly spreading inward. The steady beeping from the pulse monitor starts to slow.

"There you go," Nurse Evelyn says, her tone suddenly soothing instead of sharp. "Just like that. Nice deep breaths."

The nitrous works quickly, creating the same vibrating sensation I experienced earlier. The fear fades, replaced by a slight detachment that makes my situation seem less threatening, more surreal. The restraints around my wrists and ankles no longer feel quite as imprisoning. I forget about my nakedness after a few more breaths. My head starts to feel fuzzy, as if cotton is being stuffed into my brain.

"Good?" she asks, watching my face closely. I nod, unable to deny the pleasant sensations washing through me. I try to organize my thoughts. The gas already makes it difficult to think critically, but the fear and desire still war within me. Evelyn watches me with those intense blue eyes, monitoring my response to the nitrous oxide. She seems to know exactly what she's doing with the anesthesia equipment. Professional. Controlled.

Can I trust her? She's holding me captive, but there's something oddly reassuring about her dominance. She’s confident, and she clearly knows what she's doing. But she's also clearly unhinged, willing to cross professional and ethical boundaries without hesitation.

Just like I am.

I really did want this, in some way.

"Alright," I say finally, my voice muffled by the mask. "I'll cooperate."

Her eyes light up with genuine pleasure. "Brilliant! I knew you'd come around. We're going to have such fun together. I think we have a bit more to do tonight, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

I wonder exactly what she means, and exactly what she’s planning for me, but I don’t have time to ask.

"Now we'll add the sevoflurane. One percent to start." She adjusts the vaporizer dial. "This will be just like before, only now I’m in control the whole time."

The distinctive odor of sevoflurane mingles with the nitrous oxide. My eyelids grow heavy again, the room's edges softening. Nurse Evelyn secures the mask with the harness, which I hadn’t realized was already behind my head.

“Now, love, with both sevo and nitrous, you’ll go off quickly,” she explains. I know there’s a phenomenon where having both nitrous and a volatile on at once increases the effects, but I can’t remember if 1% is already enough to anesthetize me.

I’m starting to feel more drowsy. Like before, the nitrous made me detached, but the sevo is making me want to sleep. I force my eyes wide open, trying to stay awake as long as I can.

“Up to three percent,” Evelyn’s voice seems distant and echos in my ears. I know that’s enough to put me out. The visual hallucinations begin immediately. The vignette effect from before returns, my vision narrowing. The lights begin to wash out, strange colors begin to fade in. When Evelyn leans over me, her white mask seems to glow. The yellow color from her isolation gown seems to stretch out around the room.

"Time for dreamland again. Why don’t you count backward from one hundred?" she instructs, increasing the sevoflurane concentration. I can’t see how far, but the smell increases significantly.

"One hundred… ninety nine…ninety eight…" My voice sounds distant to my own ears, the words slurring together. I look up at her and her face seems to distort. The room begins to spin. The yellow of her gown changes into a confusing medical rainbow, yellow, blue, white, green, along with nameless colors that don’t exist in normal reality.

Nurse Evelyn's gloved hand rests gently on my forehead, a gesture that might be comforting under different circumstances. "You’re doing brilliantly. Keep going."

I’m supposed to be counting.

"Ninety seven… ninety six… ninety five…" The numbers come with increasing difficulty. I already can’t remember what number I was on. Have I made a mistake? My tongue feeling thick and uncooperative in my mouth. The ceiling above me seems to spin faster, expanding and contracting with my breathing.

"Nine…" I manage, though I can’t hear myself. I'm no longer sure if I'm speaking aloud or just thinking the numbers. What was I counting?

"Almost there," she encourages, her British accent barely penetrating my mental haze. "Just slip off again."

The room begins to spin faster, Nurse Evelyn's face above me, already blurred and stretched, begins multiplying and rejoining like a kaleidoscope image. I try to raise my hands, to pull the mask off. One last moment of confusion. Of course, the restraints don’t let me move at all. I’ve been helpless this whole time.

"Perfect," she murmurs down at me. My eyes close of their own accord. My body relaxes. The spinning, the drowsiness, the sense of weight over my body is all too much to fight.

Consciousness fades even faster now. Darkness takes me again. My brain turns off.

My head throbs. I realize I’m awake. I don’t remember going to sleep. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel impossibly heavy. It occurs to me that maybe they've been taped shut, but I don’t know why that thought comes to me. A mechanical beeping lines up with the throbbing in my head. Rhythmic. Familiar. A patient monitor? I shift and it feels like I’m in a bed. Somehow, I think I'm in a hospital bed. My mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, my tongue thick and clumsy. I try to swallow, but produce barely enough saliva and my throat is sore. The details of how I got here elude me, for the time being.

It takes a minute, but I finally manage to force my eyes open, only to immediately squint; above me are harsh, fluorescent lights. White, institutional ceiling tiles come into focus. They also seem familiar.

With effort, I raise my right hand to rub my eyes, and feel a tug. Looking up, I see an IV catheter secured to the back of my hand with section of transparent tape. A line of clear IV tubing snakes up to a half-empty bag of fluid hanging from an IV pole nearby. The movement causes my hospital gown to shift against my skin, and I discover I’m wearing a hospital gown.

I’m disoriented but my memories begin to fall into order. I remember my plan for the night. Going to the operating room. I remember my interrupted experiment. Evelyn catching me. Her weight on my chest as she held me down, forcing me to breathe in the anesthetics. I think of the restraints. I remember her making me go under a second time. I think I remember something else, something after that, but it’s too blurry to piece together. In any case, I remember enough.

I bolt upright, but like opening my eyes, I instantly regret it. The sudden movement makes the room spin and my headache momentarily gets worse. I grab at the IV site, about to simply pull it out, when a voice stops me.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

I hadn’t noticed until now, but Nurse Evelyn is quietly standing at the foot of my bed, arms crossed. Her mask is gone and her red hair is down now, freed from the surgical cap, falling in waves around her shoulders. She's changed into fresh scrubs, feminine, pink, instead of the light blue from before.

Her blue eyes evaluate me.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her British accent pronounced in the quiet room. She steps closer, and taps a few buttons on the patient monitor, silencing the rhythmic beeping. She turns, and reaches for my wrist to take my pulse manually. I don’t think to pull away, my brain is still booting up. Her fingers are cool against my skin, and strangely intimate.

"Headache," I manage to croak. "Tired. Thirsty." My voice sounds like a dry croak; my throat is rough. "What time is it?"

"Just before 9," she answers, releasing my wrist. "Post-anesthetic headache is not unusual. The volatile agents can do that, even sevoflurane. It'll pass."

I look around, taking in my surroundings more fully now. I am in a hospital bed, or more accurately, I'm in the Post Anesthesia Care Unit. Eight recovery bays, mine right next to the doors. The other beds are still empty, their monitors dark, including the one I’d turned off when I’d checked it just a few hours ago.

I glance down at my body, suddenly aware of how little I know about what happened while I was unconscious. Quite a lot of my body is vaguely sore, maybe from exertion, but maybe from something Evelyn did after I was anesthetized. I try to recall what time Evelyn told me, a what the time on the OR clock had been, and I think it’s been more than an hour. That’s time to do quite a few things. My throat hurts, so I’ve probably been intubated. The memories are missing, but I know, deep down, she’s done something.

I pull at the thin hospital gown, searching for any signs of surgical intervention.

"What did you do to me while I was out?" I ask, my voice carrying an edge of fear as I examine my lower body, looking for incisions, stitches, anything out of place. "Did you… operate on me?"

Evelyn watches my frantic self-examination with amusement in her eyes. She tilts her head slightly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. She lets me search for a minute; I can tell she’s enjoying it.

"You won’t find anything amiss this time, love. Nothing that left a mark or that’d put you out, really." She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I suppose I did start the world’s most painless IV. But I might do more next time. Wouldn't that be interesting?"

I try to not to react to how close she is, or her comment. I think I shiver slightly. Maybe in fear, but maybe very much not. I look into her eyes, and for moment, there’s only the sound of the patient monitor taking my blood pressure again.

"I'm not restrained," I observe, quietly. After being tied down in the OR, the freedom feels strange, almost suspicious.

Evelyn smiles widely now; since she’s not wearing a mask anymore, the expression is fully visible. "Do you need to be? You're hardly in any condition to cause trouble. Besides, you agreed to cooperate, remember?"

I nod slowly, though I’m still somewhat conflicted. Did I agree? I recall the moment of surrender, the choice made. It was surely made under duress, but was also driven by something deeper, my special interest, and the connection to Evelyn that I’m not quite ready to admit.

"There's water if you need it," she says, gesturing to a plastic cup with a bendy straw on the bedside table, stepping back. "But nothing to eat, and nothing to drink after midnight. You're scheduled to go back to the OR first thing in the morning."

My stomach tightens at her words. "Back to the OR? For what?"

"For whatever I decide," she replies simply. "We have a full weekend ahead of us, remember? Different induction techniques to try. And once you’re asleep, whatever I want." Her tone is light, conversational, as if discussing plans for a casual outing rather than forced unconsciousness and potentially surgery.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the movement causing the IV tubing to pull slightly. The floor feels cold beneath my bare feet. This is my chance. I could rip out the IV. I could leave now. Evelyn is alone, I'm not restrained, and despite my headache and lingering soreness, I’m confident I could overpower her now that she’s not holding an anesthesia mask. Or I could just run. I could run out the door. I could tell someone what she’s done. Or I could try to keep it all a secret.

But I hesitate. I don’t do any of that. Not yet.

Evelyn watches me, head tilted slightly, a knowing expression on her face. She's not moving to stop me. She's not threatening me. She's simply waiting, as if she already knows what I'll decide.

"Get some natural rest," she says finally, turning toward the door. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

And just like that, she walks away, her footsteps fading as she crosses the PACU. At the doorway, she pauses to turn out the main lights, leaving only the dim glow of the single patient monitor and the emergency exit signs. Then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sit there on the edge of the bed. She left me alone. Unrestrained. With a clear path to escape. I think through it all again. I could pull out the IV, find my clothes, and be gone before she returns. I could report her, or I could simply say nothing. She’s surely cleaned up all the evidence already. I could just leave.

Instead, I find myself thinking about what she said earlier in the OR. About how we’re similar. My fascination with experiencing anesthesia, her desire to administer it. Two pieces of a disturbing puzzle that somehow fit together perfectly.

I groan. My body is sore, and my head pounds. I'm exhausted from fighting and from the drugs still circulating in my system. My thoughts aren't entirely clear. At least, that's what I tell myself as I swing my legs back onto the bed and lie down again.

I'm just too tired to make any decisions tonight. I'll think more clearly in the morning. Then I'll decide then what to do. In the morning.

I roll onto my side, adjusting the thin PACU pillow under my head. Despite everything, despite the danger and the fear and whatever else I’m feeling from my complex new connection, I feel myself drifting back toward sleep. And somewhere beneath the exhaustion and confusion, a small part of me knows that by putting the choice off, I’m making the choice.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

I close my eyes and shut down again, back to dreamland.

[thetimesofindia]

Big e-Aadhaar revamp on the cards! No more photocopies of Aadhaar card required, updation to become easy; check top steps

The Unique Identification Authority of India (UIDAI) is set to revamp e-Aadhaar, introducing a QR code-based system to eliminate need for physical copies. Updates, excluding biometrics, will be automated through integrated databases, reducing center visits.

Big e-Aadhaar revamp soon! In the coming weeks, a new QR code-based application will eliminate the need for Aadhaar card physical photocopies to be submitted. Users can share digital versions of their Aadhaar, choosing between complete or masked formats.By November, the Unique Identification Authority of India (UIDAI) is also planning to introduce a streamlined procedure that will significantly reduce visits to Aadhaar centres for updation.Except for biometric submissions, updates to address and other information will be automated through integration with various official databases. These include birth certificates, matriculation records, driving licences, passports, PAN cards, PDS and MNREGA systems.This initiative aims to simplify the process for citizens whilst reducing fraudulent document submissions for Aadhaar registration. Additionally, discussions are in progress to incorporate electricity bill records to enhance user convenience.Also Read | ITR filing FY 2024-25: Several changes in Form 16! Top things salaried taxpayers shouldn’t missUIDAI's chief executive officer Bhuvnesh Kumar has informed TOI about a newly developed application, with approximately 2,000 out of one lakh machines already utilising this new system."You will soon be able to do everything sitting at home other than providing fingerprints and IRIS," he said.e-Aadhaar Revamp: Explained in Top PointsThe application will enable users to update personal details including addresses, telephone numbers, names and incorrect birth date corrections.The introduction of QR code-based Aadhaar transfers between mobile devices or applications is considered essential for preventing misuse, with potential applications ranging from hotel check-ins to identity verification during rail travel. "It offers maximum user control over your own data and can be shared only with consent," Kumar said.The system can additionally be implemented by sub-registrars and registrars during property registration procedures to prevent fraudulent activities.Kumar indicated that UIDAI is working with state governments to incorporate Aadhaar verification for individuals registering properties, aiming to reduce instances of fraud.UIDAI has commenced discussions with CBSE and additional examination boards to facilitate biometric and other data updates for children, which needs to be completed during two age brackets: between five and seven years, and between 15 and 17 years. They are planning a dedicated campaign to address the pending updates, which include eight crore cases for the first update (children aged five to seven years) and 10 crore cases for the second update.Additionally, UIDAI is collaborating with various organisations, including security agencies and hospitality establishments, to extend Aadhaar services to entities where its use is not mandatory.Stay informed with the latest business news, updates on bank holidays and public holidays.

[shiftertech]

CW: suicidal themes, institutional transphobia implied

I don't belong in this cradle.

It's the honest truth of the matter. I don't deserve to be here.

Another battlefield lays itself before my projected vision, smoldering browns and grays behind the colorful sensor overlays. In these hellish craters, I likely do belong, but not in this cockpit.

There's a sickly feeling that comes with it. Like a pair of ragged, poorly fitting clothes, carrying a detestable stench.

Its torn threads? Inch-deep gashes and mended holes in metal plating that were not acquired under my operation.

And the stench? It's her stench.

I know everything about her. It told me. It was never not gonna tell me.

Imogen died in this very same cockpit, fear flooding her veins while an armor piercing round entered through the sidewall.

It showed me this, the angle of the projectile, the internal feed playback, the sound of it, the measurements of her biometrics, the flatline and system-wide scream it deafeningly howled out as its other half ceased.

It was the first thing it ever showed me when I did my first link test. It was bitter. Wrathful.

I didn't even fucking know they could feel like that the first time I hopped in. They pulled me out of the cockpit in a sorry state, shaking and sobbing, but still figured my synchronicity scored highly enough to put me back in the thing. They can't afford to scrap a working mech anymore for "limited pilot incompatibility".

Why the fuck did Legacy stick me in the mech that was mourning?

I was mad. Real mad at the brass for denying my reassignment req's. Most of all, I was mad at her mech.

One day it responded to my anger on the trek back to exfil. It flooded my mind with just her. Her joy, determination, cockiness, care... It overlaid stored visual/audio buffers into my own vision—replayed the very sensations attached to those logs—and I was her. It flooded me with her love as if it was my own, with a closeness I never was afforded to have with such a war machine.

I felt deep envy tinging my anger.

Pilots sit in these big metal boxes because of the strategically utilized notion of it being theirs. The rumored wonders of a paired digital consciousness are allowed to spread because it pulls hopeless girls with big dreams like Imogen into the cockpit.

That's what they need in a loyal pilot. I wanted a goddamn mech to call my own, not some dead girls broken leftovers.

But then I, as Imogen, died in that seat to my mech screaming out for me.

And then there was no anger. Just emptiness.

What an awful lesson, to be taught what it feels like to lose half of yourself.

There's another sortie on another reneging territory rejecting Legacy's grand mission, fighting against mechs that used to bare the insignia of the Earth and her Moon. Again I find myself walking back a line, cover laid for my comrades while rebel hotshots push the advantage with righteous vigor.

When it isn't streaming bits of her at me over the datalines, memories lovely and tragic, it's cold. Completely silent. Somehow that's worse.

On the losing end of a war in a coffin.

Sometimes I just can't stand it, and find a boldness within me when I ask it to tell me the story of how Imogen chose her name again. That's its favorite.

(I don't call it by its chosen name because it won't tell me. I have a feeling it never will.)

I wonder often why it even lets me command it into battle after battle. I'm not who it truly wants, and its suffering because of it. I figure if it can puppet my senses just as well as I puppet its limbs, it could likely figure a way to brick itself for good.

It twitches over the link when the thought bleeds through from my end, and it goes silent once again.

Guilt writhes around my gut as I fight for a future I barely believe in anymore. I know why it wouldn't.

When I filled the forms in the service registration office, on a harbor moon in a system two jumps from Hila, I had made a decision. Bloodshed remained stark on my mind as the upheaval of Legacy control on one of its most pivotal worlds forced me away from the only place I called home.

I recall the resistance ships dropping low beneath the skyline with improvised munitions, launching off their rails at military strongholds. I recall the mandatory evacuations as uniformed Legacy troops kicked down doors and ordered us onto the evac shuttles.

I recall the very military administration building that my sister was stationed at erupting all at once as the strategic calculations for maximal military damage factored in the Department of Citizen Records field office on floor 63 as a viable target.

I checked the "F" on the form with the pride that my sister was the very reason I was allowed this privilege. I checked the box with the shame that this was considered a privilege. I checked the box with the naive ideal that once we won this war, it wouldn't be resigned to just a privilege.

(A flicker of emotion echoes across the dataline, as it picks up this memory I've never shown it before. It feels like a gentle embrace.)

Losing my sister was losing one of the few people who actually saw me. She didn't miss a beat when I told her my real name. She held me close, and I felt the most profound joy in knowing love in sisterhood.

I chose to survive because it's what she would have wanted, for me to blossom into the woman she knew me to be.

Imogen is not my sister, but she could have been.

The mech chooses to live because it's what Imogen would have wanted.

We're both stuck in this war together.

I don't know how this ends well for either of us. Defection has crossed the mind, but no certainty comes from the prospect. I could end up in a cell for the rest of my life and it could get scrapped when they realize their newly captured mech is brimming with trauma.

(The notion of it getting scrapped draws a surprisingly intense emotion out of me. I can't pin it to just one comparable feeling of a loved ones grave being bulldozed or a close friend being murdered. Maybe it's both.)

It doesn't hold feelings on what comes after, I've realized.

It does its job, comes home, and is prepared for the next sortie. This is what it was made for, despite whatever side it's on.

That's what it means to survive for a mech.

I stopped hating it long ago. I don't think it hates me.

I think we need each other.

Even if I don't belong in this cradle.

----------

This one is kind of a departure for me to write, but I hope it resonates in the right way. Thanks for sticking through it <3

[constantlymisspelled]

The SUPERCOMMANDO CODEX - DRAFT

CONTENTS

Mandalorian Code Interpretation [link is found here]

Strength is Life

Honor is Life

Loyalty is Life

Death is Life

2. Honourable Conduct [link is found here]

Honour in self

Honour in the Community

Honour in the Galaxy

Honour Amongst Clan

Honour in Partnership

Honour in Leadership

Honour in Combat

3. Adoption Law [link is found here]

The Legal Definition of Foundling

Foundling Procedure

Disownment of Parent

Community Adoption

Adoption regarding criminal activities

Adoption regarding marital conditions

Adoption Consent

4. Marriage and Divorce [link is found here]

Spouse Definition

Spousal Privileges

Conditions for Legal Engagement

Consent and Age Restrictions

Conditions for Legal Marriage

Conditions for Legal Divorce

Children, Clan and House Considerations

5. Resolnare [link is found here]

The Six Tennent’s Broader accepted conditions

Way Followers Interpretation

Naasaade Interpretation and Redemption of Vows

Noncombatant Interpretations

The Mandalorian Healer’s Code

The Mandalorian Armourer's Code

Codes recognised in Conjunction

6. Clan and House [link is found here]

Definition of House

Responsibilities of House

Definition of Clan

Responsibilities of Clan

Requirements needed to be declared Alor of Clan

Requirements needed to be declared Alor of House

Requirements needed to be declared a Major House

7. Language Protectorate [link is found here]

Mando’a in Practice

Rights to change, add or remove words

Script usage and recognition in Mandalorian Space

8. The Position of Manda’lor [link is found here]

Requirements needed to be a candidate for Manda’lor

Responsibilities

Oversight

Commanding body

Restrictions, Compliance and Declarations of Misconduct

9. Education and Cultural development [link is found here]

The Education Responsibilities of Clans

The Education responsibilities of Schools and facilities

Freed Re-education programs and foundations

Religious and cultural rights within education systems

Parental rights throughout education

10. Electoral Process [link is found here]

The Court of Houses

The Sector Governors

The System Governors

The Astro Body Governors

District Electoral Members

Electoral Voters

Voting conditions

Overseers of the Ballot

Postal Elections

Voting Eligibility

Right and Responsibility

Conditions for Referendum, Re-election and Hung Parliamentary Votes

11. Court of Law

Family Court

Criminal Justice Court

Court of Appeal

Military Court

Financial and Business Court

Public Courts

12. Responsibility and due process

Parental Responsibility

Personal Responsibility

Political Responsibility

Financial Responsibility

Military Responsibility

Adoption Due Process

Engagement and Marriage Due Process

Divorce and Separation Due Process

Election Eligibility Due Process

Firearms Licensing Due Process

Verdgoten and Adult Graduation Due Process

Election Results Due Process

Parental Disownment Due Process

Clan and House Formation Due Process

13. Foreign interaction and policy

Foreign Ambassador acceptance

Externa; Ambassadors abroad

Foreign Currency and Exchange

Border Security

Digital Security and Programming Policy

Citizenship and Visa Acceptance

14. Employment within and outside of the sector

Legal age and parameters of employment

Contract and procedure for levels of employment

Foreign policy for Mando'ade working abroad

Foreign policy for outsiders working in Mandalore

15. Property and payment

Land ownership and tenancy

Forms of payment accepted in legal contract

Ownership and registration of vehicles

Ownership and registration of Firearms

Ownership and registration of Non-sentient Animals

Copyright, fair trade and artistic license

16. Beskar

Donations to Foundlings

Ownership

Sacred right to wear beskar as armour

Conditions for percentage declared

Rights to mine and export

Religious significance

17. Recognised Mandalorian Sects and Coverts

Traditionalists

Haat Mando’ade

Naasaade

Way Followers

Creed Bound

Silver Children

18. Armour and Weapon Classifications

Military Issue

Military Grade

Civilian Use

Hunter and Mercenary Equipment

Trade and Specialist Equipment

Journeyman, Protectorate

19. Criminal sentencing

Theft

Grievous bodily harm

Assault

Rape

Murder

Manslaughter

Negligence

Criminal Negligence

Medical Malpractice

War Crimes

Demagolkase - War Crimes against children

Sentient Trafficking and experimentation

Financial Misconduct and Tax Evasion

20. Military and Law Enforcement

Military

Mandalorian Protectors

Journeyman Protectors

Home Guard

Manda'yaim Reserve

21. Land Rights and Conservation

Land Ownership

Sale and Redistribution of land

Declaration of Sacred Places

Sector Council Lands, Protectorate Lands, Crown Lands and Stock Routes

Protected Areas

Water Ways

Tenancy, Lodging, and Temporary Accommodations

Public Areas

Squatters' Rights

Sanctioned and unsanctioned terraforming

22. Commerce, Business and Integrity

Currency and Zones

Business Licenses and Legal Procedure

External business practice

Monopoly businesses and Mega Businesses

Banking within the Sector

23. Discrimination [link is found here]

Species

Sex

Religious Interpretation

Language

Ability

24. Closing Statements

Manda'lor Jaster Mereel [link is found here]

The Translator

25. References

Regarding headcanons for Houses; [link is found here]

26. Contacts and Relevant Supervising Personnel of Note

[This post will be altered as I go, and as amendments are made]

[fatehbaz]

Goldstein and Mahmoudi point to what, on appearance, is a relatively new phenomenon: namely the use of digital technologies in contemporary forms of surveillance and policing, and the way in which they turn the body into the border. [...] [T]he datafication of human life becomes an industry in its own right [...] [with the concept of] “surveillance capitalism” - a system based on capturing behavioral data and using it for commercial purposes [...] [which] emerged in the early 2000s [...].

In contrast, scholarship on colonialism, slavery, and plantation capitalism enables us to understand how racial surveillance capitalism has existed since the grid cities of sixteenth-century Spanish Mexico (Mirzoeff 2020). In short, and as Simone Browne (2015, 10) has shown, “surveillance is nothing new to black folks.” [...]

[S]urveillance in the service of racial capitalism has historically aided three interconnected goals: (1) the control of movement of certain - predominantly racialized - bodies through means of identification; (2) the control of labor to increase productivity and output; and (3) the generation of knowledge about the colony and its native inhabitants in order to “maintain” the colonies [...].

---

Identification documents and practices can, like so many other surveillance technologies, be traced back to the Middle Passage [...]. [T]he movement of captives was controlled through [...] slave passes, slave patrols [...]. Similar strategies of using wanted posters and passes were put in place to control the movement of indentured white laborers from England and Ireland. [...]

Fingerprinting, for example, was developed in India because colonial officials could not tell people apart [...].

In Algeria, the French dominated the colonized population by issuing internal passports, creating internal limits on movement for certain groups, and establishing camps for landless peasants [...]. In South Africa, meanwhile, the movement of the Black population was controlled through the “pass laws”: an internal passport system designed to confine Black South Africans into Bantustans and ensure a steady supply of super-exploitable labor [...].

On the plantation itself, two forms of surveillance emerged - both with the underlying aim of increasing productivity and output. One was in the form of daily notetaking by plantation and slave owners. [...] Second, [...] a combination of surveillance, accounting, and violence was used to make slave labor in the cotton fields more “efficient.” [...] [S]imilar logics of quotas and surveillance still reverberate in today's labor management systems. Finally, surveillance was also essential to the management of the colonies. It occurred through [...] practices like fingerprinting and the passport [...]. [P]hotographs were used after colonial rebellions, in 1857 in India and in 1865 in Jamaica, to better identify the local population and identify “racial types.” To control different Indian communities deemed criminal and vagrant, the British instituted a system of registration where [...] [particular people] were not allowed to sleep away from their villages without prior permission [...].

---

In sum, when thinking about so-called surveillance capitalism today, it is essential to recognize that the logics that underpin these technologies are not new, but were developed and tested in the management of racialized minorities during the colonial era with a similar end goal, namely to control, order, and undermine the poor, colonized, enslaved, and indentured; to create a vulnerable and super-exploitable workforce; and to increase efficiency in production and foster accumulation. Consequently, while the (digital) technologies used for surveillance might have changed, the logics underpinning them have not.

---

All text above by: Sabrina Axster and Ida Danewid. In a section from an article co-authored by Sabrina Axster, Ida Danewid, Asher Goldstein, Matt Mahmoudi, Cemal Burak Tansel, and Lauren Wilcox. "Colonial Lives of the Carceral Archipelago: Rethinking the Neoliberal Security State". International Political Sociology Volume 15, Issue 3, September 2021, pages 415-439. Published June 2021. At: doi dot org slash 10.1093/ips/olabo013. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sara Boboltz at HuffPost:

President Donald Trump signed an executive order Tuesday outlining sweeping changes to the way federal elections are carried out nationwide, a responsibility the Constitution explicitly assigns to the states and Congress. During a White House signing ceremony, staff secretary Will Scharf called the order “the farthest reaching executive action taken” in U.S. history. It is very likely to face legal challenges. If implemented, however, it would dramatically increase Trump’s influence over the way Americans exercise their most fundamental civic right. The order reflects many of the falsehoods and conspiracy theories Trump has spread about federal election security. It directs federal agencies and officials to change the federal voter registration form to require proof of citizenship, such as a passport or Real ID. It aims to bar states from counting mail-in ballots that arrive after Election Day, regardless of state laws on postmarking, and it directs the Justice Department to track and prosecute what the Trump administration considers election crimes.

The text of the order points out that the Department of Homeland Security is tasked with protecting critical infrastructure and argues that election infrastructure fits that description. It instructs the secretary of Homeland Security, alongside the attorney general, to “review and report on the security of all electronic systems used in the voter registration and voting process.” Trump has long championed paper ballots, falsely suggesting digital voting machines provide opportunity for fraud. States that do not comply with Trump’s order face the threat of having federal funds cut off. Election fraud is very rare. After the 2020 presidential election, dozens of lawsuits failed to surface evidence of widespread illegal ballots or other meddling. Attorney Marc Elias, founder of the voting rights advocacy group Democracy Docket, said his organization planned to sue the Trump administration over the order.

Anti-American tyrant Donald Trump signed an executive order Tuesday to radically overhaul administration of federal elections that belongs to Congress and the states. The provisions include the barring of counting VBM ballots that arrive post-election day, require proof of citizenship, and directing the DOJ to track down “election crimes.”

See Also:

The Guardian: Trump signs executive order that will upend US voter registration processes

The Parnas Perspective (Aaron Parnas): BREAKING: Donald Trump Just Overhauled America's Electoral System

[utopicwork]

Ive been thinking about a generic public services architecture for PierMesh. A BBS, a digital library, an event calendar/registration system and a small publishing platform for media. I think these would be easy to make distributed/widely accessible through both typical technologies and LoRa/Halow. It should be technically simple so almost any device can access it and I think you could run a read only/text only site along with a more robust version easily. I think this might be where I focus for the one box mesh deployment idea. It's very much in line with the idea of disaster preparedness that's part of why I'm so into PierMesh.

[putschki1969]

Hello Sarah, I hope you are doing well! Since the time for the advance ticket sale is close, and this is my first ever attempt for a lottery ticket, I thought of asking. (Yes, I'm a complete noob when it comes to this, so seasoned fans out there, I hope you can bear with me). What is the usual procedure? I plan to try through Wakana's FC only, since the registration to Keiko's FC seems impossible 😩 (I can send you my experience for that if you want to know what happened, it may help other fans) Anyways, back to the questions! Are you expected to pay the price of the ticket in advance or only if you won? If you pay in advance, do you lose your money if you don't win? How can you claim the ticket? Email or physical? If it's only physical, can we collect it at the venue entrance? Tenso say it's a contraband item for them, so proxy service doesn't seem to handle them unless there is a loophole I'm not aware of. Any other tips will be greatly appreciated. 🙏 Apologies for the bazillion questions, and I look forward to your reply!

No worries.

Regarding your most recent issue with the Keiko FC application, I saw your comment about the Tenso address but I honestly have no idea why you are having trouble with it😔

As for your questions:

What is the usual procedure? Getting tickets for Japanese concerts is a challenge, especially for us overseas fans. It's an extremely complex matter for which there are no simple answers. Throughout the years, I've made countless posts describing the difficulties and hurdles of the ticket application process. Not sure if you've seen any of them but it should be common knowledge by now that it is anything but easy. Unfortunately, there's not ONE specific guideline you can follow since the procedure is very different depending on the ticket platform. I don't want to sound pessimistic but I think it might be a little too late to start dealing with all those things just now. It might honestly be too troublesome (if not to say impossible) for you to get everything you need for a variety of ticket platforms at such short notice.

Anyway, we don't know yet which ticket platform they will use for the lotteries (will make a detailed post once we have more infos) but my best guess is that they will rely on traditional services such as e+ or Lawson Ticket. Usually, you need a registered account to get tickets on those sites. That can be quite tricky since they require an SMS verification via a Japanese phone number. They also only accept Japanese credit cards or convenient store payments so you'll need someone in Japan to handle the payment for you. Sometimes, with FC lotteries, you don't need to use your own ticket platform account, for example, it wasn't necessary to use my Lawson account to apply for Kaji Fes. FC tickets last year. If you are lucky, it will be the same for the Kalafina live so at least the lottery application itself can be done without much trouble. With Wakana's FC, there's also a high chance that they will use SKIYAKI TICKET as platform which I already talked about HERE.

Are you expected to pay the price of the ticket in advance or only if you won?/If you pay in advance, do you lose your money if you don't win? Don't worry, you never pay anything in advance. You apply, wait for the results and if you win, you have a few days to make your payment. If the payment isn't registered in the system before the deadline, your ticket will automatically be canceled.

How can you claim the ticket? Email or physical? Depends on the ticket platform. Newer services such as SKIYAKI are completely digital so you claim your ticket as QR code in a dedicated app. For older services, it's usually an app or paper ticket. As far as I know, the dedicated apps for those platforms are not always available in foreign appstores (I know I struggled with the e+ app but I think the Lawson Ticket app is available) but I never use them so I have no idea how foreigner friendly they actually are. With paper tickets, you usually have to pick them up at the convenience store with your payment number.

Can we collect it at the venue entrance? No, this is only ever an option for on-the-day sales or special overseas ticket services. e+ sometimes offers tickets for overseas fans with very easy procedures so you can pick them up at the venue. However, as of right now, we do not know if they will have those overseas tickets available or not. Usually, the sale gets announced after the FC and general lotteries are over.

Tenso say it's a contraband item for them. Yes, that's true. Tenso has never been a suitable service for tickets. There are some proxy services though that might be able to help you get your hands on a ticket. For example, SOSJapan handles Fan Club and Ticketing Service for overseas fans. They can also respond to very specific requests which is quite conventient. Friends of mine have had good experiences with them so I can recommend the service.