#Global Medical Coding

[mbc-medicalbillingcompany]

This blog simplifies the tricky world of global surgery modifiers, offering clear guidelines to help you bill accurately and get reimbursed faster. Perfect for taking the stress out of surgical billing.

Contact Number:- 888-357-3226,

Email ID:-  info@medicalbillersandcoders.com,

Click here to read more:- https://bit.ly/3DYfsJL

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

[tangentiallly]

One way to spot patterns is to show AI models millions of labelled examples. This method requires humans to painstakingly label all this data so they can be analysed by computers. Without them, the algorithms that underpin self-driving cars or facial recognition remain blind. They cannot learn patterns.

The algorithms built in this way now augment or stand in for human judgement in areas as varied as medicine, criminal justice, social welfare and mortgage and loan decisions. Generative AI, the latest iteration of AI software, can create words, code and images. This has transformed them into creative assistants, helping teachers, financial advisers, lawyers, artists and programmers to co-create original works.

To build AI, Silicon Valley’s most illustrious companies are fighting over the limited talent of computer scientists in their backyard, paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to a newly minted Ph.D. But to train and deploy them using real-world data, these same companies have turned to the likes of Sama, and their veritable armies of low-wage workers with basic digital literacy, but no stable employment.

Sama isn’t the only service of its kind globally. Start-ups such as Scale AI, Appen, Hive Micro, iMerit and Mighty AI (now owned by Uber), and more traditional IT companies such as Accenture and Wipro are all part of this growing industry estimated to be worth $17bn by 2030.

Because of the sheer volume of data that AI companies need to be labelled, most start-ups outsource their services to lower-income countries where hundreds of workers like Ian and Benja are paid to sift and interpret data that trains AI systems.

Displaced Syrian doctors train medical software that helps diagnose prostate cancer in Britain. Out-of-work college graduates in recession-hit Venezuela categorize fashion products for e-commerce sites. Impoverished women in Kolkata’s Metiabruz, a poor Muslim neighbourhood, have labelled voice clips for Amazon’s Echo speaker. Their work couches a badly kept secret about so-called artificial intelligence systems – that the technology does not ‘learn’ independently, and it needs humans, millions of them, to power it. Data workers are the invaluable human links in the global AI supply chain.

This workforce is largely fragmented, and made up of the most precarious workers in society: disadvantaged youth, women with dependents, minorities, migrants and refugees. The stated goal of AI companies and the outsourcers they work with is to include these communities in the digital revolution, giving them stable and ethical employment despite their precarity. Yet, as I came to discover, data workers are as precarious as factory workers, their labour is largely ghost work and they remain an undervalued bedrock of the AI industry.

As this community emerges from the shadows, journalists and academics are beginning to understand how these globally dispersed workers impact our daily lives: the wildly popular content generated by AI chatbots like ChatGPT, the content we scroll through on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube, the items we browse when shopping online, the vehicles we drive, even the food we eat, it’s all sorted, labelled and categorized with the help of data workers.

Milagros Miceli, an Argentinian researcher based in Berlin, studies the ethnography of data work in the developing world. When she started out, she couldn’t find anything about the lived experience of AI labourers, nothing about who these people actually were and what their work was like. ‘As a sociologist, I felt it was a big gap,’ she says. ‘There are few who are putting a face to those people: who are they and how do they do their jobs, what do their work practices involve? And what are the labour conditions that they are subject to?’

Miceli was right – it was hard to find a company that would allow me access to its data labourers with minimal interference. Secrecy is often written into their contracts in the form of non-disclosure agreements that forbid direct contact with clients and public disclosure of clients’ names. This is usually imposed by clients rather than the outsourcing companies. For instance, Facebook-owner Meta, who is a client of Sama, asks workers to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Often, workers may not even know who their client is, what type of algorithmic system they are working on, or what their counterparts in other parts of the world are paid for the same job.

The arrangements of a company like Sama – low wages, secrecy, extraction of labour from vulnerable communities – is veered towards inequality. After all, this is ultimately affordable labour. Providing employment to minorities and slum youth may be empowering and uplifting to a point, but these workers are also comparatively inexpensive, with almost no relative bargaining power, leverage or resources to rebel.

Even the objective of data-labelling work felt extractive: it trains AI systems, which will eventually replace the very humans doing the training. But of the dozens of workers I spoke to over the course of two years, not one was aware of the implications of training their replacements, that they were being paid to hasten their own obsolescence.

— Madhumita Murgia, Code Dependent: Living in the Shadow of AI

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jasmine Mithani at The 19th:

A network working to end female genital mutilation and cutting (FGM/C) in the United States and globally says President Donald Trump’s January 28 executive order attempting to restrict gender-affirming care for transgender youth “wrongly and dangerously” conflates the two.

Opponents of transgender rights have sought for several years to co-opt anti-FGM/C laws to further gender-affirming care bans, mostly in state legislatures. The executive order builds on these efforts by directing the Department of Justice and state authorities to review and prioritize the enforcement of laws banning FGM/C, which are unrelated.  FGM/C is a human rights violation and one of the most extreme forms of gender-based violence. According to the World Health Organization, FGM/C “comprises all procedures that involve partial or total removal of the external female genitalia, or other injury to the female genital organs for non-medical reasons.” It is practiced across many cultures and takes many forms, and is most commonly performed on young girls who are unable to consent. There are no health benefits to FGM/C, and it is more likely to cause medical complications.

In contrast, gender-affirming genital surgeries like phalloplasty or metoidioplasty are medically necessary and done only with the consent of the patient. The World Professional Association for Transgender Health, the international body that publishes research-backed standards of care, does not recommend genital gender-affirming care surgeries for patients under 18. Extensive documentation from medical professionals is required for any medically necessary gender-affirming care surgery.  It is estimated that in 2012, over half a million girls in the United States had either undergone FGM/C or were at risk based on the country of origin of their parents. Survivor advocates think the number could be much higher now.

FGM/C has been a federal crime since 1996. The law has been revised several times — most recently in 2020, when Trump signed the STOP FGM Act, which prevented defendents from using religious or cultural reasons to avoid prosecution. 

[...] Anti-trans extremists have warped these laws to ban health care for trans people “despite clear medical and ethical distinctions,” said Ash Lazarus Orr, press relations manager at Advocates for Trans Equality. Orr also pointed out that this rhetoric excludes non-consensual surgeries performed on intersex youth. Many bans include a carve-out ensuring “corrective” surgeries remain legal for minors with intersex characteristics. Republican lawmakers in Idaho and Texas introduced bills in 2022 that would remove the word “female” from current legal codes banning FGM/C. Anti-FGM/C advocates helped defeat those bills, but Idaho ended up passing a separate law banning gender-affirming care for transgender youth the next year. Excluding the word “female” means these laws no longer prevent FGM/C because they then refer to something else entirely, said Kaitlin Mitchell, policy and advocacy coordinator at the U.S. Network to End FGM/C. Using the laws to restrict gender-affirming care instead of addressing the specific issue they were designed to make it harder for advocates to campaign for more funding or research on this little-known, severe form of gender-based violence.

Donald Trump’s false and transphobia-laden characterizing of gender-affirming care for trans youths as “mutilation” served as the basis for Executive Order 14187, which bans gender-affirming care services for trans youths and adults under 19.

The false characterization of GAC as “mutilation” trivializes the real issue of female genital mutilation.

[bridgeportbritt]

Creeksbrey Palace | Umbrage, SimDonia

Emmitt: Morning, sweetheart. How'd you sleep?

Bria: Pretty good. How about you?

Emmitt: Alright. I did have a dream that I was a famous jazz piano performer, so that was interesting.

Bria: Ooo! Maybe it's a sign! I wouldn't say no to being serenaded by piano every night.

Emmitt laughs: I'd need a lot more practice before you'd actually enjoy my serenades.

Bria: Well, get on it, babe.

Emmitt chuckles: Sure, dear. Oh, I was meaning to ask you where you were yesterday. I was planning on surprising you for lunch, but when I checked with your staff, they said your schedule was blocked for an urgent, private meeting.

Bria: Oh, yes! I'm glad you brought it up because I've been wanting to talk about it for a hot minute.

Emmitt: Uh-oh. What's this about? Should I be worried?

Bria: You won't believe who I met with.

Emmitt: Who?

Bria: The Queen's mysterious little sidekick - Lydia.

Emmitt: Really? What in the Simverse could she want?

Bria: It was an interesting conversation...

Lydia: Welcome, Grand Duchess. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.

Bria: What is this? Why am I here of all places?

Lydia: We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot and that's the last thing I want, so I wanted to clear the air.

Bria scoffs: Yeah, right. And it's "Your Royal Highness," remember?

Lydia: Of course, Your Royal Highness. My apologies. I don't mean to offend you.

Bria: Yeah, like I'd believe that. You're one of the most offensive people I've ever met. You've done nothing but target me and my family since you've gotten into the Queen's ear.

Lydia: Your Royal Highness, I promise you that that has not been my intention.

Bria: Really? All these insufferable new rules, my whole new wardrobe, and now bringing my kids into this nonsense? Oh, and I'm sure you had something to do with KBE.

Lydia: You've got it all wrong, Your Royal Highness. I want to be an asset to you and the monarchy, not a hinderance.

Bria: How on Earth could you be an asset to me?

Lydia: Well, name your price.

Bria confused: What do you mean?

Lydia: Name what I can do to be of service to you. Anything and I'll make it happen.

Bria: And why would you do that?

Lydia: Isn't it obvious? You and your family are invaluable to the monarchy. You're one of the most influential royals with an incredible global impact on everything you touch. I apologize if you haven't felt appreciated as of late. But I want to make it right.

Bria: Even if I believed any of the crap you're saying right now, I'm sure you wouldn't agree to any of the things that I want.

Lydia: Try me.

Bria: Well for starters, anything that has to do with my children goes through me first. Nothing should be hidden from me especially anything medical. Next, I want leniency provided to my kids when they are not performing official royal duties like on the dress code for example. Lastly, I want our move with KBE to go through without any obstacle. You want to make me happy? Those are my non-negotiable terms.

Emmitt: Wow, you asked for all that?

Bria: I sure did.

Emmitt: That's amazing. I'm proud of you, honey. Surprised by this whole conversation, but proud that you stood your ground. So, what did she say to that?

Bria: That's the craziest part.

Emmitt: Oh, really? Why?

Bria: Because, she said... yes!

[sorrowful-hyacinth]

Pleasure In Pain

— World Building Background Stuff —

[If anyones curious. Also, some feedback could be fun. If you think I should add anything or if something makes more sense. I don't how in-depth I'll go into certain aspects, but this is what's going on in the world while Cordova's going through it.]

+++

C.A.I.N. – Covert Action Initiative: Nemesis

Codename: Nemesis

Founded: Classified (Estimated post-WWII) Affiliation: Off-the-books division under a multinational intelligence coalition Public Knowledge: Nonexistent

ORIGINS

In the aftermath of World War II, as the world reckoned with the atrocities committed in the name of ideology, another secret war was quietly taking shape. Allied intelligence services uncovered scattered reports of inhuman entities used by opposing forces—ferals unleashed on enemy trenches, witches embedded in spy networks, unnatural "weapons" born of occult science.

Most dismissed these reports as wartime paranoia. But a select few believed.

In 1952, a classified multi-agency task force was assembled to assess and neutralize paranormal threats. Over time, this unit evolved, shedding national ties and becoming a shadow operation run by a closed circle of high-level officials, black-budget scientists, and hardened operatives. They named it Nemesis, after the Greek goddess of vengeance—because they weren’t just hunting monsters. They were returning the favor.

STRUCTURE

Nemesis is structured like an elite black-ops team with intelligence tentacles embedded in governments, corporations, and scientific institutions. Its members operate globally, answer to no one but the directive board (simply called The Bishop), and are equipped with high-tech gear laced with arcane enhancements.

Divisions within Nemesis:

R.A.Z.O.R. Teams – Rapid Assault Zone for Occult Reconnaissance. Strike teams for field missions. Specialists in containment, eradication, and urban extractions.

Deneir Division – Linguists, cryptographers, and occult historians decoding supernatural texts and rituals.

Project Caduceus – The medical and scientific arm, studying supernatural physiology and weaponizing it.

Argos – Digital surveillance network that uses predictive algorithms to track supernatural signatures and activity patterns.

PHILOSOPHY & OPERATING PROCEDURE

Nemesis doesn’t see supernatural beings as "individuals"—they are biological anomalies, glitches in the human genome, or outright predators. Vampires, werewolves, witches—each is categorized and logged as a Class N Entity (Non-Human Entity), with sub-codes indicating danger levels. [Ranging from S - C tier. Ex. Lowest rank: C and Highest rank: SSS]

Despite their elite status, Nemesis agents are trained to dehumanize targets. Their motto: “Precision. Purge. Peace.”

While most missions involve silent takedowns or erasure of supernatural nests, some targets are captured alive for experimentation or intel extraction. Few survive interrogation. Fewer still escape.

TECHNOLOGY & TACTICS

Argentum Rounds – Anti-vampire ammunition laced with silver and anticoagulants that ignite on contact with infected blood.

Null Cages – Energy-dampening containment cells that suppress supernatural abilities.

The Alexandria Index – A secret digital archive containing everything known about supernatural bloodlines, weaknesses, and active threats.

REPUTATION

Among supernatural communities, Nemesis is a ghost story. Whispers of entire clans disappearing overnight, of operatives who bleed ice, of agents who know your name before you’ve ever been seen. The term “Nemesis is watching” is used like a curse or a warning.

They’re not just hunters. They’re the reason supernaturals stay underground.

INTERNAL CONFLICT

In recent years, rumors have circulated that not all within C.A.I.N. agree with The Bishop’s total-extermination policy. Agents questioning the mission, and others going rogue after witnessing the humanity in their so-called enemies.

+++

— The Setting of Cordova’s Story: Sneak Peak —

It’s the year 2020, but to the supernatural, the world has always felt more like the dark ages. For centuries, vampires have walked among humans—misunderstood, feared, and relentlessly hunted. They are not the creatures of myth that creep from coffins or cripple at the taste of garlic. No, vampires are born, not made—afflicted from birth with a rare and ancient blood disorder passed down through generations. Their bodies cannot produce enough blood on their own, leaving them in a constant state of deficiency. Their only option is to consume the blood of others to survive. It is not a choice. It is biology.

Still, society brands them monsters. Humanity’s fear has long eclipsed its compassion. Legends twisted science into superstition, and facts were buried beneath folklore. The line between what is necessary for survival and what is called evil blurred long ago.

Among the vampires also lies the Ferals—tragic, horrifying echoes of what happens when a vampire is pushed too far. Either born with aggressive mutations or starved to the edge of madness, Ferals are what humanity imagines all vampires to be: bloodthirsty, mindless, violent. C.A.I.N uses them as proof that no vampire is safe. That all of them are simply waiting to snap.

The Ardeleans. An old family of vampires of many generations. Considered royalty in their circles, though clearly not in the eyes of the human world. And as tradition states, a vampire that reaches the age of maturity is meant to suck the blood of their first human as an initiation. Though, there is a certain heir that is reluctant to follow traditions. Long overdue for his first dose of human blood. One that comes from both vampire and human origins. A Dhampir.

+++

Date: April 17, 2025

Taglist: @turn-the-tables-on-them

[darkmaga-returns]

WHAT RULES ARE THESE THEN?

In the EU, they are known as Rules and Guidance for Pharmaceutical Manufacturers and Distributors 2017 (The Orange Guide). The equivalent in the US is the Code of Federal Regulations, Title 21, otherwise referred to as 21 CFR.

They have been in place for decades, and have become increasingly stringent as incidents have occurred in the supply chain to threaten the safety of patients. In 2007, one such incident occurred, resulting in death and serious adverse events, see below:

Inside Pharma

PHARMACEUTICAL SUPPLY CHAINS IN THE NEWS, FOR THE WRONG REASONS

THE HEPARIN TRAGEDY In 2007/8, pharmaceutical supply chains became the subject of global debate among key stakeholders, but for the wrong reasons. A tragic event occurred that shocked the world into realizing that pharmaceutical supply chains had the potential to kill and maim unsuspecting patients…

Read more

3 years ago · 2 likes · Hedley Rees

This tragic incident lead to legislation being passed on either side of the pond. In the EU, it was the Falsified Medicines Directive, 2011. In the US it was the Drug Supply Chain Security Act (DSCSA), 2013.

The aim of the legislation was to prevent such an incident ever happening again.

RULES IN THE ORANGE GUIDE WERE TIGHTENED TOO

In the EU, major changes were also made to the Orange Guide, Chapter 5: PRODUCTION.

This was to protect patients further, by placing obligations on companies manufacturing medicines to trace right back to the upstream sources of all materials used, to ensure they were genuine. The obligations also required traceability records to be kept, and audits carried out to ensure those companies were working to the regulations.

LEGISLATION DID NOT GO FAR ENOUGH

Unfortunately, as the legislation passed (for a number of reasons we can’t go into here) it only applied, and still does, to finished products as they travel from the finished product manufacturer to wholesalers and pharmacies.

Prevention of upstream adulteration, as per heparin, is dependent on manufacturers complying with the Orange Guide, Chapter 5 provisions.

TRUST ME, THEY COULD NEVER HAVE DONE THAT!

The thing to remember is that Good Manufacturing Practice (cGMP) applies to clinical trials, as well as commercial supply. It would have to, wouldn’t it, as the drugs are being tested on humans.

I would have more chance of climbing Everest naked (not a pretty sight!) than the manufacturers would have had in securing full traceability AND applying the cGMP rules for clinical trial supplies.

Something for medical freedom fighters to ponder, questions welcome :)

Hedley

[we-are-not-a-number]

I read and laid out Trump's "DEFENDING WOMEN FROM GENDER IDEOLOGY EXTREMISM AND RESTORING BIOLOGICAL TRUTH TO THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT" so you don't have to. Aka, the starting brigade on trans rights.

Trump defined sex as an "immutable" biological classification at birth with it innately only being male or female.

Defined terms such as "women" and "man" only being for adult biological males or females.

Defines male and female as "sex that produces the small reproductive cell".

Defined "gender ideology" as "replaces the biological category of sex with an ever-shifting concept of self-assessed gender identity".

Defined "gender identity" as "reflects a fully internal and subjective sense of self, disconnected from biological reality and sex..."

Declared women are "Recognizing Women Are Biologically Distinct From Men" and there will be an expansion on this order.

End protections or recognition for trans individuals in federal agencies, "Each agency and all Federal employees shall enforce laws governing sex-based rights, protections, opportunities, and accommodations to protect men and women as biologically distinct sexes.  Each agency should therefore give the terms 'sex', 'male', 'female', 'men', 'women', 'boys' and 'girls'..."

All federal agencies and employees will use sex and not gender in all applicable federal policies and documents.

Has ordered "...shall implement changes to require that government-issued identification documents, including passports, visas, and Global Entry cards, accurately reflect the holder’s sex..."

..."Agencies shall remove all statements, policies, regulations, forms, communications, or other internal and external messages that promote or otherwise inculcate gender ideology, and shall cease issuing such statements, policies, regulations, forms, communications or other messages."

Statement to attack Bostock v. Clayton County "The prior Administration argued that the Supreme Court’s decision in Bostock v. Clayton County (2020), which addressed Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, requires gender identity-based access to single-sex spaces under, for example, Title IX of the Educational Amendments Act.  This position is legally untenable and has harmed women."

Remove transgender inmates from prisons of their gender, remove all access for gender affirming care to incarcerated individuals, "The Attorney General and Secretary of Homeland Security shall ensure that males are not detained in women’s prisons or housed in women’s detention centers..." may need to amend "...Part 115.41 of title 28, Code of Federal Regulations and interpretation guidance regarding the Americans with Disabilities Act." If necessary.

"...no Federal funds are expended for any medical procedure, treatment, or drug for the purpose of conforming an inmate’s appearance to that of the opposite sex."

Access to public amenities is defined by sex, "The Attorney General shall issue guidance to ensure the freedom to express the binary nature of sex and the right to single-sex spaces in workplaces and federally funded entities covered by the Civil Rights Act of 1964." And, "Agencies shall effectuate this policy by taking appropriate action to ensure that intimate spaces designated for women, girls, or females (or for men, boys, or males) are designated by sex and not identity."

States 30 days shall present a bill to modify above into law.

I may have missed some policy, comment below if I missed anything and I will add it. This was terrible to read.

120 days for federal agencies to comply

This is stated to be a part of the "Restoring Sanity" agenda.

If you're trans (or have trans loved ones), try to have a clear schedule to fume a bit before you read this crap

[lovefms]

ACCESS  LEVEL  5  OR  ABOVE  REQUIRED

UNAUTHORISED  VIEWING,  REPRODUCTION,  OR  DISTRIBUTION  IS  PROHIBITED. HANDLE  WITH  EXTREME  DISCRETION.

ICHP  INTERNAL  REPORT post-reentry  assessment:  project  39  volunteer  condition  &  support  protocol

date  issued:  april  1,  2039 report  code:  P39-RST-2039-ICHP authorised  by:  dr.  marina  ko,  director  of  reintegration  affairs,  ICHP access  level:  clearance  level  5  or  above

 I.  SUBJECT:  RETURN  OF  PROJECT  39  CREW

at  08:43  GMT  on  march  29,  2039,  the  orpheus  spacecraft  entered  earth’s  lower  orbit  and  successfully  completed  emergency  landing  procedures  at  the  global  aerospace  retrieval  site  (GARS)  in  nevada,  USA. all  17  surviving  members  of  the  original  20-person  crew  were  recovered  alive.  the  crew  exhibits  minimal  biological  aging  consistent  with  the  original  mission  timeline  of  one  (1)  subjective  year,  confirming  relativistic  effects.

 II.  PHYSICAL  CONDITION  OVERVIEW

initial  medical  assessments  indicate:

stable  physical  health  in  87%  of  crew

4  members  showing  signs  of  moderate  radiation  exposure

nutritional  deficiencies  addressed  within  48  hours

all  volunteers  are  cleared  for  continued  observation  and  integration,  pending  psychological  clearance.

III.  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STATUS

subjects  are  exhibiting:

disorientation

grief  response  upon  confirmation  of  personal  losses  (families,  friends,  societal  change)

survivor’s  guilt  in  relation  to  presumed-deceased  crew  members

varying  levels  of  identity  crisis  and  dissociation

interventions  initiated:

individualised  trauma  debriefing  sessions

group  therapy  scheduled  weekly

cultural  literacy  modules  (basic  history,  technology,  sociopolitical  evolution  since  1940)

IV.  SUPPORT  &  REINTEGRATION  PROTOCOL

each  returned  crew  member  will  be  provided  the  following  under  the  ICHP  reintegration  framework:

 • safe  housing:  private  accommodation  in  secure  ICHP  facilities  with  adaptive  design.  • financial  support:  monthly  stipend  equivalent  to  modern  veteran  compensation  rates.   • re-education  programme:  12-week  intensive  course  covering  global  events,  ethics,  and  technology  from  1940–2039.  focus  on  digital  literacy,  rights,  and  autonomous  decision-making  • identity  restoration:    ‣ reissue  of  personal  identification   ‣ access  to  records  of  descendant  family  lines  where  available  • cultural  mentorship  system:  EACH  VOLUNTEER  WILL  BE  ASSIGNED  ONE  ICHP  REPRESENTATIVE  OFFICER  (IRO)   ‣ duties  include:  daily  check-ins,  escort  to  public  spaces  and  medical  appointments,  assistance  navigating  digital  systems,  media,  and  legal  matters.  IROs  are  trained  in  cross-temporal  psychology  and  sociocultural  integration.

V.  SPECIAL  CONSIDERATIONS  • memorial  services  are  being  planned  for  the  crew  members  confirmed  deceased  prior  to  landing.  • requests  for  return  to  former  cities  or  residences  will  be  reviewed  on  a  case-by-case  basis.

[muhdanas]

Become an Expert in Australian Medical Coding with Transorze Solutions – Your Gateway to a Global Healthcare Career

[sailorgundam308]

how is karlach coded as a person of color? genuine question

In terms of character design and representation: she has southeast Asian, even pacific islander (depending on the area ofc) features. Does that mean there are “asians” or “Europeans” in Toril? No. But visual representation of real groups is huge for people’s self validation. That said, southeast Asian peoples are a wide and varied group but they stand in contrast to the “white Asia” of Korea and Japan (and China to some extent), for example. The “white” Asia is rich, desirable, stylish, culturally relevant in the global stage - and their skin is whiter, to top it off. On the other hand, SEA is seen (not only in the west but ESPECIALLY in these rich Asian countries) as poor, underdeveloped, inconsequential - and darker skinned. No surprised there.

In Asia you might not have the concept of White as in White US Americans, because whiteness is a social construct that will change depending on the location and cultural/historical context. What US people understand as white and poc might differ from what other people in other countries understand it as. Still, in East Asia being literally lighter skinned is the desired beauty ideal and brings with it all the highly privileged misconceptions of “if you’re light skinned, you’re richer, more educated, more well behaved, more beautiful” and so on. SEA peoples have, in general, darker skin tones - therefore, they miss (to say the least) on these “advantageous pre-conceptions”. Also, even within certain SEA countries, being lighter than another is a desirable thing. There is an entire beauty industry here based on “whitening”. Literally making your skin look whiter, because that is more “beautiful and cleaner”. (In Japan, the amount of things you can get to cover your skin from the sun is not due to any cancer concerns, I guarantee you.)

Karlach, having features reminiscent to some SEA people, puts her in this dynamic. Not because this dynamic exists inside the BG3 world, but because the people with whom her character design (her face design at least) resonates are those same people who are seen as less than due to their geographic location and tone of their skin.

I also am under the impression that in some countries, Asian people are also commonly included in the “poc” umbrella, though I cannot be sure where this is true and even if that depends on “what Asia” you are from.

If you get into Forgotten Realms, and Toril lore, things get even more layered, because Karlach is a tiefling. And tieflings are discriminated against for their appearance - something that comes from their heritage and they have no control over. Tieflings are plane touched people, meaning their ascendancy is made of humans mixed with devils/cambions. Is basically because their blood has some devil blood in it that the “devil like” features like horns, tails, claws etc appear. Unlike the aasimar (who are the same but mixed with divine blood) who are accepted and seen as beautiful, the tieflings are discriminated against by most if not all populations in Toril. They are outcasts, often having to settle in marginalized/unfit areas and form their own communities due to the unwillingness of others to interact with them. There is something to be said about how the comments of “devil” towards a tiefling and some religions’ interpretation of indigenous peoples (or even black people) as being cursed or in cohorts with the devil. Aka, this shit is problematic.

You can have an insight on how bad this was in Baldur’s Gate city by a story Karlach tells. She says her mother died of an illness that would have been easily cured if treated early. But mom cliffgate was refused medical care because no physician in the city wanted to visit and help a tiefling family in the outer city. By the time one accepted to go and help, it was too late. The disease had advanced and could not be cured, and so Karlach’s mom died prematurely. I guess that illustrates very obviously the degree to which tieflings are marginalized and discriminated against in Toril. If that is not an analogy to the struggle of peoples of color in a generalized manner, I don’t know what is.

[ts-wicked-wonders]

Title: The Origin of 420: From High School Code to Worldwide Cannabis Culture

Every April 20th, cannabis enthusiasts around the globe light up in celebration of a number that has become synonymous with marijuana culture: 420. But have you ever wondered how this seemingly random number gained such legendary status?

Let’s take a toke down history lane and explore the roots, rumors, and real story behind 420.

⸻

What Is 420?

420—or “four-twenty”—is both a time and a date. People often light up at 4:20 PM and especially on April 20th (4/20) to celebrate cannabis culture, advocate for legalization, or simply gather in community. But how did it all begin?

⸻

The Most Widely Accepted Origin Story: The Waldos

The most credible tale begins in California in 1971 with a group of five high school students at San Rafael High School. They called themselves “The Waldos.” The nickname came from their chosen hangout spot—a wall outside the school.

The Waldos heard rumors of an abandoned cannabis crop near Point Reyes and decided to search for it. They agreed to meet after practice at 4:20 PM, since that was when sports ended for most of them. Their code phrase became “420 Louis”, referencing the statue of Louis Pasteur on campus where they’d meet up.

Though they never found the hidden crop, “420” stuck. It became a secret slang term among their circle for smoking weed—and eventually, the wider world picked it up.

⸻

The Grateful Dead Connection

The Waldos had a connection to the Grateful Dead, who were based in the Marin County area at the time. One of the Waldos’ brothers managed real estate for the Dead’s bassist, Phil Lesh. Another’s father took care of the band’s legal affairs. The Waldos often had backstage access and mingled with the Dead’s crew.

It’s believed that as the Grateful Dead toured the country, they spread the term “420”, helping it break out from a small circle of friends into a national—and eventually international—code word.

⸻

Other Theories (That Are Just High Myths)

Over time, many urban legends have circulated about the meaning of 420:

• It’s the police code for marijuana possession. (False.)

• It’s the number of active chemicals in cannabis. (Not quite—there are over 500 known compounds.)

• It’s Bob Marley’s birthday. (Nope—he was born on February 6th.)

• It’s Hitler’s birthday. (Technically true—April 20th—but totally unrelated.)

Despite these wild ideas, none hold up like the Waldos’ story does.

⸻

420 Today: A Global Celebration

Today, 420 is more than a number—it’s a movement. From small smoke sessions to large-scale festivals and political rallies, April 20th has become a day of protest, celebration, education, and unity for the cannabis community.

It’s also a major sales day in legal dispensaries and smoke shops across the U.S. and abroad, with businesses offering deals and products tailored to the holiday.

⸻

A Sacred Pause or a Stoner’s Code? Why It Still Matters

For many, 420 is about more than just getting high. It’s a symbol of freedom, resistance, and healing. With more states and countries legalizing marijuana for medical and recreational use, the number 420 reminds us of the journey from prohibition to progress.

It’s also a day to remember those who are still incarcerated for cannabis-related offenses and to advocate for equity in the legal cannabis industry.

⸻

Final Hit:

Whether you’re lighting up, chilling out, or simply learning something new today, 420 has deep roots in a group of curious teens, a legendary rock band, and a culture that grew far beyond what anyone expected. What started as a time to meet by a statue has turned into a global symbol of cannabis community and culture.

So this 4/20, honor the history, spark up with intention, and celebrate how far the cannabis movement has come—and how much further it can go.

⸻

From your herbal allies at T’s Wicked Wonders, stay lifted, stay informed, and stay magical.

[rohanshah2025]

TCI Express: The Largest Logistics Company in India Delivering Excellence in Express and International Courier Services

Introduction

The logistics industry is the lifeline of modern commerce, enabling the seamless flow of goods across cities, countries, and continents. In India, where geographical diversity and market demands are incredibly vast, finding a logistics partner that combines reliability, speed, and scale is vital. That’s where TCI Express, the largest logistics company in India, stands out.

With decades of experience, advanced infrastructure, and a customer-first approach, TCI Express has emerged as a leader among every top transport company in the country. From express logistics services to full truck load services, and from international courier services to temperature controlled transportation, TCI Express offers a comprehensive suite of solutions that serve businesses of all sizes and industries.

In this blog, we will explore how TCI Express is revolutionizing Indian logistics with its unparalleled capabilities and why it is considered the best courier service in India for both domestic and international needs.

TCI Express – The Largest Logistics Company in India

A Legacy of Excellence

TCI Express is a part of the Transport Corporation of India (TCI) Group, a pioneer in the Indian logistics sector. Over the years, TCI Express has evolved into a standalone powerhouse, with a razor-sharp focus on express logistics services and next-day delivery across the country.

With more than 950+ branches, 40,000+ pickup and delivery points, and state-of-the-art sorting centers, TCI Express ensures nationwide reach and consistent performance.

Key Features:

ISO 9001:2015 certified operations

Listed on NSE and BSE

Next-day and same-day delivery options

Specialized services for multiple industries

Unmatched network and infrastructure

TCI Express as a Leading Transport Company

TCI Express is not just a courier provider but a full-fledged transport company offering services that span across road, rail, and air networks. With an expansive fleet, digitally connected delivery models, and route optimization, it caters to both B2B and B2C logistics with precision.

Services That Define a Top Transport Company:

Express surface transport

Rail and air cargo integration

Intercity and intracity delivery

Specialized supply chain solutions

Customized solutions for SMEs and large enterprises

With its integrated approach and multimodal transportation systems, TCI Express stands as a dependable partner for businesses seeking scalable logistics solutions.

Express Logistics Services – Speed with Reliability

The demand for quick, safe, and reliable delivery is higher than ever. Express logistics services are critical for industries like e-commerce, pharmaceuticals, electronics, and FMCG. TCI Express delivers high-speed logistics without compromising on safety or accuracy.

Advantages of TCI Express Logistics:

Guaranteed same-day/next-day delivery

Real-time tracking and updates

GPS-enabled fleet for route efficiency

Optimized pickup and drop-off timelines

Door-to-door services across India

TCI Express ensures that urgent shipments are never delayed, giving businesses a competitive edge in time-sensitive markets.

Best Courier Service in India – What Makes TCI Express Stand Out?

There are numerous courier providers in India, but TCI Express has earned the reputation of being the best courier service in India for its unmatched performance, wide coverage, and commitment to customer satisfaction.

Key Differentiators:

Service to over 29,000 pin codes

Specialized handling of fragile and high-value goods

24/7 customer support

Transparent pricing with no hidden fees

Fast and reliable returns management

Whether it’s documents, consumer goods, or medical supplies, TCI Express ensures on-time and safe delivery across urban and remote areas alike.

International Courier Services – Bridging Borders with TCI Express

In today’s global economy, cross-border logistics is essential for businesses expanding internationally. TCI Express offers reliable and fast international courier services that make global shipping effortless.

International Capabilities Include:

Door-to-door global shipping

Priority and express international delivery

Custom clearance and documentation support

Strategic partnerships with global logistics companies

Real-time international tracking

Whether shipping to the USA, Europe, Southeast Asia, or the Middle East, TCI Express provides cost-effective and secure international courier services.

Full Truck Load Services – For Heavy and Bulk Shipments

For businesses dealing in high volumes, full truck load services are an essential component of their logistics chain. TCI Express offers both part truckload (PTL) and full truck load (FTL) services across India.

Benefits of TCI’s Full Truck Load Services:

Dedicated truck capacity

Customized delivery schedules

Secure transport of bulk goods

Optimal pricing based on load and route

Reduced transit time and fewer handling points

These services are ideal for industries like construction, textiles, agriculture, and manufacturing that require large-scale transport.

Temperature Controlled Transportation – For Perishable and Sensitive Goods

Certain goods such as food, pharmaceuticals, and chemicals require precise temperature regulation during transit. TCI Express offers advanced temperature controlled transportation solutions that maintain the required environment from origin to destination.

Why Choose TCI’s Temperature Controlled Logistics:

Refrigerated and insulated trucks

24/7 temperature monitoring systems

Compliant with international cold chain standards

Custom temperature settings (cold, chilled, frozen)

Ideal for perishable goods and vaccines

This makes TCI Express a reliable partner for businesses in sectors like healthcare, food processing, and life sciences.

Industry-Specific Logistics Solutions

TCI Express provides tailored logistics for the following industries:

E-commerce: Fast reverse logistics, COD handling, return management

Healthcare: Cold chain delivery, safe pharma handling

Automotive: Component and parts delivery

Retail & FMCG: Timely restocking and inventory delivery

Electronics: Anti-theft packaging and safe transport

Technology Driving Logistics Innovation

TCI Express is a tech-savvy logistics leader. Its digital-first approach improves efficiency and enhances customer experience.

Tech Innovations:

Automated sorting centers

Online freight booking and rate calculator

Real-time parcel tracking

Digital proof of delivery

AI-based route optimization

By blending human expertise with automation, TCI Express ensures accuracy, visibility, and responsiveness.

Safety, Compliance, and Sustainability

Logistics is not just about speed but also about safety and responsibility.

TCI Express Values:

100% adherence to safety protocols

Environmentally responsible fleet management

Training for drivers and handlers

ISO certifications for quality and compliance

Reduced carbon footprint through rail and EVs

TCI Express’s Nationwide and Global Reach

With service across 40,000+ locations in India and growing international partnerships, TCI Express is well-equipped to support businesses looking to expand their reach both within the country and abroad.

 Conclusion

In today’s highly competitive and time-sensitive market, choosing the right logistics partner can make or break your business operations. TCI Express emerges as the all-in-one solution that combines speed, scale, and innovation.

As the largest logistics company in India, TCI Express offers unmatched service across every logistics vertical—from express logistics services and international courier services to full truck load services and temperature controlled transportation.

Whether you're an entrepreneur, manufacturer, exporter, or a multinational corporation, TCI Express has the infrastructure, technology, and expertise to deliver beyond expectations.

FAQs – Frequently Asked Questions

1. Which is the largest logistics company in India?

TCI Express is recognized as the largest logistics company in India, offering pan-India express delivery and comprehensive logistics solutions.

2. What kind of transport company is TCI Express?

TCI Express is a full-service transport company offering multimodal logistics across road, rail, and air with express delivery as its core strength.

3. What are express logistics services?

Express logistics services involve time-bound, high-speed delivery of goods. TCI Express specializes in same-day/next-day delivery across the country.

4. Is TCI Express the best courier service in India?

Yes, TCI Express is widely regarded as the best courier service in India due to its speed, reliability, customer service, and network coverage.

5. Does TCI Express offer international courier services?

Absolutely. TCI Express provides fast and reliable international courier services with door-to-door delivery and customs support.

6. What are full truck load services?

Full truck load services involve booking an entire truck for transporting large volumes of goods. TCI Express offers secure and customized FTL options.

7. What is temperature controlled transportation?

Temperature controlled transportation ensures goods are shipped under controlled conditions. TCI Express offers refrigerated trucks and monitoring systems for sensitive items.

8. Does TCI Express offer real-time tracking?

Yes, TCI Express provides real-time tracking for all domestic and international shipments through their website and mobile app.

9. Can individuals use TCI Express or is it only for businesses?

Both! TCI Express caters to individuals as well as businesses, offering personalized courier and logistics services for all types of shipments.

Explore Services: Express Services | Surface Express | Domestic Air Express | International Air Express | Rail Express | E-Commerce Express | C2C Express | Cold Chain Express

[humanitysstrongestsoldier1]

About Me

Hi ppl! So I decided to make an about me page so ppl can get an idea of what fandoms i'm in and what questions they can ask me and etc. I'm getting more active on tumblr because AO3 has been kinda dead recently in the fandoms i'm active in so it's good to be back here and staying. (she/her)

🇺🇸 (ethnically 🇮🇳)

Why I Chose My Names/Meanings Behind Them:

I chose the username humanitysstrongestsoldier1 because of Levi from AOT; not just for his strength, but for his rage, his refusal to break even when the world burns. I relate to that. I crave strength, of body and will. The kind of strength that doesn’t beg for mercy, that doesn’t bend to gods or fate.

The Bane of God stems from my constant heretical and iconoclastic mindset. I’ve always questioned divinity, challenged dogma, and pushed against imposed beliefs. It reflects my inner rebellion, the desire to unmake gods and re-mold truths.

As for my pen name—Simurgh—that’s how I wish to be addressed. The Simurgh is a mythical creature from Persian folklore, wise and ancient, often seen as a symbol of collective consciousness and realisation. I chose it from one of my favourite works by Attar of Nishapur, The Conference of the Birds. In the story, the birds of the world—each representing a different human flaw or virtue—gather and decide they need a king. They embark on a journey to find the legendary Simurgh, crossing seven perilous valleys: Quest, Love, Knowledge, Detachment, Unity, Bewilderment, and finally, Annihilation. Many fall behind. Only thirty birds reach the end. But when they arrive, they find no external ruler waiting for them. Instead, they see themselves reflected—scarred, weathered, transformed. They are the Simurgh. The name itself is a play on words in Persian—‘si’ meaning thirty, and ‘murgh’ meaning birds. It’s a powerful metaphor: the divine, the answer, the strength they were searching for was within them all along. That idea resonates deeply with me—of searching, suffering, and ultimately discovering that the power we seek lies in self-awareness, in introspection. The Simurgh isn’t just a creature. It’s a mirror into yourself...

☀︎☀︎☀︎

House: Slytherin 🐍

Cabin: Zeus ⚡️

Patronus: Raven/Dragon 🐦‍⬛ 🐉

Wand: Black Walnut Wood, Dragon Heartstring Core, 13”, Unyielding Flexibility 🪄

Faction: Erudite 👁️

District: 1 💎

Noble House: Targaryen/Martell 🐉 ☀️

Court: Autumn/Night 🍁 🌌

Sign: Sagittarius ♐︎

♦︎♦︎♦︎

MBTI: INTP

Enneagram: 5w4 “The Iconoclast”

Tritype: 548

Temperament: Choleric-Melancholic or Melancholic-Phlegmatic (honestly idk)

Socionics: ILI-INTp

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Instinctual Variant: Sp/Sx

Global Five: RCOEI or RCUEI (idk)

Attitudinal Psyche: LVEF or LVFE (idk)

⚙︎⚙︎⚙︎

Fandoms:

EVERY SINGLE ANIME FANDOM OUT THERE!! My list is over 200 animes, i promise ik what you are talking about.

Games/Childhood: Assassin's Creed, COD, DBH, RDR, TLOU, TGOS, Minecraft, FNAF, Resident Evil, Creepypasta, Mandela Catalogue, gaming youtubers, classic genZ childhood

GOT, LOTR, Narnia, Dune every major movie adaptation from books

Books: YA, NA, Adult (read almost everything on booktok, part of booktok before it was weird btw) classical literature, philosophy, sci-fi, high fantasy, romance, political allegories

Marvel & DC, Star Wars, Star Trek, Transformers, ATLA etc. movies and tv shows (srsly i'm everywhere bro)

Absolute STEM nerd; astrophysics, particle, theoretical, classical, quantum, engineering, coding, algebra, biology, chemistry, medical, psychology GIVE IT ALL TO ME 😫💪🏽

KPOP MULTISTAN! (but my ults are BTS (since 2017) & ATEEZ (since 2018), i have been supporting GOT7, EXO, MonstaX, NCT, Stray Kids, SVT as well but they just aren't my ults)

ARSENAL GIRL! NORTH LONDON FOREVERRR ❤️🤍

that's mostly it lol i just spammed my nerdiness here welp, that was fun....

[june-gdprototyping]

CNC development history and processing principles

CNC machine tools are also called Computerized Numerical Control (CNC for short). They are mechatronics products that use digital information to control machine tools. They record the relative position between the tool and the workpiece, the start and stop of the machine tool, the spindle speed change, the workpiece loosening and clamping, the tool selection, the start and stop of the cooling pump and other operations and sequence actions on the control medium with digital codes, and then send the digital information to the CNC device or computer, which will decode and calculate, issue instructions to control the machine tool servo system or other actuators, so that the machine tool can process the required workpiece.

‌1. The evolution of CNC technology: from mechanical gears to digital codes

The Beginning of Mechanical Control (late 19th century - 1940s)

The prototype of CNC technology can be traced back to the invention of mechanical automatic machine tools in the 19th century. In 1887, the cam-controlled lathe invented by American engineer Herman realized "programmed" processing for the first time by rotating cams to drive tool movement. Although this mechanical programming method is inefficient, it provides a key idea for subsequent CNC technology. During World War II, the surge in demand for military equipment accelerated the innovation of processing technology, but the processing capacity of traditional machine tools for complex parts had reached a bottleneck.

The electronic revolution (1950s-1970s)

After World War II, manufacturing industries mostly relied on manual operations. After workers understood the drawings, they manually operated machine tools to process parts. This way of producing products was costly, inefficient, and the quality was not guaranteed. In 1952, John Parsons' team at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) developed the world's first CNC milling machine, which input instructions through punched paper tape, marking the official birth of CNC technology. The core breakthrough of this stage was "digital signals replacing mechanical transmission" - servo motors replaced gears and connecting rods, and code instructions replaced manual adjustments. In the 1960s, the popularity of integrated circuits reduced the size and cost of CNC systems. Japanese companies such as Fanuc launched commercial CNC equipment, and the automotive and aviation industries took the lead in introducing CNC production lines. 

Integration of computer technology (1980s-2000s)

With the maturity of microprocessor and graphical interface technology, CNC entered the PC control era. In 1982, Siemens of Germany launched the first microprocessor-based CNC system Sinumerik 800, whose programming efficiency was 100 times higher than that of paper tape. The integration of CAD (computer-aided design) and CAM (computer-aided manufacturing) software allows engineers to directly convert 3D models into machining codes, and the machining accuracy of complex surfaces reaches the micron level. During this period, equipment such as five-axis linkage machining centers came into being, promoting the rapid development of mold manufacturing and medical device industries.

Intelligence and networking (21st century to present)

The Internet of Things and artificial intelligence technologies have given CNC machine tools new vitality. Modern CNC systems use sensors to monitor parameters such as cutting force and temperature in real time, and use machine learning to optimize processing paths. For example, the iSMART Factory solution of Japan's Mazak Company achieves intelligent scheduling of hundreds of machine tools through cloud collaboration. In 2023, the global CNC machine tool market size has exceeded US$80 billion, and China has become the largest manufacturing country with a production share of 31%.

2. CNC machining principles: How code drives steel

The essence of CNC technology is to convert the physical machining process into a control closed loop of digital signals. Its operation logic can be divided into three stages:

Geometric Modeling and Programming

After building a 3D model using CAD software such as UG and SolidWorks, CAM software “deconstructs” the model: automatically calculating parameters such as tool path, feed rate, spindle speed, and generating G code (such as G01 X100 Y200 F500 for linear interpolation to coordinates (100,200) and feed rate 500mm/min). Modern software can even simulate the material removal process and predict machining errors.

Numerical control system analysis and implementation

The "brain" of CNC machine tools - the numerical control system (such as Fanuc 30i, Siemens 840D) converts G codes into electrical pulse signals. Taking a three-axis milling machine as an example, the servo motors of the X/Y/Z axes receive pulse commands and convert rotary motion into linear displacement through ball screws, with a positioning accuracy of up to ±0.002mm. The closed-loop control system uses a grating ruler to feedback position errors in real time, forming a dynamic correction mechanism.

Multi-physics collaborative control

During the machining process, the machine tool needs to coordinate multiple parameters synchronously: the spindle motor drives the tool to rotate at a high speed of 20,000 rpm, the cooling system sprays atomized cutting fluid to reduce the temperature, and the tool changing robot completes the tool change within 0.5 seconds. For example, when machining titanium alloy blades, the system needs to dynamically adjust the cutting depth according to the hardness of the material to avoid tool chipping.

‌3. The future of CNC technology: cross-dimensional breakthroughs and industrial transformation

Currently, CNC technology is facing three major trends:

‌Combined‌: Turning and milling machine tools can complete turning, milling, grinding and other processes on one device, reducing clamping time by 90%;

Additive-subtractive integration: Germany's DMG MORI's LASERTEC series machine tools combine 3D printing and CNC finishing to directly manufacture aerospace engine combustion chambers;

‌Digital Twin‌: By using a virtual machine tool to simulate the actual machining process, China's Shenyang Machine Tool's i5 system has increased debugging efficiency by 70%.

From the meshing of mechanical gears to the flow of digital signals, CNC technology has rewritten the underlying logic of the manufacturing industry in 70 years. It is not only an upgrade of machine tools, but also a leap in the ability of humans to transform abstract thinking into physical entities. In the new track of intelligent manufacturing, CNC technology will continue to break through the limits of materials, precision and efficiency, and write a new chapter for industrial civilization.