#Barrier and Fence Inspection

[elitepoolinspections]

Pool Safety Inspections ​​Stradbroke Island a Comprehensive Guide to Ensuring Compliance and Safety

Pool Safety Inspections ​​Stradbroke Island are crucial for maintaining safety around pools, especially given the specific legal requirements of Queensland (QLD). Owning a pool in such a scenic and family-friendly location like Stradbroke Island comes with significant responsibility. Regular inspections ensure that pools meet the strict safety standards mandated by the Queensland Government.…

[poolinspection]

Ensuring Safe Swimming: The Importance of Pool Fence Safety

Prioritizing pool inspections and barrier safety is essential for homeowners who own a pool. Regular inspections help identify and address potential safety hazards, while proper pool barrier measures such as fencing, gate alarms, and pool covers provide crucial layers of protection against unauthorized access and accidents.

For more details visit here: https://myhomepoolinspection.wixsite.com/pool-inspection/post/ensuring-safe-swimming-the-importance-of-pool-fence-safety

[poolbarrierinspectionvictoria]

The Future of Pool Barrier Inspections in Melbourne: Trends and Innovations

Curious about what's next for pool safety in Melbourne? "The Future of Pool Barrier Inspections in Melbourne: Trends and Innovations" delves into how pool barrier inspections evolve. Discover the latest trends and cutting-edge innovations set to enhance compliance and safety for pool owners. This blog is your guide to understanding the future of pool barrier inspections and how they'll impact Melbourne's pools.

[hedgehog-moss]

In my neverending quest to keep Pampérigouste from achieving her dreams, I have launched a formal investigation into her last escape, which I had no explanations for at the time.

I figured it out! At the far far end of her pasture, near the road, a few fence posts have become more or less horizontal (the ground is quite wet / muddy there so they've never been very stable, especially with Pirlouit using them to scratch his forehead)—so instead of a high jump + long jump combo to get to the road, Pampe just had to clear the long jump over the ditch. Which is still impressive.

I also suspect that she chose to escape from this place near the road on a snowy morning as a deliberate strategy, knowing the snow plough would erase any traces of her jump, thus preventing me from discovering where the weak spot in the fence was. Well done.

You need 2 people to fix these fence posts so in the meantime I decided to kill two birds with one stone: cut all the broom and thorny bushes in this corner of the pasture and use them to form a discouraging barrier. I set to work earlier this week, and here's the same place as above, mid-process:

When I texted my mum to tell her about my new thorn-based anti-Pampe plan of action, she said "Like the Maasai who make fences with thorny acacia branches to keep out lions!" and it made me feel even more confident. I mean, I have neither acacia nor Maasai fencing techniques but my thorny shrubs are pretty aggressive, they pricked my fingers even through my thick work gloves—which felt satisfying in an anticipatory way. Excellent! prick Pampe's nose exactly like this. How could a llama not be deterred by a fence material that deters apex predators?

Vexingly enough, she seemed quite supportive of my efforts. At one point she breathed some warm air against my shoulder in a gentle, patronising way.

We were engaged in psychological warfare all afternoon—every time I stepped away from my vegetal fence, feeling like it was now good enough, Pampe would immediately come to inspect it, cheerful and impatient, which sapped my confidence so I would go and add a few more shrubs. (Note that I sort of plaited the first / biggest shrubs with the pre-existing fence so they don't go flying on the road, and so Pampe can't just push them aside.)

On the right: Poldine, looking for little fresh leaves to eat amidst the chaos. On the left: Pampérigouste, thinking.

(At this point the barrier was only 20% thorns, and 80% broom—the fact that she waded through it without a care and didn't prick her belly made me go and add more thorny shrubs, and pack them more densely)

It's kind of fun watching Pampe think, honestly. Can I jump over this? Do I have enough visibility? Can I eat my way to freedom (again)? But these shrubs are disgusting. Am I above exploiting my daughter's lack of culinary discernment to achieve my goals? Maybe I should go back to my calculations re: probability of wild boar destruction. I may have pincushions for hands after handling prickly bushes for two hours but I'm helping stimulate my llama's intellect and creativity and that's so important.

I tried to alternate broom and thorny branches so that the non-thorny broom became tangled up with thorns and brambles to form an impenetrable and incomprehensible wall. I will call it this method the salmagundi-fence.

Poldine is in awe of my vegetal installation.

Can I just say, compared to Pampérigouste who constantly has a devilish glint in her eye, Pampelune's face exudes wholesome politeness and moral goodness. It's still hard to believe they're mother and daughter.

I went home once my fence started looking like Maleficent's forest of thorns and Pampe had long stopped trying to wade through it, but I still felt antsy and ended up coming back one hour later to have my apéritif with the llamas so I could keep an eye on Pampe until nightfall.

... where is Pampe?

Oh. Here. No worries!

Still staring at the road. Still thinking.

...

With all that said, please admire my beautifully delirious Forest of Thorns-fence and let me know what you think.

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 10 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

Warning w/ some notes: Dom Steddie/Sub reader and all that implies (I regret nothing!), No smut but lots of angst, Eddie opens up more to Y/N and talks about his childhood abuse, Steve and his dad get into a fight but only the aftermath is mentioned, he tells them what happened so he does talk about his dad being a dick and saying some not so nice things about our reader and her body, Steve does get a bit combative with Eddie and Reader verbally...I think that's it.

Word Count: 3343

You walked into school with a smile stretched across your face. In a couple more months you would be able to graduate from school and go to college. You and Masie got into the same university just outside of Hawkins which you were extremely excited about but felt a little guilty because the guys were struggling to get in anywhere. 

Steve had tried Tech, the local community college, and even your university but was rejected by all three. Eddie, honestly, had no interest in school but to appease his uncle applied to the community college and like his friend was also rejected. 

Your relationship with them was still going strong and you fell for them harder every single day you spent with them. It always amused you that the first time you met them, you just wanted them to leave you alone but now it killed you when you were away from them for more than a day. Eddie told Steve you had mentioned moving in after graduation and he was all for it. 

Neither of you were sure on the logistics of how your dynamic would work in a lived-in setting. You knew you belonged to them and loved when they we in charge but after doing some research with Steve at the library outside of Hawkins, you weren’t sure how far you wanted that control to go. In a book you guys found, some subs said they liked their dominates picking and approving their clothing or dictating what they ate or did fully embracing the dynamic 24/7.

When you went over what you found with Eddie, he saw the trepidation in your face. 

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to do all of these. I’m sure every home is different. I mean as long as the three of us are comfortable, right?”

“Yeah, remember, honey. This is new to us to.”

“What’s got you all smiley?”, Masie grins as she meets you at your locker. 

“I’m just happy. We’re about to graduate!”

“Slow down, tiger. We still have some time.”

You carry your grin into your first period until you noticed only Eddie was there. 

“Where’s Steve?”

“I’m not sure to be honest. He called me last night and we were talking about something before his line suddenly disconnected. I was going to ask him about it but…”, he gestures to the empty seat. “Hey, wait!” He follows you as you promptly turn around and leave the classroom. “Where are you going?”

“What if something happened to him? I need to know he’s okay.”

###############

“Steve! Open up!”, you shouted as you banged on his door. 

“Here, babe. Hold this steady for me.” Eddie pulled one of the outside chairs towards the Harrington fence and you held it down as he climbed along the back of it flipping over the barrier. He grunts as he hits the ground, dusting himself off before opening the gate so you can follow him in. 

The two of you walked hand in hand as you looked around but as you reach the back door you both freeze. Through the sliding glass you can tell the living room is a mess. Papers were thrown everywhere and you could barely make out clothes near the stairs with some broken glass.

“Stay here, Y/N.”, Eddie commanded as he opened the door and slid inside, growling in his throat when you trailed after him. “I said stay outside.”

“No. He helped me. I’m not waiting around.”

The metalhead aggressively sighed as he pointed his finger in your face. “We will talk about this later.”

“Understood.”, you replied in defiance. 

Upon further inspection, the clothes on the floor were all Steve’s and the glass was from figurines you saw in his dad’s office. You bent down to look at one of the papers on the floor, noticing it was one of those same type of letters you had seen on his father’s desk during his party. After picking up a few more and showing them to Eddie, you realized they were all either letters for Steve to sign or his report cards. 

Your brain started to piece together a small story of what happened and without saying a word you bolted up the stairs, your protector aggressively calling after you. Steve was leaning against his bed on the floor with his sleeping head against the mattress, a half full glass of liquor in his hand. 

You knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder till he opened his eyes as his head lazily turned in your direction. 

“Hey, baby! What are doing here? Shouldn’t you and your big brain be at school?”

He still smelled incredibly strong like alcohol and you winced as he chuckled. 

“We…we were worried about you, Daddy.”

Eddie came down to his level, forcibly turning him to look his way. “Steve, when is your dad coming back?”

“Uhhhhh…I’m not sure. My mom made him leave to cool off last night and they both haven’t come back yet so…”, he shrugged as we took a swig from his glass. 

“Ok, baby, I’m going to grab some of his clothes and things. Sit with him, ok?”

You nod as Steve raises his glass towards Eddie. “Good luck finding any that match! They’re all…on the floor…downstairs.”, he slurs. 

“Honey, give me this, ok?” You reach forward trying to take the glass from his hand but he roughly jerks it away. 

“No! You don’t tell me what to do! I’m…I’m Daddy here.”, he giggles as he sighs. “At least I can be good at something.”

“You are a great Daddy, Steve and a wonderful boyfriend.”

He laughed but you noticed his eyes get glassy. “He, my dad, um…” The boy leans forward, displaying the sunglasses you bought him in New York, now smashed and missing a lens. “…broke the gift you got me. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Falling into your chest, you run your fingers through his hair as he sobs. “Sir!”, you shout for him, hoping he’s gotten everything so you three can leave. “It’s ok, Daddy. Everything’s ok.”

“I’m here! His stuff is in my van. Go open the doors in the back and we’ll be right there.” He glared at you as you hesitated, not wanted to detach from Steve’s side. “Do what I say, God damn it!” He tosses you his keys and you quickly run down the stairs and out the front door. 

################

Eddie carried Steve into the trailer and he immediately knocked out as soon as his head hit the pillow. As you started to climb in next to him, the metalhead grabbed your arm, shutting his bedroom door, and shoving your back against it. 

“Since when did we stop listening, Y/N? You’re lucky this situation wasn’t worse.”, he seethed. 

“How is it not worse?! Look at him!”

He covered your mouth with his hand as he angrily continued to scold you. “There could have been someone in the house that could have hurt you, a burglar or hell even his fucking dad!” 

Eddie saw the care you had for them pass through your eyes causing him to exhale as he released you from his hold. “I understand you were worried, princess. I wasn’t going to make you wait outside the whole time. I figured it may be something with his father but I just needed to make sure everything was safe.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you hold him to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, baby. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just…I know you said your dad… was aggressive with you…”

He softly smiled as kissed your forehead. “Go lay with him. I’m gonna have a cigarette real quick and then I’ll join you.”

*****

Steve grumbled awake a few hours later, grabbing his head as he looked around trying to figure out where he was.

“There’s some pain med and water on the table there.”, Eddie whispered as he pointed that way, closing the book he had been reading and placed it on the floor. 

“Thanks, man. How did I get here?”

“When you weren’t at school, Y/N insisted we come check on you. We found you drunk on the floor in your room. Your house is trashed.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

“What happened, Steve?”

His eyes flick down towards your sleeping frame before looking at his friend again. “Nothing, Ed. It’s fine.”

“Is it? You told Y/N your dad broke the glasses she got you. Your clothes were thrown all over the downstairs floor and we found papers all about you spread around the living room.”

Steve’s look became dark as he narrowed his brown orbs in his direction. “Seems like baby girl isn’t the only one who’s nosey.” He stomped out of the room, heading for the refrigerator before Eddie cuts him off.

“Nope. No more alcohol for you until you tell me what happened.”

“You don’t control me, Edward.”

“Well, Steven, this is my house and I control who gets to eat or drink from my fridge.”

“What’s going on?” Both sets of eyes turn towards you as you stand in the entryway of the kitchen. “Daddy, are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“At least she fucking cares about me.”

“And I don’t? I’ve known you since elementary school. We became friends freshman year. We are in a shared relationship TOGETHER. I fucking care. Which is why you’ll have to fucking move me if you want another beer.”

Steve squared his shoulders as both men stared each down. You weren’t sure what to do but you knew you hated this. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, preparing for what would come next. 

“Steve, what did your dad do? Why was he so angry?”

Without breaking eye contact with Eddie, he responded to you. “You two need to stay out of my fucking business. I can handle this, alright?!”

“No one is saying you can’t. We just want to help.”

He turns on you then, stalking slowly towards you. “And what makes you think I need or even want your help!? Just because you got into university doesn’t make you smarter or better than me, little girl!”

Eddie steps forward to come between you two but you hold up your palm to stop him. 

“Is that what this was about? Did he get mad at you because you didn’t get into school?”

I don’t like feeling out of control…

His words echoed in your brain as you watch him visibly shake. 

“Daddy…”, you whispered, careful not to touch him as his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby, you are still a good man and a good son even though you didn’t get into a school. I’m still so proud of you and everything you do. I don’t care if you have a degree, make a ton of money, or any of that superficial stuff. I love you…both of you…for you.”

Your hand slowly reached up to touch his cheek and he promptly yanked you into his arms. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s ok, dude.” Eddie came around and patted his shoulder. As he started to back away, your arm reached out to grab his shirt and bring him closer. “Jesus!”

After a while you leaned back, lifting up on your toes to kiss his lips. 

“Are you hungry?”

###############

Eddie sat on the counter, swinging his feet as he watched you move around his kitchen. 

“You are magic, woman. How did you make a meal out of the leftover crap we have in here?”

“You see it as crap!”, you giggle. “Your uncle seems to be a chef of some kind with everything here.”

“Hm. I’m not surprised. Munson get togethers were always catered by the eldest Munson brother.” He grinned as he eyed you up and down; watching your face as you focused on the pan in front of you. “I always liked coming here and getting out of our house for a while. I mean the problem in the house came with us but…”

You glance as him as his focus shifts to the floor. 

“One time, we came here right after a stint my dad did for stealing someone’s car. Wayne didn’t want to celebrate him for being released from jail a second time so he said it was a gathering for my birthday which wasn’t for another couple of months.” He smiles as he looks at you. “That night my dad gave me a black eye because my uncle offered to take me again so he could focus on getting his life together. He thought I had asked Wayne to move in so my father accused me of thinking I was ‘too good’ for this family.”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

He softly smiled as his fingers trailed up your arm. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m always here for you, Sir.”

He laughs as he tugs you between his legs and wraps you up in a hug. “You know what else I’ve never told anyone?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.” When you leaned back, his thumb ran along your bottom lip before moving to your cheek. “I do. I know this started weird and the whole relationship is weird but I don’t know…it just makes sense.”

You nod, not able to respond verbally as you feel the tears press against your eyes making him chuckle. “Hey now. Focus on what your doing, cry baby. Don’t burn the trailer down.”

You finished making their meal right as Steve got out of the shower, running a towel through his damp hair. 

“Fuck me. It smells good out here.” He sits on the edge of the bed as you offer him a plate, Eddie already hoovering food into his mouth behind him. As he eats you continue to comfort him anyway you can, running your hands along his back his chest, kissing his shoulder, or playing with his hair.

After they finish, you take both their plates and head towards the sink as you listen to them talk. 

“Did she eat?”

“Yeah, man, while you were asleep. I had to practically force her.”, Eddie laughs. “She was really worried.”

Steve releases a heavy breath as you come back in and sit next to them. “My dad found my applications I had thrown in the trash. I heard him shouting and my line disconnected so I went downstairs… he just went off. Said I had made promises I failed to keep, flashing my shitty report cards and how I would never measure up to the Harrington name.”

“He asked me what I planned to do with my life since I didn’t seem to put any effort into school. I told him I didn’t know. All I knew was I would go wherever you went.” His eyes shifted up to meet yours. “If you had gotten into a university or something outside of Indiana, I would have followed you, Y/N. I love you to.”

Steve kisses your forehead as Eddie playfully slaps your thigh. “Cry baby.”

“How did your clothes end up on the floor?” The boy’s leg started to jump as his body tensed. You could tell he was afraid to answer your question. Not fear of his father or how you’ll react but of hurting you. “Daddy, it’s ok. You can tell me anything.”

“He, uh, said that dating you is worse than me not getting into college. You’re… shit… honey, I can’t…”

You glanced at Eddie whose eyes were lost in an angry void as his jaw tightened. “Daddy, baby, look at me. You can tell me. I’ll still love you. I know you don’t feel like he does. I know you think I’m beautiful and fascinating.”, you smile at him comfortingly. 

“He said… your family is poor, trash, and you’re disgusting. I wouldn’t be able to bring you to family events because…people take pictures…” You exhaled as you leaned on his shoulder while Eddie lit a cigarette. “I got angry with him and told him to fuck off. That you, me, and Eddie were going to move in together after the year ends. He went into my room and threw everything downstairs telling me I should just leave now. That’s when my mother got involved. After they left, I got drunk.”

“Steve, you’re more than welcome to stay with me.”

“Naw, Munson. He’ll…he’ll cool off. It’s just a couple more months.” His eyes met your sad ones. “Tell me what you’re thinking, baby, please.”

“I…I don’t want to be the cause of your pain. I don’t want you to lose your family because of me.”

His demeanor quickly changed from his eyes down to the way he was sitting as he straightened up. “I lost my family way before I ever met you. You think my life was all sunshine rainbows before you came along?”

“Steve, I don’t want you to struggle these next two months…”

“So what are you saying, hm?! That we’ll just break up till summer? Oh, or maybe you and Eddie can fuck around till we graduate!”

“Daddy! Stop! Stop…” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders trying to calm him down. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just—”

“She doesn’t want what happened last night to happen again. She feels like this was her fault and not because your dad is a dick.”, Eddie explained. “There’s that ‘I’m a burden’ damage again.”

Steve’s eyes closed as he sighed. “I’m sorry, Y/N. My brain is all over the place. I’m not angry with you or anything.”

“I know, baby.”

“Harrington, is your dad the type of guy to go looking for you?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Um, I’m just thinking…you told him you were dating princess here. If you don’t come home tonight…”

“Shit. No. I mean I think we’re ok.”

“We can find out…” They both turn to look at you. “I have to call my parents and tell them I’m staying with Masie. If your dad called them…”

You reach for Eddie’s phone and dial the number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom. I just want to call to see—”

“If you can stay with Masie tonight? Of course. Your father wants to ask you something first.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I got a call from school today that said you left earlier. Is that right?”

“No, dad. They must be mistaken. I was there all day and then left with Maze. I’m at her house right now.”

“Ah. I see. Can I talk to her? It seems that Harrington boy wasn’t at school either and his mom is trying to find him. Maybe Masie would know where he is.”

“Why would Masie know that? They aren’t even fri—”

“Put her on the phone, Y/N.” You panic as your eyes shift between theirs. “You’re not at her house, are you?”

“No…”

“You’re with him right now?”

“Yes…”

“I want you both here in 30 minutes. Any longer and I call the chief. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

As soon as the phone disconnects, you cry. When you finally calm down, you’re able to relay what your father had said. 

“Well shit. I guess we’re doing this.” Steve rose to his feet, searching for his shoes. “I was hoping we could wait till you were moving out and in with us but…”

“Sir, what are you doing?”, you ask as you see Eddie throw on his jacket. 

“Probably should stick with our names for the time being, sweetheart. I imagine we’re about to give your parents a big enough heart attack, God forbid you accidently call Stevie ‘Daddy’ in front of them as well.”

“Eddie… you can’t come.”

He pauses, turning to grip your jaw with his fingers. “Now that isn’t something we are going to do. You don’t tell us what we can’t do. I’m not letting you and Harrington face this alone. You’re mine to.”

You press up on your toes to reach his lips and he wraps his arm around you. 

“Everything’s going to be okay, honey. Remember, you’re safe with us.”

###########

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @local-stoner-bitch

@katethetank @danandphilequalsmemes @alienthings

@sidthedollface2 @mandyjo8719 @bexreastoomuch @chelebelletx

@shayeddie @emmalee-01 @anaibis @wroteclassicaly

@fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @siriuslysmoking

@raptorbait529 @miarosso

(I am 90% positive I am missing a couple of tags here. If I did just let me know!)

[sidetongue]

What sort of naughty activities does Miss Budgie get up to?

She is a terror!! We’ve recently had a saga where I discovered she pesters the German shepherd through the fence when I’m not home. Runs up and down yapping and stirring him up. I only realised when I happened to catch the neighbour HOSING her over the fence on the camera!! And honestly, I am 100% team neighbour! What an annoying little dog! So I put up a barrier of pot plants to deter her. Came home and the plants were squished. Presumably she just ran across the pots instead of along the ground. Finally I’ve put up shade cloth and she is being much more appropriate. My neighbour is an angel and insists that budgie and the shepherd are still good friends.

One night she climbed up onto the kitchen table, found a tube of nutrigel in the puppies’ bag (nutrigel is a thick, sludgy, tarry goo - I used it to help prevent/treat hypoglycaemia in the cane corso puppies), carted it off onto the couch, made herself comfortable, and devoured it. Sticky black goop all over the couch, cushions and her beard. And of course, this gave her a raging tummy ache. She had diarrhoea all throughout the house. Then peed on the spare bed for good measure. THEN came back to bed with me before I woke up, and tried to convince me she’d been there the whole time.

She refuses to swim in the kiddie pool I provide for them and instead opts to squish herself into the water dish - muddying it up so everyone else has to drink Budgie flavoured water. She expertly removes lids off of feed containers to engorge herself on food (cat food, dog food, chook food…), she steals toys off her siblings, humps moby, rebounds off moby, tackles moby, bites moby’s butt, shrieks at moby…. Literally any annoying behaviour she has tried it on moby. She is ALWAYS up high on a chair, table, barbecue, fish tank… regardless of whose house we are at - she will find the highest horizontal surface and defy the laws of physics to reach it.

Budgie is a giant twerp! The most mischievous, cunning little dog I’ve ever met!

Also.. it was later discovered that she did not in fact smoosh the plants while fence fighting. The plants WERE an adequate deterrent for budgie, she hasn’t bothered the shepherd since they were planted. I assumed she trampled them to continue her antics with the shep. Nope. Henry squished them whilst thoroughly inspecting the new flora for potential geckos. He was just on his everlasting journey to hunt all the gecks.

[coochiequeens]

Any ladies in Paris for the Olympics, be careful.

Australian woman 'gang raped by five men' in Paris just days before the Olympics

Woman, 25, allegedly 'gang raped' in Paris 

She was taken to hospital and police are investigating

By ANTOINETTE MILIENOS and CANDACE SUTTON FOR DAILY MAIL AUSTRALIA

PUBLISHED: 16:26 EDT, 22 July 2024 | 

An  Australian woman who was allegedly gang raped in Paris just days before the Olympics opening ceremony had a flight booked home the following day.

The distressed 25-year-old woman told police she had been attacked by five men 'of African appearance' after seeking refuge inside a kebab shop just metres from the famous Moulin Rouge cabaret theatre at about 5am on Saturday.

The woman, who was described having 'her dress inside out' and carrying her underwear in her hand, also claimed her mobile phone had been stolen

Disoriented and unable to speak a word of French', she was taken to Bichat hospital after the owners of the Dounia kebab shop, a late-night Lebanese food restaurant on Boulevard de Clichy, called police for help.

The street, famed for its arts and theatre outlets, is also a red light district, with a lap dancing club and a sex shop next to the Lebanese trattoria. 

The woman, who was reportedly in Paris for the Fete de Musique music festival, told investigators of her horrific ordeal; however, she was reportedly unable to give details on the exact place or circumstances surrounding the attack.

Parisian police want to avoid fear being spread among tourists as hundreds of thousands flock to the French capital for the Olympic Games.

It has since emerged the alleged assault happened just a day before the young woman was due to fly back to the safety of Australia.

She apparently had a flight home booked for Sunday, according to 2GB's Olympics reporter Clinton Maynard, and it is unclear if she is still in France.

Police are now inspecting CCTV footage but say even if she is no longer in France they will try to identify the alleged perpetrators, who 'young and of African appearance'.

Paris Prosecutor's Office announced an investigation into the incident was under way.

'The investigation into the charge of gang rape likely to have been committed on the night of July 19 to 20 has been entrusted to the second judicial police district,' Paris Prosecutor's office said.

Alliance Paris Police Union said investigators will 'do everything to quickly identify the individuals and bring them to justice'.

The incident comes just days before the Olympics is set to begin, and despite Paris launching a major security operation ahead of the event.

Armed guards have been spotted patrolling the streets, metal barriers now line the Seine.

A huge force of some 45,000 police officers drafted in from 43 countries and 18,000 soldiers will make up the defence system.

But alongside human efforts, several aerial units will also be involved in the 'unprecedented' operation, including Rafale fighter jets, AWACS surveillance flights, Reaper surveillance drones and helicopters with expert snipers on board. 

Some 1,700 members of the British police force are already supporting French officers in Paris and Marseille as well as UK sniffer dogs that have been handpicked by French authorities. 

Images from Paris today show the city behind rows of metal barriers as locals and tourists dine at restaurants behind perimeter fencing near the River Seine - where the opening ceremony is set to take place on Friday.

The four-mile metal barricade was put in place by the Paris Police Prefecture and will remain throughout the Games to prevent and deter any trouble.

Dubbed the SILT, or the 'belt of steel' the anti-terrorism fencing is ultimately the first line of defence and were initially erected on July 18.

Anyone who wants to enter the protected area will need to scan a QR code to me it into the gated part of the city.

All cars are also banned from entering certain zones around some of the event venues with solely emergency vehicles allowed through. 

[froottalks]

Serendipitous Hearts - Wanda Maximoff x male reader

[summary: a heartwarming and charming boy next door-themed story with wanda maximoff.]

Masterlist

The suburban neighborhood was a picturesque haven, where houses lined the streets with white picket fences and blooming gardens. Among these houses, there was one that stood out—the residence of Wanda Maximoff.

She was the enigmatic woman next door, known for her captivating presence and the air of mystery that surrounded her.

You, on the other hand, were the embodiment of simplicity, embracing the comfort of the familiar and the joy of everyday routines. Little did you know that the mundane rhythm of your life was about to be disrupted by the unexpected.

One sunny morning, as you stepped out to grab the newspaper from your front porch, you noticed a small mishap—a fallen flowerpot near Wanda's porch.

Concerned, you moved closer to inspect the situation, only to find Wanda herself attempting to remedy the situation.

"Need some help?" you offered with a friendly smile.

Wanda's eyes met yours, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in her gaze. "Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you."

As the two of you worked together to restore the flowerpot to its rightful place, you found yourselves engaged in easy conversation. She spoke of her love for plants and nature, while you shared stories of your simple joys and interests. The connection between you was instant, as if fate had orchestrated the meeting.

Days turned into weeks, and your interactions with Wanda became a delightful routine. Casual conversations turned into longer exchanges, as you discovered shared interests and the joy of each other's company. You began to anticipate the moments when you'd run into each other while tending to your gardens or taking a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood.

One evening, as the sun began to set and cast a warm glow over the neighborhood, Wanda approached you with a proposition. "I've been meaning to try this new Italian restaurant that just opened downtown. Would you be interested in joining me for dinner?"

The invitation caught you off guard, but excitement fluttered in your chest. "I'd love to," you replied with a genuine smile.

The dinner was a revelation of flavors and laughter, as you shared stories and experiences from your lives. The simplicity of the evening belied the connection that was growing between you—a connection that seemed to transcend the barriers of mere neighbors.

As time went on, your relationship with Wanda deepened. You found yourself sharing more intimate moments, discussing your dreams, your fears, and the unspoken desires that lingered beneath the surface. The boy next door had become a confidant, a friend, and something more.

One afternoon, as the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through your home, you decided to surprise Wanda with a batch. Knocking on her door, your heart raced as she opened it, a smile lighting up her features.

"I brought you some cookies," you said with a playful grin.

Wanda's eyes sparkled as she accepted the offering. "You always know how to brighten my day."

As you shared the cookies and stories, a comfortable silence settled between you. Wanda's gaze held yours, a mixture of emotions dancing in her eyes.

"Can I be honest with you?" she asked softly.

You nodded, your heart racing in anticipation.

"I never expected to find a connection like this," Wanda admitted, her voice carrying a vulnerability that echoed your own.

"Me neither," you confessed, your gaze unwavering.

In that moment, the unspoken tension between you became palpable—a tension that held the promise of something more than friendship, something that had been brewing beneath the surface all along.

As the night sky glittered with stars, Wanda's fingers brushed against yours, sending shivers down your spine. "Would you like to dance?" she asked, her voice a soft invitation.

Without a word, you accepted, and the two of you swayed to the rhythm of a melody that only your hearts could hear. The world around you faded away, leaving only the connection between you and the magic of the moment.

As the song ended, Wanda's gaze met yours, a mixture of longing and uncertainty in her eyes. Without hesitation, she leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that held all the unspoken words, all the emotions that had been building between you.

THE END

[spidermilkshake]

Instructions Unclear

More RE fanfics--more mutants, more corporate shenanigans. Finally, we have arrived on the day of RE2's events.

Rating: Teen (TW for blood, implied child neglect, significant violence, human experimentation, dehumanization, medical/lab settings and stuff, described injuries and gore, plus also human adults cuss like human adults)

Mr. X recovers from his error in the jail/basement area... and tries to make his mission turn to a positive note but, uh, that goddamn Umbrella controller implant seems to become an issue. Honestly, if Umbrella wanted a broad "kill everyone" creature, they ought to have chosen something else... a bunch of Hunter Alphas, perhaps? Or maybe the company has shitty communication, and the order DO diverge from what the handler does that much.

And finally... Claire Redfield! She's... not emotionally ready for this shit! But we love her for her trying anyways! And the style!

Instructions Unclear

Weakspot acquired.

            It came in the form of a crack and a leak in the outer foundation walls, pressed up to the slope of a storm drain along the western wall of the place. The spurt of incoming rainwater gave Mr. X the opportunity to mostly rinse the fresh gore from its right hand before it pushed sharply and found that a two-foot section fell outward with barely any effort.

            Shortly, a massive fist exploded up from the forgotten storm drain, opening up a hole wide enough for the gigantic bioweapon to squeeze himself out, back into the fetid rain still trickling on and off into the apocalyptic city streets. Snorting at water that ran down his heavily-grooved face, the Tyrant huffed for breath while on hands and knees a moment, gaze turning to inspect his dominant hand again. Small flecks of blood still clung to the creases between his fingers, and with a narrowing of his eyes he scraped these areas upon a rough corner of concrete rubble to be rid of them. Disgusting. Worse, shameful. Its aim had never been called into question before—nor had its temper. He had never thought himself a particularly angry Tyrant. With a deep sigh, Mr. X creaked up to his feet and blinked out over the mist of evening drifting through this side-courtyard. Ringed with chain link, the area was largely holding up and devoid of infected, with the exception of one crawling on its hands and… lack of knees along the outside edge of the fence, unable to coordinate or comprehend how to go either over or under the barrier.

            In a dim recognition, T-00’s pupils tracked a new movement from within the fenceline—small, keeping low like a preyed-upon animal, and crouching by one of the ornate windows, it moved… human-like. But so small. Human juvenile. This was not an R.P.D. target, not an infected creature.

            She stood up. Light-haired and light-skinned, and wearing a largely white and pale blue school uniform, she would have stood out in the damp, grim shadows even to a less enhanced onlooker. And she was holding something, turning it over and over in her tiny hands. Something deeply familiar.

            The child was on the verge of hyperventilating—having been dodging brutal death, climbing her way over fences and barricades ahead of snarling hordes, and trying all the 1st floor windows of the police station for hours—all after finding the main entrance and the parking garage barricaded shut. The fine-wooled, sleek-lined hat had thrown her off for a moment, wondering somewhat darkly if it had fallen from a detective who had not survived the assault of zombies in Raccoon City…

            She stood bolt upright at the series of wet, plodding footfalls behind her—as if a heavy hauling beast had figured out how to stand up and walk with human-like cadence.

            T-00 halted a few meters back from the child, remembering the lesson of his first introduction to such small people. He waited, watched, as she sensed the laserpoint eyes on her and flinched around. His hat was clutched tight in a two-armed grip as she backed into the brick windowsill—logically alarmed by the sudden appearance of the enormous man—easily twice her height and God knew how many times her weight—so close behind her in such a horrific scenario. She sucked in a deep breath, holding the hat in front of her now like a shield. Mr. X studied her, careful but inquisitive, pondering how to inform her that she had no enemy in him.

            “Hrmmm…” he rumbled, letting his eyes wander to the much-missed headgear, a heavy brow twitching up in interest. The girl slowly lowered the hat from obscuring her face, revealing features more clearly. Those visual indicators clicked into place. Sherry Birkin. The Tyrant could not believe his luck.

            He forced his movements to be soft, slow, and reached out his left hand. He held it slightly open, still quite a ways from being able to reach her, with the palm up—asking as politely as he knew how. The girl’s sharp eyes shot around, as if for help at first—and then settled on the large hand, and then the hat she held. The hand. The hat. Then, as much as she was frightened to, she studied the mutant’s grooved and gray-hued face.

            “Is…” she choked, sounding pitifully hoarse from her journey to reach here alive against the odds, “Is… th-this yours?”

            Mr. X blinked placidly, nodding. Finally. Someone who made sense. Someone who had some manners! And not a twinge of implant-based intrusion. Timid, Sherry took a babystep closer and just barely stretched out to put the hat into range of the giant fingers. Mr. X clamped his index and thumb shut, allowing her to retract her outstretched arm before lifting his precious hat back up. Brushing some lingering ashes from one of the peaks, he rumbled with satisfaction and settled it back where it belonged. Yes.

            “Are you a detective?” the girl’s question brought him back into the moment, and to his mission. The Tyrant’s mind raced to deduce a way to get across his lack of speech; bringing a hand up to his throat, he set two fingers across where his chin met his neck.

            “Oh… You can’t talk,” she sounded more than a bit disappointed at this, but bounced back with another question, “Can you help me… please? The gates are all down, I can’t get anyone to let me in, and my mom told me if things got bad I should go to the police station.”

            Her mother. That would be Annette Birkin; his eyes widened in realization. That Dr. Birkin was still in good standing with his masters, and so it certainly could not hurt to assist the tiny figure whether she held a G sample or not. The Tyrant took a pace closer and made a few soft, rapid nods, eyes scanning over the tall, decorated window and contemplating how to remove it as a barrier—or, if it was more advised to do so on a less zombie-infested level.

            Then, the Tyrant paused. Sherry Birkin—she should have something he needed for his mission. Either a dormant sample of the Golgotha Virus, or a keycode for reaching those samples. What no one knew, not even his superiors, was what she had which concealed that crucial item… He… was not very well-versed in it, but held out his hand again and made a few beckoning crooks of his massive fingers.

            “Umm…” Sherry danced lightly between her feet. Ready to run at all times—a necessary adaptation. “Y… You’ll help me?”

            Mr. X nodded. Of course. She needed help.

            “Are you like, a special agent or something?”

            He supposed that was a close enough description of his role, and replied with another short nod. She took a few more tiny steps towards him, locking eyes apparently without issue. Very brave. Another necessary adaptation.

            “Do you know where my parents are?” Sherry ventured, “I… haven’t seen them in days…”

            Mr. X’s eyes practically flew open, expression twisting with alarm far more automatically than was usual for him; this was… not adequate supervision of juveniles, but considering the circumstances, it was more likely a bad sign. He was bound to infiltrate the N.E.S.T. facility below Raccoon City eventually anyhow, and his best bet for finding either of the Birkins was there. The quarantining and the protective measures down there ought to be far better than in the common city buildings, so there was the hope that Annette was simply holed up below—able to survive but unable to leave that relative safety. Tentatively, he gave a slight nod, though Sherry obviously spotted the hesitation.

            “You’re not sure, are you,” the flat tone of disappointment had the Tyrant sucking in his breath like he was back in training, being swiftly corrected and redirected after an error. Reluctantly honest, the bioweapon’s gaze lowered even past her eye level and shook his head slightly. “Oh… well, I don’t know what else to do. I wanna find mom.”

            T-00 weighed his options over a deep inhale. Wherever the girl’s mother was in this viral hell, she would be much safer searching while in the shadow of a creature more dangerous than anything unfettered microbes could produce. If he took her to N.E.S.T. now, there was the best chance of reuniting her safely with at least one parent, all while being able to retrieve that primary objective… as for the secondary objective, he doubted if any R.P.D. officers were still alive—and the longer they were hidden in the chaos of their hidey-holes the less likely any would still be alive when he went back onto the task of hunting them. Including that young… pretender? Unaccounted for hire? Whoever. That young man, he’d pay. Eventually. His rage towards that one could take a far backseat in the face of this more vulnerable situation.

            Remembering a gesture which Mariposa had often encouraged from him, Mr. X reached out a hand with the palm upwards, relaxed—and low enough for the anxious girl to take hold of a few massive fingers. Sherry startled for a split-second, then reeled in her defensive panic and began to tentatively reach up to meet the gesture.

            A pulse crept from the base of his skull, down his spine.

            No.

            Perhaps the handler at the control servers had known better with regards to that hat-shooting bastard, but here… this impulse to kill truly defied logic. It defied emotion. It defied even… principle! The Tyrant’s blood froze as his offered fingers tensed hard as steel, tendons standing out like stony ridges with resistance to the implant’s command.

            Sherry had jerked back, intuition and a finely-honed survival skill warning her of the sudden change in the giant form, the enormous… man? Regardless, when the strangely gray, heavily grooved cheeks and mouth drew apart with a grimace that was almost like an electrical jolt of pain had shot through him—she scrambled back several feet and watched in horror as her one friendly encounter rapidly turned horrific.

            Mr. X’s left leg lurched awkwardly forward, displacing grass and mud out in a crater several inches wider than even his very-wide boot. However exhausted Sherry was, she was at least quick-witted and quick to act, bracing herself on the building’s wall to reduce the slippage on the wet ground and scurrying towards the back corner of the place. The Tyrant’s right leg now lurched further, the impulses from the control implant trying to force a run now. Without his cooperation, however, the living weapon’s footing slipped and he ended up splaying out onto all fours on the muck of the side-yard. Pulses shot through him in rapid-fire, forcing him after the child anyhow—first at a pitiful crawl before whoever was manning the server station developed another shred of patience, and with all the numbing jolts in its power the implant coordinated a return to his feet. Sherry was not as fast as even an adult human, but in this delay he was relieved to see she had already rounded the building’s corner in the direction of the parking garage.

            But… she had said that the entrances were blocked, hadn’t she? Mr. X snarled to himself as he fought the heavy, finesse-less plodding that Umbrella was puppeting him into. But then, she was small—she could break his line of sight, she could hide. So long as whoever was hijacking his body—and presumably his senses—could not see her or where she’d gone, she would be safe from him. With a deep, unhappy groan, he realized that he had been wrong. She would not be safest with the Tyrant in her shadow—at any moment, its pure force could be turned against her. Whether T-00 wanted it or not. There was a plug straight into its brain. A plug which promised vicious punishment if he resisted—and worse if he ever tried to unplug it. Umbrella had thought ahead, he grudgingly realized, even though the handler in the pilot’s seat was incapable of that.

            Rounding the R.P.D. to the back, Mr. X tried to force his gaze upwards to the third floor’s windows for a few long seconds—feeling a sharp ripp in the smaller muscles around his throat as the commands jerked his head back down. Stunned for a moment by the soreness and bruising spreading under his chin, he just barely registered Sherry ahead of him, slipping her legs down into a wide but shallow storm drain out of sheer desperation.

            Faster.

            Go faster, he willed her, as he stiffened every muscle group he still had partial control over and scowled in defiance. One stomp—two stomps—three. Rubble rattled over the concrete and the scraggly weeds poking out from the drain’s edges shook with the oncoming force.

            Sherry vanished from view into the depth. Mr. X bared his teeth, resisting for a few more seconds in the hopes she would have retreated too deeply for the one controlling him to bother. The deep sting of stress shot through his vast chest; there was no guarantee that she’d be safe there. But… she would be safe from him.

Damn this handler… As if to illustrate how poor of a person was in control of his implant’s connection, Mr. X felt his fist connect heavily with the top slab of the storm drain, splitting it in two with even the reserved force. How could a human—presumably—see a juvenile human in such a state and… decide to pull the trigger? Even the child of a colleague? Perhaps it was the “anonymity” of it. They felt nothing if one of their own bioweapons did the deed.

            But then… would that handler do the same if the weapon was unfeeling and inanimate? An attack drone? An automatic rifle? A hammer?

            …Maybe. Perhaps T-00’s inability to imagine it was no measure of humanity’s grimmer capacity—or a measure of the Tyrant’s paradoxically kinder one. He did not know enough to say, and if about this particular member of Umbrella staff, he did not care to know better.

            The pulses running through his major nerves began to weaken, and with a low grumble he rose and tore his attention swiftly away from the collapsed drain entrance. No need to give the damn handler any ideas; he fixed his attention instead on the awkward rear wall of the 2nd story—boiler room, steaming helicopter hole and all. There was an odd bump outward in which there were no windows, with a few particularly decorated, un-barricaded windows towards the east and around the corner. This was… the Chief’s office, if he recalled the R.P.D. floorplans correctly. He had yet to see any body—upright or not—identifiable as one Chief Brian Irons. It made sense to check there—if he was still alive at all.

            Dull-faced and morose, T-00 dug his powerful grip into the mortar gaps in the bricks and heaved himself up until level with one of these fancier office windows. Taking his trilby protectively to his chest, he shattered the glass using only his bare cranium—blood and glass spraying the lush carpet and the fur of an unwatchful bighorn sheep taxidermized and forever standing in the nearest corner. Once he had pulled himself indoors, he took a moment to tear one of the curtains—strangely intact curtains—from its fastenings and cleanse the thin spurts of blood from its scalp as the thin slashes closed themselves up. He tossed the fabric aside. His weight hardly caused a creak here. It was not just the comfortably lush carpeting, though that assisted. There must be structural integrity here already built in—perhaps associated with that elevator along the back wall, close to the projected N.E.S.T. entrance. Not quite. It was probably associated, and maybe even connected at some point. He made a note of it.

            Many pairs of eyes fixed onto him as he peered up to seek any inhabitants, and with a twitch the Tyrant’s entire frame went rigid with fright at the sudden surround. A beat passed. His shoulders slackened. These eyes… were even less alive than those of the cloudy, flailing zombies infesting the city, and yet somehow more unsettling. They looked too alive. A large beast—cat-like and almost as big as the Tyrant himself—snarled perpetually at something a few inches to his right. He did not know what it took to preserve corpses or tissues this exactly without the cryogenics Umbrella used, but whatever method had been undertaken here, it… rubbed him the wrong way. Something about the animals’ poses was… dishonest. They were dead. But their owner wanted them alive. Or… wanted to have them, as if alive. Or… instead of alive.

            Mr. X tried instead to focus on the various large furnishings, pulling open all the tall cabinets in case a hiding spot was within. He held still—ears trained to even the slightest shift. Irons may have other hiding places close to the elevator’s easy escape.

            There was a heavy rumble of machinery, and a few bassy scrapes of large architectural pieces sliding past each other in the hidden wall spaces just behind him. Below him. Almost exactly below. That would be… the main hall.

            Who would know of such an entrance—hidden in plain sight within the main hall—but Irons? Mr. X exhaled sharply and carefully squeezed himself through the door to the upper east hall. He tried not to think at all as he stumped at full power-walk to the main hall’s upper landing. Thinking hurt at the moment. He did not want to think of what the small girl might find in the water reclamation system—or even outside if she found her way out, with no one… and only rabid citizens, shambling on base instinct and viral imperative.

            The Tyrant snuffled and shook his head. More important to pay attention to what was ahead of him. As he took the grand staircase he spotted a figure fidgeting in front of the tall, elegant statue between the two wings of the steps, and whipped around the railing’s corner to close the final meters.

            This was not Chief Irons.

            He ground to a halt at the twelve-foot mark, brows cinching in with confusion. Definitely not Irons—not even from behind—this human was trim, red-haired. A woman. Young. She seemed to be nervously waiting on the rattle of movement from the statue’s pedestal to finish. Since she was so interrupted, she’d whipped about—the barrel of a grenade launcher of all things leveling at him, and promising much more difficulty than any of the simple pistols others had used on him. He watched the broad barrel closely, silvery eyes widening somewhat. Impressive weaponry for a civilian combatant… but not at all beyond what he had already met with in training. She had likely salvaged it from the station’s own armory lockdown.

            “Jesus…!” She hissed, but kept the grenade launcher’s aim level—right on his chest, “Stay back!”

            At the moment the Tyrant was quite happy to oblige. Shifting a bit from one foot to another, he took stock not only of her, but of what she had put in motion:

            The statue, grinding upon hidden tracks, was retreating into a hidden wall space. Perhaps the reason the rest of the wall spaces were so cheaply reinforced…

            “I mean it,” the heavily-armed woman warned, and most sharply as she adjusted her aim for center mass, “Fuck off!”

            T-00 took a short step back, eyeing—and sniffing—curiously. His memory lit up. It had been her, not the hat-defiler, who’d been active on the uppermost west hall. And she had apparently raided the police armory in the time prior, judging not only by the beast she had braced in both hands but the row of hip pouches, a revolver holster, and a shotgun strapped to various points on her shoulders and belt. There were already not very many women in the R.P.D., so it was not hard to disqualify her from that list after a swift study, but he stood tense. In the face of military-level gear, and military-grade pain, he feared the stupid, stupid whims of the handler at his control station so much more…

            The machinery she had activated was taking so damn long…

            “Who are you?” She shouted.

            The Tyrant now sniffed out of pure surprise. No one had asked him that question before. Who. It had been explained for him before, of course, when introduced… With Mariposa. He repressed a growl, trying harder not to remember. Not here. Not now.

            Mr. X distracted himself with a glare over to the base of the statue where now a plume of dust was rising as a segment of the flooring sunk down a stairstep’s depth just behind where this woman was standing. She jolted away to avoid tripping from the sudden sinking, but then focused back up on the colossal brute facing off with her. He blinked, his attentions flicking from her face to her weapon, to her stance—and to the still shaking floor at the base of the statue—before returning once more to the whole of her. Was it just him or did she seem barely older than juvenile, for a human? And yet, here she was, ready to fight not only the infected hordes of former citizens, but with a state-of-the-art bioweapon that outweighed her eight times over.

            “What do you want?”

            They both were alarmed by the question, and while the woman took the opportunity to back down the partially-formed steps, Mr. X stood transfixed. What did he want? To… complete his objectives, of course. To… eliminate surviving R.P.D. members, to retrieve the G-virus sample… to… urf. He had done very little of either, prompting an automatic flush of shame. He had been interfered with at every turn, and by his own masters it seemed. What… what did he want, then? If this were not happening?

            Mariposa stood in the verges of the pasture’s fenceline, giggling up at the sight of the flower-crown resting around the brim of his hat as he stood with an otherwise intimidating creak of leather and steel. The Tyrant produced a rumbling purr deep in his cavernous chest, eyes managing to smile slightly as he guided the girl safely back towards the garden, her tiny hand looped around just two of his fingers…

            Mr. X blinked. Nasty reality—and the barrel of the grenade launcher—faded back in. The Tyrant felt his lips purse slightly into a frown, eyebrows lowering as he was reminded of how he was working. Deployed. Loosed on the company’s targets, until the “job” was done, and recovery could be undertaken…

            …What if it was not?

            He blinked sharply. That was too much. He tilted his head instead, trying to examine what model of grenade launcher this person was aiming at his sternum:

            A GM-79. As far as he could tell, loaded up with a standard incendiary round—usually used by Umbrella response staff when infected subjects were loose. Why this police station possessed any stocks of these rounds, or even this weapon, was very unknown to him but could be guessed by its proximity to the main entrance to N.E.S.T. It was as if the R.P.D. had its ties to the Umbrella Corporation, entangled in its web of deals and arrangements…

            But then… why was his objective…?

            He cocked his head aside, obvious confusion to the tough-veneered, tensed woman aiming the quite nasty weapon. Perhaps, like before, he would allow the newcomer to the situation to decide whether she was going to be a problem, or was going to leave unharmed… though, here, was he not the newcomer? The last time he’d allowed a human to go about their business in his presence, he’d been shot. Then, had a terrible wrinkle-headed monster shred up his ear. Then been shot again. Then fell down a hole. Not an amazing history to work off of.

            And this woman, unlike the last, had every right to believe herself to be at the advantage. Best advised to fire away—even if only to deter any creature that pursued her escape, but… She held tension on the trigger, but held back. Her fit shoulders trembled, as if despite her strength she was already holding on to her last dregs of energy. The frantic, determined expression she wore was both exacerbated—and undermined—by whole-body shivers.

            She was not trained for such things. Not trained was the one feature that stood out most for Mr. X. She’d never aimed a killing blow at anything, not before today, in spite of whatever extensive firearms practice she’d had. Mr. X was torn between taking pity on her and admiring her steadfastness, and with a nearly infrasound-low rumble sidestepped to be slightly closer without seeming to be approaching. She wasn’t blind to this, and her grip on the launcher clenched tighter and she swiveled to track him. He stopped short, turned his torso away and matched her wide-eyed glare with an extra sprinkle of annoyed disdain. This standstill could not last—especially not as the last set of sinking stairs clunked into place, and an archway to a secret door was finally revealed with a downward spray of unseen dust.

            This. This seemed like one route into the N.E.S.T. complex, if there was any within the station itself. The woman had planted her feet and blocked the low arch into the narrow passage, still eyeing the Tyrant with no less strength training her aim onto the broad target.

            The Tyrant decided at last there was no benefit to sticking close while she was on edge. The longer he hung about a survivor between him and an objective, the longer he was giving his utterly wretched, incompetent handler a chance to force a pointless assault. With a low snort, T-00 tore his eyes away from the woman ducking into the secret passageway and began to tromp away back towards the frontmost counter area.

            “Wh—” she’d choked herself mid-word. It was probably obvious why; one does not square up with a nearly 8-foot monstrous humanoid being, using a grenade launcher, and ever expect to simply be let go. Behind her, the intermediate door had softly creaked and clunked open. And the Tyrant had just come level with the back of the main hall’s counter in its retreat.

            The pulses started weak, this time. Mr. X growled deep as he shuddered to a stop, frown furrowing his brows as far as the thick, striated skin would permit. He held still, limbs trembling like those of an overworked horse.

            No. Stupid. No! Why even was this compulsion coming to him so much weaker? Perhaps headquarters had sanctioned the handler. Perhaps the handler had simply reevaluated their tactics for ensuring obedience. He hoped for the former. But it seemed too soon.

            Stiff and jerky, T-00 was made to turn about. With a resistant groan, the Tyrant slowly began to be walked heavily back up to the mysterious opening the unknown woman had begun sneaking down. She had not taken her eyes off of him the whole while. Smart. He could appreciate that. He squinted tightly, seeing the grenade canister firing, centered on his solar plexus.

            It burst, and flooded out from his chin to his knees with fragmentary bits of the metal casing, followed right after by the infernal heat of the flammable compounds sparking and flaring up into the near-white register. Fortunately his Limiter gear was highly heat-resistant and fire-retardant, and while his skin was not exactly as resistant as the enhanced Kevlar, it did hold up far better than any human’s would under the splash of fire thrown up against it.

            That said:

            FUCK.

            OW.

            HURTS.

            The Tyrant buckled over, shielding its face with its forearms as best it could. He held his breath, sensing the heat would scour his innards if it even had the slightest chance to enter his lungs at peak temperature. Throwing aside the last smoldering fragments and poking his nose out into cooler, safer air, the Tyrant rebounded fast from the heavy ordinance. The implant’s pulses jabbed into its spine to pursue right away; with an awkward two steps he followed the frantically-reloading woman down the short stairs and into the small tunnel.

            Urgh. Tight space. So narrow, his pressure to follow had forced him to tilt his tremendous shoulders diagonal just to fit. Mr. X absolutely hated it, and gave every indication of the opinion in physicality and sound. But the pulses still forced him onward. Though perhaps the claustrophobia had helped his conscious resistance; it did give the woman the chance to fire one more fiery round straight down the passage to burst open against the beast’s bent knee. T-00 tucked his head towards the passage wall, throwing up both arms against the wave of flames shooting up towards his face.

            The woman took that chance at an elevator door, at the side of a small hexagonal chamber, jamming hard a few times on the call button before reloading another incendiary into her GM-79. A low grinding sound echoed up from below, the elevator car rising at not a snail’s pace, but something she dearly wished was faster…

            Mr. X doubled over, pawed at the regenerating stretches of outer skin on his throat and chin, twitching for a few seconds as the thick, rhino-like hide regenerated itself outward. In the span of about four seconds, it was as if he’d never been burnt at all… He tried not to be angry. The implant’s prodding was enough of goading him on with that added difficulty. Be angry at the foolish handler’s uselessness instead; her replies to what this handler was making him do was quite reasonable. If only the handler suffered the consequences…

            Emerging from the dying bursts of orange flame, Mr. X struggled to pursue the woman at only a slug-like pace, but was made to take on a tortoise-like one by pure stride length and nerve pulses. He hissed at the high heat, flicking a hand out to blow some aside with a deeply cranky noise as the handler went on pushing forward… Pushed, pushed. The woman heard the elevator make a muted “ding!”, and shot a look back at the indominable living weapon coming closer. She seemed to recognize that while the fire was hurting it, the broad and shallow damage was not going to do it for long enough that she could get that elevator out of his reach. She flung the grenade launcher back into the sluggishly-opening doors of the elevator and with a swish unholstered the shotgun strapped across one of her shoulders:

            “Shhrrr…” T-00 pushed back against the forward commands, feeling tiny muscular strands in his back and abs tearing against the graceless nerve spasms. Shit. Well. The opposite, really. Hopefully her aim was excellent, and not just okay. “Okay” would, if she pumped enough rounds his way, stop him long enough to stop this damn handler’s violent tirade.

            Excellent would stop him long enough—with minimal agony.

            BLAM.

            Mr. X was instantly winded; this was a higher-end, larger-gauge shotgun indeed. The one he’d heard being unloaded on the level above him before that odd provoking woman had led him into the wall spaces. If more of those long-tongued and skinless monstrosities were involved, no wonder he’d not encountered more of them. Aimed well enough, a shot from this would put one of those out of commission instantly.

            Staggering a few steps back, and stamping out a few bits of still-flaming matter, the Tyrant brought a hand up to his mouth. His… mouth. He’d felt sure he had intact lips before. His upper lip was rent in a large split with small tears close by, and his gums bled profusely through the holes. As disturbing as the discovery was, he could already feel the jaw, gum, and epidermis associated with the region heating up with the increased bloodflow—the tissues stretching, expanding, hooking and sealing back to their ordinary shapes with only a few trivial ounces of bleeding as a result. He spat a gout of loose blood to the side, shaking his head to clear the dizziness.

BLAM.

Another cluster of lead balls crashed into the right side of his head, ripping through his ear again in the process. The CRAK of the speediest missiles against his skull reverberated through his inner ear, staggering him another step. Still dizzy, the dull schlorp! of his most vital parts rejecting the embedded bullet fragments as his skeletal plates tactilely… popped themselves back into place along their cracks… urgh. Shreds of lead pellets dropped out to the floor as the bloody impact of the shotgun blast began regenerating inside-out. He felt again quite fortunate he had an empty stomach, given that sensation.

He wished he could back out. He fixed his (occasionally doubling) vision onto the woman, going rigid against the commands for as long as he could manage.

BLAM.

She did not hesitate, and with his consciousness growing weak he felt thankful for that. He instinctually caught himself as he slumped forward onto one knee, watching the blurry spurt of blood as one of his severed facial arteries spread a pint of deep crimson slurry onto the once-pristine white floor. He’d been damaged this much before, of course. In training. It was a mandatory part of it—to ensure the genes in charge of rapidly restoring any broken or battered flesh would kick into high gear at the proper times and not go wild otherwise. Much like the unlimited form tests, the strength tests, the stamina measures… this was… normal. This was normal. He could expect this, especially in the field.

Under the fog of half-consciousness, he distinctly heard the pneumatic swish and clunks of the secret passage’s elevator beginning to lower down into the depths. Wherever it went, Mr. X was silently pleased with the sound. She was away; the damn handler was foiled, proved wrong again. How many more, before this idiot recognized that he did not know better than the very specific objectives given to the Tyrant itself? Almost drowsy now, Mr. X let his eyes slide shut and his only movements for the next minute or so were the light twitches of his eyelids and fingers, and the raising and lowering of his massive shoulders as he fell into a steady breathing. He’d be well again, and soon. But whatever model that shotgun had been—he would remember it. Damn. She’d either chosen well, or been extremely lucky. Perhaps both, considering the other madly-powerful weapons she’d found…

A thud shuddered up from far below. Wherever she was bound, she was there now. Mr. X took another deep, recuperative breath. Soon enough, he’d be on his way, and hopefully (but regretfully) she would never figure into his deployment again.

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[schmergo]

There's one news story that's haunted me for years, covering many of my niche topics of interest (such as zoo exhibit design and tigers). It happened way back in 2007, but I still think about it a lot. It's a wild ride and I'd like to share it with you. It does get violent and scary, so don't read on if you're not in the mood for that today. There has only been ONE instance of a person being killed by an escaped animal in an AZA-accredited zoo in the organization's nearly 100-year history. The AZA (Association of Zoos and Aquariums) has fairly comprehensive standards about things like exhibit design and guest safety-- any other story you've heard about something like this has been at an un-accredited roadside zoo. Usually, they're pretty careful to make sure large dangerous animals can never get anywhere near where guests were. This story from 2007 was a perfect storm of situations where such a horrible thing could happen. The star of our story was a Siberian tiger named Tatiana living at the San Francisco Zoo. (This is the largest sub-species of tiger, which may or may not be important here.) She had had one previous bout of aggression against humans about a year before this incident: she grabbed a zookeper's arm, pulled it through the bars of her behind-the-scenes area during feeding team, and bit it. But on this occasion, it was right around closing time at the zoo on Christmas Day. Tatiana was hanging out in her enclosure while three young guys began taunting her. (One was a 17-year-old named Carlos, the others were two brothers called Paul and Kulbir, aged 19 and 23.) Witnessed by nobody but the victims themselves, Tatiana leapt out of her enclosure and mauled two of the three guys. The two brothers (one of them injured) ran for a nearby zoo cafe, which was already closed for the day, and the cafe staff wouldn't let them in. One zoo employee called 911, but indicated that they thought the brothers were mentally ill or on drugs because they were claiming to have been attacked by a tiger and there was no escaped tiger. Only six minutes later did another zoo staff member report the tiger on the loose. Police and firefighters got to the scene, but they weren't allowed in to tend to the victims because the zoo was on lockdown due to the escaped tiger. Five minutes passed before they could get in. They did eventually find Tatiana the tiger attacking the other brother and fatally shot her. But tragically the third friend, 17-year-old Carlos, was found dead from severe injuries from the tiger near the tiger enclosure. The other two suffered injuries from tiger teeth and claws but were released from the hospital a few days later. Obviously the emergency response was very shoddy, but here's where things get really shocking. The zoo director went on the record saying that it would be impossible for Tatiana to escape the exhibit unless she had help. He suspected foul play. The exhibit barrier was 18 feet high, impossible for a tiger to jump over and well over the AZA-recommended height of over 16 feet. Experts said it would blinker belief for a tiger to jump that high, and the zoo director suggested that the victims may have climbed over a barrier fence and danged their legs into the exhibit, giving her something to grab onto and pull herself up with. As part of the investigation, they obviously closely examined the exhibit, and what they found horrified everyone. The fence was only 12 and a half feet tall. That's several feet under the recommended height. The exhibit had been build in the 1940s and had been inspected by AZA officials many times, including the previous year. Nobody had ever noticed a discrepancy between the stated height of the wall and its actual height. The paperwork said it was an 18 foot wall, and everyone believed it was an 18 foot wall. Nobody had thought to check to see exactly how tall it was in 60+ years. When asked why a tiger had never escaped from the inadequate exhibit before, the coordinator of the AZA's species survival plan for tigers said, "It probably didn't want to." Even with this obvious discrepancy, it's quite sobering to realize how high tigers can jump if provoked. Not only did Tatiana jump over 12 feet high, she also traveled across a 33 foot moat. It's easy to think that zoo animals will be less dangerous than their wild counterparts-- even experts believed until evidence showed otherwise that Tatiana, as a captive tiger, would not be capable of the peak physical effort it would take to get over the barriers-- but wild animals are wild animals. A closer examination of Tatiana's paws and claws indicated that she made it over the wall on her first try. What's the lesson here? Well, don't underestimate the power and ability of wild animals. Don't taunt tigers. Believe someone who says they were attacked by an escaped tiger! And remember to double check instead of just believing what someone says. ("They said there's plenty of eggs in the fridge and we don't need more? Well, the San Francisco Zoo said the tiger wall was 18 feet high and we all know how that went. I'm going to check the eggs.") In general, accredited zoos are very safe for guests. There's a reason this was the first deadly incident involving an escaped animal since the organization was founded in the 1920's. But this is very much the exception that proved the rule-- and there were so many mistakes and poor choices that had to happen to lead up to this horrible ending. What's your old news story that you still obsess over?