#get his ass sql

[doublxpresso]

Face-off

Part 2 - Qiao Ling & Cheng Xiaoshi

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[saruvanthewhite]

Target Corp.

Store 0320

Colma, California

After several years of busting my knuckles and my ass, putting up with the anxiety and the bullshit, I am now jobless. They said it was performance and behavior.

A couple things about those points they failed to mention or own up about:

First, performance suffered for a number of reasons. More was being put on the plate, admin stuff that wasn’t even fixing things, reporting that wasn’t even official forms to fill out & weren’t even official Target forms; Just things the individual boss wanted us to fill out. That involved hunting and finding for information through several different systems. All data that could’ve been pulled with a clever SQL command on demand. It added more wasted time to our day and left us with less time to do the other things that we needed to do like fix ʇıɥs. That and toxic individuals in the workplace about whom I made noise. Was anything done about those people? No. Did those people ramp up their psychological and verbal abuse? Yes, they did. Did management like me making noise about it? No, they did not. Were the people responsible for it given a talking to or removed? No, they were not. Was I the only one who had made mention of ʇıɥs like this? No I was not. Was I the loudest about it? Yes, I was. So working under duress because you have executive team leads, a store Director, & an administrator-only boss gaslighting you isn’t supposed to make you feel some kind of way or speak up about it? Apparently, that’s what Target expects; Fall in line or we’ll smack you down. I noticed their efforts to get me out stepped up as soon as I made mention of our store directors dismissive & gaslighting behavior. That & as soon as I named my bosses boss as somebody who didn’t understand what was going on and even agreed with some of what my old boss was saying about her. But he can say stuff about her and I can’t.

And second, as far as behavior is concerned, they didn’t like me expressing my frustration with the unreasonable ʇᴉɥsllnq going on in that store. They didn’t like me taking issue with no one respecting the equipment I was expected to maintain. They didn’t like me speaking up about how difficult my job was.

They especially didn’t like me mentioning PMLs are paid pennies on the dollar for what we do and then as salt in an open wound, we’re told to celebrate how much money we’ve saved the ƃuıʞɔnɟ store in a year. Given Target’s own calculations, I saved their ƃuıʞɔnɟ Colma store over $5 million in the last 12 months. If only a fraction of that had been paid as part of my pay, I could be out of living in a van, and in an apartment with a safe space for my children; which is what I have been trying to do for years now. Target wanted me to celebrate some huge number I had saved the company at that store, but only wanted to pay us a tiny fraction of what our work was actually worth to them.

Do you think they could be bothered to maybe even try to house this person? They acted surprised when they found out how hard life is for me outside of the store, and then offered to help me only to pull the rug out from under me as they were getting those wheels turning. They fired a hard-working homeless guy who is trying to get his life back together after HR was trying to work with him to do it. That takes a special kind of callous corporate mindset of which Target should be ashamed.

Working for Target in this role felt a lot like Sisyphus except I didn’t have to kill anyone like Sisyphus did in order to be ʇıɥs on like that. Perhaps somebody a lot more like the man Sisyphus was purported to be should do that to the abusive sʞɔnɟ there. But as for me, Target can ʞɔnɟ right on off.

For the rest of us…

Do not shop there, do not give them any business, if you have anything related to them, get rid of it. They sell ʇıɥs and make you believe it to be a good product. They treat their staff poorly, don’t pay enough and i’ll just say it because I couldn’t while I worked there, the Colma store in California has a huge rat problem. Yes, RATS. They even had damage control called in when a customer took a video of one on the sales floor. I did my best to help knock the population down while I was there and even got it under control with no sightings. But careless and stupid behavior on the part of a few individuals has brought the population back up. I caution anyone who goes there to buy groceries, to not.

Their food & beverage executive team lead can’t. She just can’t. I would speak to her and receive a vacuous look in return. Absolutely nothing behind the eyes. And the person who heads up food and beverage in this district once put my safety in danger by swinging a hammer next to my head, never having apologized for it. Never.

 The store in Coloma also has an executive team lead who is most likely undiagnosed bipolar. He will be cruel and petty one day and positively sweet and innocent, the next. It disrupts workflow. They have another ETL there who is snarky, rude, solipsistic, disrespectful, and ogles the small young girls that work there. & he’s married too.

The store in Colma has employed a food and beverage team lead who cannot think worth a ʇıɥs. She can’t drive heavy equipment safely and lied about what happened when she knocked over an entire goddamn shelf of milk. She’s rude as ʞɔnɟ too; pushing her way past anyone trying to get out of an elevator before they can exit. I don’t think I ever had an experience with her getting on an elevator where she didn’t shove her way past me before I exited.

That’s not all that’s wrong there regarding food and Bev either. If you go through the milk section, you will find different dates on cartons of milk scattered over the shelves. You will also find out-of-date baked goods on the shelf. If you look carefully, you will find rat fæces underneath some of those shelves.

Another thing I was responsible for that location was the care and maintenance of their handheld equipment assets. If you walk into a Target store, every single employee will have a mobile device on them for their particular role. Part of my responsibility was maintaining the integrity and health of those devices. Do you think I experienced any buy-in from the team in that endeavor? No. At over $750 a device over 108 devices, I was the only one taking care of them, and no one else ƃuıʞɔnɟ cared. As a matter of fact, people actively disassembled what I have been ordered to keep integral. People would sabotage the efforts with which I was tasked to maintain the equipment. But I was held to account for other people ƃuıʞɔnɟ up. Still hadn’t lost one in over a year. That was thanks to me. I expect six to eight to go missing by next week because that’s an average of assets I had to hunt down every week. On a related note, if you go into that store, and you see one unattended, take it.

For myself, I know that if I must shop in a Target store, I will be looking for unattended Zebras to appropriate and sell back to the company.

The PMBP for that location stress the importance of his subordinates meeting with store directors every week. Yet the Store Director at this location found ways to duck out of that meeting, getting this repair technician in more trouble every week.

[baku-no-alt]

sriracha sauce

bakugou x reader; in which Bakugou and some other students from UA are doing a work -study abroad in NYC. also Bakugou is nice to you for once

part one of ???

cw: like, so many swears; infidelity (not by you or baku, don’t worry)

You see Bakugou’s blonde head spin around angrily from his position on the couch after you slam the door to your shared apartment shut.

“Would it fucking kill you to- oh, fuck,” he stops mid-sentence after he sees the eyeliner and mascara running in streaks down your face. You push back the hood of your raincoat and shake your hair free.

“He fucking cheated on me, can you believe that shit?” you tell him aggressively. You kick off your shoes and set your bag down in the kitchen. You’re past sadness now. You cried so much at your best friend’s apartment that your throat is raw and you feel like the emotions have been thoroughly drained out of you. All that’s left now is a pit of seething rage.

And if there’s anyone who can help you let off a little rage, it’s Bakugou.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and your heart drops when your (ex) boyfriend’s name flashes across the screen. Your eyes flick over to Bakugou for a second, who’s staring at you intently.

“Tell him to eat shit and die,” Bakugou growls. You feel a smile ghost your lips. Yeah, fuck him. 

You want to. You will, but you can’t bear to hear his stupid voice right now. So you reject the call and slide your phone back into your pocket. You’ve already blocked him on every social media imaginable; even your LinkedIn.

“I should have known by the way he was always jealous of me living with a dude,” you groan, “He was always accusing me or you or getting weird and now he’s the one who had his tongue down another girl’s throat and I’m still sad. And angry.” You spit out the last words and clench your fists. 

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, so you continue, “I still have to feel hurt even though he’s the one who sucks. I just - ugh.” You rub your hand over your face.

He sucks his teeth and finally gets up from the couch, “Look, I’ve never had my heart broken so I don’t know how to make you feel better.” 

“Yes, you have told me many a time that you plan to be celibate until you become a Pro-Hero,” you sigh and roll your eyes. 

“That’s not what I fucking said, but whatever,” he walks over to the microwave and turns it on for a minute, “A few of the other UA transfer students are having drinks tonight. I wasn’t gonna go because I didn’t feel like wasting my time with idiots but... you’re gonna eat this ramen I saved for you, clean up, and come with me. Before I regret it.” 

“You saved me some ramen?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you-” 

“Yes, I made a separate portion without Sriracha.”

You allow yourself to smile despite the ache in your heart, “You do care, you big softie.” you say, poking him the chest. 

“Call me soft again and you’re not invited,” he says, poking you in the forehead. 

When the microwave beeps, you grab your bowl and walk down the hallway to your room. Your apartment is small, but that’s to be expected when you live in New York City. It’s nestled in the Upper East Side, an area you absolutely wouldn’t be able to afford if it wasn’t for the New York Academy of Heroes subsidizing your housing costs. The living, kitchen, and dining area is basically all one open-concept room that led into a hall way with two bedrooms on either side and a small shared bathroom at the end. 

Your room is on the right; you set your bowl of ramen down on your desk and then hurry to the bathroom to grab a make-up wipe and start cleaning off your face in the mirror. 

“I’m already a little tired,” you call out to him, “so I’m not sure how long my Quirk will hold up.” 

You could speak and understand languages. Any language. English, Japanese, Farsi, Nigerian, binary, SQL - you could do it all. But so far, you’d been able to understand about five languages at the same time and your Quirk got weaker if you were tired or mentally stressed. 

“They all speak English. Or you could actually learn Japanese,” he says. 

“I’m trying!” you pout back. 

Bakugou rolls his eyes at you. “Fucking Americans...” he huffs.

You hear your phone vibrate in your room and you poke your head out of the bathroom, but Bakugou’s already on his way to it. 

Letting him answer the phone felt so petty, and so childish, but then again... your ex was the one who was shitty first. 

Bakugou picks up your phone and shows you the screen. There was your ex’s name again. He raises his eyebrows, and you give him the slightest nod. A grin spreads across his face. 

He presses the speaker button. 

“Finally! Please just listen to me for one sec-” 

You bite your lip as the sound of his voice sends your heart hurtling back into grief and sadness. 

“Listen up, you skeevy fuck,” Bakugou growls. 

“What the fuck?” 

“You heard me. You’re a pain in [Y/N’s} ass, which means she’s a pain in my ass.” 

You scoff and bump your forehead into the wall, regretting your choice instantly. 

“Call her one more fucking time and I’ll blast your ass to Jersey, got it?”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Give the phone to my girlfriend.” 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Lying piece of shit.”

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore,” you say, stepping closer to the phone. 

“Babe?” 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite out, “And don’t call me again.” You end the call and grab the phone out of Bakugou’s hand, pulling your arm backwards to hurl it against the wall. 

He catches your wrist before you can. 

“Hey,” he says, softly, “he’s not worth it.” 

It takes you a moment before you can meet his gaze.

“Then why does it still hurt?” you ask, your resolve crumbling away. You bring your hand up to cover your mouth before a sob can escape, but tears still fall from your eyes.

Bakugou lets go of your wrist and wraps one arm around you, pushing your face into his chest.

[whit3zzz]

CTF Saturday! Brief Thoughts (20/07/2019 at UNSW)

Recently, I did my first CTF competition with the incentive being that getting into the top 10 would maybe have our job application looked more favourably on us by our tutor. Sadly, as a 2 man team who were both relatively new to security, Clifford and I only managed to come 13th with 800 points, just 50 points shy from a top 10. Nevertheless, we both had fun and tried our best to solve as many CTF’s as we could, and I’m sure that Cliff was also proud of his performance.

However, I was a little disappointed at a few things. I definitely need to work on my knowledge of different SQL databases, work on blind injections and being more creative when it comes to finding weaknesses in code.

Although I was mostly focused on the web CTF’s, I also ended up solving 1 from crypto. I was happy with the way I managed to identify the basic types of character transformations, like base 64, hex, octal and the like.

Regarding to the buffer overflow CTF that I worked on and Cliff ended up taking over, it turns out I’m kind of a sandbag. So, I thought that would be a good time to practise some more buffer overflows in a school environment so I hopped on objdump and found the distance between the buffer and the return address. And then I popped the win function but didn’t realise the win function was actually a shell.

So yeah… a bunch of things learned from my first ever CTF competition with snide voices from behind by Jazz and Gibbles being the prime motivation for me to keep going and try kick their asses.

Also, the pizza was nice and all but where did all the subway go :(

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[42] Glitch in the System - Loose Lips

By E.

A bar fight happens.

It all began with a simple drinking contest.

“Otro más?” Sombra shouted, tipping back a copper shot of some alcohol she’d forgotten the name of. It was bitter on her tongue and tasted like fire. At that point she was about seven shots into the evening, and she’d sworn it had been a sweet liquorice when she’d started out, so either she’d switched drinks midway through or her palette had just given up.

“Mami, no, please,” the man across from her laughed, immediately burping after he spoke. The pub was loud and smelled of hops, and Sombra had to lean in to hear him. “No more. You win. I forfeit.” An omnic bartender rolled by and scooped up their empty glasses, casting a disapproving look on them both.

“Psh,” she replied, ignoring the omnic and waving her hand in the air. “Amateur.” The man’s cheeks were rosy, bringing his swarthy complexion out from under the shadow of inebriation. He was from the eastern coast of Spain - Alicante, to be precise, if his stories were to believed. He claimed to be visiting for pleasure, mourning a recent, bitter divorce, and looking for any excitement he could find to drown his sorrows.

It was a lie, of course, but an easy one to feed.

“Perhaps,” he laughed, tipping the bartender as they rolled by. “But the fact remains: I am beaten.”

Sombra grinned back at him, leaning in her chair. “I always respect a bit of honesty in a person. Good trait to have.”

He smiled widely, placing his hands together and bowing his head slightly. “Let me buy you something less caustic, sí?” he asked, and Sombra could see he was nowhere near as drunk as he was putting on. “A token of my defeat and in honor of your superior constitution.”

She tilted her head to the side, assessing his motives. He didn’t seem savvy enough to be onto her, but she hadn’t gotten this far by assuming the best in people.

“Sure,” she said, pushing back her chair. “Can my friend come?”

The man looked over to where Widowmaker brooded, dressed in a black cocktail dress and looking entirely out of place in the pub as she leaned quietly against a carved column. She’d insisted on monitoring the event from the sidelines, carefully nursing a cup of wine in a familiar show of discomfort with their presence in the pub. Widowmaker, it seemed, really wasn’t much of a party girl unless there were fancy dresses and classical music in attendance.

Even then, Sombra thought, she acted exactly the same - it’s just that wine felt a lot more out of place amongst the mixed drinks and beer here than at one of Talon’s soirees.

“Two beautiful women?” the feigned shock, looking between the two of them. “But of course!” He bowed gallantly and headed for the bar, pulling two seats out for them.

Sombra stepped over to Widow and sidled up close to her, slipping an arm around her waist. “C’mon babe, let’s have some fun.”

“We have different definitions of fun,” she replied, the barest of smiles lifting the sides of her lips. “Are you certain about this?”

“Always,” Sombra said, laughing and pulling her in for a kiss. “Keep me honest here.”

“Impossible, cherie.” Widow replied into her kiss.

They sat at the bar and ordered their drinks, the sum of which ended up being mojitos for Sombra and her new companion and a very reluctant martini for Widow.

“How would you like it, hermosa?” the man asked, and only Sombra noticed the way her eye twitched at the endearment.

“Dry,” she replied icily. “Clean. With a light whispering of vermouth.”

“A what?” Sombra asked, eyebrows scrunched.

“A light whispering of vermouth,” she replied by way of explanation.

“Oh, thank you, that really helps clarify things.” She rolled her eyes and swiveled in her seat to look at the man. “So,” Sombra said, leaning forward in a display of interest. “Gonna give me a name to call you, or just ‘that sap whose ass I kicked’?”

“Diego,” he supplied with a laugh, touching a hand to his chest. Liar, Sombra thought to herself. “And you are?”

“Alexandra,” she replied, the name rolling off her tongue with zero preparation. She had an entire mental rolodex of them, each with a unique history she could borrow from in a pinch. Alexandra was a favorite, and easy to remember; she’d modeled her profile after the daughter of her favorite baker in Dorado. Sweet kid, if a bit too precocious for her own good at times.

“A pleasure to meet you, Alexandra,” he said without the slightest hint of suspicion. “That is a lovely name.”

“Thanks,” she replied, reclining in her chair. “A good name for a traditional data archivist.”

“En serio? I did not realize such a position still existed,” Diego mused.

“It’s a dying art,” Sombra replied, shrugging. “What do you do?”

“Ah,” Diego replied, looking pleased to be speaking of himself. “I work in espionage.”

Sombra blinked back at him. “Oh?” she replied, legitimately taken aback by his candor. “Espionage?”

“It is the art of - how should I say?” he thought to himself, misinterpreting her shock as a lack of understanding. “Redistributing information.”

“Oh, that sounds very interesting,” she replied, biting back what she wanted to say which was “I fucking know what espionage is, you pretentious garbage fire.” She could hear Widow chuckling under her breath from where she was sitting beside her, and looked over to see her staring firmly into her martini, smirk plastered across her perfect face.

“It is important, and difficult work,” Diego replied, nodding with the air of a teacher instructing a slightly dull student. “I have lost many companions to failure and loose lips.”

How ironic, Sombra thought to herself. Nodding appreciatively, she smiled vacantly and asked, “How does one ‘espionage’?”

Widowmaker nearly spat out her drink at this, and Sombra jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow. If she was going to be patronized, then she was going to use it to her advantage.

Diego shook his head, laughing softly to himself. “Señorita, it is no easy task, but essentially,” he explained slowly, gesturing with his hands from one area to another, “you take the information from Government A and relocate it to Government B,” he said, smiling widely, his pleasure with himself nauseating.  

“How do you get to the information?” Sombra asked curiously. “Isn’t it, you know - locked up in computers and stuff?” She shrugged. “Sorry. I’m not great with technology.” She waited for Widow’s response, but the assassin appeared to be holding herself together for the time being.

“But these,” Diego said, tapping at the cybernetic implants in Sombra’s skull, “do they not require one to be ‘good at tech’?”

“Oh, no,” Sombra laughed, high-pitched and affected. She could see Widow grimacing beside her. “They’re just good for making the television sound better.”

Widowmaker groaned. Sombra jabbed her again.

Diego nodded, eating her lie like a sweetcake. “A worthy investment!” He leaned forward and brought out a small handheld device. Pressing a button, he activated a small hard light screen that popped up between them. “You can acquire almost any information you desire through hacking. Here,” he said, finger swiping through a variety of screens. “Press this.” He swiveled the pad around so Sombra could see it.

“Huh,” she said, taking it from him and pressing a finger against the screen. The wires along her gloved fingers vibrated, and the screen flickered ever so slightly beneath her touch. Idiot. Sometimes she felt as though her talents were wasted on people willing to simply hand her what she wanted.

“I see,” Sombra replied after a moment or two of perusing the surface-level SQL he’d placed before her. “Too complicated for me.” Returning it across the bar, she saw Widow shift.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, slightly louder than intended.

“Perdón?” Diego asked, confused.

“Nothing,” she replied, returning to her barely-touched martini.

“Don’t you run out of governments after a while?” Sombra asked, pulling his attention back from Widow and affecting naivete. “I wouldn’t imagine they’d be too keen on asking you back, knowing your propensity for selling their information.”

“Ah,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, “it is not always governments. Sometimes it’s just powerful people, comprende?”

“Hmm,” Sombra said, thinking hard. “Like corporations? International groups?”

“Frequently, yes,” he affirmed, nodding so that his dark, curly hair bounced into his eyes. He brushed it back, eyeing her closely. “Right now I am working for LumériCo, helping them recover from a brazen hacking attempt. You know them?” he asked, clearly aiming for her to be impressed.

“I do,” she replied, her sweetness forced and feeling like poison on her tongue. She could feel a hand placed gently against the small of her back as Widowmaker made her presence known, discreet and supportive, from her seat to Sombra’s right. “By name at least.”

Diego nodded, grinning like a cat in the cream. “Then you know they are made of money, and pay their people very, very well.” His hand reached out and he placed it on hers. “Very well.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow at the unbidden contact, looking back up at the man before her. He had no idea. Not a single clue who he was dealing with and what fire he’d thrown himself into.

She could feel the smile creeping across her face almost beyond her physical control. Widowmaker’s hand clenched against the small of her back, the fabric of her shirt bunched between her knuckles.

“A tempting offer, hermano, but I’m not sure I’m quite cut out for a life of crime,” she replied, oozing innocence tinged with danger.

“You let me do the crime, you just reap the benefits.” He looked over her shoulder at Widowmaker, eyes glued to her martini, hand clenched around the stem so tightly her knuckles were white.

“I think I’ll pass,” she replied, pulling her hand from his grasp. “But I hope you have an excellent night.” She stood up, and Widowmaker stood with her; a fluid, deadly weapon wrapped in a small black dress.

“Please, señora,” she heard him say as she turned, accompanied by a hand grasping her arm. “One more drink?”

The next thing she knew, Widow’s fist was flying through the air to connect soundly with the man’s skull. There was a moment of shock in his expression, right before his eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground in a drunken pile. Sombra looked down at his crumbled form and laughed. The bar fell silent, eyes on them. The sound of a glass dropping off a table rang like a shot in the air.

“You know,” she said to Widow, nudging the man aside with her foot, “jealousy is a toxic emotion.”

“I am not jealous,” she replied simply, examining her nails. People were beginning to mutter around them and the man Widow had punched was moaning on the floor. “I simply did not like him.”

“We’re probably about to be kicked out. Wanna bail?”

“Oui,” she replied casually. Finishing her drink with a flick of her wrist, she set it on the counter and followed Sombra out of the bar. The bouncer hesitated as they left, but at the ice Widow shot his way as they passed, he thought better of stopping them and headed inside to clean up their mess.

They’d walked a distance through Venice, Widow with her arm supporting Sombra as the hacker stumbled along beside her. It was strange, she thought, how different things were now than months ago; how much easier their time together felt after the missteps and broken bridges they’d had to navigate. It was strange to think that something might be broken several times only to be rebuilt stronger.

“You are drunk?” Widowmaker asked after Sombra, for the fifth time, tripped over her own feet.

“No,” she replied defensively. “Ugh, yes,” she followed up almost immediately.

“Do you need anything?” she asked softly, directing her around an overturned trash barrel being attended to by a frustrated street sweeper bot.

“A kiss maybe,” she chuckled.

“You do not mind?” the sniper asked.

Sombra smiled, the warmth of the alcohol stoking the glow she always felt these days when Widow was gentle, and near. “Of course not, cielito.” She brought her hand up to slip her fingers into the softness of the sniper’s hair as she pressed her lips against hers. It was as sweet as ever, and she never tired of the feeling that twisted inside her whenever they touched. In a world like hers where newness and novelty were key, finding such satisfaction in something so familiar was...well. It was nice, is what it was.

It was very nice.

“Gabriel is going to shit,” Sombra said once they’d broken apart.

“An odd thing to say in the moment, but please,” Widow replied, casually waving away the strangeness of the context, “do continue.”

Leaning into the sniper’s embrace, she pulled up her hard light screen. “Idiot let me hack into not only his corporate accounts, but all the secret stuff they’ve got behind a tighter firewall as well. These guys,” she laughed, shaking her head. “They are into some shit.”

“Hm, yes, Gabriel will be pleased,” Widow mumbled into Sombra’s hair. Despite her usual chill, she was still warmer than the night air and the cold stone building they were leaning against. “And here I thought you simply enjoyed running circles around him.”

“Well yeah, that too.”

The sniper smiled.

“Hey, Widow?” Sombra asked, feeling softer than usual. Must have been the alcohol cracking her hard exterior.

“Oui, mi petite ombre?”

“Can we go home? I’m tired,” she said, pressing her cheek against the sniper’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Widow said with a gentleness that was usually reserved for late nights and whispers. “I will take you home.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[rick-rhymes]

2018 Project List

Rules: list all the projects you want to work on this year, then tag 10 people to do the same.

Tagged by @michonnesburnham

1. Finally decorate my bedroom to look Pinterest worthy. Right now it looks like a tragic "before" photo.

2. Paint at least 1 painting each month. Preferably more!

3. Squat and deadlift 60 lbs, in proper form, for the complete sets/reps of my workouts.

4. Write the three (3) multi-chapter Richonne fics I have bouncing around in my brain.

5. Get my ho ass dog to behave better by exercising him more, and being more consistent with his training.

6. Get SQL certified for my job.

7. Read a book again. Just one. Effin. Book. This is getting out of hand lmao.

Tagging: @starkchemistry101 @siancore @genshimada @michonnejennings @lorigrimes

[prvtocol]

valheri​ ( V. ) —

❛ oh?  that’s a novel concept, ❜

            SHE DOESN’T OWN THE PLACE AT ALL, but her aura acts like it does.  she is no fool, having the meet here is entirely by design ; to discourage any bright ideas of posting up arasaka ops & launch an ambush attack in a reputable place of business.  to do so would be horrible PR for the the megacorp & the stink of it would take ages to go away.  but the director took a shot & missed by a mile.  couldn’t piece together that very blatant tactical move.  irritating?  mildly, but not nearly enough to incite even a quarter of her hellfire rage.  ( the entirety of this assignment is a personal favor to dino & doubly so they’re inside the coyote —— her home away from home  —— & thus, will continue to purport herself as the cool-headed merc who cares for little else but the bottom line. )  in the same vein she will not allow AN OUNCE of this woman to spook her into complacency.  

i’m already dead.  don’t you know?

( johnny materializes & settles next to her, kicking his feet up on the flat of the table ‟ a corpo throwin’ their weight around.  what a surprise. ” )

tilts chin toward the ceiling & shoots a glance over at the BILLIARDS TABLE down below through a row of wooden balustrades.  lively chatter over catchy reggaeton music thrumming through the speakers.  

❛ i don’t need your attitude, ❜

but landry does need whatever she asked for.  retracts hand & the device back into her possession in pause.  in lieu, grabs up black-papered clove from her DECORATED CASE & lights it.  𝐕 watches her from the corner of her eye mid inhale, & is quiet until the exhale.  the gears in her turn, almost audible.

❛ honey, if i wanted to knock you off, i certainly wouldn’t have requested to talk the trade in very, very public property ; don’t insult me.  this is america ; you got freedom of choice: pack up your little louis clutch & go carry your ass back to the hills with nothin’ to show for it…or get outta’ your bag & let’s get to the biz.  decide what it is you want to do, but don’t waste my time with your catty bullshit, ❜

pinches the cigarette & blows out a stream of smoke RINGS with the curl of tongue.  lets the silence ( & the tunes, & the creak of old wood under weighted steps & clattering silverware on porcelain! ) soak in what was said.  curious to know if the woman would allow something as harmful as PRIDE to walk her away from the table & lose days worth of leads or will the cold calculus of pure business acumen prevail?

❛ what’s it gonna be, huh? ❜

a pregnant pause is indicative that she can finally go through the PROCEEDINGS as originally intended.  with a free hand, sets the shard FLAT on the table rather than miss landry’s hand now, slides it across, like nothing had ever happened.  this is not personal, it’s business.  

❛ ——now let’s try this again, ❜ she says, ❛ your miller guy’s been real busy over the past few years, but not under his actual name.  bought himself a whole new identification off a forger he found on the darknet ; username C47CH-22, your typical greyhat, & well-known if you’re in that scene, ❜

his dossier?  bleak & a giant pain in the ass to consolidate ;  bits & pieces 𝐕 was able to WHITTLE down on the tightly-locked code placeholders of redacted data ( deciphering absurd symbols, outdated SQL & several complex forms of script!) for the brass facts.  for all the trouble he gave her..?  mr. miller is one slippery & shrewd bastard.  should the director slot in the shard, graphical images of the article in question appear in realtime as she discusses the data after a SIDE-BY-SIDE comparison of miller’s appearance before & after arasaka.  the changes are drastic which suggests heavily of cosmetic work & extensive cyberware installations.

❛ new id says armando simms, chief pharmacologist in biotechnica.  just last year, there was a convention in staten island sponsored by vivtruvian biotics.  FDA had proposed a collaborative meeting regarding new antihistamines biotechnica was to become the factory producer of in the advent of strange symptoms following allergic reactions to the change in metals used in newer cyberware models —— specifically IEC makes, ❜

the data shows that the work the corporation had gotten done wasn’t enough, & there his division hadn’t the resources to meet chain pharmacy standards. there were to be FINANCIAL REPERCUSSIONS for expansion.  & all of it was to be discussed & planned.  among the humdrum lies other specifics that her department may be able to use as leverage: paymasters, playthings, staff he oversees.  there just wasn’t enough time to condense years of INFORMATION into something she can discuss in an hour.  most of it can be found in on the shard for her leisure.

❛ ran a database to comb through every armando simms in the immediate area & only 12 hit. out of that twelve, one fits the description: westbrook.  a compound of some sort, the drone provided’ll emphasize that it’s guarded like nobody’s business, means there’s something’ janky goin’ on, ❜

information is power.  knowledge is power.

❛ any questions? ❜

Brianne hears the merc talking, but her attention through upgraded Kiroshi Optics is sliced. Under the endless scroll of the Times Square™ Plus Marquee reminding her of the day’s below optimal calorie intake and ending stock prices, a message pops up from her security seated at the bar. Request to heed the five minute warning that begins to tick down on the lefthand corner. Cyberaudio likewise picks up the back channel between her other security, scouting the entrance, probably lighting a cigarette to pass the time and nix the suspicion. Await escort of lilac. “Lilac,” her code name between security this season. Colors. She was glad not to be given putrid green.

Maybe it’s the last neurostim she took, further putting her edge and making it all too loud — the establishment’s grungy decor. The blaring music. The smack of pool balls. This merc’s outfit. Brianne hardly has time for the condescending remarks. The woman might own the place, but point stands that this is not an optimal business establishment. This V. might not want to knock her off, but that bevy of Valentinos sure do. One fatal step out the door and a cozy news story amid wild speculation will give N54 news a blast.

Funny. She speaks of freedom. The old humdrum of “this is America, caw caw” rubbish that seems older than the hills. Night City is only free because Arasaka rolled in just in time to keep Rosalind Myers and the NUSA troops at bay �� a Free State only because her corp stepped up. Seven years easily forgotten and easily lost. Still, the volatility of Arasaka Tower, NC is part of the appeal for the director’s willingness to transfer. A challenge to prove her worth.

A bead of water pools on top of the lacquered fingernail whose tapered point remains seated against the unordered cocktails side. It retracts under the verbal onslaught. A vapid gaze likewise sits unmoved by the merc’s flourishing in her chastisement. She’s rather good at it. When finished, that same finger points to her hand which holds the shard. Get on with it, she means to say. The timer continues to tick down. 4:01. 4:02…

A personal encrypted micro-recorder stitched into her cyberaudio records every word V. says; data used to verify what is on that shard — a shard she will not be slotting into her neural port, not until her security inspects its safety.

Miller, or Armando Simms, has been busy. The darknet. Forgery. That scene. Brianne knows the best in that scene over the pond. Mind scatters to him and comes back. Other details. A pharmaceutical convention. New York. Metal interference of antihistamines. All interesting, all leading back to the main problem:

Near exact prototypes of Arasaka’s enhancement serums suddenly reemerged in Biotechnica’s own research specs; acknowledged first by one of their own undercover counterintel agents placed within the pharmeceutical corp. A loose end suggesting a prior dismissal should have been a flatline. A mistake Brianne made and now needs to quickly cleaned up.

❛ Mr. Miller’s been a busy boy. ❜ Stated plainly, hands softly folding together on the tabletop. She shakes her head and offers a sigh, knowing the repercussions. It is not the part of her job that she enjoys. ❛ Unfortunate. Probably used proprietary data as leverage to get that cush position as chief. ❜ A new face, a new identification, a new job. A ride on stollen goods.

❛ I assume these details and others are on the shard. ❜ Head cants to the side, an open palm coming forward to receive it. In particular, she’s interested in that heavily guarded “janky” location. IA can bring him in for verification, and for collateral. He might be of some use before they off him. ❛ If so, that will be all actually. ❜ And if so, a trip here was not completely necessary. Tone holds little enthusiasm. Only professionalism, boring to the bone. The stim is waning. She needs to survive the trip home. ❛ But very good, and very thorough. Your fixer will handle your pay. ❜

[bigolegeek]

Just went to lunch with my manager, her boss and the SQL Database rep.

We decide to take one gas guzzler because i ain't fitting in their eco friendly family sedans. So I hit radio and play 96.1 the friendliest station I know (I was listening to Slim 400 Bruisin' this morning. Don't judge me, that shit go hard)

Howe come my mangers boss just let's out, "Days like this I miss smoking a joint or 2." "You know what I mean BigOleGeek?"

NO! NO SIR I DON'T!

Not sure why they think I smoke weed but that's not the 1st time they've made weed comments around me trying to get my approval or me to let on I know a good weedman.

Now we are in meetings all day yet all I can think about is his old ass getting smoked out!

Hurry up 9pm, get here quick!

[queenofthecommunistcannibals]

The Best/Worst (or Worst/Best??) Babysitters AU

@eulenstadt and I were talking about an AU in which Jacobi and Maxwell end up emergancy babysitters for Anne Eiffel (and an AU where everyone is ALIVE).  It was hilarious so I am going to share.  

Jacobi and Maxwell use Anne to pretend they are actually real adults and not vaguely horrific people when out and about.  “We’re the guardians of this small deaf child, clearly we’re responsible and not at all special intelligence operatives for an evil mega-corporation.” “We’ve never even killed anybody.” “Definitely not more than one person.” 

The Wonder Twins pick up ASL very quickly, Jacobi’s used to using hand signals on the ballistics range when he and his coworkers wear ear protection and literally cannot hear one another.  Maxwell’s just a really fast learner.  

They use Anne as an excuse to go do things they want to do. I.e. Laser tag. 

Jacobi: “Anne wants to play laser tag.” 

Maxwell: “How do you know, you didn’t even sign anything to her.” 

Jacobi: “ANNE wants to play LASER TAG.” 

Maxwell: “...Anne definitely wants to play laser tag.” 

And so they play laser tag.  This is a learning experience all around.  

Jacobi and Maxwell teach Anne tactics both legitimate and definitely cheating. 

Jacobi and Maxwell learn how to have a third person (who isn’t Colonel Kepler) on their team.  

Maxwell teaches Anne how to build basic robots out of cans and wires.  Jacobi teaches her how to make Molotov Cocktails.  They burn stuff in a near-by field where a normal babysitter might take a kid to set off baking soda rockets.

Anne REALLY likes that Jacobi and Maxwell don’t treat her like a kid but like a tiny adult.  She doesn’t realize this isn’t so much on purpose as because Jacobi and Maxwell have no idea how to act around children.

Anne also REALLY likes Jacobi’s robotic arm.  She loves the idea that he’s a grown-up unaffiliated with her school who has a disability, in his case that he’s an amputee.  

Anne looks up to Maxwell as this amazing unstoppable wonder.  

During dress-up Maxwell is given a crown and dubbed Queen Computer.  Later changed to Queen SQL at Maxwell’s behest.  She demands Jacobi call her Queen SQL for the rest of the night.  

That night Queen SQL decrees that NO PINEAPPLE SHALL TOUCH THEIR PIZZA.  Anne celebrates.  Jacobi pouts.  

Anne and Jacobi argue like two children.  They are building a block tower and one of them screws it up.  When it falls they immediately start blaming each other.  “You messed up the foundation!” “You tried to build it too high!” “You nudged it!” “No way!” “I saw you!” 

This slowly devolves into “You’re stupid!” “Your face is stupid!” 

Maxwell stares at the camera like she’s on The Office. 

“Jacobi, she’s six.” “SIX AND WRONG!” 

So in other words, Maxwell is her hero, Jacobi is her playmate.  It works out well.  Maxwell thinks Anne is adorable (especially for a human child), Jacobi both has an affection for her and wants to punt her out a window sometimes. 

Maxwell is going to make sure Anne becomes a badass when she grows up.  Jacobi is going to make sure she knows how to take care of herself.

Eventually Anne makes up name signs for them both.  Maxwell’s is “S” and “Q” while also signing “crown” (she only has two hands so she can’t get the “L” in there).  Jacobi is a “J” over her right arm (she really likes that Jacobi is just some rando who is like her).  Jacobi petitioned for it to be a “J” that turned into the sign for “fire” but it was dubbed too difficult by Maxwell and Anne.    

Maxwell strikes a bargain to make Anne take a bath.  When she gets out they can paint Jacobi’s nails.  Jacobi is not privy to this bargain until it is too late. 

Jacobi: “WHY CAN’T SHE PAINT YOUR NAILS?!” 

Maxwell: “Because I hate nail polish!”

Jacobi: “AND I DON’T?!” 

Maxwell: “You need to step outside of these preconceived gender roles you--” 

Jacobi: “Don’t try to make me better myself. I hate bettering myself and you know it.” 

He gets his nails painted.  He swears them both to secrecy and whines about it the entire time.  

Later, after Anne goes to bed Jacobi peels the nail polish off and bitches at Maxwell.  “Shut up, Jacobi.” “SHE’S DEAF, MAXWELL, SHE CAN’T HEAR ME!” “I know, but I can.” 

Doug comes home and everyone is in one piece.  Anne wakes up to tell him about her day.  

Anne tells him about laser tag. “Daddy, we kicked ass!” Maxwell immediately regrets teaching Anne that sign.  She blames Jacobi when Doug gives them a wounded look.

Anne: “Jacobi taught me how to make cocktails!”

Doug: *absolute horror* “WHAT--?!”

Jacobi: *quickly, because he still wants Eiffel to pay them* “Nothing alcoholic!” 

Doug: “Thank God--”

Jacobi: “MOLOTOV cocktails.” 

Doug: “THAT’S JUST AS BAD!”

Jacobi: “It’s a really important skill!  What if she wants to start a riot!?”

Doug: “WHY WOULD SHE NEED TO START A RIOT, 'SPLOSION MAN?!”

Jacobi: “Lots of reasons!”

After much argument about how making incendiaries is NOT AN IMPORTANT LIFE SKILL Jacobi says “I had to teach myself!  I saved your curtains, half your kitchen, and a visit to the emergancy room.” 

Eiffel pays them like they’re two teenagers.

As they go out to the car Jacobi and Maxwell congratulate themselves on a job well done. 

Jacobi: “Everyone survived.”

Maxwell: “Yep, we did not kill Eiffel’s kid.” 

*HIGH FIVE* 

Anne: “Daddy, where do Jacobi and Maxwell live?” 

Doug: *thinks: Hell, probably.*  “I don’t really know.” 

Anne: “Can they babysit again?” 

Doug: “...we’ll see.” *this means no, because dammit they make HIM look RESPONSIBLE AND THAT IS TERRIFYING.* 

[shockerstopperz-blog]

The harsh realities

I was just there pondering my employment situation. Or should I say, employment dilemma?

The reality is, by the end of 1994 I had already learned the C and C++ programming languages, and learned SQL.

The books I bought through a book club was The complete reference of C/C++ and the The complete reference of SQL.

Now, I never wrote a single line of C/C++ until I bought my first computer in 1997, and I never wrote any SQL until around 2000 when I was now learning Visual Basic 6 and ADODX and DAO. These were the database api’s for Visual Basic.

The point behind that is, as of 1995 I probably could have gone on a job interview for a job as a programmer in a trading company on Wallstreet and got the job despite never having written a single line of code, to include never having used a computer at the time.

The question some might ask is, how is that possible?

My response is, it is not impossible.

They ask you questions. All you need to know is the answer, which I did simply from reading the books.

Let us assume they asked me to write code on their white board. The code would have looked like code, looked correct.

And even if their actual programmer said, the code would not compile, or it would compile but not run, or it would run but would crash, the programmer knows that, these things are an everyday occurrence.

In fact, most syntax questions involve code that would not compile where I was to tell them why the code was not going to compile.

The point is, I had one female teacher back on Long Island that could not get the kinds of jobs that I could have gotten, without ever using a computer, but want to act like she was hot shit.

Every time I asked this mother fucker a question her response was in the form of her yelling or shouting.

That was the reason why I dropped out of the school.

I was taking out student loans to pay for tuition, you bet your ass I was not going to put up with someone yelling to me every time I asked a question.

I was not receiving tuition assistance because I already had a degree.

And also, based upon her experience and qualifications as part of her introduction, she sounded like one of those that now wanted a job in my company. Guess who now lives in Michigan?

That is correct. Some of these people feel because they are white they dont need to show me respect because I am a nigger, but they still want to work for me in my company.

My current situation is, I have incurred $11,000 in student loan interest. I should be earning $5 Million a year minimum, so that does not bother me, but with that kind of money I could have been able to afford my bachelors in computer science from MSU.

Having said that, a degree is essential because recruiters keep wanting to suggest they have to work hard to talk recruiters into hiring me, so it is either I must be friends with them or have sex with them.

Once I got my Associates degree in accounting, that gave my employment situation a big boost. From then on out there was talk about making me the accounting manager, accounts payable manager. Obviously talk of me starting my own accounting firm also contributed to the boost.

I did not sense a bump in employment interest with my bachelors degree and likewise with my computer science courses.

My conclusion was, employers probably did not rate that school or the harassment over shadowed everything because at the time it became, I was being hired to be friends with people or someone was interested or expecting me and them to become in a relationship, or the associates degree was enough.

So I am hoping this associates in computer science provides the same results as my associates in accounting.

My goal right now is to see to it that throughout my career, while working, companies are sending me job offers.

Right now, companies want to interview me.

While I was working at IBM, HP wanted to hire me. Apparently people at HP heard the reasons that IBM wanted to fire me for and concluded the reasons they wanted to fire me for was bullshit.

But I intend learning from all my prior experiences: see to it that my education is such that companies want to offer me jobs so no recruiter could try to suggest they had to work hard to get me a job so that means me and them must be friends or engage in some kind of sexual relationship.

Even with that Liquid Web Michigan works training, I had one of the trainers suggested that I was a homosexual because I was not interested in those females that expressed an interest in a sexual relationship with me.

That is just fucking amazing.

The only thing more amazing than that is, I could estimate that the program spent around at least $100,000 on the 18 students that was in that program.

And the thing is, with technology, success depends on your level of passion.

Every single one of these losers were a bunch of cry babies. All they did was complain.

My favorite complaint of theirs was, Liquid web should not hire me, because I did not share my expertise with them. They liked the loser that tried belittling me because he shared his knowledge.

The important thing to note here is that I actually shared the most important piece of knowledge they needed: education is not about being told everything but also about knowing where to find the information you need.

The good news is, once the sexual harassment and bullying started, even if Liquid web offered me the job I was not going to accept it.

The law made it clear that no one has to be subjected to sexual harassment and bullying in the work place, to include I dont have to feel pressured to be friends with someone because they think being a resource to me is something that I need.

But that is life.

Hopefully with my computer science courses completed, and my degree completed, companies would resume contacting me with job offers and not interviews.

Let these people who feel I need them as a resource go fuck themselves and dont bother me.

I do find it interesting that Michigan Works are not required to publish training events. Some of the funds are to assist people to earn higher wages.

They want to suggest that accounting is an in demand profession and I have an accounting degree therefore I dont qualify for training in computer programming, despite computer programming means I would earn a higher wage.

But, there is no one to file a complaint with to force them to change the procedures or fire them.

[punsville]

Computer Puns

How do two programmers make money? One writes viruses, the other anti-viruses.

Where’s the best place to hide a body? Page two of Google.

A computer lets you make more mistakes faster than any invention in human history – with the possible exceptions of handguns and tequila.

If it weren’t for C, we’d all be programming in BASI and OBOL.

There are 10 types of people in the world: those who understand binary, and those who don’t.

In a world without fences and walls, who needs Gates and Windows?

Programming today is a race between software engineers striving to build bigger and better idiot-proof programs, and the Universe trying to produce bigger and better idiots. So far, the Universe is winning.

Computers make very fast, very accurate mistakes.

Never underestimate the bandwidth of a station wagon full of tapes hurling down the highway.

An SQL statement walks into a bar and sees two tables. It approaches, and asks “may I join you?”

Why is it that programmers always confuse Halloween with Christmas? Because 31 OCT = 25 DEC.

Man is the best computer we can put aboard a spacecraft… and the only one that can be mass produced with unskilled labor.

How many programmers does it take to change a light bulb? None. It’s a hardware problem.

I named my hard drive “dat ass” so once a month my computer asks if I want to ‘back dat ass up’.

I think my neighbor is stalking me as she’s been googling my name on her computer. I saw it through my telescope last night.

I changed my password to “incorrect”. So whenever I forget what it is the computer will say “Your password is incorrect”.

A computer once beat me at chess, but it was no match for me at kick boxing.

It’s ok computer, I go to sleep after 20 minutes of inactivity too.

Entered what I ate today into my new fitness app and it just sent an ambulance to my house.

A clean house is the sign of a broken computer.

Wifi went down during family dinner tonight. One kid started talking and I didn’t know who he was.

I would like to thank everybody that stuck by my side for those five long minutes my house didn’t have internet.

A TV can insult your intelligence, but nothing rubs it in like a computer.

Are you a computer whiz? it seems you know how to turn my software to hardware.

What did the spider do on the computer?  Made a website!

What did the computer do at lunchtime?  Had a byte!

What does a baby computer call his father?  Data!

Why did the computer keep sneezing?  It had a virus!

What is a computer virus?  A terminal illness!

Why was the computer cold?  It left it’s Windows open!

Why was there a bug in the computer?  Because it was looking for a byte to eat.

Why did the computer squeak?  Because someone stepped on it’s mouse!

What do you get when you cross a computer and a life guard?  A screensaver!

Where do all the cool mice live?  In their mousepads.

What do you get when you cross a computer with an elephant?  Lots of memory!

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