#Cheap Surveillance System

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

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

[leonw4nter]

Ex-Swimmer!RE4!Leon

In his childhood, his grandparents wanted to find an activity to get his high energy down. They tried gymnastics but it was too expensive for both of them to cover, poor Leon was really excited to swing and twirl in the air like the rest of the kids in the better side of town. Fortunately for his grandparents, his school teacher recommended swimming classes— they were more affordable for him and also, Leon seemed happy to take the classes.

Leon excelled highly in swimming. He was a fast learner and eager to try new techniques for swimming and breathing. He would help other kids who were having a harder time, giving them tips, and uplifting encouragement to keep them going. The coaches, the teacher that recommended swimming for him, and his grandparents saw that he was doing exceptional, like he’s destined to be an accomplished swimmer. After being convinced and encouraged enough by his support system, he decided to train for a local competition— his first of many.

His first competition was memorable— not in the way that he won a medal, he did not, but he enjoyed the feeling of competing with others. Post competition, he gave everyone a hug and congratulated them on their wins. Of course he felt bummed out but he didn’t let that stop him— he just felt even more motivated.

That night, he lay awake in bed as he figured out what he wanted to do: be a professional swimmer or pursue his lifelong dream of being a police officer. Both of these things made him immensely happy— to feel his body cutting through the water as his arms and legs drove him forward, to be able to stand up for those who couldn’t and protect them. By the morning, he decided to keep swimming in his heart as a hobby and keep chasing his dream of being a police officer.

As he grew older, he still competed in competitions and did his best to win cash prizes to surprise his grandmother with. However he had to put a halt to swimming when he got in the police academy; he needed more time to focus on his studies and had to lessen expenses, classes weren’t that cheap anymore.

After Raccoon City, he no longer had any police duties to consider. He’s now under extensive government surveillance and most of his decisions are made with the consideration of what the government can do with Claire and Sherry, fellow survivors of the incident. During days where he’s allowed to see both of them or at least one of the two, he talks about how he missed swimming and feeling the electric thrill of competing. He rambled on and on about how the chlorine smell of the pool reminded him of when times were normal, he thought about the adults that guided him when he was a boy.

On very rare occasions where he got to sleep during his military training, he had dreams of the pool, of cheering, of feeling light in the water. Usually, it was followed with him drowning despite knowing how to swim or the water turning red with blood, flotsam scattered on the once blue surface. He hated that the horrors of bioweapons even tainted the treasure he kept deep in his heart wherever he went.

His therapist recommended swimming again, not necessarily competitively like back then, but as a manner of relaxation. He thought about it and rejected the idea until he decided to cave in. The next morning, he looked for pools around town. He didn’t jump in straight to a full on pool and start paddling around, he stayed in a plunge pool and let the cascading water gently sway his body.

After exposing himself to water again and slowly getting over the fears and worries that held him back, he began performing swim strokes— front crawl, trudgen stroke, backstrokes galore. He knew that his form was slightly off but quite impressive for someone who hasn’t done this in 6 or more years. The familiarity of childhood swimming breathing techniques and the sloshing water gave Leon a sense of peace, even for a moment. He practiced dives and swam fast, hard. In no time, his form felt much more correct in the water though he knew he was far from the precision his younger self had.

He was underwater when he heard faint steps approaching his position, rushing back to the surface to check who the footsteps belonged to. It was an old man, with a clipboard on his arm. Leon approached and the man explained that he wished to scout Leon and train him professionally because he could see the potential in him, the chance for athletic greatness. Leon declined, stating that he’s not too well to train professionally and besides, he has a full-time job that demands a lot from him already. The man smiled and gave Leon a pat on the shoulder, complimenting his skill before making his way out and observing the other swimmers with him in the natatorium.

He drove home that night, the chlorine smell still lingering on his person like an old memory. He was frustrated at himself for turning down an opportunity that presented itself to him, it was so close. All he had to do was say a few words and soon he’d have a schedule to go back there and practice. It would be nice to compete again, to swiftly slice through the water but he was tethered to a job he’s blackmailed into, a job that he never wanted in the first place. He’s not even sure he can reach the levels of athletic skill his younger self achieved, he thinks he’s not quite right in the head anymore after all he’s seen, heard, felt, and done.

That night and many nights onward, he dreams of two things: the horrors of the now decimated city with its snarling undead lunging at his warm throat and what could’ve been his Olympic debut, if he was given time to fully hone his talent. He wanted to appease the little kid inside him that wanted to swim in new natatoriums, hear the crowd scream in exhilaration, and feel the weight of a cold medal on his chest but he can’t. In his visions behind shut eyes each night, he apologizes and hugs the 10-year-old Leon who always asked about his dreams because all of them— to live a happy life, swim competitively, and help people as a police officer— were all a distance too great for Leon to swim towards.

NOTE - So I'm back. But I'll also be gone soon :3 Sorry if it's a little too short, I still don't have any idea what to write but this felt like an idea too good to pass up so why not pen it down yk :) While I was gone I've been watching the Olympics and lowkey is this what patriotism feels like... like bro why am I suddenly so passionate and shedding tears of national pride. Also it's incredibly obvious that I've been keeping up with the swimming events by the theme of this post... Also, as of writing we're 7 followers away from 500 followers so I'll prolly do something for that milestone! Anyway, thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I <33333333 UUUUUUUUUUU

The chain divider is made by @cafekitsune , the images are colored by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[lilithsterrarium]

It slowly limped forward, bare feet slapping gently against the cold, metal flooring of the platform. Its body was pale, ribs poking out of it's skin, a large, cheap gown hung around it's shoulders. Just beneath the cut of it's gown, it's thighs were branded with a series of numbers, black ink standing in stark contrast to it's milky-white skin. It's arms were wrapped in bandages, a few leaking blood. It's feet, entirely bare, shook like leaves in the wind, threatening to topple over at any given moment. A gloved hand gently held it's shoulder, guiding it towards it's Shell.

It's eyes, hollow and blank, lit up ever so slightly when it saw the familiar sight. The head of it's mech stood, cockpit agape, ready for a mission. It liked how it's mech looked. The camera systems used for it's surveilance looked like bulging, bug-like eyes. The "mouth" of it formed pincer-like formations, steel bent into sharp angles to resemble a set of pincers. Jutting metal rods stuck out from the top, useful not only for picking up signals, but also resembled antennae. It smiled weakly. It didn't quite remember why, but it's Shell's appearance made it happy. It slowly, weakly crawled inside.

It sat in it's seat, the smell of sweat and blood from it's last mission entirely swept away. It was sterile, clean; it reeked of chemicals. It leaned back, feeling the familiar click of wires into it's spine, the familiar buzz of electricity shooting through it's veins as it slowly got settled. Above it, a small radio system crackled to life. The husky voice of it's handler was loud, almost painfully so; and it smiled at the sound. It had requested the audio be turned up. It sounded like it's handler was looming, her voice booming around her. It gently settled back as more wires snapped into place.

"Hello dear. You seem to be happy; I managed to talk them into those changes you asked for. I hope this is loud enough for you."

It nodded.

"Lovely. Listen, this one shouldn't be too hard, okay? Just settle in, be a good girl. This is always the hardest part, you can do it."

It felt the lurching Shell move forward, autopiloted to get to a spot where it could take direct control. It let out a small whine when it remembered what was coming. It hated this part.

The final wires snapped into place as the vision systems came to life, a massive periphery of the city enviornment around it. The view from it's Shell was so, so high up. Automated vehicles darted beneath it's feet like insects, as the war machine lurched to life. Buildings, large obelisks of glass and metal stood at the same height as it's shell. It squirmed in it's seat, making that same whining noise. It saw people. People. People were so small compared to it. That wasn't right. It was supposed to be small. It wasn't supposed to be big. This was wrong, it was all wrong. It was all too aware of the space it took up, how people hurridly moved away from it. It was large, it was massive, it was a monster. It's eyes welled with tears as it saw what it's mech saw, looking down at a world far, far smaller than itself.

It's frantic thoughts were finally put to an end as the sharp point of a needle slowly punctured it's arm. It felt... sluggish... but in a good way. Like it was dreaming. Like nothing was real. It squirmed, not noticing the cock standing fully erect from under it's gown. It whined, but felt compelled to work. It could obey. It could do this. It could finish the mission. It hardly noticed the tears under it's eyes as it began it's work piloting the collosal Shell.

"Theeeeere you go. Good girl. I promise, we'll make you feel all nice and small again soon."

[cyberpunkonline]

🛠️ CYBERPUNK DIY: FIELD NOTES FROM THE EDGE

Signal witchery, junktech hacks, and dirty tricks for surviving in a monitored world. Use at your own risk.

🛠️ Decoy Wallet Drop Load a busted RFID card with junk data. Drop it in a corp zone. Watch how fast they panic-scan it.

🛠️ IR Ghost Hack Stick IR LEDs to your hoodie brim. Security cams wash out your face in overexposure. Cheap invisibility for entry-level hauntings.

🛠️ ID Ghost Tape an old barcode over a badge reader. Swipe it. Low-end systems loop out, grant ghost access. No log, no trace.

🛠️ Access Noise Scrap Walkman + laser pointer = drone jitter rig. Point, pulse, and watch surveillance drones shudder mid-hover. Works better than it should.

🛠️ Surveillance Spoof Build a scrambler from a tape deck & cracked RFID chip. Jams low-band corp sweeps when close to skin. Bonus: sounds like a haunted modem.

🛠️ Noise Cloak Plug an aux mic into a busted radio. Loop dish noise or dead air. Voice masking field, 2m radius. Best used in stairwells or lifts.

🛠️ Burner Beacon Dead smartwatch + static burst loop. Drop it in a stairwell. Signal sniffer bait. Congrats: you just left a ghost.

🛠️ Audio Junk Jam Wire a piezo buzzer into a gutted vape mod. Low hum disrupts mics + AI voice logs. Pocket-sized silence field.

🛠️ RFID Decoy Fry a store loyalty card. Embed it in a keychain with copper tape. Flicker-pings on passive readers—corp systems go wild flagging ghosts.

⚠️ Remember:

None of this is legal. All of it is necessary. Build slow, vanish fast.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Safety is a real, material set of conditions: a roof over your head and freedom from violence or injury. British politicians aren’t at risk of being bombed or seeing their children dismembered. Yet it was their speculative safety in the spotlight while Palestinians under military assault became a footnote in the vote.    It’s true, of course, that two British MPs have been killed in recent years. But it’s a cheap shot for politicians to invoke their deaths to avoid engaging with the public about an ongoing genocide. When politicians say they feel unsafe in this context, they mean they feel uncomfortable being challenged by their constituents. 

[...]

When discomfort is perceived as danger, protest is seen as harassment. And when political dissent is positioned as a threat to national security, our human rights are at risk. As sure as night follows day, when politicians begin to cite safety concerns, curtailment of democratic freedoms isn’t far behind. Civil liberties will always play second fiddle to securitisation. Judging by Sunak’s doublespeak at the lectern last Friday, the government plans to corrode our democracy under the guise of protecting it. Sunak’s emergency address was an authoritarian wishlist written in Islamophobic ink: curtail protest rights; threaten to remove immigrants’ “right to be here” if they speak what is considered “hate” at protests; reference streets being “hijacked” by “extremists” and “redouble support” for surveillance programme Prevent. It was framed in response to pro-Palestine protests, but entrenches an established anti-Muslim, anti-protest agenda that promotes surveillance in the name of “safety”. The name of Sunak’s “Safety of Rwanda” bill shows us he already has a cynical definition of this word.  It’s curious how the social capital of playing the protector is often afforded to the violent perpetrators. If we use another very British example, the high-profile transphobic lobby that is obsessed with “women’s safety” has, in material terms, driven transphobic hate crimes to historic levels, but done nothing to end violence against women. In the same vein, it’s inevitable that Sunak’s measures to “combat the forces of division” will create even more far-right racism and state violence for Muslims. The dominant force of division is, of course, the state itself. Trans people and Muslims alike are sociological folk devils; minority groups in society positioned as a threat to social order. The government’s self-authorised mandate to marshal these manufactured threats justifies state control for everyone. In reality, the marginalised groups identified as the enemy within face crushing systemic oppression already. If anyone is unsafe, it’s them.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"It is important from the outset to make some distinction between the State’s prison system, or police or military forces, and the individuals who serve in them, in describing them as purposeful violent institutions. It is probably fair to say that most men (and women, too, in this age of ‘equal rights’) who are recruited into one of these services are not doing so in order to be able to kill, or even to use violence. They are enticed by the financial benefits and promise of variety, adventure and education opportunities, and by the culturally encouraged image of ‘serving one’s country.’ That is how the State wants and needs it to be. It is not coincidental, either, of course, that those who do the front-line work — the real dirty work — in these professions are recruited predominantly from the lower socio-economic groups, where the lack of other educational, work and income opportunities make these enticements most salient and attractive. The fact that these people will be used by the State to carry out its wars against members of their own social groups at home and abroad is not part of their consciousness or service training. ...

While there are many differences between military training and the training received by police and prison guards, there are also many similarities (such as regular interforce shooting competitions), because all services must learn to automatically resort to violence under certain conditions.

Today we are witnessing a simultaneous build-up of military capability and threats, along with an expansion of the tools and use of internal repression. This is a result of the increasing material gap between the haves and have-nots, within societies and on an international level, even while the foundations of capitalism are disintegrating in the lace of growing competition for depleting resources and cheap labour, and increasing international political consciousness...

It is not surprising, then, in this climate of increasing social unrest, that prisons are being used more, new prisons are being built, and the violent and repressive measures that operate inside prisons are being extended. In Canada, a few examples are the construction of additional Special Handling Units (super-maximum segregation), installation of more and more draconian security equipment, searching and electronic surveillance of visitors, and increased power of the Parole Board to indefinitely delay (justifiable) release. The rising suicide rate in prisons is just one attestation to the increasing physical and psychological brutality (and futility) of imprisonment.

…

And who are prisons for? They are for those who learn only too well the meaning and power of ‘success’ in this society, and who dare to use the same tactics of intimidation, violence and lack of concern for others to achieve it as do the political and economic elite, but are without access to their legalised means... for those who can’t afford the cost of legal protection... for those who dare to be poor and who refuse to live gratefully and passively on meagre handouts... for those who are born into a social-economic position which deprives them of the education and skills necessary to earn an ‘honest’ living and who dare to use other means to seek escape from their demeaning poverty... for Native people, whose dignified way of life has been stripped away by the white man and replaced with the dehumanising and deadly life of alcohol... for women who refuse any longer to be subjected to routine beatings from a man and who dare to fight back... for women whose socialised and economic dependency on men, and their fear of them, draws them into criminal complicity... for those who, without the cover of domestic or legal protection, dare to act out the sexual violence towards women and children that is glorified in our culture every day... for those who refuse to learn to kill and be the cannon fodder for wars that are fought to protect the interests of the political and economic elite... for those whose political awareness dares them to challenge and defy the political and economic structures that provide the basis for nuclear weapons and all of the other essential, immoral and oppressive elements of militarism..."

- Helen Durie, unpublished paper, quoted at length by Claire Culhane, "Prisons: 1984 and After," in 1984 And After. Edited by Marsha Hewitt and Dimitros I. Roussopoulos. Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1984. p. 77-78

[thepringlesofblood]

Murderbot Citations

I'm writing a giant research paper on the murderbot diaries and how Wells contrasts utopia & dystopia in her worldbuilding to deepen both sets of lore. So, I have made a LOT of citations.

Like, a LOT of citations. I can't even begin to describe. and it has been a royal pain getting them all on the computer, formatted correctly, with page # and book attached.

So. I decided to publish my giant list of citations online in case anyone else wants to do posts/papers/projects on the murderbot diaries and needs formatted, direct quotes with page numbers attached. (Also to feel like all this work has been for more than just my own academic needs.)

TLDR: A compilation of quotes from The Murderbot Diaries with page numbers attached, ready to be adjusted to the citation style of your choice & used as in-text citations where you see fit to put them. Enjoy!

ASR = All Systems Red

AC = Artificial Condition

RP = Rogue Protocol

ES = Exit Strategy

NE = Network Effect

FT = Fugitive Telemetry

SC = System Collapse

I use 'mb' as shorthand for murderbot

It's mostly ASR, with some NE and FT thrown in, but I put all the abbreviations in case I wind up coming back and putting more citations here

My list is organized according to how I'm writing the paper (all ones about surveillance here, all the ones about contract slavery there, etc.), so the page numbers are not in order, and there might be a repeat or two, but they are in book order. some of them might be repeated bc I had them formatted in lists like "all quotes related to ___) and some quotes relate to multiple things.

if you're looking specifically for gender-related mb quotes, @worldsentwined made a wonderful post collecting them a while back. I also have a few other murderbot posts that have quotes in them that might not be here, including a reblog where a bunch of lovely people added extra citations onto my original post. I hope you find what you're looking for!

All Systems Red

“I had been on contracts where the clients would have told me to put the bleeding human down to go get the stuff.” (15) ASR

“There were groans and general complaining about having to pay high prices for shitty equipment. (I don’t take it personally.)” (31) ASR crossover w slavery

“My education modules were such cheap crap;” (34) ASR

“I’m not refundable.” (49) ASR

“(You had to check everything out and log any problems immediately when you took delivery or the company wasn’t liable.)” (52) ASR

“It was all company equipment though, per contract, and all subject to the same malfunctions as the crap they’d dumped on us.” (58) ASR

““The company could be bribed to conceal the existence of several hundred survey teams on this planet.” Survey teams, whole cities, lost colonies, traveling circuses, as long as they thought they could get away with it. I just didn’t see how they could get away with making a client survey team—two client survey teams—vanish. Or why they’d want to. There were too many bond companies out there, too many competitors. Dead clients were terrible for business. “I don’t think the company would collude with one set of clients to kill two other sets of clients. You purchased a bond agreement that the company would guarantee your safety or pay compensation in the event of your death or injury. Even if the company couldn’t be held liable or partially liable for your deaths, they would still have to make the payment to your heirs. DeltFall was a large operation. The death payout for them alone will be huge.” And the company hated to spend money.” (90) ASR

“The organic parts mostly sleep, but not always. You know something’s happening. They were trying to purge my memory. We’re too expensive to destroy.” (116) ASR

“The company required this as a security feature if you wanted your base to be anywhere without open terrain around it. It cost extra, and if you didn’t want it, it cost even more to guarantee your bond.” (124) ASR

“Okay, the problem is, I’ve mentioned this before, the company is cheap. When it comes to something like a beacon that just has to launch once if there’s an emergency, send a transmission through the wormhole, and then never gets retrieved, they’re very cheap.” (137) ASR

“I said, “This unit is at minimal functionality and it is recommended that you discard it.” It’s an automatic reaction triggered by catastrophic malfunction…. “Your contract allows—” “Shut up,” Mensah snapped.” (139) ASR

“…we’re cheaply produced and we suck. Nobody would hire one of us for non-murdering purposes unless they had to.” (34) ASR

“In a smart world, I should go alone, but with the governor module I had to be within a hundred meters of at least one of the clients at all times, or it would fry me.” (37) ASR

“I walked out a little way, past a couple of the lakes, almost expecting to see something under the surface. Dead bodies, maybe. I’d seen plenty of those (and caused plenty of those) on past contracts, but this one had been dead-body-lacking, so far. It made for a nice change.” (44) ASR

“This is how we fight: throw ourselves at each other and see whose parts give out first.” (69) ASR

““Dr. Mensah,” I said, “this is a violation of security priority and I am contractually obligated to record this for report to the company—” It was in the buffer and the rest of my brain was empty.” (73) ASR

“The DeltFall SecUnits hadn’t been rogues, they had been inserted with combat override modules. The modules allow personal control over a SecUnit, turn it from a mostly autonomous construct into a gun puppet. The feed would be cut off, control would be over the comm, but functionality would depend on how complex the orders were. “Kill the humans” isn’t a complex order.” (75) ASR

““Because if the company wanted to sabotage you, they would have poisoned your supplies using the recycling systems. The company is more likely to kill you by accident.”” (81) ASR

“I said, “I did not hack my governor module to kill my clients. My governor module malfunctioned because the stupid company only buys the cheapest possible components. It malfunctioned and I lost control of my systems and I killed them. The company retrieved me and installed a new governor module. I hacked it so it wouldn’t happen again.” (81) ASR

"“Do they really expect to get away with this?” Ratthi turned to me, like he was expecting an answer.” (105)

““They may believe the company and whoever your beneficiaries are won’t look any further than the rogue SecUnits. But they can’t make two whole survey teams disappear unless their corporate or political entity doesn’t care about them. Does DeltFall’s care? Does yours?” (105) ASR

“Freehold meant it had been terraformed and colonized but wasn’t affiliated with any corporate confederations. Basically freehold generally meant shitshow so I hadn’t been expecting much from them. But they were surprisingly easy to work for.” (26) ASR

“The other good thing about my hacked governor module is that I could ignore the governor’s instructions to defend the stupid company.” (48) ASR

“I had a moment to feel betrayed, which was stupid. Volescu was my client, and I’d saved his life because that was my job, not because I liked him.” (79-80) ASR

“One saw me and Ratthi and said, “Again, this is irregular. Purging the unit’s memory before it changes hands isn’t just a policy, it’s best for the—” (143) ASR

“Maybe it would work out. This was what I was supposed to want. This was what everything had always told me I was supposed to want. Supposed to want.” (147) ASR

“Murderbots aren’t allowed to ride with the humans and I had to have verbal permission to enter. With my cracked governor there was nothing to stop me, but not letting anybody, especially the people who held my contract, know that I was a free agent was kind of important. Like, not having my organic components destroyed and the rest of me cut up for parts important.” (14) ASR

“I’m always supposed to speak respectfully to the clients, even when they’re about to accidentally commit suicide. HubSystem could log it and it could trigger punishment through the governor module.” (15) ASR

“…if it monitored the governor module and my feed like it was supposed to, it could lead to a lot of awkward questions and me being stripped for parts.” (31) ASR

“I had worked for some contracts that would have kept me standing here the entire day and night cycle, just on the off chance they wanted me to do something and didn’t want to bother using the feed to call me.” (33) ASR

“I don’t know why I was dancing around the word. Maybe because I thought she didn’t want to hear it. She’d just shot a heavily armed SecUnit with a mining drill to get me back; presumably she wanted to keep me.” (76) ASR

“Then Mensah said quietly, “SecUnit, do you have a name?” I wasn’t sure what she wanted. “No.” “It calls itself ‘Murderbot,’” Gurathin said." (82) ASR

“To them, talking to me was like talking to a hopper or a piece of mining equipment.” (127) ASR

“I know I said SecUnits aren’t sentimental about each other, but I wished it wasn’t one of the DeltFall units. It was in there somewhere, trapped in its own head, maybe aware, maybe not. Not that it matters. None of us had a choice.” (132) ASR

“Guardian was a nicer word than owner.” (148) ASR

“I’ve purchased your contract.” (145) ASR

“He said, “Good news! Dr. Mensah has permanently bought your contract! You’re coming home with us!” (141) ASR

“I’m off inventory.” They had told me that and maybe it was true.” (145) ASR

“SecSystem records everything, even inside the sleeping cabins, and I see everything.” (30) ASR

“I was supposed to check their personal logs periodically in case they were plotting to defraud the company or murder each other or something…” (57) ASR

“One of the reasons the bond company requires it, besides slapping more expensive markups on their clients, is that I was recording all their conversations all the time, though I wasn’t monitoring anything I didn’t need to do a half-assed version of my job. But the company would access all those recordings and data mine them for anything they could sell. No, they don’t tell people that. Yes, everyone does know it. No, there’s nothing you can do about it.” (27-28) ASR

“Now they knew their murderbot didn’t want to be around them any more than they wanted to be around it. I’d given a tiny piece of myself away. That can’t happen. I have too much to hide, and letting one piece go means the rest isn’t as protected.” (33-34) ASR

“No one would be shooting at me because they didn’t shoot people there. Mensah didn’t need a bodyguard there; nobody did. It sounded like a great place to live, if you were a human or augmented human.” (146) ASR

“If there’s a chance we can save lives, we have to take it,” Pin-Lee agreed.” (57) ASR

“They were the first clients I’d had who hadn’t had any previous experience with SecUnits” (40) ASR

““You have to think of it as a person,” Pin-Lee said to Gurathin.” (95) ASR

“”It is a person,” Arada insisted.” “I do think of it as a person,” Gurathin said. “An angry, heavily armed person who has no reason to trust us.” “Then stop being mean to it,” Ratthi told him. “That might help.”” (96) ASR

“Overse added, “It doesn’t want to interact with humans. And why should it? You know how constructs are treated, especially in corporate-political environments.”” (107) ASR

“”You know, in Preservation-controlled territory, bots are considered full citizens. A construct would fall under the same category.” He said this in the tone of giving me a hint. Whatever. Bots who are “full citizens” still have to have a human or augmented human guardian appointed, usually their employer; I’d seen it on the news feeds.” (112) ASR

“Ratthi smiled at the console. “Because Dr. Mensah is our political entity.” He made a little gesture, turning his hand palm up. “We’re from Preservation Alliance, one of the non-corporate system entities. Dr. Mensah is the current admin director on the steering committee. It’s an elected position, with a limited term. But one of the principles of our home is that our admins must also continue their regular work, whatever it is. Her regular work required this survey, so here she is, and here we are.”” (111) ASR

“Ratthi came over to see if I was all right, and I asked him to tell me about Preservation and how Mensah lived there. He said when she wasn’t doing admin work, she lived on a farm outside the capital city, with two marital partners, plus her sister and brother and their three marital partners, and a bunch of relatives and kids who Ratthi had lost count of.” (147) ASR

“Ratthi sighed. “Oh, yes, they know. You would not believe what we had to pay to guarantee the bond on the survey. These corporate arseholes are robbers.”” (112) ASR

““Because the scanners suck corporation balls,” Pin-Lee muttered.” (42) ASR

“Of course I need you. I have no experience in anything like this. None of us do. Sometimes humans can’t help but let emotion bleed through into the feed. She was furious and frightened, not at me, at the people who would do this, kill like this,” (107-108) ASR

“I said, “This unit is at minimal functionality and it is recommended that you discard it.” It’s an automatic reaction triggered by catastrophic malfunction. Also, I really didn’t want them to try to move me because it hurt bad enough the way it was. “Your contract allows—” “Shut up,” Mensah snapped. “You shut the fuck up. We’re not leaving you.”” (139) ASR

"I had flashes off and on. The inside of the little hopper, my humans talking, Arada holding my hand." (140) ASR

“We had a problem at the hatch of the big hopper where Mensah wanted to get in last and I wanted to get in last. As a compromise, I grabbed her around the waist and swung us both up into the hatch as the ramp pulled in after us. I set her on her feet and she said, “Thank you, SecUnit,” while the others stared.” (99) ASR

““I know you’re more comfortable with keeping your helmet opaque, but the situation has changed. We need to see you.”” (103) ASR

““It’s usually better if humans think of me as a robot,” I said.” (103) ASR

““Maybe, under normal circumstances.” She was looking a little off to one side, not trying to make eye contact, which I appreciated. “But this situation is different. It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.” My insides melted. That’s the only way I could describe it. After a minute, when I had my expression under control, I cleared the face plate and had it and the helmet fold back into my armor. She said, “Thank you,” and I followed her up into the hopper.” (104) ASR

“They were saying things like I didn’t even know it had a face.” (21) ASR

“Arada and Pin-Lee didn’t try to talk to me, and Ratthi actually looked away when I eased past him to get to the cockpit. They were all so careful not to look at me or talk to me directly that as soon as we were in the air I did a quick spot check through HubSystem’s records of their conversations.” (39) ASR

“They had talked it over and all agreed not to “push me any further than I wanted to go” and they were all so nice and it was just excruciating.” (40) ASR

“That was when I realized they weren’t ignoring the possibility of sabotage.” (43) ASR

“This is why I didn’t want to come. I’ve got four perfectly good humans here and I didn’t want them to get killed by whatever took out DeltFall. It’s not like I cared about them personally, but it would look bad on my record, and my record was already pretty terrible.” (60) ASR

“It was nice having a human smart enough to work with like this.” (67) ASR

“I do a half-assed job sometimes, okay, most of the time, but Pin-Lee had checked, too, and she was thorough.” (71) ASR

“It was starting to occur to me that Dr. Mensah might actually be an intrepid galactic explorer, even if she didn’t look like the ones on the entertainment feed.” (73) ASR

“I hoped they hadn’t been stupid about it, too soft-hearted to kill me.” (77) ASR

“My clients are the best clients.” (78) ASR

“But I think the fact that the Unit has been acting to preserve our lives, to take care of us, while it was a free agent, gives us even more reason to trust it.”” (80) ASR

“Overse sounded mad. “It told us about the combat module, it told us to kill it. Why the hell would it do that if it wanted to hurt us?”” (81) ASR

“Before anyone else could move, Mensah said, calm and even, “SecUnit, I’d appreciate it if you put Gurathin down, please.” She’s a really good commander. I’m going to hack her file and put that in. If she’d gotten angry, shouted, let the others panic, I don’t know what would have happened.” (84-85) ASR

“She continued, “I would like you to remain part of our group, at least until we get off this planet and back to a place of safety. At that point, we can discuss what you’d like to do. But I swear to you, I won’t tell the company, or anyone outside this room, anything about you or the broken module.”” (86) ASR

“Of course she had to say that. What else could she do. I tried to decide whether to believe it or not, or whether it mattered, when I was hit by a wave of I don’t care. And I really didn’t. I said, “Okay.”” (86) ASR

““We have to shut it down, or it’s going to kill us.” Then he winced and looked at me. “Sorry, I meant HubSystem.”” (86-87) ASR

“Then Arada came up and patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry. This must be very upsetting. After what that other Unit did to you . . . Are you all right?” That was too much attention. I turned around and walked into the corner, facing away from them.” (87) ASR

“I should keep my mouth shut, keep them thinking of me as their normal obedient SecUnit, stop reminding them what I was. But I wanted them to be careful.” (92) ASR

““If a strange survey group landed here, all friendly, saying they had just arrived, and oh, we’ve had an equipment failure or our MedSystem’s down and we need help, you would let them in. Even if I told you not to, that it was against company safety protocol, you’d do it.” Not that I’m bitter, or anything. A lot of the company’s rules are stupid or just there to increase profit, but some of them are there for a good reason.” (92-93) ASR

[I cited this whole conversation bc I wasn't sure exactly what bits I wanted to use. apologies for the giant block text.]

“Ratthi’s expression was troubled. “But surely . . . It’s clear you have feelings—”” (54)

“She looked up, frowning. “Ratthi, what are you doing?” Ratthi shifted guiltily. “I know Mensah asked us not to, but—” He waved a hand. “You saw it.” Overse pulled her interface off. “You’re upsetting it,” she said, teeth gritted. “That’s my point!” He gestured in frustration. “The practice is disgusting, it’s horrible, it’s slavery. This is no more a machine than Gurathin is—” Exasperated, Overse said, “And you don’t think it knows that?” I’m supposed to let the clients do and say whatever they want to me and with an intact governor module I wouldn’t have a choice.” (54) ASR

“I’m also not supposed to snitch on clients to anybody except the company, but it was either that or jump out the hatch. I sent the conversation into the feed tagged for Mensah. From the cockpit, she shouted, “Ratthi! We talked about this!” I slid out of the seat and went to the back of the hopper, as far away as I could get, facing the supply lockers and the head. It was a mistake; it wasn’t a normal thing for a SecUnit with an intact governor module to do, but they didn’t notice. “I’ll apologize,” Ratthi was saying. “No, just leave it alone,” Mensah told him. “That would just make it worse,” Overse added.” (55) ASR

Network Effect

“Humans in the Preservation alliance didn't have to sign up for contract labor and get shipped off to mines or whatever for 80 to 90 percent of their lifespans. There was some strange system where they all got their food and shelter and education and medical for free, no matter what job they did.” (35-36) NE

“...it was a natural mistake on Arada’s part. In Preservation culture asking payment for anything considered necessary for living (food, power sources, education, the feed, etc.) was considered outrageous, but asking payment for life-saving help was right up there with cannibalism.” (201) NE

“There were "free" bots wandering around on Preservation, though they had guardians who were technically supposed to keep track of them.” (27) NE

“Plus, it was Preservation and there were no scanning drones, no armed human security, just some on-call human medics with bot assistants and “rangers” who mainly enforced environmental regulations and yelled at humans and augmented humans to get out of the way of the ground vehicles.” (24) NE

"Over the comm loudspeaker, Dr. Ratthi said, 'It is a person!'" (16) NE

“Even the individual humans’ feed signatures only contained info about sexual availability and gender presentation, which I didn’t give a damn about.” (13) NE

“If this went wrong I was going to feel really stupid. The Targets would finally show up and be all “What the hell was it trying to do to itself?”�� (305-306) NE

“That’s one of the reasons Me 1.0 misses its armor.” (293) NE

“You and Amena were right. 2.0 was a person. It wasn’t like a baby, but it was a person.” (340) NE

“The damage to its organic tissue and support structure is easily repaired.” (132) NE

“- because it thought you were dead. It was so upset I thought-Oh, hey, you’re here” (227) NE

“Amena’s voice said “No, it doesn’t like to be touched!”“ (335) NE

““No, it says it’s fine,” I heard her relaying to the others on our comm. “Well, yes, it’s furious,”” (12) NE

"It's not aliens, 2.0 said. We knew it wasn't aliens, I told it. It countered, We were seventy-two percent sure it wasn't aliens. That was an outdated assessment but I didn't need to argue with myself right now." (314) NE

Fugitive Telemetry

“Preservation had two economies, one a complicated barter system for planetary residents and one currency-based for visitors and for dealing with other polities. Most of the humans here didn’t really understand how important hard currency was in the Corporation Rim but the council did, and Mensah said the port took in enough in various fees to keep the station from being a drain on the planet’s resources.” (79) FT

“The Preservation Alliance has a weird thing about food and medical care and other thing humans need to survive being free and available anywhere.” (35) FT

“The employment contracts for Preservation citizens were pretty simple, because their planetary legal code had so many in-built protections already. (For example, humans and augmented humans can’t sign away their rights to their labor or bodily autonomy in perpetuity; that’s like, straight-up illegal.)” (12) FT

“Preservation has high safety standards so we passed through two air walls before we got to the cargo ship’s hatch.” (70) FT

“Right now Aylen and the other officers were explaining to their individual Targets what rights they had as detainees in Preservation Alliance territory. (It was a lot of rights. I was pretty sure it was more rights than a human who hadn’t been detained by Station Security had in the Corporation Rim.)” (85-86) FT

“As part of the rights thing, Aylen had told Target Five the scanner would be on, which I thought was playing way too fair,” (89-90) FT

“Station Security was only allowed to keep the Lalow for one Preservation day-cycle before they either had to charge the crew with something or let them go.” (106) FT

“You need a surveillance audit.” (145) “Some of those systems are under privacy lock, we’d need a judge-advocate to release their access records,” (146) FT [these are together bc its a line of dialogue from mb, a huge monologue about what a surveillance audit is, and then Indah's response, which is the thing I care about for my paper]

“Most of the station’s clothing supply came from the planet, where human hand-made clothing and textiles were so popular there was hardly any recycler-produced fabric. (I told you Preservation is weird.)” (22) FT

“The colony ship hadn’t just been left to rot; the humans liked it too much for that…Pieces of clear protective material had been placed over the occasional drawings on the bulkheads, and on the pieces of paper stuck to them and covered with scribbled handwriting and faded print. Feed markers had been installed by Station Historical/Environment Management with translations into Preservation Standard Nomenclature.” (123) FT

“…you’re on a giant spaceship that has been meticulously preserved as a historical artifact. If they still had intact lunch menus from however many years ago, the chances were good they still had the safety equipment.” (125) FT

“Station Security isn’t armed except with those extendable batons (they don’t even deliver shocks, they’re just for hitting/holding off aggressive intoxicated humans) and the officers are only issued energy weapons when there’s actually an energy-weapon-involved emergency.” (72) FT

“…they were here to assess the damage to the transport and try to repair it. (Apparently on Preservation this would be free? Gurathin said it fell under what they called a traveler’s aid rule. In the Corporation Rim, the transport would have had tp sit there damaged and racking up fines until its owner or an owner’s rep arrived.)” (55-56) FT

another "couldn't decide so the whole dang thing is here"

"For a name, I could use the local feed address that was hard coded into my neural interfaces. It wasn’t my real name, but it was what the systems I interfaced with called me. If I used it, the humans and augmented humans I encountered would think of me as a bot. Or I could use the name Rin. I liked it, and there were some humans outside the Corporation Rim who thought it was actually my name. I could use it, and the humans on the Station wouldn’t have to think about what I was, a construct made of cloned human tissue, augments, anxiety, depression, and unfocused rage, a killing machine for whichever humans rented me, until I made a mistake and got my brain destroyed by my governor module." (28) “I posted a feed ID with the name SecUnit, gender = not applicable, and no other information.” (29)

[mr-no-one-at-all]

The United States vs Amistad decision

On this day in history - March 9 1841

On the 9th of March 1841, the US Supreme Court handed down their decision in the landmark United States vs Amistad case. It involved a group of Africans who had been captured and transported across the Atlantic aboard the Spanish ship La Amistad to face enslavement. They managed to gain control of the ship and attempted to navigate back to Africa. However, they were captured near Long Island, and a legal battle soon followed.

The central question was whether they were lawfully enslaved people under international law or if they had been kidnapped from their homeland. The Supreme Court ruled that they had been illegally taken, which meant they were not the property of anyone. This decision affirmed their right to freedom and it offered a rare moment of hope in an era filled with injustice. The case also strengthened the resolve of those who opposed the institution of slavery, and it demonstrated that United States courts could rule in favor of individual liberty when faced with compelling evidence.

The background to this case rests on the grim reality of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, which forced millions of Africans to cross the ocean in cruel conditions. This trade flourished for centuries and it was driven by the demand for cheap labor in American colonies and beyond. European countries profited from the misery inflicted on African societies, which lost countless generations of skilled artisans, farmers and leaders. These forced removals disrupted social and political structures, leaving communities devastated.

The horrors of the Atlantic passage endured in the memories of survivors who faced brutal labor and cruel treatment once they arrived in the Americas. Enslaved people were stripped of their identities and separated from their families. Despite this they found ways to resist and maintain cultural bonds. Even with oppressive laws and constant surveillance they preserved stories, passed on traditions, and formed communities that nurtured resilience. These societies in bondage became places of solidarity, and they produced music, religious practices and oral histories that still resonate today. Yet the fundamental violence of enslavement persisted, which meant that any legal victory like the one in the Amistad case offered only a small window of relief.

In the long term the impact of this trade has shaped global economies, racial hierarchies and social perceptions that persist to this day. The descendants of those who were taken from Africa still struggle with the consequences of enslavement. Generations have worked to address the legacies of stolen labor, cultural erasure and legalized discrimination. Policies such as Jim Crow and later forms of segregation reinforced deep inequalities, causing many to fight tirelessly for civil rights. Activists and leaders across different eras have challenged oppressive systems and their determination has sparked waves of reform and social change.

Although we continue to confront the lasting effects of this history, the story of United States vs Amistad stands as a beacon of hope. It reminds us that courage can conquer oppressive systems, and it shows us that even a single victory can light the path toward greater freedom for all.

[critical-skeptic]

DRONES, DRONES, DRONES!!! WATCH OUT!!!

For over a decade, commercial and hobbyist drones have been buzzing through the skies without incident, yet suddenly people are losing their collective minds over this non-issue as if it's the harbinger of Armageddon. Are you all seriously this gullible? This isn't new technology—hell, we're talking about a military town with Fort Huachuca right there, the same Fort Huachuca that helped pioneer the use of surveillance drones in the first place. This isn’t Skynet coming online; it’s glorified flying cameras that have been around longer than some TikTok influencers have been alive. Meanwhile, a friend of mine has been building custom quadcopters for nearly two decades without a single newsworthy apocalypse resulting from it. But sure, let’s all clutch our pearls over something we’ve lived with peacefully for years, because apparently, critical thinking is optional these days.

The worst part? This drone outrage is nothing but a cheap distraction. While the masses are busy hyperventilating over the "threat" of flying gadgets, actual threats to democracy and justice are barreling forward unchecked. Luigi Mangione’s case—an explosive reflection of systemic neglect and institutional abuse—barely registers on the public radar. And Trump, the felonious rapist insurrectionist, and Elon, the tax-dodging manchild playing geopolitical chess with government subsidies, are tearing apart democratic norms like it’s their God-given right. Yet here we are, hand-wringing over drones, because apparently, a shiny distraction is all it takes to steer the public away from the real threats. Wake up. The manipulation is blatant, and your outrage is being weaponized against you while these bastards continue their games unchecked.

[quotation--marks]

Too bad Navidson never holds a camera. The entire sequence covering the escape from the house is reminiscent of something taken off of a cheap surveillance system in a local bank or 7-Eleven. The clips are impartial renderings of a space. If the action slips past the frame, the camera does not care enough to adjust its perspective. It cannot see what matters. It cannot follow.

Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

[sweetmage]

Gaze From The Pavement (AO3 Link)

Relationships: Hawke siblings, Hawke & All Companions, eventual M!Hawke/Anders, eventual F!Hawke/Fenris Word Count: 6901 Tags: Magitechnology, dystopia, found family, hurt comfort, organized crime, banter and humor, twin!Hawke AU ⚠️The following tags are TWs for later chapters but are not central themes of the fic: Mentions of abuse (all kinds), mentions of suicidal ideation, canonical major characters death (Leandra, Karl, etc.), unnamed character death, mentions of drugs and addiction. (Please see the AO3 link for the full list of tags and future TWs!) Summary: After Lothering is overrun by 'darkspawn'—mysterious self-replicating organic and mechanical beings from a bygone age—the Hawke family is forced to flee to the towering, smog-filled City of Chains. There, they find themselves embroiled in hard mercenary work, family dysfunction, and the Chantry's high-tech and overbearing systems of surveillance and oppression built upon the backs of generations of Circle slave labor. At least the drinks at the Hanged Man are still cheap... ~~~ The same Thedas we know but set in an AU where the Chantry has forced rapid technological advancements over a few generations by using their Circles to research, develop, and manufacture magitechnology, including those used to further mage oppression and aid them in their grasp for economic and political power. This is a highly canon divergent rewrite of Dragon Age 2, though expect similar themes and a similar tone. The world is bleak but the Kirlwall Crew is making it through together!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

There Were Always Enshittifiers

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in DC TONIGHT (Mar 4), and in RICHMOND TOMORROW (Mar 5). More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

My latest Locus column is "There Were Always Enshittifiers." It's a history of personal computing and networked communications that traces the earliest days of the battle for computers as tools of liberation and computers as tools for surveillance, control and extraction:

https://locusmag.com/2025/03/commentary-cory-doctorow-there-were-always-enshittifiers/

The occasion for this piece is the publication of my latest Martin Hench novel, a standalone book set in the early 1980s called "Picks and Shovels":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

The MacGuffin of Picks and Shovels is a "weird PC" company called Fidelity Computing, owned by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest, and an orthodox rabbi. It sounds like the setup for a joke, but the punchline is deadly serious: Fidelity Computing is a pyramid selling cult that preys on the trust and fellowship of faith groups to sell the dreadful Fidelity 3000 PC and its ghastly peripherals.

You see, Fidelity's products are booby-trapped. It's not merely that they ship with programs whose data-files can't be read by apps on any other system – that's just table stakes. Fidelity's got a whole bag of tricks up its sleeve – for example, it deliberately damages a specific sector on every floppy disk it ships. The drivers for its floppy drive initialize any read or write operation by checking to see if that sector can be read. If it can, the computer refuses to recognize the disk. This lets the Reverend Sirs (as Fidelity's owners style themselves) run a racket where they sell these deliberately damaged floppies at a 500% markup, because regular floppies won't work on the systems they lure their parishioners into buying.

Or take the Fidelity printer: it's just a rebadged Oki­data ML-80, the workhorse tractor feed printer that led the market for years. But before Fidelity ships this printer to its customers, they fit it with new tractor feed sprockets whose pins are slightly more widely spaced than the standard 0.5" holes on the paper you can buy in any stationery store. That way, Fidelity can force its customers to buy the custom paper that they exclusively peddle – again, at a massive markup.

Needless to say, printing with these wider sprocket holes causes frequent jams and puts a serious strain on the printer's motors, causing them to burn out at a high rate. That's great news – for Fidelity Computing. It means they get to sell you more overpriced paper so you can reprint the jobs ruined by jams, and they can also sell you their high-priced, exclusive repair services when your printer's motors quit.

Perhaps you're thinking, "OK, but I can just buy a normal Okidata printer and use regular, cheap paper, right?" Sorry, the Reverend Sirs are way ahead of you: they've reversed the pinouts on their printers' serial ports, and a normal printer won't be able to talk to your Fidelity 3000.

If all of this sounds familiar, it's because these are the paleolithic ancestors of today's high-tech lock-in scams, from HP's $10,000/gallon ink to Apple and Google's mobile app stores, which cream a 30% commission off of every dollar collected by an app maker. What's more, these ancient, weird misfeatures have their origins in the true history of computing, which was obsessed with making the elusive, copy-proof floppy disk.

This Quixotic enterprise got started in earnest with Bill Gates' notorious 1976 "open letter to hobbyists" in which the young Gates furiously scolds the community of early computer hackers for its scientific ethic of publishing, sharing and improving the code that they all wrote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Open_Letter_to_Hobbyists

Gates had recently cloned the BASIC programming language for the popular Altair computer. For Gates, his act of copying was part of the legitimate progress of technology, while the copying of his colleagues, who duplicated Gates' Altair BASIC, was a shameless act of piracy, destined to destroy the nascent computing industry:

As the majority of hobbyists must be aware, most of you steal your software. Hardware must be paid for, but software is something to share. Who cares if the people who worked on it get paid?

Needless to say, Gates didn't offer a royalty to John Kemeny and Thomas Kurtz, the programmers who'd invented BASIC at Dartmouth College in 1963. For Gates – and his intellectual progeny – the formula was simple: "When I copy you, that's progress. When you copy me, that's piracy." Every pirate wants to be an admiral.

For would-be ex-pirate admirals, Gates's ideology was seductive. There was just one fly in the ointment: computers operate by copying. The only way a computer can run a program is to copy it into memory – just as the only way your phone can stream a video is to download it to its RAM ("streaming" is a consensus hallucination – every stream is a download, and it has to be, because the internet is a data-transmission network, not a cunning system of tubes and mirrors that can make a picture appear on your screen without transmitting the file that contains that image).

Gripped by this enshittificatory impulse, the computer industry threw itself headfirst into the project of creating copy-proof data, a project about as practical as making water that's not wet. That weird gimmick where Fidelity floppy disks were deliberately damaged at the factory so the OS could distinguish between its expensive disks and the generic ones you bought at the office supply place? It's a lightly fictionalized version of the copy-protection system deployed by Visicalc, a move that was later publicly repudiated by Visicalc co-founder Dan Bricklin, who lamented that it confounded his efforts to preserve his software on modern systems and recover the millions of data-files that Visicalc users created:

http://www.bricklin.com/robfuture.htm

The copy-protection industry ran on equal parts secrecy and overblown sales claims about its products' efficacy. As a result, much of the story of this doomed effort is lost to history. But back in 2017, a redditor called Vadermeer unearthed a key trove of documents from this era, in a Goodwill Outlet store in Seattle:

https://www.reddit.com/r/VintageApple/comments/5vjsow/found_internal_apple_memos_about_copy_protection/

Vaderrmeer find was a Apple Computer binder from 1979, documenting the company's doomed "Software Security from Apple's Friends and Enemies" (SSAFE) project, an effort to make a copy-proof floppy:

https://archive.org/details/AppleSSAFEProject

The SSAFE files are an incredible read. They consist of Apple's best engineers beavering away for days, cooking up a new copy-proof floppy, which they would then hand over to Apple co-founder and legendary hardware wizard Steve Wozniak. Wozniak would then promptly destroy the copy-protection system, usually in a matter of minutes or hours. Wozniak, of course, got the seed capital for Apple by defeating AT&T's security measures, building a "blue box" that let its user make toll-free calls and peddling it around the dorms at Berkeley:

https://512pixels.net/2018/03/woz-blue-box/

Woz has stated that without blue boxes, there would never have been an Apple. Today, Apple leads the charge to restrict how you use your devices, confining you to using its official app store so it can skim a 30% vig off every dollar you spend, and corralling you into using its expensive repair depots, who love to declare your device dead and force you to buy a new one. Every pirate wants to be an admiral!

https://www.vice.com/en/article/tim-cook-to-investors-people-bought-fewer-new-iphones-because-they-repaired-their-old-ones/

Revisiting the early PC years for Picks and Shovels isn't just an excuse to bust out some PC nostalgiacore set-dressing. Picks and Shovels isn't just a face-paced crime thriller: it's a reflection on the enshittificatory impulses that were present at the birth of the modern tech industry.

But there is a nostalgic streak in Picks and Shovels, of course, represented by the other weird PC company in the tale. Computing Freedom is a scrappy PC startup founded by three women who came up as sales managers for Fidelity, before their pangs of conscience caused them to repent of their sins in luring their co-religionists into the Reverend Sirs' trap.

These women – an orthodox lesbian whose family disowned her, a nun who left her order after discovering the liberation theology movement, and a Mormon woman who has quit the church over its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment – have set about the wozniackian project of reverse-engineering every piece of Fidelity hardware and software, to make compatible products that set Fidelity's caged victims free.

They're making floppies that work with Fidelity drives, and drives that work with Fidelity's floppies. Printers that work with Fidelity computers, and adapters so Fidelity printers will work with other PCs (as well as resprocketing kits to retrofit those printers for standard paper). They're making file converters that allow Fidelity owners to read their data in Visicalc or Lotus 1-2-3, and vice-versa.

In other words, they're engaged in "adversarial interoperability" – hacking their own fire-exits into the burning building that Fidelity has locked its customers inside of:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

This was normal, back then! There were so many cool, interoperable products and services around then, from the Bell and Howell "Black Apple" clones:

https://forum.vcfed.org/index.php?threads%2Fbell-howell-apple-ii.64651%2F

to the amazing copy-protection cracking disks that traveled from hand to hand, so the people who shelled out for expensive software delivered on fragile floppies could make backups against the inevitable day that the disks stopped working:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bit_nibbler

Those were wild times, when engineers pitted their wits against one another in the spirit of Steve Wozniack and SSAFE. That era came to a close – but not because someone finally figured out how to make data that you couldn't copy. Rather, it ended because an unholy coalition of entertainment and tech industry lobbyists convinced Congress to pass the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in 1998, which made it a felony to "bypass an access control":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2016/07/section-1201-dmca-cannot-pass-constitutional-scrutiny

That's right: at the first hint of competition, the self-described libertarians who insisted that computers would make governments obsolete went running to the government, demanding a state-backed monopoly that would put their rivals in prison for daring to interfere with their business model. Plus ça change: today, their intellectual descendants are demanding that the US government bail out their "anti-state," "independent" cryptocurrency:

https://www.citationneeded.news/issue-78/

In truth, the politics of tech has always contained a faction of "anti-government" millionaires and billionaires who – more than anything – wanted to wield the power of the state, not abolish it. This was true in the mainframe days, when companies like IBM made billions on cushy defense contracts, and it's true today, when the self-described "Technoking" of Tesla has inserted himself into government in order to steer tens of billions' worth of no-bid contracts to his Beltway Bandit companies:

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/lawmakers-question-musk-influence-over-verizon-faa-contract-2025-02-28/

The American state has always had a cozy relationship with its tech sector, seeing it as a way to project American soft power into every corner of the globe. But Big Tech isn't the only – or the most important – US tech export. Far more important is the invisible web of IP laws that ban reverse-engineering, modding, independent repair, and other activities that defend American tech exports from competitors in its trading partners.

Countries that trade with the US were arm-twisted into enacting laws like the DMCA as a condition of free trade with the USA. These laws were wildly unpopular, and had to be crammed through other countries' legislatures:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

That's why Europeans who are appalled by Musk's Nazi salute have to confine their protests to being loudly angry at him, selling off their Teslas, and shining lights on Tesla factories:

https://www.malaymail.com/news/money/2025/01/24/heil-tesla-activists-protest-with-light-projection-on-germany-plant-after-musks-nazi-salute-video/164398

Musk is so attention-hungry that all this is as apt to please him as anger him. You know what would really hurt Musk? Jailbreaking every Tesla in Europe so that all its subscription features – which represent the highest-margin line-item on Tesla's balance-sheet – could be unlocked by any local mechanic for €25. That would really kick Musk in the dongle.

The only problem is that in 2001, the US Trade Rep got the EU to pass the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 bans that kind of reverse-engineering. The European Parliament passed that law because doing so guaranteed tariff-free access for EU goods exported to US markets.

Enter Trump, promising a 25% tariff on European exports.

The EU could retaliate here by imposing tit-for-tat tariffs on US exports to the EU, which would make everything Europeans buy from America 25% more expensive. This is a very weird way to punish the USA.

On the other hand, not that Trump has announced that the terms of US free trade deals are optional (for the US, at least), there's no reason not to delete Article 6 of the EUCD, and all the other laws that prevent European companies from jailbreaking iPhones and making their own App Stores (minus Apple's 30% commission), as well as ad-blockers for Facebook and Instagram's apps (which would zero out EU revenue for Meta), and, of course, jailbreaking tools for Xboxes, Teslas, and every make and model of every American car, so European companies could offer service, parts, apps, and add-ons for them.

When Jeff Bezos launched Amazon, his war-cry was "your margin is my opportunity." US tech companies have built up insane margins based on the IP provisions required in the free trade treaties it signed with the rest of the world.

It's time to delete those IP provisions and throw open domestic competition that attacks the margins that created the fortunes of oligarchs who sat behind Trump on the inauguration dais. It's time to bring back the indomitable hacker spirit that the Bill Gateses of the world have been trying to extinguish since the days of the "open letter to hobbyists." The tech sector built a 10 foot high wall around its business, then the US government convinced the rest of the world to ban four-metre ladders. Lift the ban, unleash the ladders, free the world!

In the same way that futuristic sf is really about the present, Picks and Shovels, an sf novel set in the 1980s, is really about this moment.

I'm on tour with the book now – if you're reading this today (Mar 4) and you're in DC, come see me tonight with Matt Stoller at 6:30PM at the Cleveland Park Library:

https://www.loyaltybookstores.com/picksnshovels

And if you're in Richmond, VA, come down to Fountain Bookshop and catch me with Lee Vinsel tomorrow (Mar 5) at 7:30PM:

https://fountainbookstore.com/events/1795820250305

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/04/object-permanence/#picks-and-shovels

[luckyroll3]

Crimson Lights: Chapter 36

Masterlist

Warning: Extreme violence, some gore

The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the house as everyone prepares to depart for their assignments. As I stand at the window, watching the last rays of light disappear, Jeongin approaches me with a reassuring smile.

"Hey, don't worry," he says. "They've got this. And you and I will hold down the fort here."

I nod, trying to shake off my growing nerves. "Yeah, I know you're right." I force a smile, attempting to convey confidence I didn't truly feel.

“Don’t forget your burners,” Han says behind me. I turn around to see him handing cheap flip phones to each member.

“Innie and I added everyone’s contact to the phones, identified by our birth numbers,” Seungmin adds. “And don’t turn them on until you’re far from the house. We don’t want anything linking back to here.” The other members nod and tuck the phones away, some in their pockets, others in their backpacks.

Everyone starts to do their final preparations – checking their weapons, filling their bags, reviewing their routes. I watch as Chris hugs and has last words individually with Han, Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin.

Changbin approaches me from behind and wraps his arms around my waist. “You look concerned,” he whispers into my ear.

“I am concerned,” I whisper back. I watch Han and Minho exchange a quick kiss. I turn to face Changbin and return his hug. “Be safe, okay?”

He nods and presses a quick, soft kiss to my lips. “I will.” I’m reluctant to let him go, but after a few more beats, I do.

After one last kiss to my cheek, he walks over to speak with Han, Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin as well. Within a couple minutes, the four of them head out on their assigned missions.

Chris approaches Jeongin at his tech station set up in a corner of the main room. “You good?” he asks, as he sets a hand on Jeongin’s shoulder.

“Yes, hyung.” Chris ruffles his hair, then places a kiss on the top of his forehead.

Then he turns to me. “You good?”

I shake my head and he pulls me into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body and his familiar scent comforting me. “Not really,” I admit, my voice muffled against his chest. “But I will be.”

His strong arms hold me close as we stand in silence for a moment before he whispers, “It will all be okay.”

I pull back slightly and cup his face in my hands, looking him square in the eyes. “He doesn’t get to take you from us,” I say softly trying to reassure both myself and him, my voice trembling as I bring my forehead to his, “from me.” The threat of tears sting my eyes, but I try to hold them back, to be strong for him. A single drop escapes and rolls down my cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb. “Come back to me?” I whisper so low I can barely hear myself, afraid to voice my fear out loud. It’s less of a question and more of a plea.

“Always,” he replies without any hesitation, before pressing his lips to mine in a tender kiss that speaks more volumes than words ever could, conveying all the love and reassurance I need in this moment.

“Channie hyung,” Minho says softly, interrupting our moment. “We need to go if we’re gonna get there on time. You know how he is…” He tucks a small knife away in what must be a hidden compartment in his shirt sleeve. Standing behind him, Changbin throws a duffle holding weapons over his shoulder.

“Yup,” Chris says as he releases me. “You’re safe with Jeongin,” he says softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

I nod and watch as the three of them leave.

I hunker next to Jeongin in front of the surveillance set up. He walks me though the different monitors. One set shows the live feeds from the systems he’s hacked into; the second set shows the altered feeds that anyone else viewing the security videos would see – loops of nothing happening.

“If everyone is making good time, we should see them start to show up on the live feeds within the next fifteen to twenty minutes,” Jeongin explains.

“How are you so good at this?” I ask in awe.

“Lots of practice,” he says with a laugh. He tells me about some of his previous hacking jobs, each one more impressive and dangerous than the last. I listen intently, fascinated by his skills.

As we wait, he teaches me a few tips and tricks on how to navigate through security systems undetected. I’m amazed by how easy it is to manipulate technology if you know a few key steps. But amidst our conversations and laughter, my mind keeps drifting back to the dangerous situations they’re all voluntarily walking into tonight. I try to push the thoughts aside, reminding myself that they are all capable and experienced criminals.

As if sensing my thoughts, Jeongin places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “They’ll be okay,” he assures me.

I nod, grateful for his words but still unable to shake off the anxiety gnawing at me about tonight’s events.

After a few minutes of silence, Jeongin asks tentatively, “So are you really in love with both of them?”

“I am.”

“Really? How does that work? I can’t wrap my head around someone being in love with two people at the same time.”

I shrug, unsure of how to explain it myself. “I don’t know. It might be different for everyone, I guess. For me, I realized I had strong feelings for both of them. Not sure why it works, but it does.”

“What about Hyunjin?”

“What about him?” I sit back in the chair and rotate the seat left to right. 

“You were with him too, right?”

“Is there anything you guys don’t share with each other?” I squint my eyes at him. 

Jeongin turns away from his monitors to look at me, a huge grin on his face. “Nope. We don’t keep any secrets. We all know everything. All the time. Sometimes it’s too much…” He shakes his head.

“Of course…,” I roll my eyes with a chuckle. Both Changbin and Chris had told me as much. “Yes, I was with Hyunjin too. With Chris, as you probably know.” He nods. “That was more of an experiment though. I’ve never had that experience before, and Chris was willing to let me explore. It was fun, but more of a one time thing.”

“So no feelings for Jin?” He examines my face.

“Nope. Although, I will say he’s become one of my favorites. He’s sweeter than he lets on.”

“Yeah, when he’s not being a raving lunatic,” Jeongin says with a laugh.

“Very true.”

“You know, you’re the first girl Chan has brought home since Aja.”

The mention of Aja catches me off guard. “I didn’t know that.”

“He’s definitely in love with you,” Jeongin says nonchalantly with a huge grin as his fingers tap away restlessly on his thighs. His observation makes me blush a little.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on one of the monitors.

“Oh shit,” I say as I point to it. “Something’s happening.”

Jeongin turns back to the screens. “Okay, good. Seungmin’s right on time.” He quickly flips through the cameras at Seungmin’s location to confirm that he won’t have any issues, then he sends Seungmin an “all clear” message through a program on his computer that I’ve never heard of before. Minutes later, Hyunjin, Han, and Felix all show up in their respective locations.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say as I push my chair away from the desk. “I’ll be back soon.” He nods silently as he focuses on his surveillance duties.

After washing my hands, I sit on Chris’ bed and lean back against the plush pillows, letting out a deep sigh as I take in the quiet solitude of the room. I find myself alone with my thoughts, swirling with anticipation and anxiety about everything taking place tonight. 

As I try to push the intrusive thoughts away, my eye catches the gift box Chris gave me on the plane. I walk over to open it, glancing down at the leather belt, the intricate engravings catching the dim light of the room. I slip it into the belt loops of my jeans and secure the buckle, then I trigger the release of the knife before re-securing it. It’s a strange comfort knowing that I have a weapon within reach if needed.

Behind me, I hear a noise in the hallway just outside the bedroom door. Thinking it’s Jeongin, I call out, “Innie? Do you need me?” as I swing open the door. A tall and imposing stranger stands on the other side, his eyes cold and calculating. Before I can even react, he grabs me roughly, pinning me against the wall, his hand clamping over my mouth to muffle my screams.

“Quiet,” he growls, his hot breath against my face.

Panic surges through me as I struggle against his grip, my heart pounding in my chest. I try to scream for help, but his hand is like a vice, cutting off my air supply.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he whispers gruffly. “I’ve been instructed to bring you in dead or alive. Your choice.”

My eyes well with tears as I realize the gravity of my situation. I’m being kidnapped. Again. I hold my tears back, refusing to allow this man to see my vulnerability, to know how utterly terrified I am.

With a sudden burst of energy, I kick him sharply in the shin. He loosens his grasp for a moment, giving me the opportunity to break free and make a run for it. But before I can get more than a few steps, he catches me and slams me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. He pins me down with one knee and yanks my arms behind me, snarling, “You’re not going anywhere.” With what little air I have left in my chest, I try to yell for Jeongin, but the man whispers in my ear, “If he comes back here, I’ll kill him.” I bite my tongue as he binds my wrists tightly together then hauls me up roughly to my feet. “Let’s go have a chat with JYP.”

My eyes widen in shock and fear at the mention of JYP. But before I can process anything else, I’m enveloped in darkness as the man throws a black pillow case over my head and then hoists me onto his shoulder. I start to hyperventilate as I struggle to calm myself down. Soon after, I’m being thrown into what I assume is the trunk of a vehicle and seconds later, I pass out from my lack of oxygen.

I come to in a dimly lit room, my head throbbing and my vision blurred. I try to move, but find myself bound tightly to a chair and my wrists now tied in front of me, the ropes cutting into my skin. The tile is cold below my bare feet. Fear coils in my gut as I take in my surroundings – an opulently designed room with what looks like expensive art work on the walls. Not where I expected to be, but not totally surprised. I’m alone, but not for long.

The heavy oak door swings open, and two men enter the dimly lit room. The first man is the one who kidnapped me. The second man is older, middle-aged with a lined face and cold calculating eyes. I instantly recognize him from pictures Chris has shown me. JYP. He smiles when he sees me, but there is no warmth behind it.

As JYP approaches me, I can see his eyes roaming over my body, assessing me like a piece of meat. “Ah, you’re awake. Good,” he says in a gravelly voice, the fake smile still displayed on his face. I swallow hard, but don’t say anything. His hand reaches out to gently touch my face. “Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmurs as I flinch. “I can see why he fell for you.” His hand trails slowly down my cheek and neck before coming to rest on my chest. His thumb grazes one of my nipples lightly, and I feel sick to my stomach. He leans in closer, his hot breath brushing against my ear as he whispers, “I’m sure my boy does absolutely filthy things to you.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

A low, menacing chuckle rumbles from his chest as he steps back, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “I heard you were tough!” He turns to the kidnapper. “Did they ever say what happened to the first guy we sent?”

“They found his body. She most likely didn’t kill him, but they’re pretty sure she fucked him up when he tried to take her.” I realize they’re talking about the guy who attempted to kidnap me at my clinic.

“Why am I here?” I ask angrily, drawing their attention back to me.

“Chan has been a very naughty boy,” JYP says with a smug smile, “trying to take my kingdom. But with you as my bargaining chip, he’ll have no choice but to submit. You’re the key to bringing Chan to his knees.”

“You should know better than that,” I spit. “You taught him never to submit.”

JYP’s eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. “I taught him never to submit to other people,” he sneers as he corrects me. “He’s always had to submit to me,” the last word punctuated as he slaps his chest forcefully. Chills run through me when he plasters that fake, charming smile back on his face and turns back to the other man. “Are they here?”

“Yes. They’re waiting for you in the den.”

“Take her to the back room. And make sure she has a good view.” The kidnapper nods. “See you soon,” he says to me before leaving.

With a sharp tug, the kidnapper loosens the ropes around my body and forcefully pulls me up from the chair. My arm throbs where he grips it. He drags me through a narrow hallway into a smaller, cramped room, barely giving me a chance to catch my breath. My eyes immediately lock onto the window that looks into the den. I can see Chris and Minho sitting on the plush couch chatting. They don’t seem to notice us, so I assume it’s a two-way mirror. There are also four other men in the room, part of JYP’s security team. My captor presses a strip of duct tape over my mouth before commanding, “Wait here,” and leaving the room.

A few seconds later, JYP walks into the den greeting Chris and Minho with a smile, his voice dripping with false warmth. “Chan, my boy. So good to see you.” He walks to Chris with open arms and hugs him. He has four additional bodyguards with him. They expected this, given JYP’s paranoid nature; it’s why Chris also asked Seungmin to meet up with them.

Chris’ face is a mask of cool indifference, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “Nice to see you too, pd-nim.” Minho nods his head at JYP but doesn’t say anything.

The three of them sit and begin their meeting, which seems to go pleasant enough. But it isn’t long before JYP reveals his true motives.

“Since I haven’t been able to get in touch with Marco for the past few weeks, I assume you’ve learned about my plan?” He raises an eyebrow at Chris, who doesn’t deny it.

The kidnapper reenters the room where I’m being held. After a few moments of silence, Chris challenges JYP. “Why invest so much in me only to hold me back?”

JYP’s face hardens and his eyes narrow. “I can’t trust someone whose undying loyalty is to others instead of me.”

“You had my loyalty. But then you tried to sideline me.”

The tension in the room is palpable, like a living, breathing thing. JYP smiles and ignores Chris’ comment. Instead he turns to Minho. “I like you. You’re always quiet, unlike the rest of them. So loud, so chaotic, always yapping.” He scrunches up his face as he brings his right hand up to his ear and mimics the mouth of a barking dog with his fingers and thumb. “And you’re a great pitbull; always ready to attack on your owner’s say so. I could use someone like you on my team.” Minho and Chris exchange glances, but neither say anything.

JYP returns his focus to Chris. “So what’s the plan? Are you here to take me out? Might want to reconsider,” he replies with a smirk. He nods towards the window, signaling the kidnapper. The man grabs me, rips off the tape over my mouth, and drags me into the den, delivering me directly to JYP.

Chris’ eyes widen in surprise when he sees me, but he quickly hides his emotions behind a mask of cold indifference.

“She’s cute,” JYP says with a triumphant smile. “And the perfect bargaining chip.” His voice is full of satisfaction.

Chris’ eyes lock on mine. “I’m okay,” I mouth. His eyes quickly scan my body to confirm that I’m unharmed and they land on my belt. His eyes snap back up to mine with a tilt of his head. I’d totally forgotten I was wearing it. I nod slightly, signaling that I understood.

“Call off your coup and I promise to let her go. Refuse, and, well..." His voice trails off, the implication clear.

“It’s a little too late for that,” Chris says as he leans back on the couch and crosses his legs, his gaze back on JYP. His motion is nonchalant, but I can see the barely leashed fury behind Chris’ eyes.

JYP sighs, shaking his head. “Then I’m afraid I have no choice.” He snaps his fingers and the kidnapper forcefully shoves me to the ground, causing me to bang my knees against the hardwood floor. Chris doesn’t react, remaining eerily calm, never taking his intense gaze from JYP.

“We’ve taken care of everyone else already,” Chris replies coolly, seemingly unaffected by everything happening.

“I don’t believe the two of you were able….”

“The eight of us, you mean? You didn’t think we’d come alone, did you? We’re all here,” Chris interrupts with a smug grin. “And all playing our parts to eliminate your supporters. It’s just you left.”

JYP’s expression turns to one of anger as he leaps to his feet to stand over Chris, retorting, “How dare you try to overthrow me!” He pounds on his own chest for emphasis.

“How dare you!” Chris fires back, his voice rising in frustration as he stands, smashing through the calm demeanor he’s been trying to hold on to. He comes eye to eye with the man he’s considered his father for the past couple decades. “I gave up everything for you. Did everything you ever asked me to. The most despicable things. Even killing my girlfriend’s father.” He takes a breath as he steps backward to put a bit of space between him and JYP. “You should be thanking me. I made the Syndicate richer, stronger, and successful. The Syndicate is more powerful than ever before, despite your piss poor leadership. I got us here. ME! Yet somehow, you think most of the Syndicate supports you.” He scoffs. “Newsflash: they don’t. They want me in charge.”

JYP’s face reddens, his nostrils flare, and the veins in his neck bulge as he begins to argue with Chris, their voices growing louder in the tense atmosphere.

“I made you, and I can bloody well end you!” JYP yells. 

Chris responds, equally as loud, matching his tone.

My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the heated exchange between the two of them. I use their distraction as an opportunity to discreetly fidget with my belt buckle, attempting to release the hidden knife with my bound hands.

I start to panic as I struggle with the buckle and I begin to survey the room, searching for a way to escape. That’s when I catch a glimpse of Changbin sneaking into the room through an open window, his muscular frame crouching behind an excessively large planter. I quickly glance at everyone else in the room, but they’re all focused on Chris and JYP’s argument. I turn my eyes back to Bin. He’s covered in blood. I can see him mentally assessing the threats in the room, his eyes scanning the space as they move from one person to the next. I hold my breath when he finally notices me. His jaw clenches and his eyes flash with anger, but he doesn’t move. He finishes his scan, then pulls out his flip phone and sends a message.

Minho reaches into his pocket for his own phone, quickly reads the message and puts it away. A few seconds later, I see someone just outside one of the doors to the den peeking his head into the room. It’s Seungmin, his youthful face set with a grim determination. He catches Changbin’s eyes and they exchange a subtle nod. They wait calmly, poised to strike on Chris’ signal.

I feel the click of the knife finally releasing. I wrap my fingers around the handle and slide the blade up towards my wrists. Slowly, carefully, I begin to saw at the ropes, my breaths shallow as I pray no one, especially the goon behind me, notices.

“Enough of this,” JYP spits, losing patience. “It’s time to end this.”

“Agreed,” Chris replies, his voice cold and unyielding. The room is silent as he and JYP glare at each other. The tension in the air is nearly unbearable, each second ticking by like an eternity. We all feel it; the room is poised on the edge of chaos. 

JYP’s bodyguards shift restlessly as they watch Minho and Chris like hawks, their hands hovering near their weapons. Their focus is so consumed by the three men in the center of the room, they don’t notice when Seungmin quietly enters with a knife in each hand and Changbin emerges from his hiding spot gripping tightly to a single large knife in his right hand.

JYP’s eyes narrow. “Kill them all,” he says loudly.

With a roar of fury, the room explodes into violence. Changbin and Seungmin spring into action, catching the security personnel nearest to their positions completely off guard, their movements a blur of deadly precision. 

Minho leaps over the couch from his seated position, his fist colliding with the chin of the guard standing behind them before he snaps his neck. Without hesitation, he produces a knife of his own and flings it at the guard approaching Chris. The man crumbles to the floor as he claws at the wound on his neck. 

Every swing of their weapons and each of their movements are executed with skill and deadly intent.

JYP bellows for reinforcements, his face twisted with rage. But as the seconds tick by and no one comes, realization dawns in his eyes. Changbin and Seungmin had already neutralized everyone else in the compound.

I feel my kidnapper place my neck in a chokehold and he tries to pull me to my feet. I resist him and continue my desperate attempts to free myself as I saw at the rope frantically. Finally, I feel slack as the rope breaks and I gasp in relief. Without hesitation, I plunge the dagger into his foot, eliciting a pained howl. He releases me as he stumbles back to clutch the wound. I fall forward, face planting on the floor.

“You bitch,” I hear behind me. I turn to see the kidnapper charging at me, his lips curled in a snarl of rage as his hand raises to punch me. I extend my knife towards him, prepared to try to defend myself. 

Before he can reach me, a black blur crashes into him, colliding with his stomach and slamming him into the wall. Changbin. The kidnapper doesn’t stay down for long, though. He fights back, throwing a couple punches at Changbin, which are easily dodged. Changbin comes back at him with brutal efficiency, quickly incapacitating him before swinging his knife in a deadly arc, slicing the man’s throat. The kidnapper falls to the ground, his eyes wide and lifeless.

Changbin turns to me, his chest heaving, concern etched on his bloodied face. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the chaos of the battle fading into the background. He drops to his knees and pulls me into his arms, his lips crashing against mine in a desperate, quick, and fierce kiss. It is a kiss that says everything we couldn't put into words - the fear, the relief, the love that burns between us. But there is no time for tender moments now.

“Stay back and find a place to hide,” he instructs me as his eyes return to scanning the chaos around us. I nod, my heart leaping into my throat as I watch him rejoin the fray.

I grip the dagger tightly, my heart pounding as I scurry behind one of the large planters and watch as the fighting continues. I can’t help but marvel at Seungmin’s prowess in battle. Despite his youth, he fights alongside Minho and Changbin with a ferocity that belies his age. He moves with the skill and confidence of a seasoned warrior, fitting seamlessly into this deadly trio. Together, the three of them take on the four remaining bodyguards, their movements a blur as they fight.

My attention is drawn to the center of the room, where Chris and JYP are engaged in hand-to-hand combat. They move like two titans, their skills evenly matched, despite JYP’s age, as they trade vicious strikes. He’s a formidable opponent, which is no surprise given he trained Chris how to fight. Even so, Chris is a force to be reckoned with in his own right, his movements precise and calculated.

Punches land with sickening thuds. Kicks lash out like whips. The air crackles with the sounds of flesh impacting flesh, grunts of pain, and the clatter of overturned furniture as the two men trade blows, each trying to gain an advantage. Then, with a swift and unexpected move straight out of a martial arts movie, JYP executes some sort of flying kick that sends Chris stumbling backwards in surprise when it connects with his chest.

As Chris tries to regain his footing, I see JYP reach for a concealed pistol. Time seems to slow as he aims it at Chris’ heart, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“No!” The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate.

As the sound of the gunshot rips through the air, my mouth drops open as Changbin leaps in front of Chris, taking the bullet meant for him. As the projectile slams into his chest, the impact sends Changbin crashing to the floor. I scream as I watch in horror as his body stills. There’s a cruel smile on JYP’s face; he didn’t hit his intended target, but shooting someone with open disdain for him is apparently just as satisfying.

Despite Bin’s lifeless body sprawled on the ground, I am shocked at how Chris, Minho, and Seungmin remain focused on their mission. Within seconds, they immediately converge on JYP and the last remaining guard trying to protect him. Minho knocks the gun out of JYP’s hand before he can get another shot off. Together, the three of them move in perfect synchronization as they make quick work of the guard and take on JYP.

The old man holds his own for a few moments, but he is no match for all three of them at once. Together, they overpower him. And in one final move, Chris delivers a bone-crushing blow, an uppercut to the jaw that knocks JYP out with a sickening crack that echoes through the room. JYP falls to the ground in a heap.

Chris stands over him, his chest heaving and his hands clenched into bloodied fists. For a moment, there is only silence, broken by the ragged sound of his, Minho, and Seungmin’s panting. Then Chris is moving, running to Changbin. I watch him, unable to leave my spot, as he drops to his knees beside Bin’s body.

“Changbin!” he yells as his hands frantically search for the bullet wound. He rips open Changbin’s shirt and I can see relief in his eyes as he looks down at his friend’s chest. “You fucking idiot!” Chris growls loudly as he pulls Changbin up to a seated position and into a tight embrace. Changbin coughs, then opens his eyes as Chris squeezes him.

“I can’t breathe,” Changbin gasps.

“Sorry,” Chris says as he releases Changbin. Changbin’s shirt slides down one of his shoulders, revealing a bulletproof vest, the bullet stuck in the fabric just over his heart.

I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding as relief washes over me. “Fuck,” I whisper as I bring my hands to my face, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

Chris continues, “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I couldn’t let you get hurt,” he replies as he pulls Chris in for another hug. “I can’t take care of these knuckleheads by myself.” They both laugh, as tears stream down Chris’ face. “Thank you Han’s paranoia for always forcing me to wear this stupid thing,” he adds with a grin, referring to the vest.

Chris brings his forehead to Bin’s. “I fucking love you,” he whispers. “But don’t ever do that again,” he orders in a louder tone, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you brother.” 

Binnie nods, “I love you too, brother,” and they both take a deep breath before releasing each other. Chris' eyes dart around the room. “Kay?” He’s looking for me.

“I’m here,” I say softly as I crawl slowly from my hiding spot. He stands and rushes over to me, pulling me up to my feet. His arms wrap around me tightly, just like he did when he embraced Binnie moments before.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks as he cradles my head against his chest.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m good. I’m fine,” He cups my face, studying every inch of it intently to confirm for himself before pressing his lips against mine.

When we finally break apart he says, “Okay. We need to finish this.”

I hang back as he walks over to JYP’s body, a determined glint in his eyes. From where I am, I see that JYP is still alive but unconscious, his body taking shallow breaths to sustain him. Chris nods to Seungmin, who hands Chris one of his blades. Without hesitation, Chris severs JYP’s head from his body with a sickening thud. My stomach churns but I know this is necessary.

Chris turns back to the rest of us, his face grim. “We need to document this. To make sure there’s no question about who is in charge now.” Seungmin nods, already pulling out his flip phone to capture a few pictures of the grisly scene. “Send this out through our encrypted channels to everyone in the Syndicate. Let them know that I am now their leader, and those loyal to JYP have until the end of the week to bow before me or face annihilation.”

“Got it,” Seungmin responds. “Will send as soon as I get back to my laptop.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Mihno says as he heads towards the exit. The five of us make our way to the vehicle with a sense of urgency. The journey back to the compound is a blur of adrenaline and exhaustion. Chris, Changbin, and I are in the backseat of the SUV. As soon as we pile in, Bin immediately curls up with his head in my lap and I start running my fingers through his soft black hair to soothe him. I lean my head against Chris’ shoulder and our entwined hands rest on his leg as we settle in for the drive.

My mind races with the events of the night, trying to process everything that has happened. The fear, the violence, the overwhelming relief of surviving – it all swirls together in a dizzying mix of emotions.

When we finally arrive at the house, Felix and Han are already there waiting with Jeongin. Relief floods me upon seeing them. The two of them are battered, but alive.

I am immediately engulfed in a fierce hug from Jeongin. “Thank god you’re okay,” he mumbles into my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “When I realized you were taken….,” his voice quivers.

“Shhh,” I whisper. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” I squeeze him tighter and rub his back gently. Over his shoulder, I see Minho rush to Han and they lock in a passionate embrace, oblivious to the world around them. The rest of them greet each other with hugs and high-fives, proud of what they’ve accomplished.

“Where’s Jinnie,” Changbin asks.

Felix and Han exchange a worried glance. “We haven’t heard from him since we split up for our individual assignments,” Felix says.

“No one’s heard anything from him?” Minho asks. “Innie?”

“No,” Innie answers. “I saw when he arrived at the building and gave him the okay to move forward, but I haven’t had any contact with him since.” Jeongin sits back down at his laptop. “I’ll scan the security footage of the house and neighborhood where he was.”

Fucking Hyunjin, I think to myself, my heart racing as I consider the potential implications of his absence.

A/N: Only two more chapters remaining! Hope everyone is having a nice holidays!

[mariacallous]

The recent military confrontation between India and Pakistan, which involved the worst fighting between the regional rivals in decades, marked the first time the two nuclear powers used drones against each other in conflict.

This builds on a global trend, as countries and nonstate actors increasingly rely on drones for surveillance and sabotage, targeted killings, and more. From battlefields in Ukraine to skirmishes in the Red Sea, the use of drones in military settings is proliferating worldwide.

But the involvement of drones in this round of the conflict between India and Pakistan represents an inflection point in their complicated history of hostilities and carries major potential implications for any future military exchanges, according to experts.

“The use of drones in this military confrontation marks a significant shift in the character of South Asian warfare,” said Rabia Akhtar, a visiting fellow at the Project for Managing the Atom at Harvard Kennedy School’s Belfer Center. “Armed drones were used against each other in a contested battlespace, which now signals the normalization of a tool that was previously peripheral to direct India-Pakistan hostilities, not that it wasn’t part of their inventory.”

It has also reignited debate over whether, as some experts have theorized, their use is less escalatory than other weapons such as missiles—particularly in a conflict involving nuclear-armed countries.

Though many of the details of the conflict are murky and analysts are still working to understand how everything played out, one key takeaway is clear: Drones, especially loitering munitions, are likely to play a big role in any future South Asian conflicts due to their relatively low cost, ability to strike targets with precision, and perceived usefulness as a tool for sending political messages without escalating fighting to full-scale war.

As the dust continues to settle amid a tenuous cease-fire, information on precisely which weapons were used, and in what manner, is still difficult to nail down. But both sides reportedly employed suicide drones, also known as kamikaze drones or loitering munitions—a type of single-use weapon frequently used in the Russia-Ukraine war.

“It is notable that both sides have reportedly used kamikaze drones or one-way attack drones, which is another global trend,” said Stacie Pettyjohn, a senior fellow and the director of the Defense Program at the Center for a New American Security.

Beyond Ukraine, Iran and its proxies, including the Houthi rebels in Yemen, have also used suicide drones to “terrorize ships in the Red Sea, to attack U.S. bases in Syria and Iraq, and to attack Israel,” she added.

Though these types of drones are often shot down, they’ve proved to be extremely effective as part of a “larger coercive strategy that involves consistent but relatively low-level pressure and how this wears down the defender’s inventory of interceptors and might cause them to make mistakes,” Pettyjohn said.

Reports indicate that India used Israeli-made drones, including IAI Harop loitering munitions for precision strikes and Heron drones for reconnaissance. Pakistan “probably employed a mix of Turkish Bayraktar TB2 and Akinci drones, along with Chinese-made Wing Loong II and CH-4 drones,” said Jahara Matisek, a professor at the U.S. Naval War College. (Matisek noted that his views are his own and not that of the U.S. government or Defense Department.)

India used loitering munitions such as the Harop to target what it said was militant infrastructure in Pakistan, which is “in line with [India’s] doctrine of surgical precision,” Matisek said. Pakistan, meanwhile, leaned on “relatively cheap systems” that enabled fast, flexible strikes and helped offset India’s conventional military superiority.

The recent clashes between India and Pakistan offer further evidence that drones have become the preferred weapon in armed conflicts worldwide. Drones have made artillery more precise and deadlier, and drone swarms have proved to be extremely effective in probing and overwhelming enemy air defenses.

Though the United States held a relative monopoly on drones during the first decade or so of the so-called global war on terrorism, the rest of the globe has caught up. Drone warfare is evolving at a blistering pace, and countries are rapidly building arsenals of drones in all shapes and sizes.

The drastic ways in which drones have shaped the war in Ukraine have led militaries across the globe—particularly the U.S. military—to place greater emphasis on investment and training in unmanned systems. Though the recent fighting between India and Pakistan lasted only days and offers a far more limited case study than Ukraine, there’s no doubt that militaries and armed groups around the world are studying how drones were employed.

Drones appeared to play a “pivotal role” in shaping the tempo and tactics of this conflict, Matisek said, opening a “new chapter in how these two nuclear-armed rivals fight each other.”

“What’s significant here is that this wasn’t just a technological shift—it was symbolic. Drones became a tool for strategic signaling, showing that both sides now possess a form of air power that’s persistent, precise, and politically ‘cheaper’ to use,” Matisek said.

James Patton Rogers, an expert on drones at Cornell University, told Foreign Policy that “the drones provided each side with the capacity to limit strikes to military targets, test defenses, and provide a lower escalation response to each other’s military activity.”

The heavy reliance on drones in the four-day conflict may have played a role in preventing the fighting from spiraling into an all-out war. Though drones were part of a “broader tit-for-tat dynamic” that also involved missiles, artillery, and airstrikes, they offered both sides a “low-cost, high-impact option for rapid retaliation and to shape the battlefield,” Matisek said.

The use of drones in this conflict was “calibrated, not reckless, suggesting that both governments saw drones as escalation management tools rather than war-winning platforms,” he added.

“For the first time, both sides used drones not just for surveillance but for direct strikes,” Matisek said, which enabled “precise, standoff attacks” without the same political and operational risks of manned aircraft. This “lowered the threshold for engagement” and made it easier to conduct strikes with minimal human losses on both sides, he added, which translated into less domestic political pressure “to do bigger retaliatory strikes against each other.”

Drones help “dampen escalation risks because if they are shot down, a human doesn’t die,” Pettyjohn said. This “somewhat paradoxically” means that states are more likely to send drones on risky missions, which increases the likelihood they’ll be shot down, she added, but this doesn’t increase the pressure to retaliate because it’s “simply the loss of equipment.”

“Even though Pakistan shot down some expensive Israeli-made Heron drones, it was not as big of a deal as losing the crewed aircraft,” Pettyjohn said.

Some experts warned that portraying drones as an effective means of responding to provocations without crossing red lines is a slippery slope.

“This is a dangerous game to say the least,” Rogers said. “States may see drones as a ‘low escalation’ weapons systems due to their cheaper cost and the fact they have no human on board, but equally these could have been read as probing attacks, testing each other’s air defenses in advance of further strikes and escalation.”

Rogers said there’s also a risk of drones being “too successful and inflicting a critical level of damage,” adding that in this particular case “what appears to have kept the drone conflict from escalating further is that many of the drones were shot down by robust air defense.”

Similarly, Akhtar warned that the “perception of drones as less escalatory” makes them particularly “dangerous” in the context of South Asia, a region she said is vulnerable to multidomain escalation.

“If the lesson learnt now is that drone warfare offers a controllable, cost-free option, then it creates a false sense of strategic insulation,” Akhtar said.

“In a region where conventional crises can escalate rapidly, drones lower the threshold for initiating kinetic action while raising the risk of misperception and unintended escalation.” The normalization of drones may “incentivize tit-for-tat operations to settle scores quickly, especially in the absence of robust crisis communication mechanisms,” she added, which would “gradually chip away at deterrence stability.”

“As drone technology becomes more precise and autonomous, which it will over time, it risks blurring the line between tactical gains and strategic missteps. If this crisis has taught us anything, it is that drones are not just tactical assets—they are now strategic signaling tools for both countries. Their use must be seen not in isolation but as part of a broader shift toward a multidomain competition where the margin for error is rapidly vanishing,” Akhtar said.

[omegaphilosophia]

The Social Consequences of Marketing

Marketing, while essential for businesses and economies, has also been criticized for causing harm to society in various ways. Here are some significant ways in which marketing has negatively impacted society:

1. Promotion of Consumerism

Excessive consumption: Marketing often encourages the idea that happiness and success are linked to material goods, promoting a culture of consumerism. This has led to excessive consumption, debt, and environmental damage, as people are driven to buy more than they need.

Planned obsolescence: Companies sometimes design products with limited lifespans, encouraging consumers to buy new versions frequently. This practice contributes to waste, depletion of resources, and increased consumer spending.

2. Exploitation of Insecurities

Body image and self-esteem: Advertising in industries like fashion, beauty, and fitness often exploits people's insecurities by promoting unrealistic beauty standards. This can lead to mental health issues such as low self-esteem, anxiety, body dysmorphia, and even eating disorders.

Fear-based marketing: Some marketing strategies use fear to sell products, such as insurance, security systems, or health products, by making consumers feel unsafe or inadequate without them.

3. Targeting Vulnerable Populations

Children: Marketing often targets children, who are particularly susceptible to persuasive messages. This leads to the commercialization of childhood, with kids exposed to unhealthy food, consumerist values, and a materialistic mindset from an early age.

Low-income groups: Companies sometimes market harmful products, such as payday loans or unhealthy foods, more aggressively to low-income populations, exacerbating financial hardship or health problems.

4. Perpetuation of Stereotypes and Social Divides

Gender roles: Marketing often reinforces gender stereotypes, portraying women as caregivers or men as breadwinners, thereby perpetuating outdated norms that limit gender equality and diversity.

Cultural appropriation and tokenism: Some brands use cultural symbols or minority groups in marketing campaigns without understanding their significance, which can lead to cultural appropriation and tokenism, alienating and misrepresenting marginalized communities.

5. Environmental Damage

Overemphasis on fast fashion and disposable goods: Marketing has contributed to the rise of fast fashion and a throwaway culture, promoting short-term use of cheap, disposable products. This has serious environmental consequences, including pollution, resource depletion, and the generation of vast amounts of waste.

Greenwashing: Some companies falsely market products as "environmentally friendly" or "sustainable" in an attempt to capitalize on consumers' eco-consciousness, misleading the public and delaying genuine action on environmental issues.

6. Manipulation and Misinformation

False advertising: Companies sometimes make exaggerated or false claims about their products, misleading consumers and creating false expectations. This can be particularly harmful when it comes to health products, pharmaceuticals, or weight-loss treatments.

Addictive design: Marketing techniques are increasingly used to promote addictive behaviors, particularly in the context of social media, video games, or gambling. Companies manipulate users through behavioral nudges and psychological triggers that keep them hooked.

7. Invasion of Privacy

Data mining and surveillance: With the rise of digital marketing, companies have gained unprecedented access to consumers’ personal data. Many firms engage in data mining and targeted advertising based on individuals' online behavior, often without full transparency or consent, leading to concerns about privacy and data security.

Personalization and manipulation: Highly personalized marketing can lead to manipulation, as companies can target individuals with ads tailored to their specific vulnerabilities, making it harder for consumers to make objective decisions.

8. Promotion of Unhealthy Lifestyles

Junk food advertising: Aggressive marketing of unhealthy foods, particularly to children, has been linked to rising rates of obesity, diabetes, and other diet-related diseases.

Alcohol and tobacco marketing: Despite restrictions in some countries, marketing of alcohol, tobacco, and vaping products continues to glamorize these potentially harmful substances, leading to addiction and public health crises.

9. Contributing to Financial Instability

Credit and debt marketing: Marketing of credit cards, loans, and other financial products often promotes spending beyond one's means, contributing to personal debt and financial instability. Predatory lending practices, such as payday loans, are frequently marketed to those already in financial difficulty.

10. Reduction of Authenticity and Creativity

Commercialization of art and culture: Marketing can sometimes reduce art, culture, and creativity to mere products to be sold, stripping them of their authenticity. This can lead to the commodification of creative expression and a focus on profit over substance.

Trend exploitation: By constantly pushing new trends, marketing fosters a culture of superficiality and short-term thinking, where value is placed on what is fashionable or trending rather than what is meaningful or lasting.

While marketing plays a critical role in the economy by connecting consumers with products, it also has significant social, psychological, and environmental consequences. From promoting overconsumption and exploiting insecurities to targeting vulnerable groups and contributing to environmental degradation, marketing practices have often prioritized profit over societal well-being. Reforming marketing to be more ethical and socially responsible is essential for creating a healthier, more sustainable society.

[hidelias]

A bend in space-time Season 1 - [Chapter 27: Rock'n Bowl]

Chronological markers: this scene fits like a deleted scene from season 1, épisode 10, around 15:30 (when the bowling alley employee interrupts), then around 17:30 (after Allison left, angry, Klaus having said that he liked Luther "a lot better before he got laid").

Suggested soundtrack : Heart - Barracuda

---

April 1st, 2019 - 08h14 pm

I hate bowling. Once the bowling ball is thrown, there's nothing left to do but watch it roll: the score, from that moment on, is basically already determined. I hate the noise in those places, the neon lights, the smell of the poorly ventilated lanes, of the cheap hot dogs. The stupid birthdays like the one the group next to us is about to celebrate. The balls that take forever to come back, and the incomprehensible scoring system. I don't usually like going there and I never play, and - tonight - it seems even more absurd to me. Besides, nobody's been playing for fifteen minutes.

We're all stunned, but I'm even more so. If there's one thing the Hargreeves have been trained for, it's their ability to keep their heads above water when the worst happens. Even when the realization that their brother is about to trigger an apocalypse has just hit them. But why has Luther chosen Super Star Lanes Bowling as a gathering place to brainstorm out of the rubble of Hargreeves Mansion? On that subject, Klaus could enlighten me.

Less than a minute from Rainshade Square, this now rather vintage bowling alley was historically the only "social" place they were allowed to go "as a family". Because the surveillance cameras were directly connected to the Academy's security system, allowing a close monitoring even of the scores. All of this undoubtedly scheduled on a carefully laid-out yearly agenda, to regularly reinject the siblings with a little endorphins linked to a seemingly futile activity. A competitive game, in reality. But tonight, the aim is not really to compete.

Sitting on the floor against the bar table on which Ben is perched, I think of Grace, I think of Pogo, and the feeling of having missed a step seizes me again. I try to dispel it, because I too refuse to feel incapacitated. And while Klaus opens the newspaper reporting on Viktor's recital tonight at the Icarus Theatre, I glance at the Bolwing employee, who I see approaching with the look of someone with bad news to deliver.

"Hello," she says with an awkward smile, and I notice her name, on her bage. Ironically, her name is 'Midge'. "I hate to intrude, but my manager says if you're not gonna bowl, you gotta leave".

Actually, she's just the emissary of the bald-headed cerberus at the shoe rental desk, who's slapping a pair of shoes on the counter a little vehemently, because Diego refused to wear them to avoid mycosis.

"Whose turn is it?", he asks, and I look up at the screen.

The third frame was in progress, and even though I really don't like this game, I have to admit that bowling says more about people than I thought.

Diego, by the way, is quite average for someone whose power lies in manipulating trajectories. Maybe it's because he's reluctant to stick his fingers into the dirty holes of the collective balls. But more likely - and it's a good surprise - because he's honest when he plays. Five, whose name has been written in digit by the employee, is average, and Luther is actually pretty bad. Allison's 48 in three frames is not even worth mentioning. And you won't be surprised to hear that, with his lamentable movement coordination, Klaus has a low 2 points score, but - with dignity - refuses to have the bumpers pulled up.

It was actually his turn, but with a swearword in front of the woman called Midge, Luther sends his ball across the lanes, making it bounce like a basketball, and getting a strike for another team by the most perfect of coincidences. I sigh. And since I'm definitely not playing, I get up and make my way a little painfully towards the toilets. I don't want to have to turn invisible. And anyway, I need a bit of silence to focus.

Bathrooms are often said to be a good indicator of the quality of an establishment, and - believe me - Super Star Lanes must be very far down the Lonely Planet rankings. Fortunately, there's still running water, and I wash my face with clear water to untangle my thoughts.

Now there's no doubt that the apocalypse can still happen. That it ~will~ happen. And that Viktor is almost certainly the one to trigger it. This situation is far worse than any I could have imagined: because the end of the world is being hatched from within the very nests of those who are supposed to prevent it, because I understand perfectly the suffering that's about to make it happen, because this outcome seems to me almost the right conclusion to the line of destiny that Reginald Hargreeves has drawn. I can't make up my mind. Did he want to prevent it, or on the contrary, did he instigate it? I'm still running water over my face. I'll probably never know.

What saddens me most? It's what Klaus told me as we ran to this absurd refuge. That Viktor had sought help at Hargreeves Mansion, and that Luther's response had been to lock him up, to listen to no one, not even Allison, who was the one primarily concerned. Viktor was possibly on the verge of imploding, but perhaps an act of compassion instead of yet another ego trip would have stopped the whole thing. I grumble inwardly. I regret telling Luther that I thought he'd changed.

I felt Viktor's power all around me, in the collapsing hall and all the way down to my own nerve fibers. His sonic power resonating with the energy of mine. Immediately making me realize that I couldn't imagine - even for a second - trying to contain him. He's like billions of tons of water from a broken dam, crashing down a valley. At this point in the control of my own abilities, I could only be swept away. Would Hargreeves have been right to want to rush us all?

I look up at myself in the chipped mirror and wonder if Viktor is really going to play at the Icarus Theatre tonight. It was so important to him. Yes. Probably, if we're looking for him, that's where we'll find him. I turn off the water, grab a miserable disposable towel with the feel of tracing paper. And as I clumsily try to dry myself, in the mirror I see a familiar figure enter the bathroom. Allison looks furious, above the bandage that straps her neck, her attitude still stiff from the constant pain. Furious? The word is weak. She rants and raves, unable to express herself. Outside the ladies' bathroom, I hear Luther calling her name. She completely ignores him, and leans against the sink next to the one I'm using. I look at her, she looks at me.

"Is something wrong?"

I just asked this spontaneously, because that's what I'd usually have done, if she'd been able to talk to me. And she sighs angrily, sore and frustrated. I watch as she reaches into her pocket, pulls out her notepad, and in a few quick strokes, she gives me a clear, unequivocal, compelling answer:

[Luther is an asshole]

I arch an eyebrow. Well, that's a pretty good summary of my thoughts, for someone with diminished elocution. And I stand there, blinking in the stormy aura she's radiating.

"I… Klaus told me, yes. That he'd locked Viktor up. That otherwise all this might not be…" But I see her scribbling furiously again, and brandishing at me: [Fucked while stoned]

I'm even more stunned now, as she holds her notepad under my nose, her hand trembling with rage. What? Is ~that~ what's causing her to freak out like that? Hasn't she ever had to pick up Klaus at 2 a.m. or what? I blink three times. And since I don't think Luther would have spilled the beans, I can easily guess who did.

"It was an acoustic nightmare, allright", I tell her, even though deep down I'm seriously annoyed. And I see her eyes literally pop out of her head when she realizes that I too have witnessed this. It's amazing how much can be read in people's expressions without the need for a voice.

"I think he had a bad day…", I say. "We've all had some this week…"

Damn, I hate to defend him, but it's got to be objectively true. I understood that he'd found a whole unopened 'correspondence' with their father, and that he'd felt like he'd been sent to the moon just to get off the floor. For once, I fully understand that Reginald Hargreeves did that. Allison surely knows, and I squint an eye, wondering why this affects her ~so much~.

"It was pathetic, but in the end quite funny," I tell her with a form of kindness, to see what my words stir up in her.

And I can tell that - far from making her laugh - the thoughts that come to her are about to make her cry. For a moment, I wonder if she feels some kind of betrayal in what Luther has done, and if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that at this moment I already know enough. Still, I feel a little sorry for her, for the conflicting feelings I see jostling around her. I'm in no position to judge people's emotional and sexual situations. And just as I'm about to say something encouraging and sympathetic to her, she writes:

[Klaus's fault]

Without even a question mark, just like that. As an obvious assertion, just because Alcohol, Drugs, Klaus and Sex happen to be in the alphabetical order of the universe. And I'm sorry, but this time it's really me who's freaking out, as much as the electric hand dryer next to us, which starts screaming its lungs out, making the toilet paper scraps scattered on the warped old linoleum fly.

"Are you talking about the Klaus who tried to dissuade him?", I say coldly. "About the one who looked for him for hours in every creepy corner of The City, while he was puking his guts out in his own withdrawal? Or the one who got his head smashed in trying to get him out of a brawl?"

My eyes are burning, because enough is enough: I, too, am sick of the way he's being treated. And if the world ends in two hours, then I have absolutely no problem telling Allison what I think of her prejudices and navel-gazing, if I have to. She doesn't write anything this time, but I can see she's hesitating, so I stare at her marker.

"Don't you think what Luther did by locking Viktor up is worse? I swear I prefer him to use his ass rather than his brain".

She writes something down, and just when I feel I've gone a bit too far, I concede at the same time as she shows me her notepad:

"Sorry" [Sorry]

Our words collide, and I think it's the first time either of us have heard or read each other say that. And I sigh as the hand dryer falls silent. The toilet paper scraps fall down, almost gracefully, and I pass my hand over my eyes.

"Don't you think there are better things to do, with the world possibly two hours from ending? Don't you rather have your daughter's voice to hear?"

I know these words will hit her even harder, but it doesn't matter. Several times in the course of this week, she has packed her suitcase to go home, never managing to get on the plane back to Los Angeles and Claire. She has no words, but I can clearly see the path her thoughts are taking: the return to reality, beyond any teenage feelings she may have had in the past. I see her posture change, back to the sad but more dignified mother she is.

[You go home?], she writes, and I look down to the floor. She can't know that - in a way - my farewell to Granny is already done.

"I have a role to play here and now".

I've struggled with this, she knows I have. But I made a promise to Five, which I'm not going to say. We have a backup plan, an ultimate recourse, which unfortunately seems more relevant than ever. Allison nods, with a kind of confidence in me that I hadn't suspected. My relationship with her is one of extreme ambivalence: I think she annoys me as much as she pushes me forward. She turns her eyes to the now inert hand dryer, then back to me. And she scrutinizes me, as if to give me one last appraisal or approval. Her expression becomes serious, even grave, and she writes again before turning her notepad towards me.

[Don't kill Viktor]

Reading this makes my blood run cold. Because I realize that this eventuality is something real, yet to be dismissed. The stark reality of what lies ahead is right there on the paper, laid out in black letters, and I can't help but read it over and over again.

"Of course not," I say, almost horrified, but before I can say anything more, she adds, no doubt because she knows how much less scrupulous Viktor could be, in the state he's in:

[Be careful]

What will happen tonight is uncertain, but it's bound to be a major event in our lives. I'm not afraid anymore, as I said. The ball is rolling, time will tell where it will strike: possibly off the track. Now I'm almost eager to get it over with once and for all. Allison stares at me as I nod, and in a final gesture, she writes one last note that just might change everything:

[Familly matters]

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Notes:

Despite serious considerations, there are also lighter moments in this chapter. It's also a kind of nonsensical respiration, as The Umbrella Academy knows how to provide.

Really, the scoreboard in that bowling scene was a goldmine for inspiration. The attention to detail is always so appreciable in the series, I was so eager to exploit it.

I really enjoyed imagining a "conversation" with Allison… given that she can't speak. And I'm amazed at what came out of it, with an economy of words that was fun to play with!

Any comments will make my day! ♡

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A bend in space-time, the masterlist :

- Season 1 (complete): Table of contents - Season 2 (complete): Table of contents - Season 3 (complete): Table of contents - Season 4 (in progress) : Table of content