#He had also made statements about providing bomb-making material for others

[beardedmrbean]

Allison Fluke-Ekren, a 42-year-old woman who grew up on a farm in Overbrook, Kansas, was sentenced to two decades in prison on Tuesday for leading the Khatiba Nusaybah, an all-female ISIS battalion in Raqqa, Syria.

Fluke-Ekren's own children asked the judge to hand down the maximum sentence, 20 years, during victim impact statements at the hearing.

Fluke-Ekren tearfully spoke to the judge before her sentencing. "I deeply regret my choices, but I also deeply sympathize with women abused and raped in Syria."

In a plea deal made with the government, Fluke-Ekren admitted she translated and analyzed documents taken from the U.S. Consulate in Benghazi, Libya, after the terrorist attack on the facility in 2012.

She tried to explain to the court some of her actions during the seven years she spent in Syria. "I was afraid of my conduct in Benghazi. I just didn’t see a way out."

Fluke-Ekren also stressed that for most of her time in Syria, she had been just a mother, caring for her several children as well as other children and their mothers.

Federal Judge Leonie Brinkema said she did not find Fluke-Ekren’s claims "wholly credible," saying she had "downplayed the impact" of her role in the Benghazi attack. "I don’t believe you were a passive dupe. You knowingly and voluntarily were an accessory after the fact."

The judge continued, "There’s no question you were providing material support for a terrorist organization," and emphasized several times during the hearing that was the crime for which Fluke-Ekren would be sentenced.

Earlier in the sentencing hearing, two of Fluke-Ekren’s adult children gave emotional statements against their mother.

Layla Ekren was visibly trembling in court for nearly an hour before she got her chance to tell Brinkema that her mother abused her as a child. She told the court about one instance in Syria when the family had lice, and her mother held her down on the ground and poured the medicine on her eyes in an apparent attempt to blind her.

Layla Ekren also told the story of how when she was 13, her mother married her "to a random ISIS fighter as a sex slave… I have felt degraded my entire life."

Later, Brinkema pressed Fluke-Ekren on the marriage of her 13-year-old daughter in Syria. 

"She was a few weeks from turning 14," said Fluke-Ekren. 

"I don’t think that makes much of a difference," Brinkema replied.

CENTCOM CHIEF BELIEVES SYRIA IS 'BREEDING GROUND' FOR NEXT GENERATION OF ISIS

First Assistant U.S. Attorney Raj Parekh laid out the allegations against Fluke-Ekren in a sentencing memo, writing that she urged a woman to commit a suicide bombing and told others that her oldest son was born after she was raped by an American soldier as a way to gain favor with other terrorists.

"Allison Fluke-Ekren brainwashed young girls and trained them to kill. She carved a path of terror, plunging her own children into unfathomable depths of cruelty by physically, psychologically, emotionally, and sexually abusing them," Parekh wrote in the memo. 

Fluke-Ekren contested that the Khatiba Nusaybah, which trained girls as young as 10 years old to use suicide belts and automatic weapons, was more of a community center for women in Raqqa. 

She asked to be sentenced to just two years. "We just lived a very normal life," Fluke-Ekren told the judge about her family's time in Syria. 

Gabriel Fluke, the defendant’s adult son, said his mother had "piece by piece taken away every friend and family" he ever had, and later tried to get him to leave the U.S. to return to Syria.

[fairylightsandchai]

The Internship - Part 3

A/N: Hello, again! Just popping in again to say that I know I don’t usually post fanfic here, but I really wanted to take part in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​​‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you don’t follow me for fanfiction. :) Also, I’ll be adding tags in a reblog. 

Read Part 2 Here! 

Pairings:  Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

As a side note, after writing this, I made a new blog dedicated to fanfic. If you wanna check out out, click here!

Summary:  You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and this part will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

               You lost track of time as you lay there, your body bruised, bloody, and spent. At one point you’d tried to roll over onto your back, but your ass stung so badly at the feel of the sheets against its abused flesh that you gave up on the effort. Your mind was reduced to white noise as it played over, again and again, what had just transpired.

               Steve’s moans echoed in your ears, and even when you squeezed your eyes shut, you could still see his face as he came inside of you. Your pussy clenched at the memory and you let out a yelp of pain; you could still feel something trickling out of your used channel, but you knew that it was no longer his cum dripping out of you – it was blood.

               The worst feeling, though, was the one of guilt that was rattling in your chest. At one point, you’d…enjoyed it. You’d wanted to find your own release with him, and even though you never achieved it, you still felt fresh tears start to fall as you were overcome with self-hatred.

               Time passed by too quickly and too slowly all at once, because before you knew it, the door to your prison was once more being opened. You didn’t move when you heard Steve descending the stairs, but you could hear the rustle of shopping bags over the sound of his whistling. Once he’d set down his purchases, you heard him getting closer to you, but you still refused to so much as look his way when he sat down on the mattress next to you.

               “You ok, doll?” His voice was soft, almost uncertain as he spoke to you. When you didn’t reply, he put his hand on your shoulder and turned you onto your side, but even then the only sound you made was a groan of pain.

               You could see his face in this new position, and you almost felt angry at the look of concern on his face as his eyes skirted up and down your body.

               “…I think I owe you an apology, hon,” he said after a long pause. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you; even if you did deserve your punishment, that was still…well, it was intense for your first time.”

               The small rebellious part of you wanted to snort at his words. Oh, you think? What gave it away, my bleeding ass or my bleeding pussy?

               But you were too scared to voice those thoughts, now that you knew what this man was capable of.

               With a sigh, Steve cupped your cheek in one hand, his eyes focused intently on yours.

               “Let’s get you a bath, doll,” he murmured.

               He stood up and leaned over the bed, maneuvering your body as if it weighed nothing as he picked you up. When his hand grazed your ass, you let out a yelp, clinging to the material of his shirt.

               “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologized, adjusting you to lay more comfortably in his arms. “I know you’re sore; I got something at the store that should help with that.”

               You blinked away the tears in your eyes as he started to walk towards the door on the opposite wall of the bed, and once he opened it you saw that it was a bathroom. Your eyes squinted against the glare coming off of the white tile walls and floor. In the corner, there was a large garden tub, and once Steve was standing in front of it, he gingerly set you down onto your feet.

               “There you go, baby. You just stand there and wait for the tub to fill up, ok?”

               You nodded shakily, keeping a close eye on him as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up and started the water. You took the time to look around at the rest of your surroundings; next to the tub there was a modern-looking glass shower, and dotted around the room were framed drawings decorating the walls. The one above the toilet, you realized with sickening dread, was of the very bridge in Central Park where Steve had abducted you. Next to the mirror above the sink, there was one of a blue-jay singing as it perched on a branch. And above the bathtub was one of…

               Your eyes widened when you realized it was a picture of you. Well, it was of your profile. In the drawing, you were sitting at a table, hunched over a book with your hair up in a messy bun. You gulped, looking between it and the man who was currently picking out a bath bomb from a glass case filled with them on a shelf next to the shower.

               As if he felt you looking at him, he glanced at you over his shoulder and smiled when he saw you staring at the drawing.

               “Do you like it?” he asked, finally settling on a pink bath bomb and starting to unwrap it. “I did that one about a week after I first saw you in the café on campus. I think it’s still one of my favorites I’ve done of you.”

               “Th-there’s more?” you rasped. You couldn’t tell if your voice was scratching from the screaming you’d done earlier or from Steve strangling you in the park.

               “Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “I’ve tried to draw other things over the past couple of months, but nothing inspires me the way you do. Maybe I could get you to model for me sometime.” He shot you a wink with that last statement, but you just turned away, hugging yourself tightly.

               When the tub was finally full, he set the bath bomb into it and walked towards you, but when your eyes widened and you started backing away from him, he stopped and sighed.

               “Hon, you don’t have to be scared anymore. I love you, you know that, right?”

               “Then why,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as a tear escaped them, “did you hurt me?”

               You jumped when Steve put his hands on your shoulders, resisting the urge to lean into him when he started massaging them gently.

               “That isn’t far, doll. You were being difficult. And, I mean, you hurt me too, right? Biting me when all I wanted was a kiss? You needed to be punished; I think, deep down, you know that.”

               You let out a sob, looking down at the floor and willing yourself to stop crying.

               “Shh, baby, it’s ok,” Steve cooed, pulling you into a tight embrace, “I know. It’s never easy to take a punishment. But, hey.” He pulled back and tilted your face up to look at him. “I can be gentle, too. I can make you feel so good, if you let me. I can make it all better.

               “C’mon, go ahead and get into the tub for me. I’ll show you.”

               Not seeing any other option, you slowly walked over and lowered yourself into the tub, letting out a low hiss as the warm water hit your raw skin. Once you were fully settled, though, you couldn’t help but moan softly and let your tense muscles relax as it started soothing your wounds.

               “Keep making noises like that and I might just have to join you in there,” Steve chuckled. Your eyes widened in a moment of panic, but you relaxed once more when you saw him making no moves to get in the tub with you.

               No, all he did was roll his sleeves up a bit more and grab a cup from a shelf above you. Kneeling next to the tub, he gently guided you to let your head tilt back, and then the warm, soothing water was being poured over your scalp.

               You closed your eyes, suddenly not caring about your nakedness in front of him, not feeling that same old spike of fear. You needed this; you needed a respite from the pain you’d just endured.

               “That’s it, baby,” Steve murmured, using his nails to scratch lightly at your scalp as he started shampooing your hair. “See how nice it is when you just let me take care of you?”

               You tried to tune him out as he kept murmuring soft words of encouragement, letting yourself zone out as he rinsed out your hair. You didn’t even protest when he took a sponge and started washing your body.

               But when his hand started trailing lower and lower, you finally opened your eyes and grabbed onto his wrist.

               “No,” you said, trying to pull his hand away from the apex of your tightly-clenched thighs. “Please, just…let me?”

               Steve let out a sigh through his nose, but he relinquished the sponge to you. Nodding your thanks, you slowly opened your legs, wincing when you saw a thin ribbon of blood twist up through the water from your pussy.

               “Oh, baby,” your captor sighed, moving his hands back to your shoulders to continue rubbing them. “I’m so sorry. I promise that once we start having sex more often, it won’t hurt as much. Soon, you’ll want it just as much as I do.”

               With a stilted gasp you tore yourself away from him, clambering to the other side of the tub and pressing yourself against it. Steve let his head hang with disappointment, shaking it once before turning to look back up at you.

               “Do you want another punishment?” he asked, the cherry-sweet tone completely gone from his voice.

               Gulping, you shook your head, holding the sponge to your chest as it heaved up and down with your breathing.

               “Then get back here and let me finish your bath,” he growled.

               Turning away from him, you slowly, reluctantly moved back to your previous spot, gasping when you felt him tear the sponge out of your hands.

               “There you go,” Steve sighed, sounding exacerbated. “I won’t warn you again, baby. Behave. I promise I’ll give you something special if you do.”

               He didn’t talk anymore as he finished washing you, gesturing for you to stand up when you were all done. You hurriedly took the towel he offered you, wrapping it around yourself to provide some form of cover over your body.

               “Not so fast, doll,” Steve said, turning you around to face the mirror. “Lift the towel up and bend over for me, ok?”

               You stared back at him in the mirror as you complied, silently begging him not to do whatever it was he had in mind. He stepped out of the room for a moment, but when he came back he was still fully-clothed, a green bottle of aloe vera in his hand.

               “This should help you feel better,” he explained, squeezing out a dollop of the gel and rubbing it into your skin.

               You let out a soft sigh, grateful for the relief it brought; the stinging in your ass started to fade away as he massaged in the jelly, and when he was all done, he let you fix the towel around yourself once more.

               “I’m gonna go clean up a little, now,” he told you, pushing some of your damp hair out of your face. “You do whatever you need to feel comfortable, ok? Dry your hair, put on some clothes if you really feel the need to, whatever will make you feel better.”

               “Clothes?” you asked, looking around the bathroom to see if you’d missed any.

               “The closet’s through the door the left of the bed when you walk out,” he instructed.

               With that, he left, and once the door was finally closed you rushed to lock it behind him, even though you knew it would do nothing to stop him if he really wanted to get to you. You let yourself sink to the floor, finally letting the tears you’d been suppressing fall while trying to stay as silent as possible.

               How had this happened? You’d seen all the warning signs; why hadn’t you heeded them? How would you escape this place – escape him?

               You closed your eyes and pulled your knees up to your chin, trying to trample down the anxiety rapidly expanding in your chest. You were smart; you could get out of this. But you couldn’t let him get the best of you.

               You tried to think back and analyze your situation from a clinical standpoint, devoid of emotion. There was only one door that led out of the room you were in, and you’d heard the jingle of keys when Steve was opening and closing it; you assumed that Steve kept those keys with him wherever he went, probably in his pocket.

               So now it was a matter of getting the keys. You knew that you would only have one shot to get them; if you failed in any way in your escape attempts, Steve had said he would tie you to the bed and keep you there. If that happened, you could kiss your freedom goodbye.

               Your first option was to try and be sneaky; you could wait until Steve fell asleep and try to steal them from his pocket. But with his super-hearing, you knew that the chances of that plan succeeding were slim to none. He would hear you with those keys from a mile away, and you wouldn’t be able to outrun him to the stairs.

               Your next option was to try and convince him to let you out. The pros of that were that he, in his own words, ‘loved’ you. If you could convince him that you’d fallen for him, too, then maybe he would get more comfortable with you. You could ask him to take you on a date after a while, or say some bullshit about wanting him to meet your mom.

               But you shrugged off that idea; it would take too much time, and you didn’t know if you could wait that long.

               Your last option was to fight; you were tempted to just laugh that option off, but something in your memory gave you pause. You traced back your steps, remembering when Steve had first cut you loose from your ropes.

               He’d used a pocketknife.

               And then it dawned on you. Maybe the way out wasn’t through using just one of those plans. Maybe it was using a combination of all three.

               “Hey, doll? You okay in there?”

               You jolted, looking up to the door from your spot on the rug.

               “U-um,” you called out, hurrying to your feet. “Yeah! Just… trying to figure out how to use the hairdryer!”

               You searched beneath the sink, finding the device in question and plugging it in.

               “You need any help with it?”

               With trembling hands, you turned it on, praying that he wouldn’t come in.

               “No, thanks! I got it.”

               You didn’t even usually dry your hair, but you didn’t tell Steve that. You just used a comb while the hair dryer was running, watching your reflection’s movements.

               You were going to get out of this place, even if it killed you.

               When you were finished in the bathroom, you held onto your towel tightly and walked out into the bedroom. Steve was stripping the bed when you walked past, and you winced when you saw the large bloodstain on the white sheets you’d left behind.

               Tearing your eyes away from the sight, you scurried into the closet and closed the door behind you. Looking around at the large space, your eyes fell to the teddy bear in the corner; it was the one Steve had won you at Coney Island.

               You looked at it pleadingly, as if it could help you escape, but all it did was slump against the wall.

               “At least I have one friend here,” you sighed to yourself sardonically.

               Tossing your towel into the hamper by the door, you surveyed the room around you. Most of the closet was taken up by dresses. The majority of them had short poodle skirts and low necklines, but towards the back of the small room you found a rack of nightgowns. The longest one reached just to your knees, and its neck- and hemline were lined with lace. You would’ve preferred a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but there were none to be found. The chest of drawers shoved up against the wall was filled only with lingerie. Your stomach had turned over when you saw the frilly, lacy undergarments, cringing to think of Steve picking them out for you.

               When you’d pulled on the nightgown and the most modest pair of panties you could find (they were lace like the others, but the material was thick enough not to be see-through), you took a deep breath and opened the door.

               The first thing you noticed were the fresh set of sheets covering the bed; these ones were a dove gray, the same color as your sheets back home. Steve was sitting in one of the armchairs by the bookshelves, a paperback novel in his hands. You just then noticed that there was a vase of fresh flowers sitting on one of the nightstands – daisies.

               “Oh, hey, baby,” Steve said, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. You turned away when you saw how his eyes were raking up and down your body, focusing instead on the daisies, so pretty and innocent, like you used to be.

               “Hey, you like those?” Steve asked when he saw what you were looking at. “I always liked daisies. They were my mom’s favorite flower.”

               You flinched when you felt his hand on your cheek, but otherwise you remained motionless as his fingertips drifted down to the neckline of your gown.

               “I knew you would look good in this,” he murmured. “Just like an angel.”

               You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet.

               “I-I’m tired,” you stammered. “What time is it?”

               He glanced down at his watch, letting out a short whistle.

               “Sheesh, it’s already 10 pm. No wonder you’re tired,” he remarked. Then, a sly smile stretched across his features. “Plus, I must’ve worn you out earlier.”

               Your knuckles were white with how tight you were clenching your fists, and you felt a wave of nausea settle in your belly when his hand moved down further, palming at your breast.

               “It wasn’t all bad, was it? You were practically begging me to make you cum there at the end. And don’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips against your ear, “forget what I told you after; good girls get to cum. And you’ve been very…very…good this evening.”

               “Please, Steve,” you whispered, trying to push him away, “Please, can I just…go to bed?”

               That sly smirk was still on his face as he nodded his head.

               “Sure, baby. Go ahead and crawl into bed.”

               You gulped as you did as he said, lifting up the sheets before laying down. His hand caught your wrist when you moved to cover yourself with the blankets, though, and you nearly screamed when he started crawling onto the mattress.

               “Steve, please, I just want to sleep,” you begged. “Please; I’m so sore, I don’t want-“

               He shushed you, pressing a finger to your lips while his other hand started creeping up your inner thigh, slowly pushing your nightgown up.

               “Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, pressing a soft peck to your lips. “We don’t have to make love again. But I do wanna show you, just like I promised. I wanna show you how good I can make you feel.”

               You didn’t know what to feel more sickened by – the hand that was delicately peeling off your panties, or the fact that he’d called what he’d done to you ‘making love’. You wanted to kick him right in his perfect teeth, but then you reminded yourself of the half-formed plan you’d come up with in the bathroom. If it was going to work, you would have to make him believe he was winning you over.

               At least, you told yourself that that was the reason why you let out a moan when his fingers grazed your clit. You bit your lip and looked up at the ceiling, feeling the heat of his stare as he slowly started spreading your wetness around your sensitive bud.

               “You know, you’ve been acting like you don’t want me,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours, “But your pussy sure is wet for me. How do you explain that, hm?”

               You didn’t answer, simply allowing your eyes to close as he kissed you again. It was nothing like your first kiss; it had been bruising and possessive and punishing. But the way he was kissing you now was…pleasant. His tongue slowly dragged along the seam of your lips until they opened for him, and he didn’t rush the pace of it. No, he kissed you as if he was unwrapping a present, as if he was savoring every last bit of your mouth.

               “I wanna show you how I wanted it to be,” he whispered. “Our first time together.”

               He slowly started moving down your body, lifting your nightgown up around your hips as he dragged your panties all the way down your legs. Your ass stung with the slide of fabric against it, but when he pressed you down into the sheets and kissed the top of your mound, the discomfort started to fade.

               You gasped when you felt his tongue slide against your folds, and you unconsciously spread your legs for him. You glanced down just in time to see his smirk widen before he delved in, sliding his tongue over your entrance and up to your clit.

               “Fuck-“ you moaned, your back arching up against your will.

               Your hand clapped down over your mouth, trying to muffle the noises that were escaping it as he started slowly lapping at your bud, but Steve heard them anyway. Your eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as you started losing yourself in the pleasure. No one had ever done this for you before, and Steve definitely knew what he was doing.

               The sloppy sound of his tongue moving against you filled the air alongside the soft moans you couldn’t hold back, and each time your hips bucked up, each time you gasped as he moved his tongue at just the right angle, you heard him let out a growl.

               When he slid in one of his fingers, he was met with no resistance, your pussy greedily sucking in the digit as he suckled at your clit. You glanced downwards and could see your wetness glistening within his beard, and for a reason you would feel ashamed about later, you felt yourself clench at the sight.

               First one and then two more fingers were added, but the stretch was delicious, nothing like the burning feeling of his cock slamming into you earlier. Once more, you felt your orgasm rising up inside of you, but once more he pulled away at just the last second. You did nothing to contain your desperate wail at having your release taken away so cruelly, but when you looked up to see Steve unbuckling his belt, you frantically tried to push yourself away from him.

               “Hey, none of that,” he snapped. “You were being so good. Just let me do this and I’ll let you cum.”

               You whimpered, but when he lay between your legs again you forced yourself to stay still, not wanting to face yet another one of his brutal punishments. His mouth crashed onto yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips.

               This time, when he entered you, you only felt a small twinge of pain. The moan that escaped your lips, though, came as a surprise to you both. The head of his cock was pushing against that spot so deep down inside of you, and you couldn’t help but moan again when he drew himself almost completely out of you and thrust back in, dragging his dick along that spot once more.

               “Oh, baby,” he sighed, working his hips slowly, “you have no idea how good you feel…”

               Your nails dug into his biceps when he started to move faster, rolling his hips fluidly and hitting that spot that made you see stars. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, trying to imagine that it was anybody else on top of you, that you were back home in your apartment instead of some basement. That you were free instead of trapped with this madman.

               “I’ve thought about this for so long,” Steve whispered in your ear. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to feel you cum around me so bad-“

               He clenched his teeth and let out a growl, all of a sudden starting to slam into you. Your eyes met his for a second as he rose up onto his knees, lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts as if you were a ragdoll.

               “Take it, doll; take me nice and deep-“

               “F-fuck-!” you cried up, feeling your orgasm starting to build up once again. Your hips were moving of their own accord, trying to rise up and chase your release as the pleasure inside of you crested.

               Finally, finally, you felt the knot inside of you burst, and you heard yourself screaming Steve’s name as you came. You couldn’t tell if your eyes were closed or open for a moment; vaguely, you were aware of Steve letting out a howl as he came inside of you, but you were floating, not able to concentrate on anything except the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you.

               “Doll? Doll, you ok?”

               You blinked, focusing on Steve’s face as he panted above you, and nodded your head. You let your arms fall back to your sides, feeling as if they weighed a ton each.

               “Good,” he smiled. “Thought I’d knocked you out there for a second.” His lips were warm and wet when he kissed you, and you noticed that he was still very hard and very much still inside of you.

               “Didn’t I tell you that I could make you feel good?” You gasped when you felt him start to thrust again, feeling a twinge of soreness as he bumped against your already-battered cervix. “Hm? Can you feel it now? How perfectly we fit together?”

               You were too spent to anything but lay there as Steve took you again. For a moment, you felt as if you were going to pass out from exhaustion, but then his hand had roughly squeezed your cheeks, prompting your eyes to fly open.

               “Eyes on me, hon,” he panted. “I wanna see you cum again; you’ve earned it.”

               At first, you thought it would be impossible, but when you felt your lower half stirring once again, you gripped onto his shoulders again, looking up  at him pleadingly.

               “You getting close, baby?” he grunted. “Say it. Tell me how good it feels.”

               You were silent, looking away in shame, but his hand smacked your hip, causing you to yelp and look back up at him.

               “Say it,” he demanded.

               “I-It feels so good,” you whispered.

               “Are you gonna cum for me again?”

               One of his fingers found its way to your clit, and your entire body jolted as if it had just been electrocuted.

               “Y-yes!” you cried. “I-I’m gonna cum!”

               “Then say it,” he growled. “Say, ‘Please, Steve, let me cum.’ C’mon, be a good girl and ask politely.”

               Your back arched up off of the bed when his fingers quickened, and you rushed to comply with his order before you came again.

               “P-please, Steve, let me cum,” you begged. “Please, please, I’m so close, I need-“

               “I know what you need, baby,” he moaned. “I know what you need. Cum for me, doll. Cum for me-“

               Before he could even finish his sentence, you were cumming. You felt your pussy clamp around him, and with a muffled, “O-oh, God-“, he was finding his release as well.

               After he’d pulled out of you and rolled over onto his back, you didn’t move, shame starting to creep its way into your afterglow. You tried to tell yourself that it was all part of the plan, that you were only pretending to like what he was doing because you wanted him to trust you. But deep down, you knew that that was a lie. You’d never cum that hard in your life.

               “You were so good, (Y/N),” Steve sighed, pulling you against his side. “I love you so much, doll. I wanna take such good care of you.”

               You let your head fall onto his chest, too exhausted to fight your way over to the other side of the bed. He was still whispering sweet little things in your ear when you fell asleep, his quiet declarations of love becoming more and more disturbing as you drifted off.

               The last thing you registered him saying before you went to sleep was truly terrifying, sending an icy spike of fear straight through your heart, and it echoed in your dreams while you tried to rest.

               “You’ll make such a good mother.”

_________

               The next day, you woke up alone, a note resting on the pillow beside you. Trying to ignore your aching muscles, you sat up and read it.

               Good morning, beautiful. I’m out running a few errands, but I’ll be back around 9 with some breakfast.

               I love you.

               Rolling your eyes, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, letting out a groan of disgust when you felt his dried cum flaking off of your thighs. You waddled into the bathroom and, after struggling to figure out how his shower worked for a solid five minutes, you took a hurried shower, scrubbing your skin raw as if it would wash away his touches from last night.

               By the time you finished, it was around 8:30, so you took your time getting dressed. None of the dresses were really your style; they looked vintage, like something from Steve’s time. Your stomach turned as you pulled on the first dress you saw that didn’t actively repel you; you hated playing along with his sick fantasies.

               Your dress came down to your knees, and it was black with tiny little cherries embroidered across it; its skirt flared out at the hips, swishing gently with every step you took. When you finally exited the closet, you meandered over to his bookshelf, skimming the titles.

               There was at least one copy of every book you owned back home; he must have gone into your apartment at some point.

               “Sick freak,” you muttered to yourself.

               You paused when you came to a book that didn’t look like all of the others; sliding it out of its place, you realized that it was a leather-bound sketchbook. You opened it to the first page and smiled at the drawing of the New York City skyline; even though you knew Steve had been the one to draw it, you couldn’t deny that it was a well-done sketch.

               Your smile fell when you turned to the next page, though. It was a drawing of you, like the one Steve had hanging up in the bathroom. In this one, though, you were laying down in bed, wearing the oversized college sweater and pajama shorts you usually wore to bed. You gulped, flipping to the next page – another picture of you, laughing at something he hadn’t bothered drawing.

               Feeling a wave of nausea rising up in your throat, you kept flipping the pages. You, you, you, you – they were all of you, save for two. The one of the skyline, and then one of a man. You thought that his face was familiar, but you couldn’t place where you’d seen him before.

               He had long hair in the drawing, and his cheeks held a thin layer of stubble Steve had shaded in. Aside from his handsome features, the most striking thing about him was his metal arm. You frowned as you stared at the man’s face, certain that you’d seen him somewhere.

               The door behind you opened suddenly, slashing through the silence in the room with the squealing of its rusted hinges. Steve walked in holding a brown paper bag and a large wooden box, giving you a radiant smile when he saw you.

               “Hey, doll,” he said, setting the objects in his hands down onto the bed. “You look fantastic in that dress; I knew you would the moment I saw it in the store.”

               You forced a smile to your face, trying to ignore the hammering in your heart; focus on the plan, you told yourself. Focus on the plan.

               “Thank you,” you told him meekly.

               He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his smile only growing when you didn’t move away. His eyes skirted down to the sketchbook still in your hands, and for a moment you were afraid that he would be upset with you for being nosy.

               But he only took the book from your hands and studied the drawing of the man you’d been looking at.

               “You checking out more of my artwork, baby?” he asked. “What do you think?”

               “Um… I think it’s really good,” you said, forcing a strained smile to your lips. “You’re a really good artist.”

               Steve seemed to glow under your praise, and he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

               “Thank you, baby,” he smiled. “That means a lot coming from my best girl. Speaking of! I brought a present for you.”

               He gestured for you to follow him to the bed, and you watched as he excitedly opened the box atop of it. Inside, there was a brand new Crosley record player, and beneath it were a stack of records.

               “I have one of these at home, but I figured it would be nice for us to have some music while we’re here,” he explained. “Did you know that record players are getting popular again? A brand new record shop opened up close by; I guess history really does repeat itself, huh?”

               You nodded, starting to flip through the records. You noticed that two of them were from your favorite band. There were several dedicated to older music, too - Frank Sinatra, Nat King Col,  old movie soundtracks.

               You looked up to see Steve watching you expectantly, and you gave him another weak smile.

               “This is great, Steve,” you assured him. “I love it; thank you.”

               “You’re welcome, baby doll,” he cooed. You felt his arms wrap around you from behind, and his breath was warm against your ear when he spoke. “I do have one condition, though.”

               You gulped, fearing the worst when you felt his pelvis press against your ass.

               “Wh-what’s that?”

               “That you dance with me,” he said, “after I have it all plugged in.”

               You nearly slumped with relief, and you nodded quickly.

               “Sure, Steve. We can dance together if you want.”

               Your captor’s face lit up, and he quickly let you go to start hooking up the machine. You sat on the bed as he worked, reading the back of the records to see what songs were on them. Every now and then, your eyes would look up to Steve, sliding down his body to his ass. Or, rather, to the shape of his keys where they rested in his back pocket.

               “Alright, hon, I-“ Steve straightened up and caught you staring, his lips twisting up into a smirk when your eyes rushed to meet his. “Oh? See something you like?”

               Your cheeks burned, and you emphatically shook your head no, but he still had a mischievous look on his face as he walked back over to you.

               “There’ll be plenty of time for that, later,” he chided you. You opened your mouth to protest, but you gave up before you even began.

               He flipped through the records until he found the one he was looking for, gesturing for you to follow him as he went to put it on the player. When he set the needle in place, the sound of a vintage big band flooded the air, and you recognized the tune as “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” by Harry James.

               “This is my favorite song,” Steve explained, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders. You felt his huge palms rest on your hips as the two of you started swaying. “I knew from the second I saw you that I wanted to share it with you.”

               You sighed, feeling your heart constrict. If things were different, if he hadn’t done all of the horrible things to you that he had, you would have melted upon hearing him say that.

               “When did you first see me?” you suddenly asked. “You mentioned yesterday that, um… Well, you made it sound like you’ve known me longer than just two months.”

               He smiled, looking almost sheepish for a second.

               “I saw you for the first time back in April,” he confessed. “You were sitting in the café with Tina, and just… I’d always laughed off the idea of love at first sight, you know? I didn’t think it was possible. But you were so beautiful, so…perfect, and I just knew you were the one.”

               You felt as if something had sucked all of the air out of your lungs. April. He’d been stalking you, he’d been obsessed with you, since April.

               “Why,” you asked, “Why didn’t you just…talk to me? Why do all of this?”

               Steve flinched, his eyes sparking with that same anger you’d seen yesterday, and you ducked your head, letting it rest against his chest.

               “I heard you telling Tina you didn’t wanna date until you graduated,” he eventually admitted. “And I just knew I couldn’t wait that long. I… I waited too long one time; I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

               You had no idea who he was talking about, but you didn’t press the issue, just continuing to sway to the beat with Steve. When he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, you let him, letting your hands trail down his back, towards the pocket where he kept his pocketknife.

               Now isn’t the time, you reminded yourself, forcing your hands to stop at the small of his back. Soon. You just have to be patient.

__________

               Five days went by, and if it wasn’t for the terror of cohabitating with a crazy person, you would’ve been bored with the routine you’d fallen into.

               In the mornings, Steve would usually be gone. The only appliance in the small space was a minifridge, so he would usually stock up with food for the day in the mornings. While he was away, you would shower and dress, and when he came home you would let him give you a kiss.

               After that, the two of you would read while sitting on the couch; he forced you to sit in his lap, but the books always served as a good distraction. In the afternoons, after lunch, he would ask you to model for him. At first, it didn’t bother you so much. The first day he drew you, you’d sat in one of his armchairs reading, ignoring him for the most part.

               On the second day, he’d asked (or ordered, more like it) you to wear one of his shirts, leaving it open to show your lingerie underneath.

               “I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” you’d said at first, desperate for him not to force you into any state of undress. “What if someone finds your sketchbook and sees?”

               Steve had just smirked and pecked your cheek.

               “Then they’ll know that you belong to me,” he’d answered. “Now go on, don’t be shy. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, doll.”

               On the third day, he’d made you pose in lingerie he picked out – a pale pink, lacey bralette with matching panties. You’d been on the verge of tears the whole time he was drawing you, but in his final picture, you’d had a smile on your face. You’d wondered, then, if that’s what he always saw when you were sad. If he really was so crazy as to believe you were happy with him.

               After dinner, he would put on the record player and lay with you on the couch while the two of you talked. Or, actually, he would talk. You would zone out most of the time, only muttering a quiet ‘uh-huh’ every now and then. Mostly he would talk about his childhood, sharing stories with you about his mother or Bucky. He’d even opened up about ‘the only woman he’d ever loved’ – a British agent named Peggy Carter.

               You couldn’t help but wonder if he would have done the same things he was doing to you to her. You hoped not; you hoped that he’d only lost his mind after he’d been fighting for so many years in a time he never should’ve lived to see. But you would never know for sure.

               The one thing in your routine you refused to get used to was the sex. Every night, and at least once during the day, he would fuck you. And the only time you never came was on the first night, when he’d stolen your virginity, your innocence, and, really, your life.

               It was never as brutal as your first time had been. His touches would start off gentle, teasing your skin as he whispered filthy things into your ear. He, thankfully, never asked you to give him oral, but he sure seemed to love giving it to you. You’d lost count of how many surfaces he’d eaten you out on; on the second day, it had been the bathroom counter. On the third, it was the sofa and then one of the armchairs. Really, if it was horizontal and strong enough to support your weight, he’d made you cum atop it.

               You still never got used to the stretch of his cock inside of you, though. Because, while nothing was as bad as that first night, the stretch always stung, always took your breath away. That initial pain never lasted for long, though. Soon enough, whether you liked it or not, you would be moaning for him. He would always, without fail, make you beg to cum, and you always, without fail, would. You hated it even as you loved it, but it was only when you noticed yourself craving his touch while he was away that you knew something had to give.

               He was conditioning you to want him, but you would be damned if it would be that easy to break you.

               On the fourth night, you stayed awake, waiting for his arm to loosen around you in his sleep. When it did, you waited even longer, not moving a muscle until you heard him start to snore. Holding your breath, you started wiggling away from him, lifting his arm off of you as you slid towards the bed.

               When you were finally out of his grip, though, you heard him stir, turning onto his side to face you.

               “M’where ya goin…” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

               “Just to the bathroom,” you whispered. You squinted in the darkness; the only light in the room came from the glow of the alarm clock, but you could just make out the movement of him nodding before letting himself fall back against the pillows.

               “Hurry back,” he slurred. “’s cold without you.”

               You slid your feet onto the cold floor, dragging them with your steps, heading towards the pile of his clothes he’d left on the floor. When you felt your toe come in contact with them, you threw yourself onto the ground, making a gasp of mock-surprise.

               “(Y/N)?” You saw Steve sit up onto his elbows, looking towards your prone form on the floor. “You ok, baby?”

               “I’m fine,” you assured him. As you stood up, you fumbled, knowing this was your only chance. “Just tripped on your clothes; go back to sleep.”

               He hummed and laid back down just as your fingers slipped into the pocket of his pants and found his pocketknife. You slipped it out of its pocket and stood up, wrapping your fist around it as you went into the bathroom.

               You locked the door behind you and sat on the toilet, going about your business as you studied the weapon in your hands. It wasn’t large, but it was something; one more part of your plan was fulfilled.

               You stowed it between some towels in the linen closet and washed your hands, stepping out of the bathroom to find Steve standing up, naked as the day he was born, holding his jeans in his hands.

               “S-steve?” you asked, doing your best to calm the wild hammering in your heart. “What, um… What are you doing?”

               He looked up at you, and for a moment you felt all of your hopes, all of your plans, torn into pieces. But when he smiled, you faltered, forcing a matching smile onto your lips. Maybe it wasn’t all over.

               “They’re still here,” he said.

               “Um… What’s still there?” you asked.

               “The keys!” He walked over to you, cupping your cheek. “Sorry, I just… I thought maybe you would, uh…”

               “Try to take them?” you finished. He smiled sheepishly and nodded, pecking your lips.

               “I’m sorry, doll,” he sighed. “I should’ve trusted you. I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. To us.”

               You made yourself grin and cup his cheek.

               “Steve, I… I don’t think I want to leave anymore,” you said. “I mean, I would like to leave this place, but… I promise I don’t want to leave you. I’m starting to think… Well, maybe it sounds silly, but I’m starting to think you might’ve been right. Maybe we were made for each other.”

               Steve inhaled deeply through his nose, his lips parted as he searched your face of any signs of a lie. You carefully schooled your expression into one of honesty, meeting his eyes with a small smile and praying that you were a better actress than you’d previously thought in your life.

               His eyes started watering, a tear slowly rolling down his face as he looked at you, and suddenly you were being lifted up into his arms. He pressed your body flush against his, kissing your shoulder with trembling lips.

               “God, baby, I… That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear you say. I love you so, so much,” he said. He sat you down, a broad grin parting his lips as he wiped away his tear. “Jeez, doll, I don’t think I’ve cried in years. What’re you doing to me?”

               You blamed the small prick of guilt you felt on Stockholm Syndrome and pushed it aside, giving him the most earnest grin you could muster.

               “Let’s go back to bed,” you suggested.

               That night, Steve made love to you slowly, and you were able to stop acting as he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you – first, with his fingers, then with his tongue, then with his cock. He left the lamp on so his eyes would never have to leave yours, and something in his blue eyes made it impossible for you to look away.

               The next morning, you woke up before him, something that had never happened before. You sat up in bed, turning to your side so you could watch his sleeping face. He seemed peaceful; you never could have guessed that so much evil could reside underneath his handsome features.  

               But your sore muscles were a testament to all he had done to you, as were the finger-shaped bruises on your hips. With a sigh, you started to move away, but then his eyes opened and he smiled at you.

               “Good morning, baby,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”

               “Sore,” you answered honestly, drawing a chuckle from him.

               “But a good kind of sore, right?” He didn’t wait for your answer before standing up and walking over to the closet, pulling a cableknit sweater out of the drawer he’d reserved for himself and a pair of boxer briefs.

               “I’m thinking breakfast burritos this morning,” he said as he dressed. “What do you think?”

               “That’s fine,” you answered, standing up. You’d grown accustomed to him seeing you naked, though your skin still crawled anything you caught the hungry look he would get in his eyes. “Just hurry back to me, ok?”

               Steve paused at this, arching an eyebrow at you.

               “You…mean that?” he asked, and you smiled. Now was the time to sell the act.

               “Yeah, Steve.” You leaned up on your tip-toes, pressing your lips to his for just a fraction of a second. “I mean it.”

               He broke into an ear-to-ear grin and captured your lips once more.

               “God, I love you,” he breathed before pecking your forehead. “I’ll be thirty minutes tops, ok?”

               You nodded, giving him one last peck before going into the closet to pick out your clothes for the day. You threw on a pale blue dress, walking out into the main room right as the door at the top of the stairs clicked shut behind him.

               It was time.

               With your heart beating a mile a minute, you ran to the bathroom and retrieved the knife from its hiding spot, clicking open the blade and gripping it in one of your hands. As you walked out of the bathroom, your eyes swept over the space you’d been living in for the last half of the week, wondering if there was anything you should take with you. But there was no money to be found; you’d spent most of your mornings alone looking for anything that would help you.

               But no, the only thing you would need was Steve’s keys. And, if your plan went accordingly, you would have those soon enough.

               On shaky legs, you climbed the stairs, pressing yourself to the side of the wall as you waited. When Steve first walked in, he wouldn’t be able to see you where you were currently standing, a fact that you would be taking advantage of. You played out all of the possible scenarios in your head, heart beating frantically; you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it on the other side of Brooklyn.

               You didn’t allow yourself to relax as you stood there, keeping all of your muscles tight as a bowstring, your knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the knife. You can do this, your brain kept saying. You can do this.

               You jolted when you heard his keys slide into the lock on the other side of the door. It was now or never.

               As soon as he walked through the door, you were on him, plunging the knife as deep as you could into his chest.

               “SHIT,” he wailed, reflexively throwing you off of him.

               Your back hit the wall so hard that, when you landed on the ground, you were winded, but you still managed to scream when you felt Steve’s hands on your biceps. You thrashed as he tried to pick you up, slashing blindly with the knife until you saw blood covering your hands.

               “YOU FUCKING BITCH-“ he screamed, punching you in the side as you slashed across his chest. You stumbled, knowing immediately that he’d at the very least bruised your ribs, but you were being fueled by adrenaline.

               You ducked when he tried to grab you again, plunging the knife into the side of his thigh and pulling it out, washing as blood spurted out of the new wound. Steve went down onto one knee, clutching at the hole in his leg frantically.

               You stumbled to the side when his other arm swung out at you, trying to get past him to the door. A hand wrapped around your wrist, though, jerking you back towards him so hard that the knife went flying out of your hand, clattering down the stairs.

               “I’m gonna make you pay for this,” he was growling. Despite the menace of his words, though, you could see his face getting paler by the second, and when you kicked him in the shoulder as hard as you could, he lost his grip on you.

               For a second, you felt as if the world was moving in slow motion. As soon as he lost his hold on you, you spun to the side, running out of the still-open door. Gripping the handle with both hands, you wrenched it shut behind you, just barely catching the look of surprise on Steve’s face as he tried in vain to reach the door in time.

               You thanked the heavens that his keys were still in the lock, and with shaking hands you hurried to lock him inside. As soon as it was done, you watched as the handle started jiggling wildly from the inside, and for a second you only stood there in shock, staring down at the blood on your hands.

               But then you heard an animalistic yell from its other side, and you stumbled back when you heard the distinct booming of his fist pounding against the door.

               “LET ME OUT,” he screamed, his voice more high-pitched and desperate than you’d ever heard it before. “LET ME OUT YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

               The metal groaned when he hit it again, and you didn’t want to stick around to see if he would actually manage to break it down. Turning on your heel, you started walking down further into what you now recognized as a house. You were in a hallway with photographs lining the walls, and you gasped when you realized who they were of – you.

               Every single picture was one of you – in your bed, in a classroom, in a library. They were all of you. You hurried past them as the banging got more and more insistent, heading straight for the front door. You only paused when you saw a wallet resting on the side table beside it, hesitating only for a moment before grabbing it.

               “I’LL FIND Y-“ you heard Steve start to shout, but his voice was cut off as you walked out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

               You blinked in the sudden rush of sunlight; you were on in the city. The distant shapes of skyscrapers rose up behind a row of brownstones, and when you saw a taxi driving by, you stumbled down the steps of the home behind you and waved at it frantically.

               When it paused on the side of the road, you didn’t hesitate to climb into the backseat despite the protests of its driver.

               “Watch it, lady,” he cried. “Is that- What the fuck are you doing covered in blood? You better not get it on my seats, or I’ll-“

               “I need you to take me to Buffalo,” you interrupted him.

               The cabbie laughed, and you could see his eyes roll in the rearview mirror.

               “Yeah, right, girlie,” he chuckled. “I don’t go out of the city.”

               You rooted around in Steve’s wallet, pulling out a handful of hundred dollar bills and holding them out to him.

               “I can pay you $500 now, and I’ll give you $500 more once we get there.”

               It only took the cab driver a second before he put the car in drive and started heading down the street, rolling down the partition to accept the cash.

               “Jeez, lady, you must be in some kind of trouble,” he sighed. You leaned your head back, the gravity of what you’d just done weighing heavily on your shoulders.

               “Not anymore,” you replied. “Not anymore.”

[back-and-totheleft]

“Make it for the soldiers”

The three-time Oscar winner is back with a new book—Chasing the Light: Writing, Directing, and Surviving Platoon, Midnight Express, Scarface, Salvador, and the Movie Game—and turning its pages is like entering a Stone movie. The one-time infantryman had a single condition in granting HUSTLER this Q&A: “Make it for the soldiers. You’ve got to make it interesting to them.” Movie stars are often household names, but Oliver Stone is one of the few screenwriters and directors to have a high public profile. Now he’s released a new book, and it’s a rip-roaring, rollicking read, full of tense drama and trauma. The 342-page memoir focuses on Stone’s life through the age of 40 and sheds light on what forged Hollywood’s movie maverick and makes him tick.

After the Allies liberated Paris, his father—Colonel Louis Stone, who served on General Eisenhower’s staff—met the Parisian Jacqueline Pauline Cezarine Goddet. In December 1945 they married, which Stone wryly writes was “possibly the greatest mistakes of their lives,” and sailed from France to live in New York, where Louis, a Yale graduate, resumed his Wall Street career as a stockbroker. Stone reveals how their divorce affected him and, for the first time ever, describes in detail his combat experiences in Vietnam, where he was awarded the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. Coming under fire in Indochina’s jungles ignited an intense mistrust of government and hatred of war that actually compelled Stone to become a filmmaker. As the Chasing the Light subtitle indicates, the book zooms in on four movies and provides a behind-the-scenes peek at Stone’s maneuvering through Tinseltown’s machinations. Stone scored his first Hollywood triumphs as the screenwriter of 1978’s Midnight Express, winning an Oscar and a Golden Globe. Like his script for 1983’s Scarface, Midnight Express lampooned the so-called War on Drugs. This set the stage for Stone to tackle President Reagan’s secret war in Central America with 1986’s hard-hitting Salvador, followed later that same year by his grunt’s-eye view on the Vietnam War, the no-holds-barred Platoon. At the 1987 Academy Awards ceremony, Stone was in the rare enviable position of competing against himself in the Best Writing, Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen category for both Salvador and Platoon. Although he won neither, his boyhood idol Elizabeth Taylor did give Stone the Best Director Oscar for Platoon, which also won for Best Picture. The book’s curtain closes as Stone earns his sublime moment in the limelight, emerging as one of the movie industry’s most celebrated writer-directors of all time. His future body of work—1987’s Wall Street, 1991’s The Doors and JFK through 2016’s Snowden—are only mentioned in passing, if at all. An exception is 1989’s Best Picture-nominated Born on the Fourth of July, for which Stone was awarded his second Best Director Oscar, for helming this searing cinematic biopic about maimed Vietnam War vet Ron Kovic, whose relationship with Stone began during the period his memoir covers. HUSTLER interviewed Stone when he returned to Los Angeles in between trips to Europe to promote his book. In this candid conversation Stone opens up about the Vietnam War, drugs, censorship, Edward Snowden, Larry Flynt, Jackie Kennedy, his new Kennedy assassination film and so much more. HUSTLER: How did Chasing the Light come about? Did you write any of it while sheltering in place? OLIVER STONE: No. I was finishing up in that phase. I wrote it over two years. It was final draft, checking things, draft edits, around February, March… I was working on other things, documentaries and so forth. In your memoir you write about your time in Vietnam. Have you recounted those personal experiences extensively before? No. No, I haven’t. In interviews I’ve shared some of it. But no, this is all fresh material. The movies were dramatic presentations. I talk about Born on the Fourth of July and my relationship with Ron Kovic [the paralyzed Vietnam War vet portrayed by Tom Cruise in the 1989 feature]. And a lot about Platoon. Because both were written in 1976 [the year Kovic’s book was published], which falls in the period I’m covering in Chasing the Light, up to 1986. They play a significant role—the failures of those two films to get made haunted me. You were wounded twice in Vietnam—where you served with distinction as an infantryman, winning a Bronze Star and Purple Heart. So what do you think about President Trump allegedly calling dead soldiers “losers” and “suckers” and stating that military parades should exclude wounded vets? It’s a strange statement. I don’t know if he made it, but it sounds very bizarre. Obviously, I don’t agree with it. On the other hand, I don’t believe we should be over-glorifying our veterans either, because that leads to other sets of problems, which we’ve seen in the spate of recent wars. To prepare for this interview, I watched Scarface again. In your book you mention that you were probably conceived in Europe, your mom was an immigrant from France, and it struck me that Scarface is very much an immigrant’s saga. How do you view the Trump/Stephen Miller immigration and refugee policies? I abhor them. I do believe in immigration—it’s what the American way is about. This country has been built on immigration. Even in this lifetime of mine we’ve had such a new spate of immigration from different countries, Third World, Asia. It’s remarkable. In Scarface we talk about Latin Americans who are coming into Miami, some good, some bad. It’s a rich mix, and that’s what had given America its experimental nature. There’s no fixed America in my mind. It’s 250 years—it’s a constantly changing soup. Scarface, like Midnight Express, is drug-themed. Your memoir is quite candid about your own use of substances. What do you think of the War on Drugs? Who won? [Laughs.] It’s a ludicrous objective. It should not be called a “war.” Listen, I partook of drugs. I’ve been very honest about it. It started for me in Vietnam. I smoked it in the base camps, in the rear, when we came back. I smoked it to relax. I go into the reasons for it. It helped me get through that war as a human being. Very important to me. I respect it. I also talk about drug use later on in my life, like cocaine—which I don’t think worked for me at all, and I said why. So I’m on both sides of it. But I do think it’s an individual issue, of individual responsibility and education. The treatment for it is not punishment but hospitalization or medical help or psychiatric help. The War on Drugs is a waste of money, and again, it’s political. I saw that in Scarface, the birth of the Drug Enforcement [Administration]—very political, huge budgets; it’s growing every year. The Reagan war and all that—they call it a war. Everything in America is a war. But we don’t win any one of them. Have you encountered political censorship in Hollywood for your movies’ dissident politics over the years? You posit that Henry Kissinger and Alexander Haig being on MGM’s board may have affected an early effort to make Platoon. Yes. It’s been a long haul. And I emphasize the word may, because you never know when they turn it down. They never tell you, “It’s because of political reasons that we don’t want to make your film.” They never say that. They couch it in economic terms or, “This is too depressing.” “It’s blah-blah A, B or C.” You never know. In this case, it was a very easy deal for them to make. Dino De Laurentiis was behind it—as my producer he was financing the film. MGM had a distribution deal with Mr. De Laurentiis, and they didn’t live up to it. He was making very risky movies at that time, like Blue Velvet. MGM had to make a minimal investment in distribution costs, and they did not do it. Why? Well, I would assume that the president of MGM at the time, Frank Yablans, said that he had gone to the board and they had turned [Platoon] down, but I’m not sure he’s telling the truth. Because they sometimes don’t even bother to go to the board because they don’t want to take any heat. On the board, of course, were two very conservative men on Vietnam who I’d classify as war hawks. So, I mean, it became a political issue. I do believe that; I have no proof. Also, the Pentagon passed on the film, calling it completely unrealistic. This is an important issue because the movie is realistic. I was there, and I saw it on the ground. I was in four different platoons, in four different units, in three combat platoons. I served in the south and in the north and saw quite a bit of action. And I’m telling you, three things I wrote in the book, about the three lies in Vietnam, I believe apply even today to all fought wars. One is friendly fire. American soldiers get killed by their own side, by small arms fire, artillery and bombs. It’s not precision bombing. About 20 percent of the casualties, wounded and dead, comes from friendly fire. This is a very important point, because it is buried over and over again by the Pentagon in their after-action reports. Recently, the Arizona Cardinals’ Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan, and there was a whole mess in trying to get to the reasons for his death. Of course, that was a celebrity-type killing, but this goes on all the time in every war. In Vietnam, in the jungle, you can imagine the asymmetric aspect of it. When fire happens, you don’t even know where the fire is coming from. People are firing—you don’t know if it’s coming in or out. And various things like that are happening all the time. I believe my first wound came about through friendly fire. The second lie I talked about was killing civilians, trashing villages. Racism was really a huge factor in that. We treated the civilians mostly as enemies, as people who were supporting the enemy. [Secretary of Defense] Robert McNamara estimated three to four million Vietnamese killed. The third lie, the biggest one of all: “We’re winning the war.” We heard that lie again and again and again. It was fed to the American people. Even from the beginning, we never had a chance. In Neil Sheehan’s book A Bright Shining Lie, [Lieutenant Colonel] John Paul Vann made it really clear, in 1962 this was a hopeless situation, a hopeless war, because true patriotism was to fight for your country. This was a war, as he said, of independence that was fought against us as colonizers in the wake of the French. Inflating body counts, lying about enemy movements, CIA involvement in the war, no question about it. Misguiding the war. Often bad information, among other things, about the My Lai massacre in March 1968, when 500-plus villagers were killed in cold blood by [U.S.] units who were told that the enemy would be in the village. Not a single enemy bullet was fired in that whole day. And this was investigated by the Army itself, by an honest [lieutenant] general named [William Ray] Peers. He didn’t believe it at first. He thought it was bullshit, that the Seymour Hersh revelations were bullshit. He went in there and investigated thoroughly and came up with the conclusion. That’s what my movie I wanted to make on the My Lai massacre is about. He indicted 20-plus officers all the way up to the top of that division. He indicted the general of that division for his negligence. It’s a disgusting story. But it happens all the time in war and is covered up. Covered up for the dignity of the family, for the dignity of the death and so forth and so on. “How can you criticize the military?” You know, that horrible kind of righteousness, which prevents us from seeing what war is. Although you’re a decorated Vietnam veteran, the Pentagon denied you any support for Platoon—and, I assume, for your other Vietnam War-related movies. Yes, that’s correct. But other directors such as, say, Michael Bay, who never served in the military but who make pro-war, pro-military films, are given permission to shoot at U.S. bases, use of armed services personnel, access to high-tech equipment, etc. What do you make of this double standard? Does it violate the First Amendment? I don’t know about that, but it’s certainly a violation of morality. It’s much bigger than Michael Bay—there’s a book that came out in 2017, National Security Cinema: The Shocking New Evidence of Government Control in Hollywood by Matthew Alford and Tom Secker. James DiEugenio, who works with me, has covered this issue separately in another book, Reclaiming Parkland. These two books cover the involvement of the Pentagon in Hollywood. Alford and his coauthor talk about 800-plus films that were made with Pentagon cooperation. You’d be stunned at some of the films made. Among case studies are Pearl Harbor, Black Hawk Down—which is basically a whitewashing of the affair in Somalia—Charlie Wilson’s War, Hotel Rwanda, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Rules of Engagement, The Terminator, 13 Days, United 93, Wag the Dog. Talks about people like Tom Clancy, of course a big military supporter, and the CIA too. TV series such as Alias, Homeland and 24—which had a tremendous effect on the American public in glorifying the CIA, making it seem like it was a backstop for our security, which is a lie too. It undermined our security. All this is much bigger than Michael Bay. In Chasing the Light you mention “surveillance” a number of times, and of course you made 2016’s Snowden. On September 2, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit ruled that the NSA’s warrantless mass surveillance—which Edward Snowden exposed—was illegal and possibly unconstitutional. What do you think of that, and what should happen to Snowden now? [Laughs.] It’s obviously correct. Snowden should be brought back to the country. I don’t know if he should be pardoned for his wrongs—because he never did anything wrong. He should be pardoned immediately, as should [WikiLeaks’] Julian Assange. The fact is, the NSA has been breaking the law for so many years. We owe it to George Bush and that administration. That was reported on as early as around 2004, but buried by The New York Times until after the election. The Pentagon Papers was released by The Times because they hated Nixon, but I guess with Bush, they gave him a pass. Terrible. It [NSA’s bulk surveillance] has resulted in this sense of unease—you’re always monitored, we have to check our behavior, we’re under control. This is a disaster for the world. Also, other countries have responded accordingly. The World Wide Web is very dangerous. It goes back to the worst days of J. Edgar Hoover. Free speech is a recurring theme in a number of your films. How were you involved in the making of 1996’s The People vs. Larry Flynt? I was a producer. It was written by Larry Karaszewski and Scott Alexander. It was their script. Milos Forman developed it with them. I did feel that Larry Flynt had a case—he won the case [against Reverend Jerry Falwell Sr.]. I’m glad. I’m proud of the movie. After Platoon was released, you quote Jacqueline Kennedy, who wrote you and said, “Your film has changed the direction of a country’s thinking.” Your movies presented a counter-narrative to the Reagan regime’s reactionary agenda. Modesty aside, do you think that Salvador, Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July may have helped stop Reagan and Bush from turning their Contra Wars in Central America into full-fledged Vietnam-like invasions? I don’t believe that they did. What happened was the fortuitous fuckup by the CIA when Eugene Hasenfus was captured after his plane was shot down. He was a contractor—he was in Nicaragua supplying [weapons to the U.S.-backed anti-Sandinista Contras]. It leads to the larger story of Oliver North, Reagan, George Herbert [Walker] Bush and the Iran-Contra affair. That’s what stalled them. Not that it was revealed in its entirety—that’s another story, of course, that’s been buried by The Washington Post’s Katharine Graham, who has been lionized in another kind of movie. But basically that scandal at least was enough to stop the momentum of an invasion, and Reagan did not have the power, the ability, the credibility anymore after October ’86. Which of course helped Platoon too, because it came out right in that juncture, and that revived Salvador, which was rereleased. Both films had an impact, but whether that would have changed the course of Reagan without the accident with the CIA—I don’t think so. Tell us about your new film, JFK: Destiny Betrayed. It’s a four-hour documentary, and it has the facts. More facts than ever. We deal with everything that happened after—in terms of documentation—since [JFK] came out in 1991. Very interesting. Because the assassination records review board, which was created from the JFK film with the JFK [Records] Act—although it was stymied by many restrictions, it did manage to release a fair amount of documents. Not all. And in those documents there’s quite a bit of information, including, of course, Operation Northwoods, that the Pentagon was operating to undercut Cuba. What are some of the highlights you learned since 1991 about the liquidation of President Kennedy? Well, I think you have to wait for the movie. [Laughs.] But certainly the ties of [Lee Harvey] Oswald to the CIA. That’s more explicit. Certainly, the evidence. We revisit the original evidence presented by Mark Lane but with new witnesses; new characters have come forward. Many people [didn’t] talk, but they start talking after the movie in the 1990s…People talk. All these informational signals come from all directions. You explain that your book title, Chasing the Light, refers to a moviemaking term. But does it also allude to your personal quest for enlightenment? And if so, have you attained it yet? Well, I’m much older [now] than when the book ends. But certainly that is an important moment, in 1986. After wanting to achieve a dream of writing and directing since I was 22 and being rejected and defeated many times, having some success along the way, and after having almost given up at 30—finally, at the age of 40, I really had a breakthrough of major proportions, with two solid movies back to back that really convinced the world, as well as myself, that I was a writer-director. It was a core victory for me and an important fact. That sets the tone for the foundation of my character. There’s going to be changes, more detours, pushes and turns in the story, but certainly, it’s established in 1986. So your memoir ends in 1987. That means a lot of your other classics are yet to come. So, in that grand Hollywood tradition, will there be a sequel to Chasing the Light? Well, I hope so. I do hope so. I hope the book does well enough to justify it. What’s next for you? I have two documentaries. One is the JFK documentary, four hours long, that won’t be out for a year. Another one is unedited, about the future, the need for clean energy, which includes nuclear energy. It’s based on a book I bought called A Bright Future: How Some Countries Have Solved Climate Change and the Rest Can Follow, by Joshua Goldstein and a Swedish scientist, Staffan A. Qvist. I understand you’re traveling these days. I’m about to promote the book in Paris. I just came back from Italy, France and Germany… It was big in Italy—they loved me. [Laughs.] Much better than in the United States.

-Ed Rampell, Hustler, Jan 16 2021

[creepingsharia]

California: Muslim Convert Who Bought Guns Used in the San Bernardino Jihad Attack Gets 20-Year Sentence

14 people were killed in the jihad attacks by a Muslim husband and wife.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Friday, October 23, 2020

Riverside, California Man Who Admitted Planning Mass Casualty Attacks and Purchasing Firearms Later Used in 2015 Terrorist Attack in San Bernardino Ordered to Serve 20-Year Federal Prison Sentence

A Riverside man was sentenced today to 20 years in federal prison for conspiring to commit terrorist attacks in the Inland Empire and for providing assault rifles later used in the 2015 San Bernardino terrorist attack that killed 14 people.

Enrique Marquez Jr., 28, was sentenced today by U.S. District Judge Jesus Bernal.

Today’s sentencing concludes a case in which Marquez pleaded guilty in 2017 to conspiracy to provide material support and resources to terrorists, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 2339A. In the plea agreement and in open court, Marquez admitted that he conspired with Syed Rizwan Farook in 2011 and 2012 to attack Riverside City College (RCC) and commuter traffic on the 91 Freeway.

Marquez also pleaded guilty to making false statements in connection with the acquisition of firearms, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 922 (a)(6), by serving as the “straw buyer” of two assault rifles that he provided to Farook. More than three years later, Farook and his wife used those rifles in the shooting rampage at the San Bernardino Inland Regional Center (IRC) on Dec. 2, 2015. Hours later, both Farook and his wife were killed by law enforcement, ending what at the time was the worst terrorist attack on American soil since 9/11.

The investigation into the deadly shooting at the IRC quickly uncovered evidence that, in 2011 and 2012, Marquez purchased two rifles that Farook and his wife used in the IRC attack. According to Marquez’s plea agreement, Farook paid Marquez for the rifles. Marquez also discussed with Farook the use of radio-controlled improvised explosive devices (IEDs) during the planned attacks on RCC and State Route 91. Marquez admitted purchasing Christmas tree lightbulbs and a container of smokeless powder for use in manufacturing IEDs.

Prosecutors argued in a sentencing memorandum filed last week that Marquez “was a full, willing, and motivated participant of the conspiracy who not only provided the agreement necessary for the conspiracy to attack RCC and SR-91, but also co-designed the attacks with Farook, purchased the two firearms and ammunition to facilitate the attacks, researched bomb making and obtained explosive powder and other bomb-making materials, and visited RCC and SR-91 to sketch out how he and Farook would attack the two locations to maximize casualties.”

Marquez was arrested about two weeks after the IRC terrorist attack and has remained in custody ever since his first court appearance on Dec. 17, 2015. In imposing today’s sentence, Judge Bernal denied Marquez’s request for a five-year sentence, which essentially would have been a time-served sentence that soon would have resulted in his release from custody. In court documents, prosecutors called this request an attempt to “downplay the seriousness of his actions, and skirt that his actions contributed to the mass killing and injuring of innocent people in San Bernardino just a few years later.”

...

Also as a result of the investigation into the IRC attack, three people have pleaded guilty to being part of a sham marriage scheme in which a Russian woman “married” Marquez to obtain immigration benefits. Syed Raheel Farook, the brother of IRC attacker Syed Rizwan Farook; Tatiana Farook, who is Syed Raheel Farook’s wife; and Mariya Chernykh, who is Tatiana Farook’s sister, pleaded guilty to immigration fraud charges and admitted being part of conspiracy in which Chernykh paid Marquez to enter into a bogus marriage. The three defendants in the marriage fraud case are scheduled to be sentenced early next year.

In another case stemming from the investigation, the mother of Syed Rizwan Farook pleaded guilty in March to a federal criminal charge of intending to impede the federal criminal investigation by shredding a map her son made in connection with the attack. Rafia Sultana Shareef, a.k.a. Rafia Farook, of Corona, is currently scheduled to be sentenced by Judge Bernal on November 16.

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Marquez converted to Islam and plotted jihad attacks with Farook, as detailed in the affadavit and this 2015 DOJ press release.

According to the affidavit, in approximately 2005, Marquez moved to Riverside, where he met Farook, who was his next-door neighbor.  After their initial meeting, Farook introduced Marquez to Islam, and, in 2007, Marquez converted to Islam.  Farook later introduced Marquez to radical Islamic ideology, which included expressing disdain towards Muslims in the U.S. military who killed other Muslims, as well as discussing the extremist views of the now-deceased imam and Islamic lecturer Anwar al-Aulaqi.  Over the next few years, Farook provided Marquez with radical Islamic materials, and by 2011, Marquez spent most of his time at Farook’s residence listening to lectures and watching videos involving radical Islamic content.  Those materials included Inspire Magazine, the official publication of Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP), and videos produced by Al-Shabaab.  In August 2011, Farook informed Marquez of his interest in joining AQAP in Yemen.

In late 2011, according to the affidavit, Marquez and Farook started planning to use firearms and explosives to carry out terrorist acts – attacks that Marquez told investigators were designed to maximize the number of casualties that could be inflicted.  The affidavit recounts a recent interview with Marquez in which he admitted making plans with Farook to attack the library or cafeteria at Riverside Community College (RCC), where both men had been students.  The plan allegedly was to throw pipe bombs into the cafeteria area from an elevated position on the second floor, and then to shoot people as they fled.

Marquez and Farook also planned to attack eastbound lanes of State Route 91 (SR-91) during afternoon rush hour, the affidavit states.  Marquez told investigators that they chose a particular section of the freeway because there were no exits, which would increase the number of targets in the eastbound lanes.  The plan was for Farook to throw pipe bombs on to the freeway, which they believed would disable vehicles and stop traffic.  Farook allegedly planned to then move among stopped vehicles, shooting into them, while Marquez shot into vehicles from a position on a nearby hillside.  Marquez allegedly said that he would watch for law enforcement and emergency vehicles, and his priority was to shoot law enforcement before shooting life-saving personnel.

Marquez Complaint

[seachranaidhe]

Seams McGrane jailed for 11.5 years on directing IRA activities charge.

A Republican leader convicted of directing the activities of a terrorist organisation which plotted an explosion during the State visit of Britain’s Prince Charles two years ago has been jailed for eleven and a half years. Seamus McGrane (63), of Little Road, Dromiskin, County Louth, was convicted in October by the non-jury Special Criminal Court of directing the activities of an unlawful…

[sumukhcomedy]

Should We Silence Bad Comedy?

I stopped writing in this at the end of last year mostly because I was sick about writing about comedy. This is time-consuming and I had other things to work on and the criticism and opinions of comedy have started to feel far more hack than comedy itself can be. But going on the road and doing comedy this past year, a number of different comedians and audience members brought up this blog and so I figured that, when I felt like it, I’d still post in this again. As you’ll see, given the numerous links to previous essays I’ve written, I’m writing yet again about topics I’ve already written about before but it’s only because comedy, comedians, and the mostly meaningless debate over it continues to get worse.

The most recent debates conjure up what continues to be the crux of comedy’s biggest current issue with simple terms like “free speech,” “PC,” “woke,” etc. just being thrown around with little care for an in-depth analysis of what these mean and how they mean different things to different people. This rears its head yet again with the recent Netflix specials of Dave Chappelle and Bill Burr and the firing of Shane Gillis by Saturday Night Live. It’s a strange moment in which those at the top of stand-up comedy and certain comedians on the rise are being lumped together over these issues and it’s created a muddied mess. The perspective I have and that I wish others had was that we should all think deeper on this and fall somewhere in the middle.

I’m not going to get much into the Shane Gillis situation mostly because I don’t care. I didn’t read much about it and I got the gist of what happened and that’s all that’s really needed at this point in a case of creating something likely very stupid that masks itself as comedy. If you’re in comedy long enough, you understand that it’s a business like everything else. For as “unique” or “alternative” or “fearless” as your comedy may be or you perceive it to be, it still will be scrutinized by corporate interests. SNL still has to abide by the cultural phenomenon it has become and that it is part of a corporate juggernaut. All Gillis had to do was play the usual card that comes with public relations and apologize in an appropriate manner. As most stories do, this would have all blown over and been forgotten about in a week or less. He chose not to apologize appropriately. He was fired as a result. That was his choice to double down on what seems to be both his past and his present and his support of what I can only perceive to be bad, unfunny, and uncreative comedy.

Chappelle and Burr are at a different level because they’ve earned it and, unfortunately, they get a huge brunt of it because they are famous and the expectations associated with them are so high. Why Chappelle doubled down on making jokes at the expense of the trans community or why he did a hack impression of a Chinese man in his most recent Netflix special is beyond me. Why Burr chooses to rail yet again at audiences being offended by what he says is beyond me as well especially when he’s mentioned this in a previous special in a much funnier manner. It seems only like they’ve lived at the top in comedy for so long and are now irritated by unnecessary criticism. In some sense, it’s understandable. But, for the most part, it seems just as unnecessary as the poor criticism. Why create uninventive comedy based out of anger towards audiences that, for whatever reason, don’t like you anyway rather than create comedy that’s observational and hilarious and was what made you considered the best in the business? I have no clue but this is at least where part of the material in Chappelle and Burr’s recent specials are at. 

                               Sprinkle some crack on this impression.

But the types of individuals that seem to draw the ire of Chappelle and Burr and went after Gillis as well are equally bizarre to me. The fact that our culture has some sort of desire to tear down comedy or that it should fit some sort of “good” and “sensitive” mold for all is strange as well. It speaks to these individuals not actually having a knowledge of how comedy, business, and most of this country operates. Forcing someone into experiencing how comedy should be experienced and what kind of comedy they are allowed to like doesn’t change them. Making an effort to “cancel” a person simply because their comedy is in poor taste doesn’t particularly resolve anything other than to embolden those that support such bad comedy. This, to me, isn’t the way to change minds, implement diverse perspectives, or educate people in comedy. But, I’m not the loudest person in the room or a part of the masses of either side in this issue. Most sound and reasonable comedians and audience members aren’t a part of this conversation because we’re, shockingly, creating and enjoying good comedy. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Chappelle is one of the greats to me. Killin’ Them Softly was one of, if not the, most influential comedy specials on me. I still love him and thinks he’s hilarious. It doesn’t mean that I support his jokes about the trans community or find them funny. It doesn’t mean I understand why he did or talked about some of the things he talked about in his most recent special. As friend Curtis Cook put it best on Twitter, “Dave Chappelle is kinda my idol ‘cause it’s always been my goal to walk away from 50 million dollars after realizing audiences are laughing in a way that belittles the struggles of my people then return a decade later to make that money back by belittling the struggles of others.” I can’t explain why Chappelle said or does what he does on a stage now but it’s his right he’s earned and there’s certainly a lot of money involved in it.

Regardless, I also laughed hard at certain parts in his special. The stuff about R. Kelly, gun control, and Jussie Smollett were vintage Chappelle to me. Is it his best special? No. Is he becoming old and detached? Likely. Does it mean I dislike him and kick his entire comedy to the curb? (No, or at least not yet unless some horrible, illegal stuff comes out about him). The same goes for Burr.

Gillis, on the other hand, was fired for statements he said that have been around for as long as comedy has existed. Bad comedy that punches down, is uninventive, and involves slurs will persist. I can say that because I have traveled the country for over a decade doing stand-up comedy and the audiences for that are there. They are there because people’s perspectives on comedy still are mostly in that realm either because they haven’t been exposed much to quality, creative comedy, they haven’t gone out of their comfort zone in life or comedy so bad comedy is all they know, or they are, frankly, just dumb people. But, as I mentioned, I don’t think you have the potential for changing people with comedy by forcing a certain type of experience on them. You change them by providing them with a different option and hope they enjoy it and learn from it. In many cases, they do not, but when they do, it’s far more rewarding as a performer to do that than to spend time making sure some guy you don’t know who probably sucks at comedy anyway gets fired from a job.

In my approach to comedy, I want to experience as many different types of audiences as possible. That’s just me. Comedy has always been segregated because our nation is still unraveling from a history of segregation. And I can at least say, having the opportunity to perform in a variety of different places, that there are equal amounts of bad comedy in all of them. There is bad comedy in comedy clubs (most of it). There is bad comedy in small towns (most of it). There is bad comedy in corporate events (most of it). There is bad comedy in alternative rooms (most of it). There is bad “ethnic” comedy (most of it). Maybe my comedy is bad to you, too! That’s just part of it all. And as we supposedly attempt progression in society, through the Internet and this discussion and debate on comedy, we are actually segregating ourselves even more than how segregated comedy rooms already are.

Look, I’ve been shit on for my race and who I am my entire life. I’ve been told by bookers that my material will “sail over their audience’s heads.” I’ve also been booked where I watched my comedy “sail over an audience’s head” and bomb horribly. I’ve also been booked and appreciated immensely by audiences. I’ve had the opportunity to headline really great rooms and open for really great comedians that I respect and that are now friends. All of that doesn’t happen without allowing myself to experience all aspects of comedy, take some shit and unnecessary criticism in life and comedy, and be better personally for it. Whether audiences will be better for it is up to them. Whether my fellow comedians choose to do this and try to be better is up to them as well. But, right now, we’re just in a vicious circle (thanks Dane Cook!) over this topic of bad comedy and the defense of bad comedy that makes all of comedy look dumber than its audiences. From my perspective, we shouldn’t silence bad comedy. It only energizes those that love and defend it. We should actually be continuing to create better comedy than it and hope it can change others. It probably won’t but whatever. It’s better than bitching constantly about the same topics over and over again but, then again, that appears to be what we’re fighting over in comedy: the ability to tell hacky stuff in our specific comedy room of choice and defend those we don’t even know to be able to do the same thing.

Laughter is a unique thing because it’s an emotion we can all have as humans. We all can experience it in whatever way we like and we’re bonded together by it. What prompts laughter for each person is different just as what leads to our other emotions are different as well among each of us. We shouldn’t condemn people for laughing just as we shouldn’t condemn them for crying or getting angry at a moment they likely shouldn’t have. We should try to educate them or make them laugh at something better just as we try to make our other emotions like sadness or anger better in other parts of our lives. If trying to make better comedy or these types of people laugh fails, then we move on. They’re left to live in whatever hole they would like with comedy. But there are plenty of people open to being better with comedy. Unfortunately, for now, comedians and their audiences are so caught up in a defense or condemnation of comedy in its most uncreative forms that they aren’t actually looking at why they appreciate comedy to begin with.

[bountyofbeads]

Rise of far-right violence leads some to call for realignment of post-9/11 national security priorities

https://wapo.st/2OIbVFr

If I've said it once I've said it a million times, Donald Trump is a NATIONAL SECURITY THREAT to the citizens of the United States. This was TOTALLY PREDICTABLE.

"Trump’s refusal to acknowledge Russian interference in U.S. politics has also contributed to the far right’s rise, experts said. Since at least 2015, Moscow’s destabilization efforts have included sweeping online operations aimed at sowing racial division in the United States by promoting the positions of white nationalists."

"The main obstacle to mobilizing against the white supremacist threat, officials said, may be political. Trump on Monday denounced the alleged white nationalist sentiments of the suspected killer in El Paso. But his presidency has come to be defined by policies that are aligned with aspects of the white nationalist agenda and his penchant for fanning racial animus."

Rise of far-right violence leads some to call for realignment of post-9/11 national security priorities

By Greg Miller | Published August 05 at 7:40 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 6, 2019 |

The United States continues to employ a staggering arsenal of armed forces, unmanned drones, intelligence agencies and sweeping domestic authorities to contain a threat — Islamist terrorism — that has claimed about 100 lives on American soil since the nation mobilized after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.

No remotely comparable array of national power has been directed against the threat now emerging from the far right, a loose but lethal collection of ideologies whose adherents have killed roughly the same number of people in the United States, post-9/11, as al-Qaeda and the Islamic State combined.

The disparity is a source of growing alarm for officials and experts, some of whom now say the United States is overdue for a realignment of national security priorities as violence on the far right escalates.

In the aftermath of a pair of attacks that left dozens dead or wounded in Texas and Ohio over the weekend, a roster of former high-ranking counterterrorism officials issued a statement Sunday saying that domestic terrorism should be treated “as high a priority as countering international terrorism has become since 9/11.”

Many experts say that the mobilization in the wake of the attacks on New York and Washington was effective and that the number of Americans killed by Islamist militants would be considerably higher were it not for the far-reaching measures adopted after 9/11 — a catastrophic al-Qaeda strike that killed nearly 3,000 people and whose impact still dwarfs any single episode of violence that has followed in the United States.

Still, the 22 people killed in El Paso on Saturday — after authorities allege the shooter posted a racist screed online — extended a series of at least five fatal attacks over the past year directed at targets selected for racial or religious reasons, including shootings at synagogues in San Diego and Pittsburgh. And 9/11 was preceded by a series of smaller al-Qaeda attacks and unaddressed alarms about the group that analysts say should caution current officials about the dangers of inaction.

The prospects for a change in course, however, appear limited — complicated by legal constraints, toxic American political currents and the amorphous nature of an adversary that has no dis­cern­ible structure or Osama bin Laden-like leader and has burrowed into corners of the Internet the way al-Qaeda once hid in the mountain redoubts of Afghanistan.

The grim statistics associated with these two strains of extremism have begun to converge.

The numbers of people killed in attacks linked to Islamist radicals or the far right in the United States since 2002 are virtually equivalent — 104 versus 109, respectively, according to data compiled by the think tank New America .

Protecting the public from the most pressing terrorist threat “has been our governing principle for many years now,” said Lisa Monaco, who served as the top counterterrorism adviser to President Barack Obama. Given the surge in attacks linked to the far right, she said, “we need to prioritize our resources and focus on this threat.”

In some ways, the opposite has occurred under President Trump.

Last year, the administration downgraded the position that Monaco previously held, meaning that the top counterterrorism adviser in the White House no longer reports directly to the president.

The administration has also curtailed or disbanded a Department of Homeland Security program that had been created to counter violent extremism by working with regional authorities and organizations to identify those vulnerable to radicalization, whether by Islamist groups or the far right.

The main obstacle to mobilizing against the white supremacist threat, officials said, may be political. Trump on Monday denounced the alleged white nationalist sentiments of the suspected killer in El Paso. But his presidency has come to be defined by policies that are aligned with aspects of the white nationalist agenda and his penchant for fanning racial animus.

“This both makes the mobilization more necessary and interferes with that mobilization,” said Dan Byman, a terrorism expert at Georgetown University and a former staff member of the 9/11 Commission. Trump’s words and actions, he said, amplify the danger by emboldening those with radical, racist views, while his signals of tolerance toward such groups — including his comments after violence in Charlottesville — undermine his subordinates’ ability to agree upon and organize around the threat.

Trump’s refusal to acknowledge Russian interference in U.S. politics has also contributed to the far right’s rise, experts said. Since at least 2015, Moscow’s destabilization efforts have included sweeping online operations aimed at sowing racial division in the United States by promoting the positions of white nationalists.

A social media study by researcher J.M. Berger concluded that far-right networks online are dominated by intersecting themes: “support for U.S. President Donald Trump, support for white nationalism, opposition to immigration (often framed in ­anti-Muslim terms).”

The latter is an area in which the response to 9/11 — with its wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and multibillion-dollar investments in border security aimed at blocking entry to radicalized Muslims — may have fostered xenophobic attitudes that contributed to the rise of the far right.

There are indications that U.S. national security agencies are beginning to shift toward the far-right threat. FBI Director Christopher A. Wray recently testified that the bureau had made about 100 domestic terrorism arrests in the past nine months and that “a majority of the domestic terrorism cases we’ve investigated are motivated by some version of what you might call white supremacist violence.”

But others said the almost singular reliance on the bureau to disrupt far-right networks — with little or no involvement of other agencies — underscores the extent to which the government has failed to adapt.

Nicholas Rasmussen, who served three years as director of the National Counterterrorism Center, said that attacks linked to al-Qaeda or the Islamic State — including the Boston bombings and the night club shooting in Orlando — were invariably followed by “all-hands” meetings at the White House. Among those assembled were often the heads of the Pentagon, the CIA, and the Treasury and State departments.

“But I suspect that didn’t happen this weekend at the White House,” Rasmussen said. “If it had happened in the Obama or Bush White Houses, I’m not sure it would have either. Because as soon as you hear ‘domestic,’ everybody reverts to ‘Well, the FBI has the ball.’ ” He added: “The FBI is hands down the best investigative law enforcement agency in the world, but asking them to take on this problem on their own makes no sense.”

A National Security Council spokesman declined to say whether any Cabinet-level meetings had taken place at the White House in the wake of the latest shootings, citing policy against such disclosures.

Even as the FBI has turned greater attention to domestic threats, federal investigators lack some of the legal tools they have to combat Islamist terrorism.

In cases involving al-Qaeda or the Islamic State, federal prosecutors can turn to a statute that makes it illegal to provide any “material support,” such as money or training, to a designated foreign terrorist group.

There is no comparable statute for domestic groups such as far-right extremists.

Ellen Nakashima contributed to this report.

[dyinghorizons-blog]

So about your family II - Innocent

Hey folks, figures I’d write this up and try to maybe make a little series out of it. Let me know what you think, good bad or ugly. Have at it.

——————

“You did what!?” Sendric exclaimed.

“We took a sample of his blood you collected and ran it through the GCSS medical database. There was a DNA match, so we did a data crawl on all information relating to that individual and took a chance,” Jack stated. “While he may look different, you can’t change your DNA. Hell, if he had fingerprints we would have examined those too, just to verify -“

“YOU CAN NOT DO THAT!” Sendric was furious. “DNA is the sole property of the individual, and under Directive 103.3 is -“

“You don’t do DNA matches because you feel they intrude on people’s privacy. Which is extremely shortsighted, and frankly my superiors and I are at a loss as to why you still refuse to use these types of measures when faced with terrorism on this scale. Additionally,” Jack continued, halting another interruption, “Humans are not a member of the GCSS, and therefore not under any obligation to follow your directives. We saw that you were having a problem similar to what we had decades ago. We offered to help. You accepted. So, if you want our continued assistance, maybe you should begin considering some methods you may find reprehensible are necessary.”

Sendric fumed. The audacity of this newcomer to the galactic stage was infuriating. Terrorist or not, privacy or not, there were strict laws governing the use of DNA. Namely that it should not be used. What if people started to alter DNA or program it?

“So how did you get the records anyway? That information is on a secure database. Not even I have access to that.”

“Secure? My understanding is it took less than 15 minutes for our hackers to break in, get the information, and get out,” Jack said simply.

“You broke in!? This is getting worse and worse...” Sendric was starting to get a headache. “Do you know how much trouble you and your organization is going to be in?”

“Not much. Legally we aren’t bound to follow your laws, you have nothing but my word that your systems were hacked, and in short order we will have all the information needed to start dismantling this terrorist organization for you. I think your superiors will gloss over some minor indiscretions.”

“You know what? Fine. But I’m making this a matter of official record. When the public hears about this, it’s going to be your head on the plate,” Sendric said. Maybe that will make the human work within the parameters of the law. Jack just shrugged and left, presumably to go back to terrorizing the detainee.

Spies. Criminals with a government paycheck. Sendric had heard that somewhere. He detested them. They listened to no one but their own consciousness and that was often times nonexistent.

He took a breath, turned to his terminal, and began typing up his report. He had to stop several times to get up and slink around his office to stop his emotions getting the better of him. He could make a personal note at the end of his report, but the body of it must be fact and nothing else.

—————————

“How did you find my family?” Jo’skar asked.

“Went to their last known address and took photos.” Jack said, putting on a confused look.

“I mean, how did you know they were my family?” Jo’skar was going to treat with this person very carefully. He was obviously very intelligent and dangerous. He threatened his family, after all.

“Ah. That, I think I will keep to myself for now. But, I think it’s time you start answering my questions.”

Or they will pay the price. Jo’skar grimaced. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

“You were a mining foreman before you joined the Rim Coalition. Why did you leave?” Jack asked.

Not the question I thought he would ask... “Because the Core takes all our hard work, all our resources, and uses it to better themselves while leaving us on the Rim with nothing.” He felt some anger ripple through him on that point, but he knew he couldn’t start spewing dogma at this man.

“I understand that...” Jack muttered under his breath, but Jo’skar heard him anyway.

“Is your species also on the Rim?” He ventured.

“More or less. Though a rather desolate part of it.”

“Every part on the Rim is desolate. That’s why what the Core is doing is wrong. That is why they have to be stopped!” Maybe he could make this being feel some sympathy for him. After all, they were both being exploited.

“Good thing my species keeps all their goods then.” And just like that, Jo’skar’s hopes were dashed.

“Why did you leave your family behind? They believe you died in an explosion at the mining site on Theranus VI. Why would you leave your family behind, and allow them to believe you died?” The interrogator asked this quietly, almost sympathetic. As if abandoning ones family was the worst thing one could do. And he was right. Except...

“They wouldn’t have been safe. I had to choose between them, or fighting for the entire Rim. You can’t have both in something like this.” Jo’skar hardened his heart. He would not breakdown at this.

“And so you actually take the lives of fathers and mothers, forcing them to abandon their families when they would rather not. You take that choice away from them,” the human said, but without malice or accusation. It was a statement of fact.

“They make their choice -“ he started.

“THEY MADE THEIR CHOICE TO LIVE AND TO LET LIVE!” The human stood up, slamming his fists on the table clearly furious. How quickly he switched between emotions was astounding. “They chose to live the best they can, not harming anyone. They follow the rules. They lived lives in peace, AND YOU ENDED THOSE LIVES!”

Jo’skar was feeling humiliated. And angry. “I only struck at those responsible for the theft of property of the Rim! I never once attacked innocents!”

The human opened the folder he had placed there earlier that day. On top was his photo, and small writing in a language Jo’skar couldn’t identify. His native language likely.

As the human flipped through, he noticed there were photos of places he had been in the last [15 years]. People he had met. Charts and graphs telling stories about him that Jo’skar had no way of knowing. The more he flipped, the more recent the photos appeared. Until...

“Ah, yes here we are. GCSS University. [2 years] ago. Law school. Judge Falind was to give the keynote speech to the graduating students. Do you remember this?” The human asked. Before Jo’skar could answer, he pressed on. “218 casualties. 44 deaths, the rest either severely wounded or critically maimed. And that’s just from the initial blast. Analysis on the blast radius, materials, and likely construction look shockingly similar to another bomb, one that you supposedly died in, and another recently recovered... in your possession nonetheless.”

Jo’skar was nervous now. He really did not bomb that building. He was simply transporting a bomb made by the Coalition. He said as much, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“So what I’m thinking now is that you didn’t care about the civilian casualties. The innocents harmed by your bomb.”

“I didn’t build that bomb!” Jo’skar said, hoping the man would listen to him. Yet the interrogation continued.

“I think you did. Explosives are used in mining. You were a mining foreman turned terrorist. Had access to the materials to build a bomb. It’s not hard to make the connection. You built that bomb, hurting 218 innocents for the sake of one person. An individual you deemed a threat. There were children...”

“I DIDN’T BUILD THAT BOMB!” Jo’skar shouted. “There are lots of miners in the Coalition. None of us ever built bombs before, we just know how to use them!”

“Then who the Hell built them? If not you, then who!?” The human was just as agitated as Jo’skar was.

“Some ex-military guy, I only met him once!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jo’skar was shamed. The human had calmed down immediately. His face no longer red, not breathing heavily. He smoothed his shirt down and sat.

“You’re not lying to me, are you Sar’aal? That would be a great shame for everyone involved.”

“I am not lying,” not even flinching at the sound of his true name, Jo’skar almost whispered it. How did he give such critical information to this person so easily? Wasn’t he supposed to be stronger than this? Maybe it was the innocent lives...

“...I believe you. And I will make sure my superiors believe you too.” Jo’skar took no comfort in that. “I need his name, Sar’aal.”

“Ven-tal. I am done with your questions now. Send me to the executioner. I have nothing else to provide you.” Jo’skar looked at the human. The human looked back at him.

“No. I think we can help each other, actually.”

#hfy #hwtf #thoughts #humansarespaceorcs

[a-for-alternative]

[B]’s Age: An Analysis ♰

Though B's age is never stated in canon material, the prevailing belief is that he is an adult in 2002. This is based Naomi’s first encounter with him [038-039 EN] under his Rue persona, describing him as a young man that is fairly tall. 

But, is it possible to make an guesstimate B’s age?

This considers his [1] physical attributes as described in DNAN, the potential for his age to be predicted by  [2] patterns within the LABB case itself, and predictors for when L became L to generate  [3] the first generation…

♰    — — Rue’s Attributes: — —    ♰

It is possible for B to have been younger or older than the age Naomi (then 26) perceived him as? -- It would be easy to assume, based on Naomi’s assessment, he must be older than an early teenager - probably in the later or final stages of puberty (16+)... However, B is under disguise and the extent of that disguise is not truly known.

♰  His Appearance:  The reader is lead from the point of introduction to draw parallels between B's appearance and L's.  Naomi herself has nothing to make the comparison with given that she has never met L. Despite meeting L in the final chapter of DN:AN, it states she thought she never met L [051]. With L being secretive and reclusive, he is the only one in the story (besides perhaps our narrator) that can appreciate the similarities and perhaps he does -- Upon their 2nd call, Naomi having just met the mysterious Rue, L make a rather odd inquiry, "Was he cool?" [055] This scene is most likely intended to inject some humor and not actually provide useful information. But to have him ask something like this leads one to assume that L indeed saw these similarities (the potential cameras at the crime scenes, is a subject for another post but statements made at scene 4 make it very likely). Though the fact that L could recognize their similaries is good evidence that he probably looked like a strange 20-something year old man... To whatever extend B resembles L, when Naomi encounters L in the subway, she does feel a sense of familiarity but does not seem to see them as remarkably identical. [172]  Her assessment of L can be summed up as a realization of how phony Rue looked in comparison.

♰  His Height: Naomi seems to see this person is fairly tall, though about 2 heads shorter due to his slouch. But, it is not stated if he is wearing shoes --even his height is not completely beyond question

♰  His voice: Naomi made no comment on his voice when he is caught off guard ( abruptly stepped on [119] and screaming in pain [152] ) this may be reliable indicator that he is at least not faking his voice and perhaps beyond puberty -- but that's based on what isn't rather than what is.

♰  Age restricted activities: Some also look to his ability to drive as an indication of age - specifically, license eligibility. Traveling from Winchester to LA, to acquire his multiple 'lairs' [095], and ultimately his placement in prison. But with Wammy's not knowing his name [117] he doesn't have an identity that exists on record -- essentially, if he does have identifying documents, the information wasn't necessarily accurate.

But, we can draw on other information.

♰    — — Patterns in the LABB Case — —    ♰

Within the case B constructed and even within the date of this death, there are 13’s everywhere.

The days that the victims are to die make a single B, the months make a single L (July) or BB (August). Notice that DNAN ends on ch.7 with an L as the cover and that volume 7 is L upside down… 7, an upside down L.

The day upon which Beyond dies, both the day and month together make a single B.

The pattern of days – 9 days, 4 days, 9 days , 9 days – make a 13 and then total to make a 31.

Even the ages of the victims first begin with 44 (1+3 1+3) then 13, then 28 which is in the middle of the previous 2.

… The only factor that does not go cleanly into a 13 is that middle age 28,     28 could be read as 2  4 + 4 —>  2   1+3 1+3

If we speculate that the ages have a pattern that would lead to 13 then 28 needs something to complete it. 

Could 28 add up to another 13, if we used the next age (B’s age) ?

Since Beyond is not going to be laying face down at death, and does not have the initials QQ, we can assume he is an adult (based on the patterned of the other victims).    That means we have these possibilities:  20, 29, 33

Which best fits?

Each has potential though it is 20 and 33 that fit best,

20 allows us to get to 4 – B is the 4th victim and 4 is very special because it not only is 1+3 but it sounds like death (死). It also allows for us to continue the pattern that this age will be between the previous two victims ages.

33 allows us to get two 13s which completes the pattern of the adults having two 13s and the one child having only one.

The ages added up – 105, 114, 108 could be read as dates: 

1/5 || 10/5 ,  1/14 || 11/14 , 1/8  || 10/8   --- These dates could be factored into something significant though that could be too much speculation…

[20] 1/5 || 10/5 – The day L looks over the FBI agents deaths in videos – 1 month before L’s death, 2 months before Mello leaves Wammy’s – If flipped you get May 1, the month B runs away – If flipped to get May 10th and assume B runs away on this day, then we get 620 days until his death (62 = 31 + 31).

[29] 1/14 || 11/14 – 0 nothing – A day before Light takes over as 'L’ – four days after Mello’s name is revealed and he blows up his base

[33] 1/8  || 10/8 – The Yagamis are put under L’s surveillance – Matsuda fakes his death – NPA director is abducted by Mello’s Mafia members

♰    — — The First Generation — —    ♰

B was brought into Wammy's at an unknown age but, given that Wammy's did not know his name [117], his identity was probably discarded because he was an experimental successor for L. --- he was brought with that purpose in mind.

---- This is important because it means he probably wasn't brought in until L became L, the detective.

It is worth noting that in L: Change the World (Novel), mentions DNAN and is credited to “M”.  It states, “...Only one serving a purpose above all others, gathering particularly intelligent children regardless of nationality, race, or gender -- The Wammys House. Not serving as a formal academic institution, Wammy's House invites professors, researchers, and specialists from around the world to give the chilkdren instruction befitting their abilities and potentials. The ultimate purpose of these child is to serve as safe gaurds of the world."  [013]  From this, we can gather that these children must not arrive with identities, because obviously their peers and instructors would remember these true names, if they were later selected to become a letter (K in this novel only learns she has earned her letter years after running away at 16 and her name is not the factor that clues L into who she is and her history, coming from Wammys House. This means they probably did not have a record of her name, or L during his confrontation with her would have already known who she is. Additionally, this might explain why Matt also doesn’t seem to have a name on official files. Volume 8 also states the same that DNAN does, that Wammy’s does not know the names of these children.

One thing worth mentioning in regards to true-names that can be  written in the death note, is that it does NOT need to be legal or official or name designated at birth. In "Death Note: New Generation" Episode 3, a new Kira is trying and fails to kill the murderer of a 7 year old child. This person's legal, documented, birth-name is not their true name. This is because this person is trying to leave that part of their past behind and has taken on a new name, this is a name that they identity with, not the name that is legally documented for them.  This former killer, has changed their surname and it is only by using this undocumented surname that Kira is able to kill them.

This means that when B entered Wammy’s, he not only had no documented name but also if he did rename himself, it could become his true name -- regardless of any formal documentation, legal identity, or given birth name that had existed.

DN:AN & L: FILE № 15 offer a general idea of when that occurred.

Mello was originally going to talk about 3 stories: (1) LABB, (2) Watari meeting L, and (3) the bioterror case in which L obtained the code names of Eraldo Coil and Deneuve. (X, Y, and Z making a guest appearance). [170] 

►   “...そして世界一の発明家キルシュ・ワイミーことワタリと、 当時推定八歳のLとの出会いー世紀の名探偵L誕生の きっかけとなった、第三次世界大戦をすんでのところで 食い止めたウィンチェスター爆弾魔事件についての、詳 細記述を続けようと思っていたのだが、それだけの容量 は、どう楽観的に見積もっても、残っていないようだ...”

There is a line following Mello describing Watari and L meeting, suggesting that L becoming the greatest detective and the Winchester case would be part of the story but not the story [ Roughly: “... meeting the estimated 8 year old L --- I was thinking of going into detail...”  -on L becoming the greatest detective and the Winchester bomb case that stopped WWIII.]  It is a matter of how you want to read it, it could be read ‘they meet -- these are a few events that happened in the recent time of their knowing each other’ or ‘they meet -- these are the events of that meeting’.  However, despite 8 being an estimation and the uncertainty of where L’s birth as the greatest detective lands, is where we begin the timeline.

★ Note: It is worth pointing out this might be contradiction with the 2-chapter manga in "L: FILE № 15" [JNP&EN Ch.2] seems to imply that L discovered his investigative passions a while after his discovery by Watari.

Between age 8 (1987) and death (2004), 4 generations of successors begin. One evenly divide up the generations temporarily but there is nothing suggesting they were separated by equal measures of time. It also wouldn't help place B, since he is in the first generation -- by default will be towards the beginning (1987+)

B's true age is indeterminable but we can assume:

-- He is a child in 1987 (referred to as the 2nd child)

-- He is a young man in 2002 ( based on Naomi's description)

-- He is at least 5+ in 1987

★  Why at least 5 years old?

He is aware of when his parents death's are to occur. Assuming B has access to an ordinary education before his induction into Wammy's, the numerical symbols had meaning and were not just a set of lines and curves. He also knew how to apply them mathematically. Children begin to learn these things around this age so 5+, so it would be reasonable.

In addition, Wammy's could have been his first introduction to Roman (Latin) symbols (A, B, C) -- this he may have been the time he connected the similarity between 13 and B. And that L being the 12th symbol is < 13.

Plans for successorship probably did not begin immediately after L’s first case at around age 8 - not until L became L, the detective -- having become so important that they needed backups. So, assuming it began a few years after:

L is 22 going on 23 in DN:AN. Mello states he solved over 3,500 cases [010] , considerable given that there was only 25 years between the first case and death. Assuming he was solving them at such a fast rate (~140/yr), he could have been only 9 or 10 at the time they began experimenting with successors.

Potential Age Ranges:

★ Note: This also allows B to have obtained the akazukin chacha manga as it was serialized (~1991-2000) as he boasts that he had. It may make more sense why he started reading them – he was a young child. (7-12)

[Additional point brought up by @extrxmegxnius ]:

B also claims to have watched the anime which was broadcast in Japan from 1994-1995 then in other countries in 1998 (Philippines, China, and some other countries in Southeast Asia). So, either B would have had to request copies of these episodes or he would have been in one of these areas where it was broadcast. 

One could estimate him to be older. Though successors (with appearances) that could have been part of the first generation have no known ages.. A few appear to be around the same age as L -- one being stated as the first of their letter and could be part of the 1st gen (K).

In conclusion: Though B's age is indeterminable, evidence supports that B was a young adult in 2002,  a child in 1989, and was at least 5 when he arrived at Wammy's house sometime after 1989.

[ri-writing]

Part Five of Six - Hope

If you missed an earlier chapter, you can catch up here:

Chapter One - https://ri-writing.tumblr.com/post/160970027736/part-one-of-six-faith

Chapter Two - https://ri-writing.tumblr.com/post/161019137261/part-two-of-six-luxury

Chapter Three - https://ri-writing.tumblr.com/post/161095057026/part-three-family

Chapter Four - https://ri-writing.tumblr.com/post/175797237736/part-four-of-six-need

Part Five – Hope

Jyn didn't trust their contact.  If she was being fair, she'd admit that she didn't trust anyone (except Bodhi), but she particularly didn't trust someone who's organization had at least one Imperial mole and at least one person who thought it prudent to attack her on a street with Imperial patrols.

Now, sitting across from him in the back room of what appeared to be a laundry, she couldn't help but feel as if she was sitting on a bomb rigged to a timer.  She'd marked the exits, identified at least three things within arm's reach that could be used as a makeshift weapon, and could see her contact's open hands sitting on the table opposite her own.  None of it made her feel safer.  The fact that her contact had spent the last few minutes silently sizing her up as much as she'd done him didn't help.

“We met before.”  The man finally spoke.  “You were about ten.”

The hatch rattled and Jyn shoved on it.  No.  She was not dealing with this right now.  She focused on what was in front of her.  She didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean what he said was false.  Many people had fought with Saw, and there had been many more contacts.  It was also, she knew, very easy to lie to try to set someone at ease.  People at ease talked too much.  Jyn remained silent.

“I thought it might be a trick, what you said in the meeting.  Your little speech sounded too rehearsed. Mothma's the type to hire an actress, so I asked someone who would know.”  He reached under the table.  Jyn felt her body brace  even as she saw the edge of a datapad and not the handle of a weapon.  The datapad clattered onto the top of the table.

Oh.  So this was some sort of dramatic reveal.  What was with people and theatrics?  Why couldn't someone just say, Jyn, we know your father built a planet killer and we want to use you to further our agenda and be done with it?  She knew what her role was, though, so she picked up the datapad and saw a picture of herself taken from the meeting.  Underneath someone typed Do you know this woman? No further explanation had been provided.  Jyn slid a finger along the screen, triggering the response to appear.  Jyn.  No last name.  Saw's daughter.  Saw reported her dead.  -S.

“You're not dead.”  His voice was cool and demanded answers.

“Who is S?”  Jyn replied in the same tone.

The man watched her a long moment. Jyn could see the mental debate – did answering her question gain him more than ignoring it?  “Staven.”

Her first thought was that it was a lie.  She'd specifically asked one of the Partisans on Jedha about Stave and had been told he was dead.  Her second was that Saw had been a paranoid bastard, and he'd been substantially more paranoid at the end than she'd ever remembered him being before.  He also had a history of making people disappear without killing them.  “Staven's dead.”  

He gave her a cold smile.  “So are you.”

Jyn was able to piece together the rest.  Something happened.  Staven left.  Saw covered it up.  She wondered why Staven was not welcome in the end.  She doubted it was because his father was an Imperial Science Officer.  

“Did you leave?”  He continued, “Or did Saw get rid of you?”

Jyn felt her fists clench.  It hurt. It shouldn't still hurt but it hurt.  She couldn't let him know he scored a point.  She needed the upper hand.  “I was with Saw right before his death.”  That was true.  “He gave me information on the Death Star and told me to give it to the Alliance.”  That was...mostly true.  He showed her the message and told her to go with Cassian.  “He ordered me to save the Rebellion.”  Essentially true.  “We were the last ship off Jedha before the Empire destroyed it.”  True.  “I suppose that means I left.”

“It wasn't a mining accident.”

There were times when she closed her eyes that she could still see it.  Once it started, she couldn't make it stop.  Some things did not fit inside the hatch.  “No.”

He studied her.  “And now you're with the Alliance.”  It was more a question than a statement.

Jyn considered how to answer and found there wasn't a good one.  She wasn't actually part of the Alliance. She had no rank and no military role to speak of.  They brought her along when the evacuated their Yavin base.  They gave her a private room at their latest location and made sure she had access to food and water.  No one acted like they were going to kick her out, but no one had really asked her to stay, either.  The Alliance had just sort of ... kept her around.  She finally settled on, “We're working together.”

“Because of the Death Star.”

“You could say that.”

“And the Alliance believed you,” he finished.  He smiled in a flash of teeth that was anything but friendly.  “Which is surprising, because you're not that good of a liar.”

What? The thought barely landed before the blaster barrel materialized in her vision.  Understanding followed half a second behind.  She was alone.  She looked like the sole survivor.  Logic dictated that she was the spy.  There had been many things Saw had sheltered Jyn from, but she knew how traitors were handled.  “I'm not the spy,” she said quickly.

The words were barely out of her mouth before Mothma's tinny voice spoke from Jyn's pocket.  “She's not lying, Maran.”

Jyn watched her contact – Maran - blink.  She dropped her own gaze to her jacket.  “Comlink.”

Maran's eyebrows rose.  Carefully, he plucked the comlink from her jacket and raised it to his mouth.  “Mothma.”

“Yes,” came the response, “I'm here, along with my pilot.”

Jyn saw Maran shoot her a dark look. If her back wasn't still screaming at her from the fight, she would have shrugged.  Instead, she settled for saying, “You didn't think I'd bring the Alliance Secretary of State out in the open where someone could kill her, do you?”

Maran scowled even deeper, but lowered the blaster.

“Thanks.”  Jyn didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.

Maran ignored them continued speaking into the comlink.  “You heard everything.”

“Given the situation,” Mothma replied, “We felt the need to rely on one of our sneaky Alliance tricks.”

Maran snorted.  “The situation.” He paused.  “You think we sold you out.”

“I wouldn't have sent Jyn to meet with you if I believed you were a danger to her,” Mothma said. “But we do believe you've got a spy in your organization.”

Maran returned to his seat.  No one spoke as he considered it.  Finally, he asked, “What happened?”

Jyn listened as Mothma summarized the past twenty hours.  It sounded, she realized, a lot worse than it was.  She'd been through worse, and, at least this time, she was going to get to go home when everything was finished.  Home.  Jyn wasn't sure when she started thinking of the base as 'home.'  She didn't even know if the Rebellion wanted her.  It was probably stupid to be thinking of it as 'home.'  It was Bodhi's home now, and Mothma's.  She could visit and that was enough right now.  Jyn forced herself to pay attention.

“Do you want to bring this to the others?”  Maran was asking.

“Until we know who the leak is, I can't risk my team.”  Mothma told him.  “But we will help you identify the leak however we can.  It's in both of our interests to know who it is, and depending on how your leadership feels, we might even be able to exploit this spy to send false information back to the Empire.”

Maran was silent a moment and Jyn could see the mental calculus as he weighed the obligation he felt against the risk and against getting further entangled with the Alliance.  She understood his concerns, but the Alliance wasn't that bad, really.  Sure, the leadership was … well, it could use some improvements, but there were ways around that, like...just doing what you wanted anyway.  Jyn saw the moment Maran reached his own decision.  “Alright.  We can discuss logistics on the way to your base.”

“We have a pick-up scheduled at a station not far from this system,” Mothma said, “So you don't need to worry about such a long trip.  I know your shipping business is very busy this time of year, and losing that many days can't be good.”

“That would work well.”  Maran agreed.  “I've got a shipment in line to head out once they sort out the mess at the spaceport.  I can get your team on it pretty easily.  Where should Jyn and I meet you?”

Jyn listened to Mothma rattle off the address for the hotel and tried to force her shoulders to relax.  This really was almost over, and, for once, she didn't have to worry about the inevitable re-negotiation of proceeds at the end of the job.  The Alliance wasn't paying her, but there was food and a bed and room that was hers. Maybe they'd let her keep this jacket.  It was a nice jacket.

There was a small click as Maran shut off the comlink.  He held it out to her.  “Come on.  We're going to need to move.”

Something tingled along Jyn's arm.  She looked around the room, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.  Stop being so paranoid. If the Empire was going to jump out from the shadows and descend on her, they'd have done it by now.  She shook off the feeling and took her comlink, returning it to her pocket.  

Her eyes left Maran for less than a second.  It was enough of a mistake.  One moment, she was standing in the laundry.  The next, there was nothing.

~*~

The first thing Jyn recognized were voices.  They sounded muddled, and, as she came back to consciousness, her first thought was that it was an after effect of the stun.  She couldn't hear the actual words, though.  That was...different.  Usually she could understand the words.

She forced her eyes open.  Her stomach rolled and she took a long, slow breath in and out her nose.  The feeling quieted, and Jyn began taking stock of her situation.  She was lying on her side in a dimly lit room.  The light came from a small window above the door, which was the only way in or out.  She was alone – the voices were coming from the other side of the door.  Her arms were bound in front of her, courtesy of a pair of the standard binders that law enforcement favored.  Her captor apparently didn't have the matching ankle shackles; her legs were bound with rope.

She shut her eyes and mentally cursed the galaxy, the Force, and the entire damn Rebellion.  You never learn, do you?  Running out of friends had landed Jyn in Wobani.  These past few weeks, she'd been running on hope, and running out of that....  She wasn't sure which death would have been kinder.

Death. Why hadn't Maran just killed her?  Jyn tried to run through various scenarios in her mind as she rolled onto her back and then sat up as quietly as she could.  Pausing, she listened for a change in the voices outside.  There was none.  She set to work on the knots.

Maran didn't have her surname.  Even if he somehow figured out that she was Jyn Erso, she doubted that the Imperials cared much about her anymore.  The old notices seeking her 'safe return' had been about obtaining a hostage to ensure her father's compliance.  The Empire was well aware her father was dead.  As far as she knew, the Empire had no idea she was involved with Scarif.  Jyn had no reason to believe that had changed.  She couldn't imagine General Draven giving the okay for her participation in this meeting if that had gotten out.

She wasn't being kept alive because of her value to the Empire, then. Ah.  One of the knots loosened enough for Jyn to start pulling it apart.

Her mind returned to working through Maran's game.  If she wasn't valuable for the Empire, then she was valuable for the cell.  No. She was valuable for Maran. The woman who had attacked her a few hours ago – was it only hours?  Impossible to tell at this point – but that woman had called Jyn a traitor.  The cell knew there was a spy.  Jyn now knew the spy had to be Maran.  Maran needed to produce a spy to avoid suspicion.  The only survivor who should have died in the Imperial attack made for a great spy.  While Jyn doubted eyes would turn to Maran anytime soon – after all, Mothma had trusted him above the others – it would be most convenient if the spy problem went away.

She was tailor made for the role, too.  Maran knew she'd separated from Saw.  The Alliance had always believed that separation was Jyn's choice and treated her accordingly.  These people likely did, too, and if Cassian's disdain at thinking the Rebellion hadn't been real for her was any indication....  Cassian.  Jyn suppressed a snort. What did she know? What the hell did he know?  She'd like to see what he would have done if he was a kid left in a strange place with nothing but a blaster and knife.  No food, no money....the Rebellion never threw Cassian away, so what the hell would he....  

Stop, Jyn.  This is not helping.  It didn't matter what Cassian thought then or now.  It didn't matter if the Alliance agreed with him.  What mattered was that she got herself free, got out of this place, and hopefully got Bodhi to safety.  And Mothma.  She should help Mothma, too, if she could.

Jyn pulled the remainder of the rope from her legs, then held up her binders to the light.  She'd never figured out how to get out of these things before.  A cursory view of them made clear that it would take time to even have a prayer of figuring them out now.  She didn't have that time.

It was okay.  She could...she should be able to fight like this.  It wasn't ideal, but it was doable.  Although a weapon would be nice. She glanced at the rope before discarding that idea; it wasn't very useful with the way her movement had been curtailed.  A quick perusal of the room verified that it was empty except for her.  Alright, she'd do it without a weapon, then.  Next step – get the door unlocked....  Jyn glanced in its direction and saw an uninterrupted stream of light along the side.

The door was unlocked.  Maran left the door unlocked.

Of course, there were people on the other side of the door.  Jyn could still hear the voices.  They were probably armed.  They were resistance fighters, after all.  And she - she was cornered, and outnumbered, and unarmed.  Maran knew she was tied up well.  He wasn't expecting her to find a way to get free and only an idiot would storm into a room of trained resistance fighters.    

She stood.  Something bumped against her leg and she glanced down.  Jyn felt a cold smile pull at her mouth.  He'd left her bloody tonfa. Maran made one hell of a mistake.  He might have an entire resistance cell, but she had a stick.  It was all she needed.  She flicked it open.  Time to go.

The door wrenched open under her free hand and Jyn threw herself at the back of the first man who appeared in front of her.  She heard the crack as she connected with her target.  Without stopping, she changed direction and moved to the next, catching him across the face with an upward strike.  He at least managed to stay on his feet and reach for her.  Undeterred, Jyn slid the tonfa past his guard and slammed it into his gut.  Movement from behind had her spinning to catch her next target with the bottom of her boot connecting to his knee.  As he stumbled down, she drove her elbows against the back of his shoulder helping him on his way to the ground.

“JYN!”

Bodhi! She whirled towards the sound of her name, even as another familiar voice rose above the din with, “Everyone stop!”

The order was mostly useless, as another man grabbed at Jyn.  She shoved her boot into his stomach.

A woman shouted something in a language Jyn didn't know.  Another person yelled, “Jyn!  Stop!”  That was definitely Mothma's voice.

This time, the fight did pause.  Breathing heavily, Jyn snapped her head towards the orders.  That was definitely Mothma.  The woman was elbowing her way past several members of the cell.  What was she doing here?

Everyone in the room clearly had the same question.  Dead people were not, after all, supposed to show up at meetings.  Jyn expected more pandemonium.  Instead, they fell completely quiet except for the groans and muffled curses from the men she'd been hitting seconds earlier as they pulled themselves off the floor.  She took the opportunity to try to blow her bangs from her face while she scanned her surroundings for Bodhi.  She knew she'd heard Bodhi....there.  He was standing just inside the door, looking a little pale and queasy but otherwise unharmed.

By now, Mothma reached her.  Jyn noticed the worried look as the other woman scanned for injuries before turning around to address a man partially across the room.  “Mr. Vyll, is there a reason you have my aide bound up like a common prisoner?”

The man Mothma called 'Vyll' looked like he had seen a ghost.  Jyn supposed he was still trying to catch up with the rapid change of events.  She had the distinct impression that Mothma and Bodhi had been walking through the door somewhere around Target No. 2, which likely only made everything more surreal.  Jyn filled the silence, “Maran sold us out to the Empire.  He sent two of his men to kill you and Bodhi.”

The room exploded into sound.

“It's true!”  A woman's voice yelled above the chaos.  “Hey!  Hey!” A heavy pounding, as if someone was slamming against a table ricocheted through the room.  A moment later, the woman who had attacked Jyn only hours earlier was standing on a table.  “HEY! Listen to me!  It's true!  Maran sent the Imps to collect them!  I saw it myself!”

More yelling followed.

A hand touched her arm.  Jyn looked up at Mothma.  “Jyn?  Where's Maran?”

She whipped her head around, seeking him in the crowd but already knowing he was gone.  He had to know things had turned against him the moment Mothma entered the room.

“We're wasting time!”  Vyll noticed the same problem.  “Find Maran! Alive.”

For the first time since she'd met them, the cell didn't debate.  They moved as one towards the door, sending Bodhi scrambling out of the way.

“Here.” Someone landed beside her.  Jyn recognized the woman from her brawl and bit back a sarcastic remark.  The woman produced a set of lock picks from a pocket and set to work on Jyn's binders.

“Are you alright, Jyn?”  Mothma asked.

“Fine.” She focused on watching the binder progress and added, “It's not the first time.”

“Me either,” Mothma said.  “It doesn't make it easier.”

The binders emitted a small whirl while brawl-woman grinned.  The relief from the pressure was instant.  Jyn nodded at her former foe. “Thanks.”

The woman nodded, then moved to a cabinet along the wall.

“She's talkative,” Jyn observed as Bodhi reached them.  She took the blaster he held out to her.  “Thanks.  Now what?”

“We clear out.”  The woman announced.  “Maran had enough time to get a call out to the Imps.  They'll be here as quick as they can relay their orders.”

Jyn didn't have to be told twice.  She checked the power on her blaster as she fell into step.  “So where do you need us?”

“In hyperspace,” she replied.  She jabbed a finger at Mothma as they moved into the street, “If she's the prize, there's no way in hell we're letting Maran's new friends get their hands on her.”

“And Maran?”  Jyn asked, climbing into the back seat of the waiting speeder. She heard the engine roar to life at Bodhi's command.

Their new friend's face closed up into something cold and determined. “Don't worry.  We'll take care of Maran.”

If Maran hadn't attacked her, set up her as the spy, plotted her death by torture, and tried to harm her friends, Jyn might have felt an ounce of pity for him.  She knew what happened in these types of groups when you crossed them.  She couldn't, however, find any pity for him.  She twisted in her seat to face Mothma.  “How did you know?”

“We didn't.”  She replied.  “I learned to take extra precautions years ago.  Sometimes, they're unnecessary, but sometimes....”

“He knew Saw.”  Jyn heard herself say.  “Maran.”

“That was part of why we thought he was one of the ones we could trust.” Mothma said.  “He had a long history of rebel sympathies.  He'd smuggled weapons for Saw for several years, and had helped another cell that eventually joined the Alliance.  He wasn't always an Imperial plant.”

“But I bet he was as long as he was working with us.”  The woman from the cell spat.

“Maybe,” Mothma agreed.  “Maybe not.  Shreev's tried to kill our movement from day one, and Maran's been involved in enough things over the years that there were better opportunities to deal a serious blow to us before now.”

“Shreev?”

“Palpatine,” Mothma supplied before returning to the subject of Maran.  “More likely, the other side finally made Maran a better deal.  Everyone has a price, Zera.”

“I don't,” the woman from the cell – Zera – said strongly.  

Mothma was silent as the buildings of the city blurred past the speeder.  As Zera was about to turn back around, she said, “The Empire built a planet killer.  We had first hand evidence of what it could do. There was a team on Jedha that barely escaped as the Empire turned its weapon on it.  I suspected it was only a matter of time until the offer became my life in exchange for not turning it on Chandrila. What do you do?  At what price....?”  

Jyn wasn't sure if Mothma was implying that some of the others in the rebellion might turn her over or if she was implying that she might go willingly to spare her people.  She wasn't sure if either was the point.

“I don't know what Maran was offered,” Mothma continued.  “I don't know what changed.  I suspect the offer was generous, considering what he was giving them, but it might have been desperation rather than greed that changed his mind.  Your life, your family's life.... I don't agree with what he did, but I stopped being surprised a long time ago.”  

Zera propped her head on the back of her seat and studied Mothma.  “I'm starting,” she finally declared, “To see why he thinks you're dangerous.”

“I'm not.  Not in the grand scheme of things.”  Mothma said.  “I'm one person.  The rebellion doesn't need me to win.  It will keep growing, regardless of whether Palpatine ever gets to execute me for treason. He's built his power on him, so he believes we’ve done the same, but the rebellion isn't about any single person.  This war isn't going to be won because one person does some incredible thing.  It will be won by the people – the average people on average worlds – recognizing that the Empire is wrong, and doing the small things that make a difference.”

“Isn't your propaganda machine talking about an amazing pilot who made a life saving shot?”  Zera challenged.

“That pilot only had the shot,” Jyn inserted herself into the conversation, “Because one of those average Imperials decided to deliver a message.”  When Zera's attention shifted to her, she added, “Ordinary people.”

“Coming up on the spaceport,” Bodhi announced, a little too loudly.  

Zera turned around and faced forward, her hands scrambling to her pockets as she looked for credentials to get them inside.  Jyn watched as she flashed a badge at the man at the front gate and they were waved through.  “Park in Blue Lot.  My aunt's got a freighter there that will take you out.”

Jyn leaned back against the seat once more.  Beside her, Mothma was wearing a pleased little smile.  “What?”

“Nothing.” Mothma replied.  After a moment, she muttered, “Terrible at politics,” as if it was a private joke.

~*~

Jyn wasn't sure how long she slept on the Alliance ship.  She suspected it was a decent amount of time, as she woke up feeling as if her body did not want to die.  Her hand brushed over a blanket that had not been there before.  She didn't want to think how exhausted she must have been if she'd slept through someone getting close enough to cover her with a blanket.  

Sitting up, she slowly rolled her shoulders before grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around herself. The small lounge area was mostly dark, and there was no sign of the others here.  The loneliness hit hard, despite the absurdity of it. There were three other people on the freighter.  It wasn't as if they all quickly jumped out the airlock the moment she fell asleep.  If she wanted to see people, she needed to look for them.  Jyn forced herself to stand and make her way to the cockpit.

“Hey, Jyn.”  Bodhi gave her a small wave from the copilot seat.  The pilot's seat was empty and, after Jyn looked from it to Bodhi, he gestured back towards the direction she came.  “He's on break.”

“Ah.”  There wasn't any other open seat, so she perched herself on the edge of the pilot's seat.  For several moments, she watched the hyperspace lines as her mind finished waking up.  “How long was I...?”

“Uh...” Bodhi leaned over to check the chrono on the dash.  “About nine hours?  We've still got time before we're anywhere near getting back if you want more sleep.”

Nine hours.  That was ludicrous.  What was wrong with her?  Had she ever slept for nine hours before?  She shook her head.  “Mothma?”

“Took a datapad and headed into the sleeper cabin about an hour ago.”  Bodhi supplied.  “Apparently she likes reports as much as the rest of them.  You'd think she'd have us write it, but she wanted to.  I suspect she needs time to process all this as much as we do.”

Jyn didn't really process things.  She tended to take them, squish them as small as possible, and lock them in the hatch.  If she was lucky, they stayed there.  Her hand came up to circle around her necklace and she concentrated on the shape of the stone, the way the edges felt under her fingers, the familiarity....  “How are you doing?”

“It hasn't really sunk in yet?” Bodhi was silent a moment before asking, “You?”

Jyn shrugged.  “I'm fine.  This isn't the first time that I've been in trouble.”  She twisted in the seat to look at Bodhi.  “I wasn't expecting you and Mothma to show up, though.  How did you know Maran double crossed us?”

“That's...kinda a long story?” Bodhi seemed to remember that they apparently had a lot of time, and that time could be used to tell long stories.  He let out a little breath and began.  “So, after we talked to Maran on the comlink, Mothma said we were going to check out and get a caf at the cart across from the hotel.  I thought that was a little weird, but I'm still new to this whole Rebel Against The Empire thing.  I figured, well, she knows what's she's doing, right?  So we went across the street and – I guess it was like a stake out?  We sipped caf at one of those little tables along the street and were watching the hotel to see if Maran would show.”

Anyone can be turned for the right price.  Mothma might have thought Maran was their safest bet, but at the end of the day, she didn't trust anyone either, did she?  Jyn couldn't really fault her.  She could count the people she trusted on one hand and not use all the fingers, and she wasn't anywhere near as valuable to the Empire as the woman leading the rebellion.  And, at the end of the day, Mothma was right to be suspicious.

“After, I don't know, maybe a half hour?  These two stormtroopers came by with Zera,” Bodhi continued his story.

“And you recognized her?” Jyn asked.

“Yeah.  I remembered her from the meeting.  She reminds me of you a lot, and I couldn't help but think about how...” Bodhi fell silent.  

“How what?”

He looked at his hands.  “How you were probably all alone like that, being escorted through the streets when they arrested you and sent you to that prison camp.”

They'd drug her through the streets the last time, but Bodhi didn't need to know that part.  “Oh.”

He sighed.  “Sorry.”

“Don't be.”  Jyn tried to shrug as if it was nothing.  “I did do the things they accused me of.”

“Jyn.” Bodhi finally looked back at her.

She waved a hand at him to encourage him to continue.  “You saw Zera with the stormtroopers.”

“I wasn't sure what they were going to do to her, but based on how they were escorting her, I knew it wasn't a major crime.  Not enough stormtroopers.  But I know enough about how the Empire works and I didn't want something bad to happen to her.  We're on the same team, you know?  So I sort of...went over and pretended she was my cousin?”

“You did what?”  Jyn tried to imagine Bodhi confronting stormtroopers with lies.

“I told them I worked for the Empire, and that she was my cousin.  And then I explained she had a bit of a drinking problem, and sometimes got into trouble.”

“And they believed you?” Jyn didn't think stormtroopers were the brightest, but that was pretty stupid, even for them.

“There was this guy who I'd sometimes switch shifts with, back when I was...you know.”  Bodhi looked slightly uncomfortable.  “Instead of filing reports, we'd just switch.  Took less time and that way, we never had to come up with good excuses for time off and no one got suspicious if we were off playing cards or something.  I'd use all his codes and he'd use mine when we checked in and submitted reports and stuff.  So I rattled off his ID number and we look enough alike that when he looked me up in the system to check my story....”

She knew her mouth was hanging open.  Jyn tried to shut it.

“I mean,” Bodhi continued, “I know it wasn't as brilliant as some of the stuff you and Cassian have come up with...”

“Don't.” Jyn jabbed a finger in his direction.  “Don't even start, because that was more brave than anything I've ever done.  And it was brilliant.  So don't.”

Bodhi's expression went from surprised to pleased.  After a moment, he cleared his throat.  “So, uh, anyway.  One of the stormtroopers said she was brawling in the streets.  I asked if maybe he could release her to my custody and look the other way just this once, considering I was an Imperial pilot and all.  He started to talk with the other stormtrooper about it, when they got a call telling them there were rebel operatives in the area and to meet a unit at the hotel.  Zera wasn't important anymore, so they let her go with me.”

“And then you, Zera, and Mothma watched the Imperials storm the hotel, looking for you,” Jyn finished.

“No. That was when we knew Maran sold us out and got out of there,” Bodhi corrected.  “Councilor Mothma told Zera about Maran.  Zera figured that Maran would probably pass you off as the spy, and she knew where everyone would meet.  So...we went.”

Jyn wondered if Zera told Bodhi or Mothma about why she'd been arrested for brawling in the streets.  She decided it didn't matter.  As Bodhi said, they were on the same team.  There were worse people she could have brawled with, and it did look bad.  She leaned her head back and returned her attention to the star lines.  

“You okay?”  Bodhi asked again.

She didn't want to tell Bodhi how close they'd come to dying.  They should, by all rights, be dead.  There had been so many coincidences. Any one of them being just a little bit different would have resulted in a different ending.  “Just thinking about how much of a field day Draven's going to have with all of this,” Jyn lied.

“Eh,” Bodhi shrugged.  “I mean, I hate the guy, too, but we accomplished the mission goals and Mothma's not dead.  I think that cell has more respect for her now than they did after the official meeting.  He can't be too mad.  I also get the impression he has this sort of grudging respect for us.”

“He only plays nice because Mothma likes us,” Jyn observed.

“Yeah. I'm sure that's it.”  Bodhi said.  “It can't have anything to do with the fact that we accomplish stuff.”

“He hated Saw,” Jyn said.  She hadn't been able to figure out which of her fathers Draven hated more, but she was well aware he wasn't a fan of either of them and that when he looked at her, he saw them.

“Jyn, I hate Saw,” Bodhi said.  “And I'm pretty sure you do, too, a good fifty percent of the time.”

“I hate everyone,” Jyn corrected.  “Except you.”

“The Guardians,” Bodhi counted, “Mothma?  I think you sort of like her, despite not wanting to.  And the cook who makes the sandwiches. You can't hate her, Jyn.  She makes good sandwiches and she always says nice things to everyone.”

“Fine.” Jyn agreed.  “I don't hate everyone.”

Bodhi was silent for a few moments.  “Are you going to ask Cassian about what he said?”

Jyn shot him a sour look.  She knew why it was coming up, but that didn't mean she wanted to talk about it.  If she was lucky, Cassian would be off base, but she suspected she had used up her good luck supply from the Force.  Did she even want to confront Cassian?  She didn't gain anything from it, and it just gave him a chance to hurt her again. She was tired of people ripping out her insides and stomping all over them.  “Don't really see the point.”

“I think I'm going to talk to him.”  Bodhi declared.  “I'll keep you out of it, but we almost died together and we're on the same team, too.  We need to get along.  And I sort of get the impression that Cassian is a lot like you.”

Jyn's slouch disappeared and her spine snapped straight.  “I am nothing like Cassian Andor.”

Apparently, Bodhi felt like this whole friendship thing meant she wasn't intimidating anymore, because he said, “Yeah, Jyn, you are. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure the two of you are two different endings of the same really sad Choose Your Own Adventure story.”

No. They weren't.  She'd been a child when her parents....okay, so maybe that happened to him, too, apparently, but she'd been thrust into the war when she should have been learning....also not a good point of differentiation.  She had reasons not to trust people and Cassian...also had probably had a life that taught him to never trust anyone.  For a moment, she found herself wondering what it had been like the first time he'd been sold out – if the stakes were even higher since he would have been sold directly to the Imps....  No.  No, they were nothing alike.

“You thought I disliked you because I wasn't around for a couple days,” Bodhi continued.  “And now I keep wondering - have either of us given Cassian a reason to think we're his friends?”  

“We ate meals together.”  She went out of her way to make sure she could make every meal possible.  “We told him about our days.”  

“Yeah, but that's stuff work colleagues do all the time,” Bodhi opined. “I had dozens of those conversations every week, but I didn't think any of those people were friends.  It was just small talk when you're checking the roster or standing around the caf machine.”

“No.” Jyn was sure this was different.  “I shared things with him.”

“Jyn,” Bodhi was not letting this go, “Stop just a moment and think about it from Cassian's point of view.  I'm pretty sure his only friend was K-2SO.  No one seems to know him.  Have you noticed that?  It's weird.  I don't think he has any friends.  And, so, like there are two people he's friendly with and they grab a sandwich with him from time to time and chat about their days.  He might think we don't want to be his friend, either.  Not, you know, like real friends.  I just think...” He paused, then repeated, “I just think maybe we should give him a chance to explain.”

Jyn opened her mouth to tell Bodhi that she didn't want to, then shut it.  It wasn't her place to tell Bodhi who to talk to.  “You'll keep me out of it, though.”

“Sure.”  Bodhi agreed.  “Your name will not be mentioned.”

“Good.”  Because Cassian could burn in hell for all she cared.  And he did not deserve to know she had even mentioned his name since the last time they saw each other. No right to know she'd been thinking about him or that he hurt her or...  Jyn knew she probably looked like a petulant child, sitting with her arms crossed and scowling at the window.  She forced herself to relax.  Removing the scowl was a bit harder.  “And you'll tell me everything that happens?”

“I thought you didn't care.” Bodhi looked like he was trying really hard not to smile.

“I don't,” Jyn said quickly.  “I just...believe it is important to gather information about our team mates.”

“Really?  Okay.  What's Chirrut's favorite color?”  Bodhi asked.

Jyn's mind flashed through several possiblities before it settled on, “Red.”

She could hear Bodhi laughing at her under his breath as he checked his instruments.  It was oddly endearing. “You guessed.”

“It's the color of the Force.” Jyn said.  “It was a very educated guess.  Give me another question.  I'm very observant about our friends.”  Relaxing, she leaned her head back against the seat rest and wondered how in the stars she'd actually ended up with a friend.  

~*~

Notes -

Staven is mentioned as a former Partisan in the Rogue One novelization; when Jyn asks about him and is told he is dead.  In the Inferno Squad novel, we learn he is not, in fact, dead and was not on Jedha when the Death Star destroyed it and had formed a new group similar to the Partisans.  His group is later infiltrated by Imperial spies. Edit - fixed an edit fail

[cryptofmadness]

Interview (excerpts): CRACKED magazine’s Dick Kulpa

Crypt of MADness interviews Dick Kulpa on his tenure at CRACKED magazine and more.

(Note: The following is excerpted from a much lengthier interview published in the print edition of Crypt of MADness magazine #5 (May 2018.) The full interview as printed is much longer and contains much more than published here.

(Interview conducted by Chet Reams for Crypt of MADness magazine

Reams: Tell us a bit about your background before taking over…

Kulpa: I could fill a book with all that. Suffice it to say, I worked in virtually every facet of publication: Editorial, art, production, printing, advertising, distribution, sales...even janitorial.

My original aspiration was to be a cartoonist, enjoying some degree of success in that as a "self-taught" illustrator in local and national levels. However, what could be termed as "real training" occurred during my 12-year (pre-CRACKED) tenure at the supermarket tabloid Weekly World News.

It was that tabloid editorial training which prepared me for CRACKED. After all, I had a big hand in the creation of a publication (Editor's note: the satirical/humorous print tabloid "Weekly World News.) that sold well over 200,000,000 copies during my time there.

Reams: How did you end up getting the CRACKED magazine brand from AMI?

Kulpa: I offered to buy it when it was folded. They accepted. That was "too easy,” I thought back then.

Reams: I read somewhere that there were plans for a CRACKED mag TV show/DVD around 2004.. .what happened to cause it to fall through?

Kulpa: It didn't have to fall through.

... Suffice it to say a semi-retired graphic artist with national aspirations (and no experience above a local level) declared my TV deal, which allowed the television people to market and profit from ancillary CRACKED merchandise for two years as “not good enough.” He blurted this out at the initial investor meeting held prior to my relocation to Rockford, Illinois.

... a national TV show would considerably enhance the CRACKED property, and I retain strong connections with key people who still see this as viable.

Also, past contributors would have seen residual payments for any work used.

Reams: What happened in Rockford, Illinois (where the last three issues were published) - with the investors there?

Kulpa: The amount “invested” in CRACKED was termed as “pocket change” by my main ombudsman there, and that money ran out by the third issue. The investors declined to recap it.

Oddly enough, that third issue bounced back in sales (which was usually the case during my tenure - I’d get three out then wait for money).

However...I don't fault the investors. As one advised me in a letter, they were "tickled pink" with my performance. However, they were unhappy with the performance of the company appointed to oversee the business end of it.

…

Reams: In Mark Arnold’s CRACKED book,(second volume, ) you are quoted as stating “in every case” the contracts you signed during “the CRACKED debacle” “..were breached…” Care to elaborate?

Kulpa: To my knowledge, nobody has ever challenged that statement.

We did not get all CRACKED documents as provided for in the original contract, as then-current distribution records were suddenly deleted from the seller’s company computers. I was advised of this minutes after that occurred by a major company insider (with a witness present.)

...

Reams: You also state “the CRACKED sale was never fully closed.” What exactly did you mean by that… were you not fully paid by the CRACKED dot com buyers, or more than that?

Kulpa: The principle attorney involved with the purchase (on the buyer's side) committed a "no-no", ethically. This prohibited me from fulfilling certain obligations. I did not receive the expected sum and was left holding the proverbial bag.

…

After that, my stored email evidence had suddenly disappeared back then (though I had saved THE one critically important email elsewhere) and at times it was exceedingly difficult to continue to “play dumb.” However, my prime goal was to unload what by then had become a debilitating albatross and return the investors’ money to them.

...

Reams: What would you do differently if you got CRACKED back today?

Kulpa: First off, I would not have lowered the bar. We had some great stuff in our first four AMI editions, but suddenly functioning on a zero editorial budget gave me little leverage in maintaining high standards on contributors. In short, I had to take what I could get…

2. Swing the axe. You cannot operate properly with loose lips — particularly whiners — who have no clue as to realities relative to your efforts. “Placating” doesn’t work. EXAMPLE: if a management staffer is delegated the task to make sure a price appears on the cover, that should be done. In one case, it wasn’t...and that cost an additional $10,000.

EXAMPLE 2: It takes sales to pay bills. One edition lost its scheduled racking because two knucklehead staffers charged with okaying the proofs buried them in an office desk drawer...costing CRACKED its proper rack placement. Most editions never left the trucks during distribution, and that edition subsequently bombed.

Given ongoing anomalous distribution issues, we just handed the bad guys a cracked CRACKED on a silver platter.

And freelancers wondered why it was tough to pay them.

3. Speaking editorially, my biggest mistake was in taking “me” out of “managing and creating editorial content” early on. I was too focused on distribution, dealings and ancillary issues. That, and I wound up as Weekly World News editor for a year, relinquishing basic editorial control of CRACKED. …

In terms of my own creative involvement, I pulled off some heavy stuff earlier in my career. That should have occurred here.

Reams: Why did you change CRACKED’s format?

Kulpa: I was appraised of CRACKED’s sales woes and presented a six-figure salary with a year to “turn things around.” At that time our in-house distribution people were “unenthused” (as seen in my first meeting with them.) I had to diminish the logo because my overseer wanted to change its name altogether, due to the drug connotation.

In publications, there is an established (but rarely used) concept of “throwing the current readership away” in order to expand, and Weekly World News did just that around 1984, dumping its 200,000 readership and growing it into over a million weekly sales. Egos had to be checked at the door. Sadly, they weren’t.

In closing: For a brief period in history, a major, iconic and classic entity was under the direct control of us “little guys”, and we so terribly muffed it. That’s why corporates will always control the action.

There are many people nostalgic for the CRACKED they grew up with, but the problem is, not enough.

And there’s a whole lot more to the CRACKED story...check out my Wordpress blog.

Reams: Looking back, would you say you made mistakes? You did say you believe your later lack of "managing and creating editorial content" was one, but were there others?

Kulpa: 2. My biggest mistake? As I debated whether to take the plunge - and sought direction, I failed to heed it when it came. One evening my girlfriend had me watch “Man of La Mancha,” and the scene featuring Don Quixote and his partner on a wooden horse - as entertainment for the aristocrat - struck me. “Look, that’s me and (Barry) Dutter” I exclaimed.

I should have listened to myself, because in essence, that’s what occurred.

…

On a practical front, I should not have delegated “important” functions to staff. As a result, a price was left off an edition cover, (costing $10,000 -CRACKED was shut down three weeks later by the previous owner), editions were sent to print a week late on several occasions, and freelancers “may” have gotten erroneous info.

Further, I regret not doing more editorially, as said before.

That, and bowing to staff pressure and trying to present new material. I should have gone to reprints for a time.

All that being said, I (and staff) functioned in unnatural and unprofessional conditions. We wanted CRACKED and instead, got “crazy.”

...

I should have never sounded off to a potential investor who finally emerged...as that killed the project. All in all, CRACKED Magazine boasts a proud legacy. Unknown to most were my efforts to maintain the magazine’s name, and at one point, stopping an AMI company official from selling its archives on eBay. A number of now-prominent artists got their springboard via my CRACKED, (because I saw things that MAD didn’t, perhaps?)

And the hope is that someday, someone will actually take the time to fully research this era. They will be in for some surprises. In my 1979 case, however, I knew who the culprit was.

In THIS case, it wasn’t me, but for some reason it’s convenient to maintain that fallacy.

…That being said, CRACKED (Editor's Note: CRACKED dot com, not the magazine) as been at the center of rather unusual financial activity for some time now, and I hope this gets thoroughly investigated.

Crypt of MADness magazine thanks Dick Kulpa for allowing us to interview him for Crypt of MADness issue #5!!

Excerpted from Crypt of MADness magazine #5, May 2018. There’s a lot more of this interview in the print zine - copies can be ordered from the Facebook page

[collegeeducationnewsllcusa]

Biden promise to forgive $10,000 in debt remains unfulfilled

Joe Biden’s 2020 presidential campaign website said that a president would forgive Biden “at least $ 10,000 per person in federal student loans,” eliminating all student debt for 15 million of the nearly 45 million American borrowers.

Almost six months after his presidency, that promise remains unfulfilled.

A blurb from the Biden 2020 campaign website. (JoeBiden.com)

The Biden government has taken some targeted steps to cancel certain borrowers’ debt, and the pandemic suspension of federally sponsored debt payments will result in total student loan relief of around $ 100 billion between March 2020 and September 2021.

Prominent Democrats, meanwhile, continue to urge a skeptical President Biden to enact a large-scale cancellation of up to $ 50,000 through executive action (contrary to the laws passed by Congress).

“Many Americans voted for President Biden because he promised to provide direct aid to those in need – and now is the time to act,” said US Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-MA) in one Statement to Yahoo Finance administration to address student debt crisis by canceling up to 50,000 student debt as it is vital to our economic recovery. “

The White House did not respond to requests for comment.

Biden endorsed the May 2020 plan to “Provide $ 10,000 Immediately in Debt Relief”.

The then candidate Biden called for student loans to be waived several times in 2020.

On March 22, days before Congress passed the $ 2.2 trillion Coronavirus Relief, Relief, and Economic Security Act (CARES), Biden tweeted that the federal government should “provide at least $ 10,000 per person in federal student loans “.

In May 2020, Biden told The Late Show with Stephen Colbert that he supported a proposal to “provide $ 10,000 debt relief immediately as a stimulus – now for students.”

In October 2020, Biden told the CNN City Hall questioner, “I’m going to make sure everyone in this generation gets $ 10,000 off their student debt if we try to escape this goddamn pandemic.”

The story goes on

The pitch was popular: two national polls from December 2020 showed that more than half of Americans across the political spectrum support student loan issuance.

“[Biden] made it very clear that he wanted to cancel at least $ 10,000 during the campaign, and he made the election promise in several places, both physically and in his campaign materials, “said Persis Yu, director of the National Consumer Law Center’s Student Loan Assistance Project. told Yahoo Finance, “It was a prominent part of his campaign promise, not one of those buried on page 45 of all the documents … and it was certainly one that student loan borrowers are eager to deliver on.”

U.S. Democratic presidential candidate and former Vice President Joe Biden speaks to supporters at a campaign rally on the night of the New Hampshire primary in Columbia, South Carolina, the United States, on February 11, 2020. (REUTERS / Randall Hill)

However, after winning the election, Biden’s tone changed.

In December 2020, President-elect Biden cast doubts on general student loan forgiveness when he told a meeting of news columnists that the Democrats’ argument to remove student debt through executive action was “quite questionable,” adding, “There i’m not sure. I probably wouldn’t do that. “

In February 2021, when a member of the audience at a CNN City Hall asked President Biden if he would be waiving $ 50,000 on student loans, Biden replied, “I won’t be able to do this.”

“It depends on whether or not you go to a private university or a public university,” Biden explained. “It depends on the idea that I tell a community, ‘I’m going to cancel the debt, the billions in debt for people who went to Harvard and Yale and Penn.'”

In May 2021, in an interview with the New York Times, Biden reiterated his reluctance to cancel debt: “The idea that you should go to Penn and pay a total of $ 70,000 a year and the public should pay for it? I do not agree.”

U.S. President Joe Biden speaks about voting rights at the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, July 13, 2021. (Photo by SAUL LOEB / AFP)

“They believe they were promised”

The basic argument in favor of the President’s ability to cancel student debt through executive action, as the Legal Services Center at Harvard Law School pointed out in a letter to Senator Warren, is that the Secretary of Education has the power to “cancel existing student loans.” Debt under a separate legal authority – the power to modify existing loans under 20 USC § 1082 (a) (4). “

In March 2020, White House Chief of Staff Ron Klain told Politico that President Biden had asked Education Secretary Miguel Cardona to create a memo on whether the president has legal authority to ordinance $ 50,000 in student loan debt .

“Biden is overdue – student debt relief is overdue,” Thomas Gokey, organizer of the Debt Collective, an activist group, told Yahoo Finance. “The time for that was the first day of administration.”

The Department of Education has not responded to requests for comment on the memo, despite ED recently hiring Toby Merrill, who founded the Project on Predatory Student Lending at Harvard Law School and co-authored Warren’s legal analysis.

In any case, ED officials are now reportedly recommending that the White House extend the pandemic payment hiatus until at least January 2022.

Much is at stake: Experts, advocates, and prominent Democrats stressed that some degree of student loan forgiveness would be a crucial step before the pandemic’s payment hiatus ends.

“It would be wise to make this decision before payments resume,” said Yu, who works with many low-income borrowers. “There is no point in getting people to pay and then cancel their loans … [and] If we can clean some of the debt off the books, it could make it a lot easier to turn the system back on. “

Yu added that a large federal lending company pulling out of the loan program at the end of the year is a “recipe for disaster” as the government moves about 8.5 million borrowers to another service provider.

“Why send bills and notes to millions of people and then just turn around and say, ‘Just kidding, that’s not it’?” Seth Frotman, executive director of the Student Borrower Protection Center and former student loan ombudsman for the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, told Yahoo Finance. “It [would] Cause confusion and disappointment among borrowers. “

Warren previously told Yahoo Finance that if the payment hiatus is lifted without a cancellation, “we will face a student loan time bomb that, if it explodes, could throw millions of families over a financial cliff.”

Warren and other Democrats also asked ED about student debt collection practices amid a possible wave of student loan defaults as the pandemic’s payment hiatus expires.

“People are very scared,” said Yu. “They believe they have been promised some debt relief. And for many of the people we work with, not having that burden would make a big difference in their lives.”

–

Aarthi is a reporter for Yahoo Finance. She can be reached at aarthi@yahoofinance.com. Follow her on Twitter @aarthiswami.

Continue reading:

Follow Yahoo Finance on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Flipboard, SmartNews, LinkedIn, YouTube and reddit.

source https://collegeeducationnewsllc.com/biden-promise-to-forgive-10000-in-debt-remains-unfulfilled/

[seedfinance]

Biden promise to forgive $10,000 in debt remains unfulfilled

Joe Biden’s 2020 presidential campaign website stated that a president would forgive Biden “at least $ 10,000 per person in federal student loans,” which would remove all student debt for 15 million of the nearly 45 million American borrowers.

Almost six months after his presidency, that promise remains unfulfilled.

A blurb from the Biden 2020 campaign website. (JoeBiden.com)

The Biden government has taken some targeted steps to cancel certain borrowers’ debt, and the pandemic suspension of federally sponsored debt payments will result in total student loan relief of around $ 100 billion between March 2020 and September 2021.

Prominent Democrats, meanwhile, continue to urge a skeptical President Biden to enact a large-scale cancellation of up to $ 50,000 through executive action (contrary to the laws passed by Congress).

“Many Americans voted for President Biden because he promised to provide direct aid to those in need – and now is the time to act,” said US Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-MA) in one Statement to Yahoo Finance. “I will be managing to tackle the student debt crisis by canceling up to 50,000 student debt as it is critical to our economic recovery.”

The White House did not respond to requests for comment.

Biden endorsed the May 2020 plan to “Provide $ 10,000 Immediately in Debt Relief”.

The then candidate Biden called for student loans to be waived several times in 2020.

On March 22, days before Congress passed the $ 2.2 trillion Coronavirus Relief, Relief, and Economic Security Act (CARES), Biden tweeted that the federal government should “provide at least $ 10,000 per person in federal student loans “.

In May 2020, Biden told The Late Show with Stephen Colbert that he supported a proposal to “provide $ 10,000 debt relief immediately as a stimulus – now for students.”

In October 2020, Biden told the CNN City Hall questioner, “I’m going to make sure everyone in this generation gets $ 10,000 off their student debt if we try to escape this goddamn pandemic.”

The story goes on

The pitch was popular: two national polls from December 2020 showed that more than half of Americans across the political spectrum support student loan issuance.

“[Biden] made it very clear that he wanted to cancel at least $ 10,000 during the campaign, and he made the election promise in several places, both physically and in his campaign materials, “said Persis Yu, director of the National Consumer Law Center’s Student Loan Assistance Project. told Yahoo Finance, “It was a prominent part of his campaign promise, not one of those buried on page 45 of all the documents … and it was certainly one that student loan borrowers are eager to deliver on.”

Democratic U.S. presidential candidate and former Vice President Joe Biden speaks to supporters at a campaign rally on the night of the New Hampshire primaries in Columbia, South Carolina, the United States, Feb. 11, 2020. (REUTERS / Randall Hill)

However, after winning the election, Biden’s tone changed.

In December 2020, President-elect Biden cast doubts on general student loan forgiveness when he told a meeting of news columnists that the Democrats’ argument to remove student debt through executive action was “quite questionable,” adding, “There i’m not sure. I probably wouldn’t do that. “

In February 2021, when a member of the audience at a CNN City Hall asked President Biden if he would be waiving $ 50,000 on student loans, Biden replied, “I won’t be able to do this.”

“It depends on whether or not you go to a private university or a public university,” Biden explained. “It depends on the idea that I tell a community, ‘I’m going to cancel the debt, the billions in debt for people who went to Harvard and Yale and Penn.'”

In May 2021, in an interview with the New York Times, Biden reiterated his reluctance to cancel debt: “The idea that you should go to Penn and pay a total of $ 70,000 a year and the public should pay for it? I do not agree.”

U.S. President Joe Biden speaks about voting rights at the National Constitution Center in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, July 13, 2021. (Photo by SAUL LOEB / AFP)

“They believe they were promised”

The main argument for the president’s ability to cancel student debt through executive action, as the Legal Services Center at Harvard Law School pointed out in a letter to Senator Warren, is that the Secretary of Education has the power to “cancel existing student loans.” Debt under a separate legal authority – the power to modify existing loans under 20 USC § 1082 (a) (4). “

In March 2020, White House Chief of Staff Ron Klain told Politico that President Biden had asked Education Secretary Miguel Cardona to create a memo on whether the president has legal authority to ordinance $ 50,000 in student loan debt .

“Biden is overdue – student debt relief is overdue,” Thomas Gokey, organizer of the Debt Collective, an activist group, told Yahoo Finance. “The time for that was the first day of administration.”

The Department of Education has not responded to requests for comment on the memo, despite ED recently hiring Toby Merrill, who founded the Project on Predatory Student Lending at Harvard Law School and co-authored legal analysis to Warren.

In any case, ED officials are now reportedly recommending that the White House extend the pandemic payment hiatus until at least January 2022.

Much is at stake: Experts, advocates, and prominent Democrats stressed that some degree of student loan forgiveness would be a crucial step before the pandemic’s payment hiatus ends.

“It would be wise to make this decision before payments resume,” said Yu, who works with many low-income borrowers. “There is no point in getting people to pay and then cancel their loans … [and] If we can get some of the debt off the books, it could make turning the system back on a lot easier. “

Yu added that a large federal lending company pulling out of the loan program at the end of the year is a “recipe for disaster” as the government moves about 8.5 million borrowers to another service provider.

“Why send bills and notes to millions of people and then just turn around and say, ‘Just kidding, that’s not it’?” Seth Frotman, executive director of the Student Borrower Protection Center and former student loan ombudsman for the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, told Yahoo Finance. “It [would] lead to mass confusion and disappointment among borrowers. “

Warren previously told Yahoo Finance that if the payment hiatus is lifted without a cancellation, “we will face a student loan time bomb that, if it explodes, could throw millions of families over a financial cliff.”

Warren and other Democrats also asked ED about student debt collection practices amid a possible wave of student loan defaults as the pandemic’s payment hiatus expires.

“People are very scared,” said Yu. “They believe they have been promised some debt relief. And for many of the people we work with, not having that burden would make a big difference in their lives.”

–

Aarthi is a reporter for Yahoo Finance. She can be reached at aarthi@yahoofinance.com. Follow her on Twitter @aarthiswami.

Continue reading:

Follow Yahoo Finance on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Flipboard, SmartNews, LinkedIn, YouTube and reddit.

source https://seedfinance.net/2021/07/15/biden-promise-to-forgive-10000-in-debt-remains-unfulfilled/

[macmazatlan]

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 352

[The following is an account given to commander Pride relaying critical information followed by a meeting between the Legion commanders]

Harbinger report: ”Recently my legionaries scouting out the mountain range directly south of this location. According to linkage communications we’ve encountered a number of warborn in the area. Imagery was taken and will be forwarded to your personal terminal. The warborn are in two groups and some are not identifiable from our current memory databases. The legionaries were ordered to withdraw as to not induce a conflict as per our agreement. We will leave this information with you.”

[shortly after Harbinger gave his report, commander Pride called an emergency meeting]

The first commander to enter the room was Mason, followed quickly by Era and then Titus. Pride began the meeting, “Guardian Harbinger recently brought this to my attention. A couple of his legionnaires identified warborn in the southern mountains. Some of which we may recognize.”

After a moment of analysis commander Era stated, “In the first image, there is a light pulse tank along with Engineer Adams and Infantryman Cornelius. Engineer Adams was a leader of my mechanized shock unit during the battle of Barkaren. He is an adamant trooper with ample experience in vehicular warfare and would be an excellent addition to your unit Mason. Infantryman Cornelius also originates from my legion and is an experienced trooper who is an excellent candidate for a captain promotion. The other troops in the image belong to a specialist corps that I don’t recognize.”

Titus replied, “The other three individuals in the image belong to warborn commando specialist corps. Specially commando unit 73, members include Ferrus, Snap and Quad. Quad is the commando in blackened phase I commando armor equipped with a laser repeater carbine. Snap wears blue tinted phase I commando armor, he uses a modified heavy ion rifle. Ferrus wears untinted phase I commando armor and uses a handheld ion cannon. These warborn are experts in spec ops operations and Ferrus is their captain. This unique commando unit is unlike others in that they worked within warborn command structure.”

Once Titus finished his reply Mason added, “That tank is a RLV-2, capable of long stretch reconnaissance and fire support operations.”

Era took this opportunity to speak, “I’ve sent our two jet troopers to their last known location with a preset message to recruit them into the legion. With no solid command chain we can assume they will be willing incorporated within the legion.”

[Legionaries image 1]

Pride replied after Era finished his statement, “This is the second image provided by the sentient legionnaires. I can recognize only captain Frey from the 43rd Ironborne Legion. He wears blue tinted phase VIII armor with a custom insignia and wields two laser carbines. I don’t know any others within this group.”

Era replied, “I recognize the only commander present. His name is commander Kenai, born of the second generation commanders wearing orange tinted phase VIII armor wielding two laser pistols. His is the hardy commander of the 47th Warden Legion. He would make a fine addition to this council and his experience would be handy to have.”

Titus continued, “I recognize two individuals in this image. First of which is captain Reed from the 89th Helldivers Legion along with one of his infantrymen. Captain Reed wears customized phase VII armor wielding laser pistols. He is one of the few captains from the second generation along with commander Kenai who is still known to be alive. At least prior to the singularity event.” Titus finished his statement while looking at commander Era.

Mason took an opportunity to interject, “I… I think I know who the other individuals are within the image. Prior to leaving for citadel 34D, on the staging world of Oigio I witnessed a combat shuttle with markings of unknown designations. The crew of this shuttle wore modified commando armor, but I wasn’t able to identify them directly. This seems to be a black ops commando unit.”

Era replied, “Mason your statement makes sense, I would not be surprised if that is in fact the case. Black ops units answered only to the high council of the federation. I’m not sure if they will being willing to follow our orders much less join us. Especially considering our pact with the Sentients of Primus Dawn.”

Pride interjected, “Well, with this added manpower and a suitable combat vehicle we can-”

Mason interrupted, “No! I know where this is going and we can’t do this! We’ve just fixed coms back up and we are midway through additional repairs. We couldn’t have done any of this without the sentients. Haven’t each of you seen at the pact we made is beneficial to keep?”

Pride replied, “I see your reasoning, but it is something that needs to be considered. We have an experimental cruiser that the sentients could access and steal technology meant to spur their downfall. Not only that, what makes you think that our potential reinforcements will respect this pact?”

Titus added, “Pride raises a good point. The black ops commando unit is not subject to our authority and they are an extremely deadly fighting force. Should our pact alienate them then we risk more than a mere skirmish between warborn. My assessment is that even if its only the black ops team that revolts, they can decimate the last of our legions.”

Mason argued, “That’s a possibility, but not inevitability. Some of the men belong to commander Era’s legion-”

Pride interrupted, “Only two of those men! The rest are either commandos or officers of other legions that do not share the values that both you and Era have towards the sentients!”

The atmosphere in the room tensed as Pride’s retort at Mason resulted in silence. The silence was eventually broken by Era who stated in a neutral voice, “Do you care to elaborate that statement Pride?”

Pride responded, “It has been weeks since we made that pact with the sentients. If either of you have been watching our… ‘allies’ then you would know that the guardian known as Apocalypse has been making working to make a breach in one of our sealed entrances!”

Mason uncharacteristically retorted, “Do you even know the reason for why he is making the breach? Did it ever occur to you that I asked him to breach one of our sealed doors to scavenge for needed parts in our repair efforts?!”

Titus countered, “Those doors were sealed for a reason Mason! We all agreed that it is better to seal access points since we don’t have the manpower to cover them. We even took into account salvaging benefits during our first meeting as a legion! The costs here outweigh the benefits!”

At this point the three arguing commanders were on their feet within the room. Pride and Titus allayed on one side of the meeting table with Mason on the other. All three were ignorant of the fourth commander, who silently tapped a sequence into his command tool and proceeded to stand. The other three having run out of breath took this moment to regain their composure.

Era began, “Mason has good intentions. I have reason to believe that he accounted for the extra manpower of the sentients in helping us defend the ship even with more access points. However-”

Pride replied, “That doesn’t excuse him for rash decisions without the agreement of the other commanders!”

Titus added, “I concur with Pride, this is something that could have been a severe security risk to the legion. Pride and I have-”

Era interrupted, “Be silent. Both of you decided to take things into your own hands, is that not right?”

Shocked Pride and Titus did not reply while Era continued, “I know that both of you have been preparing an Ion bomb within the manufacturing bay secretly. If you have been observant then you should have picked up that your men don’t agree with your actions. The materials need to create such a weapon are also well known to sentients as when I went to inform guardians they had known about the construction for some time.”

At this point both Pride and Titus sat back down in their seats, their helmets masking their faces but their body language was informative to the observant eye of Era as he continued, “Do you realize that the second you both began the construction of the bomb, the sentients began making a fail safe plan to seize this ship? One of the legionnaires while on a scouting mission informed this curiosity to one of your men, this one warborn had the courage to find, verify and inform me of the bomb’s construction since he couldn’t go against his unit commander. You should know that the sentients took note of this action, hence why they waited for me to come see them prior taking action.”

Mason followed, “They were preparing to attack us?”

Era replied, “Yes. They would have killed every single warborn on this vessel for our associated treachery with two commanders of the Legacy Legion. I’ve been fighting the sentients for years but I’ve never known one to betray it’s word or promise. There is a reason why so many federation planets surrendered peacefully without fighting the sentients of Primus Dawn.”

Moments of silence followed Era’s statement with realization dawning on each respective commander with differing thoughts running in their minds.

Era sat back down and tapped another sequence within his command tool, after which the doors of the room opened with four sentient legionaries walking in with two warborn from the Darkmoon, Lion and Shock units. The legionaries leveling arms at commanders Pride and Titus who in shock stood up and began to draw their weapons.

Titus yelled to his troopers, “Steel, Saren open fire on those legionaries!” However instead of leaving their laser carbines at the legionaries, they hesitantly turned their weapons on their commander and looked to Era for confirmation of an unsaid order to which Era nodded. Steel the most veteran trooper from the Darkmoon combat unit then said, “Commander Titus, I’m afraid you need to come with us to your quarters for detainment.”

Pride realizing what is happening looked to his own men and said, “What are you doing? The sentients of Primus Dawn are the enemy!” Pride drew one of his pistols only to have it blasted out of his hand by a precise shot from a legionnaire mass driver. The two troopers Quilan and Varen the Lion unit proceeded to restrain their commander.

Two legionaries then moved behind commander Mason and stood at attention. After both Titus and Pride were disarmed Era stated, “I expected this from Pride, but you Titus… to have you agree with Pride’s point of view is disappointing. Had I not taken action today then your actions would have violated the pact with made with the sentients of Primus Dawn. You may have actually succeeded in destroying the lesser sentients, but what would you do to the Guardians? They are to powerful to be killed with a Ion bomb. I take no pleasure in stripping you both of command until Mason and I regain the trust of the sentients. Steel, Quilan please take your former commanders to their quarters and detain them. Varen and Saren inform your respective units they are now under my command.”

The troopers complied and began escorting their commanders out of the room. Pride was still struggling and Titus resigned himself to his current condition. The remaining two legionaries left the room to stand guard with the loyal warborn, leaving only Era, his men, and Mason with his two legionaries.

A minute passed with the last two commanders remaining at the table until Mason broke the silence, “I thought we were just going to talk them down Era! This wasn’t a part of the plan…”

Era replied solemnly, “I know Mason. I didn’t want this to happen either. I made a deal with Harbinger and Omen that when we confronted those two and we took action then they wouldn’t involve themselves.”

Mason taking a moment to understand responded, “I know. But this doesn’t make it any easier. How did you convince them to place these legionaries under my command?”

Era shrugged while one of the legionaries responded, “Designated organic commander Mason, each legionnaire unit requested a shift in central command due to your efforts in strengthening relations.”

Era tacked on, “There you have it. Most of the warborn are loyal, or at least not willing to alienate an agreement we’ve made. It is clear that commanders Pride and Titus worked alone in this, which attributes to why the construction of the device took so long.”

Mason agreed and asked, “But what about them?”

Mason gestured to the images of the lost warborn, “How are we going to present our current situation? How will we convince them to abide by the pact and accept the leadership of newly formed 1st Legacy Legion? It isn’t beneficial that two of the founding members are imprisoned under the orders of two other founders.”

Era took a moment before replying, “The orders I dispatched out to our Jet troopers is to have the two groups rendezvous 5 miles due south of the Colossus. From there they will make their way towards the main hanger entrance of the colossus. Once they arrive we will greet them as a united front.”

Mason gestured, “Define greet them, like as a unified Legion with all four commanders or just us two?”

Era, “It is simple. Both of us, two of the four guardians of Primus Dawn, and Captain Aurelius will greet them. We need to present a united front to properly represent the Legacy Legion as it stands for. Because not only are we warborn a legacy but the sentients and the coalition of order forces legacies that need to stand united in this unknown time.”

Mason replied, “You always had a way with words Era… However, what if they refuse to join us?”

Era responded, “Then we will give them an option to withdraw, but if they decide to attack us then we will respond in kind. We must begin the preparations at once, I will begin preparing the warborn while you brief the sentients.”

Mason stated, “Very well, I will do what I can.”

The meeting was adjourned, two of the legion commanders under arrest while the remainder attempt to pick up the pieces.

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 352

[The Legionaries image 2]

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 352

[creepingsharia]

Bronx: Muslim Immigrant Sentenced to 22 Years for Attempting to Provide Material Support to ISIS

Albanian-born Sajmir Alimehmeti also indicated that he was interested in radicalizing other individuals in the Bronx area.

The Department of Justice announced today that Sajmir Alimehmeti, aka “Abdul Qawii,” 26, was sentenced to 22 years in prison based on convictions for attempting to provide material support to the Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (ISIS), and attempting to fraudulently procure a U.S. passport to facilitate an act of international terrorism.  Alimehmeti pleaded guilty on Feb. 21, 2018, before U.S. District Judge Paul A. Engelmayer, who imposed today’s sentence.

“Alimehmeti was determined to support ISIS.  He attempted to travel overseas to support the terrorist group, he assisted another person he believed to be a fellow ISIS supporter to prepare to purportedly travel to join ISIS, he lied on his passport application so he could get a clean passport to ease his efforts to travel overseas to join ISIS, and while in pretrial detention, he conspired with another terrorist to spread ISIS propaganda.  With today’s sentence, he is being held accountable for his crimes,” said Assistant Attorney General for National Security John C. Demers.  “The National Security Division will continue to work with our partners to identify, disrupt and hold accountable those who seek to provide material support to designated foreign terrorist organizations.  I want to thank the agents, analysts, and prosecutors who are responsible for this case.”

“Bronx resident Sajmir Alimehmeti took the position of an adversary to the United States and its values.  Alimehmeti’s contempt for the U.S. led him to travel overseas to support ISIS’s terror campaign, eventually purchasing military-type weapons and assisting another to get travel documents, equipment, and encryption technology to fight with ISIS in Syria,” said U.S. Attorney Geoffrey S. Berman for the Southern District of New York.  “Even after his incarceration, Alimemehti continued his supportive conduct for ISIS by working with convicted Chelsea bomber Ahmad Khan Rahimi, to distribute ISIS propaganda in prison.  I sincerely commend our law enforcement partners for their commitment to detecting and apprehending those who support the disruption of American life through brazen acts of terrorism.” 

“Sajmir Alimehmeti was so committed to supporting and furthering the ISIS agenda, that when his multiple attempts to travel overseas raised enough red flags to deny him entry, he turned to assisting someone he thought shared his same objective. Unbeknownst to him, however, that someone was an undercover employee,” said FBI Assistant Director-in-Charge William F. Sweeney Jr. “Today’s sentencing is a welcome end to this case, and another successful outcome for the many agents, detectives, and analysts on FBI’s JTTF in New York. Their work and our extensive partnerships are essential to keeping New York City and the nation safe.”

“Sajmir Alimehmeti betrayed the country he called home by trying to travel overseas to join ISIS, a brutal terrorist group at war with the United States,” said NYPD Police Commissioner Dermot F. Shea. “When that failed, Alimehmeti deliberately assisted another individual he believed was traveling to join ISIS. At the same time, the investigation revealed he was acquiring tactical knives, handcuffs and equipment indicative of efforts to prepare for an attack here in New York City. This case is another example of the relentless efforts of the Joint Terrorism Task Force and the NYPD’s Intelligence Bureau to prevent terrorism before it occurs.”

As reflected in the criminal Complaint, Superseding Indictment, court filings, and statements during court proceedings:

In October 2014, Alimehmeti attempted to enter the United Kingdom but was denied entry after U.K. authorities found camouflage clothing and nunchucks in his luggage.  About two months later, in December 2014, Alimehmeti was again denied entry into the United Kingdom, this time after U.K. authorities found that his cellphone contained images of ISIS flags.  Further forensic examination of the contents of the cellphone and Alimehmeti’s laptop computer showed numerous indicia of Alimehmeti’s support for ISIS, including a photograph of Alimehmeti with an ISIS flag in the background, images of ISIS fighters in the Middle East, a photograph of Alimehmeti making a gesture of support for ISIS, various files relating to jihad and martyrdom, and an online messaging exchange in which Alimehmeti attempted to assist another ISIS supporter to travel to Syria to join ISIS, by providing contact information for an ISIS affiliate who could facilitate the travel.

After returning to the United States, Alimehmeti continued to support ISIS.  Among other things, Alimehmeti displayed an ISIS flag in his apartment in the Bronx and, in the course of recorded meetings with undercover law enforcement employees, Alimehmeti played multiple pro-ISIS propaganda videos on his computer and his cellphone, including videos of ISIS fighters decapitating prisoners, and Alimehmeti also indicated that he was interested in radicalizing other individuals in the Bronx area.  Alimehmeti also made repeated purchases of combat knives and other military-type equipment, including masks, handcuffs, a pocket chainsaw, a wire pocket saw, and a rucksack designed for tactical combat.  Alimehmeti stockpiled such equipment at his apartment in the Bronx.

In October 2015, Alimehmeti applied for a U.S. passport, falsely claiming in the application that his previous passport had been lost.  Alimehmeti later told an undercover law enforcement employee that his prior passport had not been lost and, instead, that he was applying for a new passport because he believed the rejection stamps in his existing passport resulting from his attempted entries into the United Kingdom would make it difficult to travel to ISIS territory. 

In May 2016, Alimehmeti attempted to assist an individual who was purportedly traveling from New York to Syria to train and fight with ISIS but who was actually an undercover law enforcement employee (the “UC”).  On May 17, 2016, Alimehmeti met with the UC in Manhattan.  Alimehmeti helped the UC locate stores so the UC could purchase supplies to use while traveling to, and fighting with, ISIS, including a cellphone, boots, a compass, a bag, and a flashlight, among other items.  Alimehmeti then brought the UC to a hotel in Queens so the UC could purportedly meet with an individual who was preparing travel documents that the UC would use to travel to Syria to join ISIS.  Alimehmeti gave the UC a piece of paper with his name and contact information, and asked the UC to provide that information to the purported document facilitator.  Alimeheti explained that he wanted to travel to Syria and join ISIS, stating “I’m ready to . . . go with you man . . . you know I would.  I’m done with this place.”  After leaving the hotel in Queens, Alimeheti brought the UC to JFK Airport, via public transportation, so the UC could begin the purported journey to ISIS.

Following Alimehmeti’s arrest on the charges in this case in May 2016, the FBI executed a search of Alimehmeti’s Bronx apartment pursuant to a judicially authorized search warrant.  The FBI found in the apartment, among other things, an ISIS flag that was displayed on a wall in the apartment.

In 2017, while Alimehmeti was incarcerated and awaiting trial, law enforcement learned that Alimehmeti had worked with Ahmad Khan Rahimi inside the prison to aggregate and distribute terrorist propaganda that was part of the evidence in their respective cases and produced to them during discovery.  Rahimi was sentenced to life in prison, in February 2018, for planting a series of bombs in New York and New Jersey in September 2016.  Law enforcement also intercepted a letter that Alimhemeti sent to Rahimi, after their propaganda-distribution scheme inside the jail was thwarted, in which Alimehmeti referred to himself as the “ISIS balla,” indicated that he had destroyed evidence of their propaganda distribution efforts, and expressed hope that both convicted terrorists would ultimately achieve so-called martyrdom through another act of terrorism.

In addition to the prison term, Alimehmeti was also sentenced to five years supervised release.

[gracehcreates-bct]

W4 VR - Group formations and good formatting

Two days before submission, Shel asked me if he could be a part of our team for VR. In the end, we just had to go with what we felt was best for our team. I’m glad to see that Shel had another group in mind so that he didn’t miss out on the submission :)

Our submission:

Team Members

Kent Jones, Grace Hollamby

Description

What is the general idea?

To create an educational virtual bush walk experience for people who want to learn about New Zealand's native flora/fauna. Our target audience would be tourists from outside of NZ and/or people who don’t live near a bush trail. This is also for people to relieve stress by escaping to an immersive forest to relax. It is believed that contact with nature enhances general wellbeing; people with access to natural settings are healthier overall and have increased levels of life satisfaction (DOC and Mental Health Foundation partnership, 2021). Ideally this would be best implemented in a museum due to the target audience.

Kent's concept map. For the hard parts to read: Green is bush/trees (un-interactable), Yellow is pathways, Red is interactable plants, and Pink is border.

(Ignore the bird mode, that was blue sky idea)

The experience would consist of the user walking along paths surrounded by nature, with the option to stop to interact with the plants to find out more about them, interact with the sound of birds chirping, and change the environment to day and night to experience different sounds of birds and nature.

What other works do exist that are similar (Contextual Statement)

https://www.travelandleisure.com/trip-ideas/nature-travel/virtual-walking-trails-around-the-world

High definition videos of walking through bush trails and beautiful sights around the world, using real audio. The similarities between our idea and their work is the use of real audio from the environment. Differences are literally everything else.

https://www.rnz.co.nz/news/national/288952/great-walks-go-virtual-with-google

360 degree map of a few of New Zealand's biggest tracks, to encourage more people to use the tracks. Similarities will be the focus on New Zealand's beautiful environment, and maybe the realism. Differences are being able to interact with the environment, along with the environment being made artificially rather than using real 360 videography.

https://www.landcareresearch.co.nz/news/prehistoric-aotearoa-brought-to-life-in-virtual-reality/

Virtual reality of three New Zealand forest environments; prehistoric, present and future. Their main focus is on the impact of the environmental changes. The similarity with our idea is that we are doing the “present” New Zealand forest, and the information of the plants may include prehistoric elements. The differences are that unlike this experience, our main focus is on allowing the target audience to explore the environment in order to discover different information about the flora/fauna.

What specific features of VR and/or specifically the Sentience Lab VR Framework are used (e.g., room-size mocap, Oculus Rift, body movement, controller, physical tracked objects, optical illusion, perception manipulation, etc.)

Due to the limitations of using the Google Cardboard, we aim to keep it simple and use the top button to toggle day/night, and a “time bomb” to select the interactable plants to bring up the information.

Provide some implementation details (e.g., models, mechanism, scripts, physics)

Models:

Important/interactable plants will be as realistic as possible to the actual plant they are based off (possibly use 3D scans/photogrammetry, if even possible).

Mechanisms:

Interact with objects to bring up a GUI display of information.

Moving would change the sounds being played, footsteps would start and birds would stop chirping.

Day/Night cycle, different bird sounds are present during these times.

Software:

Unity (Game engine.)

Ableton/Xfer Serum (Sound design and processing.)

Photoshop/Substance Painter (Texture/material design.)

Maya/Blender (3D models.)

Explain how you are going to evaluate the usability and effectiveness of your application.

By researching our target audience well in order to know what they’d like to learn, along with our environment in order to get as much as we can similar to the real world. We can test the usability by testing on people to make sure they don’t get sick and that there are no problems with the movement. Testing the effectiveness on users if it is fit for purpose satisfaction-wise with the immersiveness and plant knowledge.

References

Image from: Get together on these east Auckland walks. (2021). Retrieved 25 March 2021, from https://ourauckland.aucklandcouncil.govt.nz/articles/news/2019/02/get-together-on-these-east-auckland-walks/

DOC and Mental Health Foundation partnership. (2021). Retrieved 25 March 2021, from https://www.doc.govt.nz/about-us/our-partners/our-supporting-partners/mental-health-foundation/

Side note, who knew that formatting on a blackboard wiki article would be so frustrating? Due to writing everything on a google doc, I eventually had to separate the sentences so it would fit nicely without it ungodly stretching the page.