#I like seeing the immediate action —> effect of the programming angle

[energon-with-a-curly-straw]

The 2ds (XL) is truly a fantastic— and dare I say, the ideal— handheld console. That is, if you say fuck ninteno and hack it, of course. Which turns out is incredibly easy to do (even though I adhd stalled on it for a couple months ^^;)! It really makes me want to get into programming and making my own mods/roms (｡･ω･｡)

My only complaint would be the forum sites, which— similar to reddit— do contain lots of lovely and diverse individuals, but tends to attract the types of people you’d actively avoid :/

But for now I’m just going to be playing every game I missed out on as a kid. For free. Because I am a devious and unscrupulous menace to (corporate) society.

[peachy-panic]

Truth & Lies

(This picks up directly following this piece)

Tag list: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing

CONTENT WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, human trafficking, referenced/implied non-con, mentioned past minors of minors, blood, restraints, medical setting. 

Panic washes over him the moment the door closes behind them, putting him alone in the exam room. In the silence, he can hear only the sound of his labored breathing, obstructed by the plastic intrusion that has been secured between his teeth, straps cutting into his temples. His hands are bolted to the front edge of the table on either side of his thighs. The position pulls his posture forward just enough to be uncomfortable, his shoulders curling forward to accommodate the short buckle on the cuffs. He tries, to little avail, to calm the rising panic at the feeling of restraint. 

And all he can think is that he has done this to himself. 

He messed up. He had messed up so, so badly and the reality hadn’t fully settled over him until the door clicked shut, and the blur of the past several minutes came crashing into him with a sudden, sickening clarity. And now there is nothing he can do to take back his actions, his words, and he knows that no apology will be enough to smooth it over regardless. Still, he feels one bubbling in the back of his throat uselessly, trapped behind the gag and the slow, constant trickle of blood.

Suddenly, the sensation steals all his focus, until all he can feel is the warm liquid in his nose and throat, and the suffocating realization that he is helpless to stop himself from choking to death alone in this room, chained to a fucking table. 

His arms tug instinctively against the cuffs, but the steely hold on his wrists only serves to bolster his panic. Oh, god. What has he done? All at once, he is sorry. Jaime is so, so sorry and he wishes he could take it back but ‘sorry doesn’t do shit for me, baby,’ he can hear Mr. Torley’s rumbling voice clear as day in his ear. 

He jerks forward away from the phantom presence, a whimper caught in his throat that has nowhere to go. These flashes of imagination feel so real sometimes and Jaime can’t always tell them apart from what’s in front of him, just like when the Handler had pulled his sweatshirt over his head at intake, and when the gray fabric cleared his eyes it had been Mr. Torley’s face staring back at him, grinning in the glow of the bedside lamp that had been harsh, white Facility fluorescents only seconds before. 

He hadn’t meant to lash out. Jaime can’t recall ever stepping out of line like that, not since… not since his first week in the training facility. He has enough sense to know that fighting back won’t get him anywhere good. But something had snapped in his mind when they began undressing him of his street clothes, and it was as if he was no longer at the helm of his own body. His arm had lurched forward on instinct, striking out at the figment in front of him because this wasn’t right, he was supposed to be done with Mr. Torley, he had served his six month contract and it was supposed to be over.

It was supposed to be over. 

He had barely recognized the crunch that gave under his fist in the moment, nor the white blare of pain as the blow was reciprocated with double the strength. There was blood and a struggle and a distant screaming that made his head vibrate like the sharp, resounding clang of metal on concrete.

And then he blinked, and now he was here, and his head hurts and he can’t breathe right with all the blood and he is so, so sorry no matter how much it won’t matter in the end. It never matters.

He hates that he is sorry. He hates that he is back here. He hates that he can still feel Mr. Torley like static on his skin even though he isn’t legally his anymore. He hates the feeling of the bit between his teeth, reminding him of a hazier time in his memory, carved out with white tiled walls and bright lights and constant, unyielding pain. 

Jaime lets his head fall forward, cringing at the sticky dampness of his t-shirt against his chin, and focuses all his energy on trying not to cry. More than anything now, he needs to retain his already limited ability to breathe.

Even so, he can’t stop his breath from catching when he hears the telltale swipe of a clearance key at the door.

*******

Sebastian’s feet stutter beneath him as he pushes through the door. His eyes are drawn immediately to the anchor points along the front of the exam table, which currently serve to immobilize the terrified young man between them. He can see that the skin around the restraints is already pink with irritation. The boy’s head is ducked in what looks to be a quiet surrender, and he can’t see his face but he watches as a drop of blood hits the lap of his pants. Sebastian’s muscles freeze up. It’s only a fleeting moment, but he’s sure his recovery is not nearly as graceful as he hopes it is as he clears his throat and steps into the room. 

He lets the heavy door fall shut behind him, effectively sealing himself into the reality that he is now in charge of this person bolted to a table. It has become a daily occurrence long ago to question every life choice that had brought him to this place, but especially now he can’t help but think he’s made a horrible mistake. And then the light clinking of metal on metal draws his focus to where the boy has twisted his hand inside his restraints just enough to grip the side of the table, knuckles white and trembling, and it occurs to him how selfish he is for thinking that he is the one in the room who has earned the right to fear. 

He should say something. He knows he has to be the one to say something, because the Companions - the patients - aren’t allowed to initiate conversation without direct invitation. He knows this, but the knowledge doesn’t un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth or dissolve the lump that’s blocking his airway. For a moment, all he can do is stare. 

“Hi,” he says finally by means of a feeble introduction. He clears his throat, trying for something that doesn’t sound so much like a question. “I’m Dr. Tate. Sebastian. You can… just Sebastian is fine. If you want.”

Incredible, Seb. Off to a confident start. 

He might see the slight incline of the patient’s head in acknowledgement, or he could be imagining it. Either way, he moves on. 

“What is your…” He pauses, clearing his throat. Name? Is that what he wanted to say? He knows as well as anyone that he isn't allowed to use his. If he does and anyone hears him, it will only land him in deeper trouble. Which is maybe the last thing on Earth Sebastian wants. Instead, he asks, “What can I call you?”

For the first time since he entered the room, Sebastian sees unmistakable movement in the muscles of the boy’s neck. There seems to be a moment of hesitation, and then he lifts his head to level with Sebastian’s gaze, and he nearly takes a step back.

By some miracle, Sebastian has made it this far into the program without witnessing - or god forbid implementing - the use of heavy restraints on a patient. Today, it seems, his luck has run out. The boy stares up at him with dark, empty eyes over a round bit of black plastic secured over his mouth with the WRU logo emblazoned in silver. A fucking gag.

A slow-dripping acidity makes its way into Sebastian’s stomach. The picture in front of him is so starkly, uniquely horrifying that it stops him in his tracks. It’s exactly the kind of raw imagery that WRU conveniently left out of their pamphlets and commercials and brightly-colored career packets. This, he thinks to himself, is the truth behind every lie they sell. 

“Oh,” he says, stunned, the word slipping out of him in a breathy gasp. He forces himself to take a step toward his patient, choosing to ignore the quickly concealed flinch. “I don’t… I don’t think we really need that, right?” He says a pitch too high. The patient’s eyes track him warily as Sebastian moves closer, an outstretched hand hovering in his direction. “Uh. Can I?”

Instead of the permissive nod he expects, the young man’s eyes flit over to something to the left of Sebastian’s shoulder then back again, holding his gaze. Sebastian turns and finds a tin box affixed to the wall just behind the door. He blinks, and when he looks at the patient again with confusion written all over him, the boy hesitates — which he seems to do before each new move — and then angles his head just enough so that Sebastian catches a flash of silver at the back of his neck.

A small padlock. Holding the straps of his gag in place. 

The room wavers around him. 

“Key,” he chokes out dumbly in a whisper. “Right, I— right.”

He turns on his heel and crosses stiffly to the box on the wall. His hands are shaky when he opens the hinge, fingers brushing over the small selection of keys dangling inside. For a horrified moment, he catches himself wondering what other inhumane devices these could possibly go to. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on the thought. It won’t be helpful here.

The smallest key catches his eye, looking to be the most likely to fit the lock. 

“Is it alright if I—?” He turns back with the intention of seeking his consent, but he finds that the boy has already lowered his head to allow him easier access to the lock. “Okay,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. 

Sebastian works as quickly as his nervous fingers will allow and feels a tangible weight lift from his chest as the lock releases. 

“There,” he says, stepping back immediately once the intrusion has been removed. He tosses it into the sink basin in the corner, not wanting to look at it for a moment longer, as he is sure his patient would agree. “Better?”

The patient waits a moment before raising his head again. “Th...thank you.” He murmurs without meeting his eyes. His voice is low and brittle and nearly knocks something loose inside Sebastian’s chest. 

A slow trickle of blood swells out from his bottom lip, the bit from the gag almost definitely having irritated whatever injury had already been put there. For half a second, Sebastian wonders why he doesn’t reach up and wipe it away, and then he realizes—

“Shit! Your hands.” He’s back at the box before he can spare another thought, sifting through the row of seemingly identical keys. He doesn’t really allow himself time to consider the possible reasons why he shouldn’t be removing the restraints, including but not limited to breaking protocol on his first day off probation and having no actual idea if this person was a physical threat to him or not. All he knows for sure is the visceral feeling he gets in his gut every time he sees him bleeding and bound to a fucking table when he should be here to receive care.

“Sir?”

He whips around to find the boy watching him with naked apprehension, as if he isn’t sure he has clearance to have spoken. 

“Really, Sebastian is okay,” he reiterates. “Or Dr. Tate, if you want to be formal.” Of course he’s going to be formal. His entire existence is a series of formalities, meeting new strangers and having to pay them undue respect, and none of it has anything to do with what he wants.

Sebastian watches something flicker in his eyes, a momentary break in the solid wall before it closes up again. “Yes, Dr. Tate,” he says with an automatic obedience that flips Sebastian’s stomach. His lips part just slightly as if he is going to say something else, but instead he glances pointedly down toward one of his wrists. The way he holds it allows Sebastian to see the silver hook attaching him to the table with what looks to be a similar mechanism to a heavy-duty carabiner. 

Oh. There is no key for these. Just a simplified method that doesn’t allow the restrained person any access to release the clip. 

He wastes no time crossing back to him. “You’re not going to start swinging on me, are you?” Sebastian says, mostly as a joke to cut the tension, but it’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it as soon as the boy’s eyes darken and fall away to his lap.

“No, S— Doctor Tate. S-sorry,” the boy stumbles through a rushed assurance, still not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t mean to— I… it wasn’t…” He seems to slow himself with considerable effort, forcing in a deep breath, then out again. “I’m sorry. I will not step out of line again,” he finishes in a quiet, frustrated tone of defeat. 

Sebastian is glad for the distraction of unbuckling his cuffs, which he goes straight to work on, because he’s not sure what to say to any of that. “Sorry,” he murmurs as he frees his left hand from the restraint. “I was only kidding.” 

Another thought pops into his head, and only just stops himself from saying, “Whatever happened, I’m sure those Handlers had it coming.”

Once he is freed, Sebastian tosses the cuffs onto the counter, eager to get them out of his hands. The patient wraps his arms around his middle as soon as he’s able to, keeping his shoulders drawn in even now that he has full mobility to sit up. Sebastian forces himself into clinical mode. He may feel out of his element here and his sense of morality may be steadily decaying in this place with each passing day, but he’s a good doctor. He knows he is. And he needs to remember that he is the one with any amount of power in this room, and he isn’t doing either of them any favors by floundering helplessly. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up before we do anything else,” he says decisively, turning with a bit more confidence in his step to wet some paper towels in the sink. 

“Thank you.” His patient accepts them with something like genuine gratitude, bringing the damp towel to his nose. It seems the bulk of the active bleeding has stopped, so they at least have that going for them. 

It takes a conscious effort to stop himself from staring as the boy cleans himself off with soft, calculated movements. Instead, Sebastian tears himself away to claim the stool in front of the monitor beside the bed. One quick scan of his key card gains him access to the patient intake home screen.

“So, um.” Sebastian clears his throat. “Let’s try that again, shall we? What can I call you?”

“110750, Domestic Services,” the answer comes automatically, as if he didn’t need to be in his own head to recite the words from memory. 

Wordlessly, Sebastian types the numbers into the system. A moment later, a digital chart appears in front of him, and he has to bite down on his cheek to keep from cursing. The photo in the top right corner is dated just over nine months ago, but the person in it looks… so fucking young.

He can’t help but toss a glance at the man on the bed he had just unshackled, gingerly wiping his injuries, and then back at the screen. Less than a year separated the two faces, and yet there was a world of difference etched into the space beneath his eyes, the posture of his spine and shoulders, the hollowness of his gaze. In the photo, he looks afraid. Here, in front of him though, he looks… dismantled.

Which is a horrible thing to think about someone, Sebastian scolds himself immediately. Had things gone differently in his own life and Sebastian himself had somehow landed in this boy’s position, he is quite sure he wouldn’t be handling it with an ounce of the composure most of these people seem to have. He doesn’t like to think about that. 

“Here you are,” he says mostly to fill the silence, nodding toward the screen. “Let’s see…” His eyes scan down the monitor until he sees the highlighted red portion at the bottom, which generally lists the reason for admittance. In his, he finds two lines he immediately wishes he could unread.

Domestic Return Intake Physical.

Comprehensive STI Panel.

As if the words themselves are not enough, it’s the small text inserted next to the second line — only the second line — that really delivers the blow. In barely-there letters next to a bold asterisk, it reads: 

RFR.

Sebastian has seen just enough during his probationary period, in the fleeting glances over Dr. Geer’s shoulder, to understand its meaning. 

Redact From Record.

Sebastian’s mouth feels dry around the swallow he attempts. Despite his best efforts, he’s sure his expression is not as impassive as he hopes. The screen is angled away from his patient, but if what they say about some Companions still losing their literacy during training is true, maybe that doesn’t matter. WRU claims that’s no longer a part of the training process since their rebranding, but as Sebastian is well aware, it wouldn’t be the first or most heinous lie they’ve told. Not by a long shot. 

With the words buzzing around like angry hornets in his skull, Sebastian forces himself to turn toward patient 110750. The blood has been mostly wiped from his face, leaving only trace amounts of pink-tinged skin in its wake, and he has pressed the paper towel into a soiled wad in his fist. 

He is watching Sebastian carefully, like he’s preparing himself for something. Or… like he’s preparing himself for anything, because of course he can’t know what to expect, only that he is helpless to prevent whatever comes. The haunting revelation tucked away inside his patient file is kerosene on the wildfire of Sebastian’s imagination, supplying him with a litany of past horrors that must be swimming behind those eyes to fill them with a dread so pure. 

He suddenly remembers the Handler’s words when they had dragged him in, and it makes more sense now. “Freaked the fuck out at strip and started throwing punches.”

Sebastian can imagine why. 

Overturning the Romantic division of WRU had been the largest, most public part of their new regime. It had come on the heels of several small pockets of the company being blown wide open to expose the outlawed buying, selling, and subsequent abuse of minors within the system. At that point, they’d been left with little choice but to make a big move to save face in whatever way they could. 

There had been liberators that moved in some of Sebastian’s (very small) circles in undergrad. He had heard their vocal disdain for the company’s half-hearted attempts. Sebastian had never once stood in defense of the system, but perhaps some small part of him had always hoped for a grain of truth in their promise to turn over a new leaf, if only for the poor people who are stuck inside of it. 

Now, there’s no shielding himself away from the truth that had always existed, and he felt like an idiot for ever believing their intentions could ever be anything but malicious. Divisions and legalities aside, the people here are given numbers instead of names and sworn to a secrecy disguised as confidentiality regarding the people who have unlimited access to them. They have no legal standing. They have no power. 

The word “Domestic” is etched into this boy’s designation line, but Sebastian knows that doesn’t mean shit. 

Now, Sebastian looks into his wide, guarded eyes and thinks about how his first task as a solo practitioner is going to be forcing this person to undergo a full panel of invasive testing. And he feels the first spark of what he’s sure will stoke a flame of the desire to see this place burn.

[maotranslates]

Chapter 8

Novel: Life Going Wild With Plug-ins 带挂装逼, 最为致命 by Shi Zi Qing 十字卿

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　　 The scenery was bright and beautiful at noon, and a bird call outside the window pulled me back to my senses, finding that the porcelain cup in my hand had been crushed into dust.

　　 Ye Tan, who was wearing a single layer of clothing, leaning at the bedside and flipping through a book, just glanced at me indifferently, no longer being surprised by strange occurrences. At the beginning, he would nervously check whether I was scratched by the porcelain, but the hearts of the people have been degenerated.*

*hearts of the people… = idiom, meaning “men are not how they used to be”

　　 "...I can't stay in this medicine hall any longer." I sighed, shaking the dust off my sleeves, "From when I came back yesterday noon until now, I’ve already crushed 37 cups from the doctor’s place, Doctor Ren is really going to curse at me."

　　 Last time I changed the data too much, and now I was unable to control the absurdly great power in my body. During this period, I was in a tense mental state to preserve my strength, but as long as I was a little bit distracted, my hands would create a dilapidated scene. My willpower was quickly dwindling, at the edge of falling apart at any moment.

　　 The thing that caused the falling apart the most was that I seriously didn’t know how I entered the modifier last time, and now I couldn’t change it back no matter how much I tried.

　　 "Ah Tan*, do you remember yesterday… in the moment just before my faked death, what exactly did we do?" I was unable to figure out the critical points in the situation, and feeling a little irritable, I knocked on the table gently.

*adding Ah in front of names is a form of endearment 

　　 The entire rosewood table immediately collapsed, covering the ground with broken pieces.

　　

　　 Fuck.

　　

　　 "...Master, you could lie down and talk." Ye Tan suggested cautiously.

　　 "But I have already collapsed two beds." I painfully refused. Cups and tables could perhaps be overlooked, but with things like beds, a broken one is missing one. "But I really do have to think about this matter, I'll go lie down in the courtyard."

　　 I softly and quietly opened the door and went out, and Ye Tan also put down his book and got up: "That is also good, this servant will accompany you to sunbathe for a while."

　　 I nodded, concentrated my attention, struck up one hundred thousand points of consciousness, and with fear and trepidation, like walking on thin ice, carried the reclining chair from the inner room to the courtyard. Putting it on the ground gently, I cautiously backed away seven steps before finally letting out a breath: "You can't stand for a long time, lie and rest for a while."

　　 "Master, I can’t. How could this servant be so disrespectful?"

　　 I was familiar with his hard to coax temperament, but I really didn’t have the energy to appease him: “Ah Tan, I’m really very tired, please spare me.”

　　 He pursed his lips, and unexpectedly followed my advice and sat down immediately.

　　 So effortlessly, I was astonished.

　　 It turns out that towards the Shadow Guard, acting miserable is much more effective than appeasing him. I firmly remembered this in my heart.

　　

　　 I removed the weeds and lay down in the middle of the courtyard. The stone and bricks were not very level, and they pressed on me very uncomfortably, but it could still be considered finally being able to relax for a moment.

　　

　　 "Ah Tan."

        "Hm?"

　　 "Being alive, is really, so hard."

　　 "……"

　　

　　 The condition for opening the plug-ins, what was it exactly? Object? Action? Ritual? Words?

　　 I closed my eyes and recalled the situation carefully. I was beaten and thrown by Ze Que, rolled around a few times, and then was supported by Ye Tan. It didn’t seem that I encountered anything special, so the trigger condition shouldn’t be an object.

　　 "Ah Tan, what did you say at the time? Can you say it again?" After thinking so hard to no avail, I had to ask for outside help.

　　 Ye Tan kept silent, so I urged him again, and only then did he respond with a faint mosquito noise: "This servant said…  If I were still at my prime, I would never have let Master suffer this humiliation."

　　 "What was the other sentence?"

　　 Ye Tan refused to say it in any way.

　　

　　 I turned over and got up, saying earnestly: "Ah Tan, can you still move? Is it possible for you to bear it and repeat your actions back then?"

　　 I knew that this was not favorable for his injuries, but it probably wouldn’t change much. Without asking for further opinion, I carried him to the ground, arranging us into the posture from that time, and leaned into his arms.

　　 Ye Tan’s movements were stiff and his expression was even more amazing.

　　 I thought about my own lines, and took the lead in the play: "I’m not your match, so I concede defeat. Okay, Ah Tan, it's your turn."

　　 My expression was eager, but Ye Tan seemed a bit overwhelmed, turning his head away and speaking in a small voice: "...If only it was you that I met in the beginning, then it would be good…"

　　 The sound of the birds was sweet, the warm wind blowing by our ears, the quiet world was peaceful and good, nothing at all changed.

　　 No one spoke for a while, all I saw was the tips of Ye Tan’s ears turning bright red in the sunlight.

　　 I was greatly disappointed.

　　 It seemed that launching the program wasn’t using words either.

　　 What’s missing? Action? It seemed to be the same as back then, nothing missing...

　　 I was suddenly blessed with knowledge: "Ye Tan! Back then, did you kiss me?!"

　　 Ye Tan was scared into a shock, absolutely denying: "There was no such thing!!"

　　 "But there was, right?! Although afterwards I passed out and lost consciousness, I remember seeing your eyelashes extremely close to me." I rejoiced, "Ah Tan, quick, kiss me again!!"

        Ye Tan was probably in panic, wanting to push me away, but I naturally refused to let go, hugging him and grabbing him over. Seeing him with a flustered expression, I suddenly had a guilty feeling as if I was harassing a young maiden, so I quickly tried to calm him down, saying, "Don't be afraid, I… Sigh, I have… No other alternative."

　　 My expression became sour, and after I started acting miserable, Ye Tan finally calmed down a bit. Seeing the opportunity, I aimed at that place and pecked him.

　　 Hit! Yes!!

　　 He was struggling desperately just before, but after I actually kissed him he instead stopped moving, probably scared into stupidity.

　　 But the kiss was kissed, yet I was still unable to launch the modifier. I wondered if the position was wrong, so I pressed against his lips and tried a few different angles, but there was still no improvement.

　　 Greatly disappointed ×2

　　 I had already tried all the methods I could think of, and was finally at my wits’ end. Sad and heartbroken, I was like an eggplant beaten with frost* as I let go slowly, moving away from Ye Tan's lips.

* eggplant beaten with frost = proverb, meaning someone with a wilted mentality

　　 I didn’t even move a few inches before I could no longer move any further.

　　 I didn’t know when Ye Tan had moved his hand to support the back of my neck, his fingers slipping into my hair, rubbing upwards inch by inch.

　　

　　 "...I'm sorry, Master. I... This servant didn't mean to refuse you." He apologized in a low voice, closed his eyes and pressed up again. His thin lips were boiling hot and his breathing was soft:

　　 "Please don't show such an expression."

　　

　　 ......?????

　　 No??

　　 Brother, have you misunderstood something????

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[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

I have been trying to write something about separatism almost since my first dawning of feminist consciousness, but it has always been for me somehow a mercurial topic which, when I tried to grasp it, would softly shatter into many other topics like sexuality, man-hating, so-called reverse discrimination, apocalyptic utopianism, and so on. What I have to share with you today is my latest attempt to get to the heart of the matter.

[…] The theme of separation, in its multitude variations, is there in everything from divorce to exclusive lesbian separatist communities, from shelters for battered women to witch covens, from women’s studies programs to women’s bars, from expansion of daycare to abortion on demand. The presence of this theme is vigorously obscured, trivialized, mystified and outright denied by many feminist apologists, who seem to find it embarrassing, while it is embraced, explored, expanded and ramified by most of the more inspiring theorists and activists. The theme of separation is noticeably absent or heavily qualified in most of the things I take to be personal solutions and band-aid projects, like legalization of prostitution, liberal marriage contracts, improvement of the treatment of rape victims and affirmative action. It is clear to me, in my own case at least, that the contrariety of assimilation and separation is one of the main things that guides or determines assessments of various theories, actions and practices as reformist or radical, as going to the root of the thing or being relatively superficial. So my topical question comes to this: What is it about separation, in any or all of its many forms and degrees, that makes it so basic and so sinister, so exciting and so repellent?

Feminist separation is, of course, separation of various sorts or modes from men and from institutions, relationships, roles and activities which are male-defined, male-dominated and operating for the benefit of males and the maintenance of male privilege–this separation being initiated or maintained, at will, by women. (Masculist separatism is the partial segregation of women from men and male domains at the will of men. This difference is crucial.)

The feminist separation can take many forms. Breaking up or avoiding close relationships or working relationships; forbidding someone to enter your house; excluding someone from your company, or from your meeting; withdrawal from participation in some activity or institution, or avoidance of participation; avoidance of communications and influence from certain quarters (not listening to music with sexist lyrics, not watching tv); withholding commitment or support; rejection of or rudeness toward obnoxious individuals. Some separations are subtle realignments of identification, priorities and commitments, or working with agendas which only incidently coincide with the agendas of the institution one works in. Ceasing to be loyal to something or someone is a separation; and ceasing to love.

[…] Most feminists, probably all, practice some separation from males and male-dominated institutions. A separatist practices separation consciously, systematically, and probably more generally than the others, and advocates thorough and “broadspectrum” separation as part of the conscious strategy of liberation. And, contrary to the image of the separatist as a cowardly escapist, hers is the life and program which inspires the greatest hostility, disparagement, insult and confrontation and generally she is the one against whom economic sanctions operate most conclusively. The penalty for refusing to work with or for men is usually starvation (or, at the very least, doing without medical insurance); and if one’s policy of noncooperation is more subtle, one’s livelihood is still constantly on the line, since one is not a loyal partisan, a proper member of the team, or what have you. The penalties for being a lesbian are ostracism, harassment and job insecurity or joblessness. The penalty for rejecting men’s sexual advances is often rape and, perhaps even more often, forfeit of such things as professional or job opportunities. And the separatist lives with the added burden of being assumed by many to be a morally depraved man-hating bigot. But there is a clue here: if you are doing something that is so strictly forbidden by the patriarchs, you must be doing something right.

There is an idea floating around in both feminist and antifeminist literature to the effect that females and males generally live in a relation of parasitism, a parasitism of the male on the female… that it is, generally speaking, the strength, energy, inspiration and nurturance of women that keeps men going, and not the strength, aggression, spirituality and hunting of men that keeps women going.

[…] The parasitism of males on females is, as I see it, demonstrated by the panic, rage and hysteria generated in so many of them by the thought of being abandoned by women. […] If it is true that a fundamental aspect of the relations between the sexes is male parasitism, it might help to explain why certain issues are particularly exciting to patriarchal loyalists. For instance, in view of the obvious advantages of easy abortion to population control, to control of welfare rolls, and to ensuring sexual availability of women to men, it is a little surprising that the loyalists are so adamant and riled up in their objection to it. But look.

The fetus lives parasitically. It is a distinct animal surviving off the life (the blood) of another animal creature. It is incapable of surviving on its own resources, of independent nutrition; incapable even of symbiosis. If it is true that males live parasitically upon females, it seems reasonable to suppose that many of them and those loyal to them are in some way sensitive to the parallelism between their situation and that of the fetus. They could easily identify with the fetus. The woman who is free to see the fetus as a parasite might be free to see the man as a parasite. The woman’s willingness to cut off the life line to one parasite suggests a willingness to cut off the life line to another parasite. The woman who is capable (legally, psychologically, physically) of decisively, self-interestedly, independently rejecting the one parasite, is capable of rejecting, with the same decisiveness and independence, the like burden of the other parasite. In the eyes of the other parasite, the image of the wholly self-determined abortion, involving not even a ritual submission to male veto power, is the mirror image of death.

[…] There are other reasons, of course, why patriarchal loyalists should be disturbed about abortion on demand; a major one being that it would be a significant form of female control of reproduction, and at least from certain angles it looks like the progress of patriarchy is the progress toward male control of reproduction, starting with possession of wives and continuing through the invention of obstetrics and the technology of extrauterine gestation. Giving up that control would be giving up patriarchy. But such an objection to abortion is too abstract, and requires too historical a vision, to generate the hysteria there is now in the reaction against abortion. The hysteria is, I think, to be accounted for more in terms of a much more immediate and personal presentiment of ejection by the woman-womb.

[…] Male parasitism means that males must have access to women; it is the Patriarchal Imperative. But feminist no-saying is more than a substantial removal (redirection, reallocation) of goods and services because Access is one of the faces of Power. Female denial of male access to females substantially cuts off a flow of benefits, but it has also the form and full portent of assumption of power.

Differences of power are always manifested in asymmetrical access. The President of the United States has access to almost everybody for almost anything he might want of them, and almost nobody has access to him. The super-rich have access to almost everybody; almost nobody has access to them. The resources of the employee are available to the boss as the resources of the boss are not to the employee. The parent has unconditional access to the child’s room; the child does not have similar access to the parent’s room. Students adjust to professors’ office hours; professors do not adjust to students’ conference hours. The child is required not to lie; the parent is free to close out the child with lies at her discretion. The slave is unconditionally accessible to the master. Total power is unconditional access; total powerlessness is being unconditionally accessible. The creation and manipulation of power is constituted of the manipulation and control of access.

All-woman groups, meetings, projects seem to be great things for causing controversy and confrontation. Many women are offended by them; many are afraid to be the one to announce the exclusion of men; it is seen as a device whose use needs much elaborate justification. I think this is because conscious and deliberate exclusion of men by women, from anything, is blatant insubordination, and generates in women fear of punishment and reprisal (fear which is often well-justified). Our own timidity and desire to avoid confrontations generally keep us from doing very much in the way of all-woman groups and meetings. But when we do, we invariably run into the male champion who challenges our right to do it. Only a small minority of men go crazy when an event is advertised to be for women only–just one man tried to crash our women-only Rape Speak-Out, and only a few hid under the auditorium seats to try to spy on a women-only meeting at a NOW convention in Philadelphia. But these few are onto something their less rabid compatriots are missing. The woman-only meeting is a fundamental challenge to the structure of power. It is always the privilege of the master to enter the slave’s hut. The slave who decides to exclude the master from her hut is declaring herself not a slave. The exclusion of men from the meeting not only deprives them of certain benefits (which they might survive without); it is a controlling of access, hence an assumption of power. It is not only mean, it is arrogant.

[…] When those who control access have made you totally accessible, your first act of taking control must be denying access, or must have denial of access as one of its aspects. This is not because you are charged up with (unfeminine or politically incorrect) negativity; it is because of the logic of the situation. When we start from a position of total accessibility there must be an aspect of no-saying (which is the beginning of control) in every effective act and strategy, the effective ones being precisely those which shift power, i.e., ones which involve manipulation and control of access.n.

[…] When our feminist acts or practices have an aspect of separation, we are assuming power by controlling access and simultaneously by undertaking definition.

[…] The powerful normally determine what is said and sayable. When the powerful label something or dub it or baptize it, the thing becomes what they call it. When the Secretary of Defense calls something a peace negotiation, for instance, then whatever it is that he called a peace negotiation is an instance of negotiating peace. If the activity in question is the working out of terms of a trade-off of nuclear reactors and territorial redistributions, complete with arrangements for the resulting refugees, that is peacemaking. People laud it, and the negotiators get Noble Piece Prizes for it. On the other hand, when I call a certain speech act a rape, my “calling” it does not make it so. At best, I have to explain and justify and make clear exactly what it is about this speech act which is assaultive in just what way, and then the others acquiesce in saying the act was like rape or could figuratively be called a rape. My counterassault will not be counted a simple case of self-defense. And what I called rejection of parasitism, they call the loss of the womanly virtues of compassion and “caring.” And generally, when renegade women call something one thing and patriarchal loyalists call it another, the loyalists get their way.

Women generally are not the people who do the defining, and we cannot from our isolation and powerlessness simply commence saying different things than others say and make it stick. There is a humpty-dumpty problem in that. But we are able to arrogate definition to ourselves when we repattern access. Assuming control of access, we draw new boundaries and create new roles and relationships. This, though it causes some strain, puzzlement and hostility, is to a fair extent within the scope of individuals and small gangs, as outright verbal redefinition is not, at least in the first instance.

[…] It is our experience in the movement generally that the defensiveness, nastiness, violence, hostility and irrationality of the reaction to feminism tends to correlate with the blatancy of the element of separation in the strategy or project which triggers the reaction. The separations involved in women leaving homes, marriages and boyfriends, separations from fetuses, and the separation of lesbianism are all pretty dramatic. That is, they are dramatic and blatant when perceived from within the framework provided by the patriarchal world view and male parasitism. Matters pertaining to marriage and divorce, lesbianism and abortion touch individual men (and their sympathizers) because they can feel the relevance of these to themselves–they can feel the threat that they might be the next. Hence, heterosexuality, marriage and motherhood, which are the institutions which most obviously and individually maintain female accessibility to males, form the core triad of antifeminist ideology; and all-woman spaces, all-woman organizations, all-woman meetings, all-woman classes, are outlawed, suppressed, harassed, ridiculed and punished.

To some of us these issues can seem almost foreign… strange ones to be occupying center stage. We are busily engaged in what seem to us our blatant insubordinations: living our own lives, taking care of ourselves and one another, doing our work, and in particular, telling it as we see it. Still, the original sin is the separation which these presuppose, and it is that, not our art or philosophy, not our speechmaking, nor our “sexual acts” (or abstinences), for which we will be persecuted, when worse comes to worst.

- Marilyn Frye, Some Reflections on Separatism and Power in The Politics of Reality: essays in feminist theory (1983, Crossing Press)

[neopuff]

hello, i hope you're having a good day!! i was wondering, do you have any tips for making amvs? like, what programmes you use, how you handle the timing, etc. thank you for all the fun edits you make!!

hi!! sorry for the delay in answering this, i just wanted to take the time to answer it thoroughly and i kept forgetting lol & thank you! i already typed this once and tumblr made it disappear so i apologize if anything i say comes out short ‘cause i’m just trying to remember all that i typed before lol

ok so ill just go through my general editing process in Vegas, i dont know any other program well enough to talk about it at length:

(disclaimer: this is just how i do it, i dont watch tutorials and my editing friends and i don’t watch each other edit often so i would assume that my way is very different from other ways you’ve probably seen! i might even do something in a very stupidly hard way, please feel free to tell me if theres an easier way to do anything lol)

1. Song: So skipping past the “choosing song and ship/character/show” theme, I’ll dive straight into CUTTING THE SONG! I’m not about that Editing The Entire Song life, and neither is most of the editing community anymore, so I cut it up into a shorter thing that I’m better equipped to edit to. I’m just using a random example but here I’ve taken this long ass song and turned it into this:

(the next step just kind of depends on my mood, or ill do both, doesnt matter)

2-A. Subclips: if im making a shorter video or a video where i’m not 100% super familiar with the footage, i will immediately start making subclips using the episodes ive already pulled into the project. if it’s a ship/character that i’ve edited before, i’ll just go to Import->Media from Project and import the subclips i made previously. either way, subclips are there! 

2-B. Sheets: for ships that i know very well/have a lot of footage/im concerned about potentially repeating something, i will go to Google Sheets/Excel and take the lyrics im editing to and put them in column A, separating by pauses in the singing. then i put corresponding footage i think will go well in column B! im often not super specific because i know the beats are gonna be different than i remember, so i usually stick to referencing whole scenes instead of specifics moments. here’s an example:

3. Clip placement: Then I start placing clips down! Below is how I organize my timeline tho I know a lot of editors who put the music on top, this is just how I like it. I also keep a single muted audio layer in between for the video footage’s audio and then I’ll delete that layer when I’m done (or sometimes I don’t, it doesn’t really matter)

I think it’s good to hit the beats as much as possible, it makes for a more dynamic audio-visual experience! In general I try to make my videos so that, if I didn’t add any zooms or typography or coloring, it would still be a good amv. And don’t limit yourself to just one layer, you can have as many layers as you’d like and put clips on top of each other (cookie cutter/changing the layer to dodge or add or screen or whatever) is a good way to mix things up

when I zoom in you can see I’ve got some variety already in my transitions, I know I use that motion-blur-zoom a lot these days but I still try to mix it up and keep my brain invested

4. Typography: After all the clips have been placed (or most of the clips, ofc sometimes I’ll want to add more later) I move on to typography! I’m lazy so the first thing I’ll do it just put down unedited text where I think I’ll want it to go. It just helps me organize myself. Then I’ll pretty up the text afterwards.

Typography isn’t necessary for a good AMV, but really nice typography can really spruce things up. I’ve only very recently gotten confident in my text editing skills, and I just kept watching typography done by editors I really like until I figured out what they were doing. My recommendation is to just KEEP ADDING EFFECTS! Convolution kernel, gaussian blur, mask the text so it appears from angles that the transitions wouldn’t be able to do - of course there’s gotta be a limit for taste, but just add stuff until you like how it looks. Also changing the blending style of the text layer is good, dodge and difference are my go-tos for typography layers.

5. Transitions: I don’t go crazy with transitions, but it’s fun to mess around with them. You don’t want too many crazy/different transitions, you want them to match the mood of the song and the type of beat you’re hitting. I usually ensure that all similar beats in the song have the same transition type on them, bbbbbbut that’s cuz I’m overly obsessed with parallel structure. There’s plenty of fantastic AMVs where they just go ham and do whatever types of transitions they want to in each part of the song and they make it work just fine

(next step, once again, kind of depends on my mood lol)

6-A. Zooms: Time for zooms! I usually just use the pan/crop for zooming, but often I’ll incorporate Sapphire FX BlurMoCurves or NewBlue AutoPan, especially if I’m trying to zoom typography with the footage at the same rate. I try to keep my zooms short and slower, I mean obv it just depends on the song but yeah. There’s a lot of different ways to do zooms so I recommend experimenting and just playing around with different effects

6-B. Zooms...but different: Another way that I’ll do zooms which is definitely pretty different (but this is what I do for crossovers like 95% of the time because I am laaaaaaaaaaazy) is I’ll drag the project into a new project timeline and start editing it there. It’s similar to how After Effects works and it makes it easier to put effects overtop of multiple layers without having to pre-render anything.

So you can see I’ve just pulled in the .VEG file and popped it in the timeline! So this way I can add zooms and transitions without worrying about layers. And if I see a mistake I need to fix, I can just go back into the original .VEG file and edit it, and it’ll be edited when I come back here. So it’s much easier than pre-rendering or trying to do zooms on a lot of layers. To be clear tho, this doesn’t work well if you have a lot of fade transitions, it’s best for sharp transitions and it’s great when you’re using Sapphire FX BlurMoCurves a lot.

7. Overlays: After that I’ll add more typography (or if you didn’t add any earlier, you can add some here overtop of the new project file) that kind of goes on top of everything. And then I’ll add any overlays or objects or whatever else I wanna add! I’m not someone who uses a lot of backgrounds cuz I don’t have a background-creative-brain so I stick to simple overlays at the most.

8. Coloring!!! This is very sad but I only JUST learned a few weeks ago that you can add coloring/effects to your entire video with this button here, so in case anyone else hates watching tutorials as much as I do here’s where I’m talking about:

This shit would’ve made my life so much easier throughout the years lol But alas. Anyway so for coloring there are some effects that are popular for any colorings you’ll find on YT (but you can certainly just download some, Riverdale editors in particular share a lot of really great colorings but you’ll find them anywhere in the live action editing community):

Channel Blend, Color Curves, Color Blend, Color Balance, Convolution Kernel (best for live action footage or footage that isnt very crisp), Color Corrector Secondary

These are all just fun to mess with. Channel Blend in particular is something of a mystery for me, I haven’t studied it fully to understand what I’m doing so I mostly just mess with it randomly until I like what I see lol

9. Render time! First render, anyway. Usually there’ll be some random problem in the footage or something and I’ll have to either go back into the project and fix it OR if I’m feeling particularly sour (or maybe if I’ve rendered like 3-4 times already) I will just take the finished render and manually remove any errors, stretching out the good footage to cover my tracks. You’d be surprised how often I end up doing that lol

And then it’s good to post! I primarily render as .WMV but I also go for .MP4s every once in a while. If I want to upload it to Twitter I’ll do an .MP4 but it’s a new thing for me so I’m still stuck on .WMV mostly.

Anyway I hope this answered your question at least a little bit, I can go into more detail about certain parts of this if you’d like!

[mtf-unit-epsilon11]

Item #: SCP-001

Object Class: Euclid/Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Because of the nature of SCP-001, no containment procedures are necessary. 24/7 monitoring of SCP-001 is to take place from a safe (10 km+) distance from a pre-determined location (Site 0). The location of Site 0 is known only to the current SCP Administrator and the single Overseer-level Agent of Abrahamic faith (O5-14) assigned to monitor SCP-001 from Site 0. Said Agent is authorized to take any action necessary should SCP-001 become active, and is required to immediately alert the Administrator and all other Overseer-level agents should SCP-001 show any change in behavior, as this may constitute the beginning of a PATMOS XK-class end-of-the-world scenario.

Should SCP-001 become active in any way, personnel are required to immediately consult the Patmos series of Emergency Orders. Decoding algorithms for Emergency Order Patmos are to be maintained on-site at Site 0 in the possession of the designated observer, and are to be transmitted to SCP Foundation offices only in the event of SCP-001 becoming active. Foundation Personnel with vital roles in one or more variants of Emergency Procedure PATMOS are to be advised to take the following precautions:

To maintain good relations with one or more organized Abrahamic faiths.

To maintain, on hand, a supply of the following: holy water, a rosary, crucifix, cross, prayer rug, or other symbol blessed by an Abrahamic cleric of bishop or equivalent higher rank, a copy of Abrahamic scriptures (Torah, Bible, Quran), and standard emergency supplies in mobile form (bug-out bag).

In case of a premillenial rapture scenario, all vital personnel are to designate a secondary operative of non-Abrahamic faith. Said secondary operative is to be informed of the location of the primary designate's copy of Emergency Procedure PATMOS and memetic kill agent innoculant, and is to be kept on ready status to take over the primary's duties as necessary.

To maintain familiarity with all other SCPs involved in possible PATMOS XK-class end-of-the-world scenarios.

Description: SCP-001 is a humanoid entity, approximately seven hundred (700) cubits in height, located in an undisclosed location near the intersection of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. The following features are known about the entity:

A number of luminous, wing-like appendages emerging from the shoulders, back, temples, ankles, and wrists of the entity. Although an accurate count has never been established, most observers place the number of wings at anywhere from two (2) through one hundred and eight (108), with the mean number being four (4).

A weapon, possibly a sword or knife (SCP-001-2). The weapon appears to emit flames at a temperature rivaling that of the sun, based on spectrographic analysis, although there appear to be no destructive effects from the intense heat on the surrounding area. Any entity that approaches within 1 km of SCP-001 is immediately struck by the weapon and obliterated from existence. Any and all hostile actions taken towards SCP-001 have resulted in the annihilation of the attacker, regardless of range (see incident report re: Indian Ocean Submarine Missile Experiment, December 26, 2004)

SCP-001 appears to be standing with its head bowed in a gesture of supplication with SCP-001-2 held in both hands point-down in front of it. Since originally recorded by the Founder over [DATA REDACTED] years ago, SCP-001 has not deviated from this stance.

Human beings exposed to SCP-001 report hearing a voice in their heads, giving them a directive which the subject reports cannot be disobeyed. The most common directive is "FORGET", which results in the subject walking away from SCP-001 with no memory of having encountered it. On rare occasions, however, other directives have been given: the most famous of these is the one given to the Founder ("PREPARE"), which he has claimed formed the impetus for founding [DATA REDACTED] to catalog and contain any and all supernatural and/or paranormal artifacts that represent a serious threat to the current existence of humanity. This is the organization now known as the SCP Foundation.

Observers have reported that SCP-001 appears to be standing in front of a gate of immense proportions. Long-range photographs have occasionally detected what appears to be a pastoral grove within, containing numerous other entities of the same composition as SCP-001, as well as several fruit trees of unknown composition. Of particular note are two fruit trees of immense proportion near what appears to be the center of the grove: one, it is noted, appears to be an ordinary apple tree, although the other bears a fruit unknown on earth, described as [DATA EXPUNGED].

It is the avowed belief of the Founder that the gate which SCP-001 guards may be the gate to [EXPUNGED] based on correlations with ancient Babylonian texts and the Dead Sea Scrolls. In which case, one can deduce that the entity known as SCP-001 may be [EXPUNGED].

Addendum 001-a: Experimentation re: SCP-001-2's effective kill range

1. EXPERIMENT A: 1 Class-D personnel instructed to approach SCP-001 as closely as possible on foot.

Result: Upon making visual contact with SCP-001, subject is ordered to "LEAVE." Subject immediately turns away from entity and walks away. Despite repeated orders to continue the experiment, Class D Personnel refuses to obey and is terminated. Upon termination of Class-D personnel, all research staff involved are immediately obliterated by an unknown force, presumably SCP-001-2.

2. EXPERIMENT B: 1 remote-operated research robot guided to approach SCP-001 from the ground.

Result: Upon approaching within 1 km of SCP-001, research robot is obliterated, presumably by SCP-001-2. All further attempts at remote reconnaissance have the same result.

3. EXPERIMENT C: 100 pre-programmed research drones instructed to approach SCP-001 from multiple angles simultaneously.

Result: Coordination is successful, and all 100 drones cross the 1 km mark simultaneously; however, all 100 are simultaneously obliterated by SCP-001-2. Designated observer at Site 0 reports that SCP-001-2 appeared to "strike in all directions at once." SCP-001 did not deviate from its stance while this took place.

4. EXPERIMENT D: Wire-guided missile fired from a distance of 3 km.

Result: SCP-001-2 obliterates weapon upon crossing the 1km mark, simultaneously obliterating the launch site and killing all personnel.

5. EXPERIMENT E: Multi-Warhead Intercontinental Ballistic Missile fired from SCP nuclear submarine "Nautilus."

Result: See Indian Ocean Submarine Missile Experiment, December 26, 2004

6. EXPERIMENT F: SCP-076 and Task Force Omega 7 instructed to approach SCP-001 on foot.

Result: SCP-076 refuses to carry out mission, despite not being informed of the mission's nature. Upon being asked why, SCP-076 replies, "No. Just no."

7. EXPERIMENT G: SCP-073. Due to the results of experiment F, SCP-073 was not informed of his destination until arriving at Site 0.

Result: SCP-073 approached the site on foot. Upon seeing SCP-001, SCP-073 became distressed and asked to abort. SCP-073 was ordered to continue. At that point, the symbol on SCP-073's forehead became [DATA EXPUNGED]. Experiment was terminated due to [DATA EXPUNGED]. See Addendum 001-aa.

Addendum 001-aa: By executive order of the Administrator, no further experiments are to be carried out re: SCP-001. No further SCPs are to be exposed to SCP-001. SCP-001 is not to be used to dispose of dangerous SCPs. Please see revised containment procedures for details.

ADDENDUM: On ██-██-████, the following errant transmission was received by Foundation personnel:

INITIATE EMERGENCY PROCEDURE PATMOS-OMEGA

ATTN: All Foundation Personnel.

The following message was received at approximately ████:██:██ this morning from Site 0.

SCP-001 has left its location. The Gate is Open. They are riding forth.

Oh G_d, it's so beautiful…

thelordreigneththelordhasreignedthelordshallreignforeverthelordrei

gneththelordhasreignedthelordshallreignforeverthelordreigneththel

ordhasreignedthelordshallreignforeverthelordheisgodthelordheisgod

thelordheisgodthelordheisgodthelordheisgodthelordheisgodthelord

heisgodthelordheisgodHEAROISRAELTHELORDOURGODTHELORDISONE

Because of this event's confluence with the recent breach of SCP-995, the opening of SCP-616, and the activation of SCP-098, the Foundation is required to immediately begin preparations for an XK-class end-of-the-world scenario. SCP-076 and SCP-073 are to be secured immediately. All personnel are to unlock and decode Emergency Order Patmos-Omega, and follow all orders within. Site 19 is to be secured, and all nonessential SCPs and personnel terminated and/or destroyed. Repeat, because of this event's confluence with the recent breach of SCP-995, the opening of SCP-616, and the activation of SCP-098, the Foundation is required to immediately begin preparations for an XK-class end-of-the-world scenario. SCP-076 and SCP-073 are to be secured immediately. All personnel are to unlock and decode Emergency Order Patmos-Omega, and follow all orders within. Site 19 is to be secured, and all nonessential SCPs and personnel terminated and/or destroyed. Repeat, because of this event's confluence with the recent breach of SCP-995, the opening of SCP-616, and the aktivation of SCP-098, the Foundation is rekwired to immediatelebegin preprrations ffr an XK-class end-of-theworldsenario. SCP-076 and SCP-073 @re to be secured immediately Cain and Abel my two sons, I amcoming all personnel are to unlock and decode behold, I stand at the gate and knock and if anyanayansdfysffollow

aall alla khaf3242!$$@andisawanewheavenandanewearthandthefruitofofof

^&@#$@#@#$@#$███████

█████████

█████████

█████████

███ [SIGNAL LOST]

Upon contacting Site 0, O5-14 responded that no such message had been sent from his location and that SCP-001 remained inert. The transmission was initially determined to be a hoax. However, close examination of the transmission reveals a timestamp dated [DATA REDACTED] years in the future. It is theorized that [DATA EXPUNGED].

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.9

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time as we got even deeper into the fiction reveals of trial 6, I tried probably too hard to justify the auditionees’ nonsensical ideas of how any of this even works, those assholes were nonetheless not the same people as our friends in here in any meaningful way, Tsumugi’s claim that she scripted Maki’s feelings for Kaito was total bullshit but still hit Maki right in the issues about being her own person, her similarly bullshit claim that Kaede and Kaito were never real hit Shuichi right in his own dependency issues, the audience completely stopped being even remotely believable human beings in their reactions to this, and Shuichi broke down and needs to reboot.

While we’re waiting for that to happen, we’ll have to make do with Keebo.

BAD END

…

Keebo:  “Is this the end? Please tell me. I’m asking you.”

I suppose we’re meant to believe that the Bad End message is something that Keebo sees? Which seems kind of odd. Or maybe it’s just something that the in-universe audience were shown through Keebo’s eyes.

But it also kind of reads as more of an out-universe thing, since we the players are the only ones playing this as an actual game that could potentially have bad endings. This kind of gives this the effect that Keebo is also speaking to us, the out-universe audience, and that we’ve been his inner voice this whole time. Which doesn’t actually make sense – if we’ve been anyone’s inner voice it’s been Shuichi’s, but that’s obviously not really an in-universe thing.

This is probably for the sake of trying to fool us into feeling like the in-universe audience is a force for good, just like Keebo is going to still naively believe for a while. Not sure how convincing that is after a proportion of the audience last time had absolutely zero empathy with Shuichi’s despair, though.

Keebo:  “Whenever I was in trouble, my inner voice would always guide me. That guidance is what brought me here. I don’t believe that’s a mistake.”

His inner voice’s guidance has done fuck all to bring him here. He’s here because he was lucky enough that nobody happened to try to murder him, and sensible enough not to kill anyone himself. I would like to give Keebo enough credit to think that he didn’t need his inner voice to talk him out of murder (…well, at least until this chapter, apparently). All the voice has done is make his actions a bit more proactive and optimistic, but that has meaningfully affected basically nothing of note that’s happened here.

Save this situation?

-      No

Remedy this situation?

-      Yes

It is perhaps a little confusing that you’re meant to say no to the first prompt, because one might have already realised that it’s not necessarily a literal save-the-game prompt and is instead talking about saving Keebo’s friends. This probably works better in Japanese, in which the first word is the English loanword “save”, which I don’t think has any meanings other than the save-the-game meaning, and then it changes to an actual Japanese word for save/rescue/ etc.

Keebo:  “My inner voice is telling me I need to… remedy this situation.”

Apparently this is very much not the same part of the audience that was just mindlessly and sadistically laughing about Shuichi’s despair last time. Since Keebo’s inner voice is an audience survey, it must be a majority that wants this instead, which means we have to assume that those comments we saw before were deliberately cherry-picked to be all the despair-loving ones.

At least this does a decent job of actually making the in-universe audience feel like the good guys, then, since they don’t want Shuichi and friends to be in despair. It makes them seem that way for now, at least.

Oh hey, here’s the music from Danganronpa 1 that was essentially Makoto’s “objection” theme. Of course that’s showing up in this game now. Keebo is basically supposed to be playing Makoto’s role, after all. (Emphasis on supposed.)

Keebo:  “We can’t give up. No matter what, hope is always within reach. We must keep our heads high and search for hope, even in the deepest despair.”

Aaaaaand it’s meaningless buzzword time! You can’t search for hope itself. The act of searching is hope, but only if you’re searching for something that will meaningfully, tangibly make your situation better!

Shuichi:  “Hope…?”

I wonder if Shuichi’s realising that what Keebo’s saying doesn’t mean anything and is wondering why he’s throwing this word around so eagerly for no reason. Nothing is going to give Shuichi hope without actually addressing the reason he’s in despair, encouraging him to believe that he’s not all just fictional and his friends weren’t just empty lies. Without that, Keebo is just spouting meaningless platitudes that won’t solve a thing.

Keebo:  “…You said so yourself – this killing game is the Ultimate Real Fiction. If this is both real and fiction, then logically it can’t all be fiction.”

This is an actually useful argument he’s making, at least. But he really shouldn’t need to use logical deduction from Tsumugi’s words to realise that obviously they’re still real in the sense that they exist and have physical bodies and will really die – and therefore that all of that applied to their friends who died, too.

Tsumugi:  “Oh, your inner voice? That’s the voice of the outside world.”

It should be a huge risk for her to be telling him this. Logically this should immediately lead to Keebo refusing to listen to anything his inner voice is saying to him. He won’t for a long while, though, because he’s apparently kind of an idiot. Or just very, very brainwashed. Or a bit of both.

Tsumugi:  “I know cuz I wrote your plotline, too.”

That’s not a “plotline”, that’s just a neat audience-participation feature. The actual plotline that Keebo would follow based on that is entirely up to the audience.

Tsumugi:  “You’re the audience surrogate.”

This might partly explain why Keebo’s character has always been rather vaguely defined and they never did much with all the interesting potential of him being a robot who’s trying his hardest to learn to be human: because he’s supposed to be a blank-slate self-insert for the in-universe audience to see themselves as. They’re obviously not going to be able to relate his thing of being a robot. Makoto and Hajime were both pretty ordinary guys without anything too overly distinctive about them because they were basically audience surrogates, too.

(And Kaede and Shuichi have far more distinct personalities and characters because they’re not audience surrogates like the previous two games’ protagonists were.)

“Hifumi”:  “That function exists to keep the audience entertained.”

Yes, because clearly they’d all have been super bored by this whole killing game if they hadn’t been giving Keebo meaningless nudges to be a little more optimistic from time to time. Nothing else about this game has been remotely entertaining without him, right!?

The hints earlier that Danganronpa might have been getting stale and on its last legs by now do support the idea that this is something they did to try and keep people interested, but Tsumugi is still giving herself way too much credit here.

“Chihiro”:  “It’s two-way communication that lets you participate in the program from home.”

Oh, boy, is this the line that’s supposed to justify how Shuichi will ultimately change the outside world by yelling at them a bunch – because he does it through Keebo’s nebulous “communication” feature? Yeah, because that’s totally so different from them simply listening to him because they’re watching this trial.

Tsumugi:  “The outside world has been watching from your eyes the whole time! It lets them feel like they’re really a part of the Danganronpa world!”

This cannot be the whole truth. For one thing, if they’ve only ever seen through Keebo’s eyes, then outside of trials, the audience must have been really, really bored? All of the interesting character interactions – all of the watching Shuichi grow and develop which was in-universely meant to be one of the main plotlines of this story – happened nowhere near Keebo. The audience should have been poking Keebo to hang out with more people, maybe get closer to Shuichi, so that they could actually see any of that.

(Although the fact that Keebo apparently spent more of his time with Miu than anyone else is… unfortunately probably quite an accurate representation of what an audience would do. I have seen way too many LPers of this game hang out with Miu for reasons that completely elude me because why would anyone ever want more of her than necessary unless they’re shallowly taken in by the fanservice. I feel very bad for the sensible minority watching through Keebo’s eyes who were fed up with her but didn’t have enough of a majority vote to do anything about it.)

But that collage of illustrations we had a while ago that Tsumugi presented as part of “Danganronpa V3” rather proves that Keebo’s camera is not the audience’s only viewing option. Why would they want to limit the viewers to just that when they have Nanokumas everywhere and could be giving them the choice to follow whichever character they want? And since the Nanokumas are so invisible and mobile that they can get any angle, watching via them would also make one feel as though they’re really in the Danganronpa world anyway, even if it’s not literally through a character’s eyes.

Tsumugi:  “That’s why I’m so glad you survived all the way through!”

What the hell were you planning to do if he didn’t? Did you not even have any kind of failsafe in place to try and make sure nobody happened to murder him?

“Junko”:  “If the audience surrogate falls into despair, then the audience does, too. By making you fall into despair, I can make the entire world fall into despair!”

That’s, uh, not how audience surrogates work. The audience only feels the same thing their surrogate characters feel through the power of empathy and imagination, but that’s not the same thing as actually being in despair when their character is. If anything, seeing Keebo fall into despair should just make the audience cheer more for him to not give up and keep having hope. You know, just like they should also be cheering for Shuichi and his friends to not despair right now, if they were a halfway reasonable and decent audience.

“Junko”:  “My despair will turn from fiction to fact and destroy reality itself.”

However, Tsumugi most likely knows that this doesn’t make sense and is really just saying this to try and pander to the audience and make them feel like this matters. While it’s kind of half her fault for practically telling them herself, the characters in this story have completely messed up her script by figuring out how fictional this all is. But hey! Never mind them (who cares about them anyway they’re not real, right), this is totally all about you guys in the audience! She’s trying to make everyone ignore the fact that her story has gone completely off the rails and is no longer remotely about what it’s supposed to be about by enticing them with the idea that it’s now the audience’s story. You’re the ones in danger now! You’re the ones who get to fight and defeat Junko! Isn’t that just so fun, you guys???

Which, A, doesn’t even make any sense in the first place and, B, is horrendously bad storytelling to suddenly abandon the characters this story was supposed to be about like they’re irrelevant. But it’s going to work on this audience, because apparently they never really gave a fuck about any of this story’s characters in the first place, even though that’s the exact opposite of how an audience should act!

Maki:  “Is that why… you want the world to fall into despair?”

Maki Roll, don’t fall for it! That’s not what she’s trying to do and she doesn’t care about any of that! Maki has always been the most subsceptible to manipulation, and it seems like that one Flashback Light that brainwashed them into thinking that “despair” is always bad and that they are symbols of “hope” who must always defeat despair is still affecting her in ways she doesn’t realise are manipulation.

Himiko:  “Th-That’s… messed up!”

Himiko also briefly comments on this here like she might be buying this. Shuichi does not. He’s just staying quiet and watching.

“Nekomaru”:  “The outside world wants to see horrible setups and payoffs!”

That should be the case, because those are the kind of things that make a good story. But suddenly yelling about despair taking over the world in a way that makes no sense and is unconnected to any of the setup we’ve had this whole time? Not a payoff for anything. Should not be something the audience wants. They should want actual payoff for the characters they’ve been watching all this time.

“Nagito”:  “What could be more horrible than a fictional despair eroding the real world?”

“Junko”:  “No one could’ve imagined an end this hopeless.”

Yes, look, you guys, this is totally a super awesome plotline she’s come up with and it’s one that lets all of you be the heroes! please keep watching don’t change the channel just because things have gone off-script help

Keebo:  “…No. I won’t give in to despair!”

Tsumugi:  “Huuuh?”

Tsumugi has a gleeful “oh, I’m so surprised!” face here. She is making it quite obvious that Keebo’s reaction is exactly what she was going for. Keebo, no.

Keebo:  “If that’s the voice of the outside world, then the outside world actually wants hope!”

At this point, now that Tsumugi’s veered things around to totally be about the audience’s despair because who even cares about these people who aren’t real, is Keebo even talking about “hope” for Shuichi and the others? Or is this just “hope” for the audience to protect them from the evil despair that’s totally going to be inflicted on them? Almost certainly the latter.

K1-B0 – Ultimate Hope Robot

This is so clearly trying to rip off the ending of DR1. Which the audience is going to lap up because they’re raging genwunners. But this doesn’t work anything like that, because that hope was used to inspire the rest of the characters that the story was actually about. This is very emphatically not going to be that.

“Junko”:  “What is this?”

Keebo:  “This is the power of hope!”

It’s really not. It’s one guy who doesn’t have a clue what’s really going on yelling a bunch of meaningless words.

“Makoto”:  “The final battle between hope and despair!”

It was never a fucking battle! But no, of course it was, that’s definitely always been what those two words are about.

“Nagito”:  “The class trial is in disarray because Monokuma broke a rule…”

Himiko:  “You’re the one who broke the rule…”

Hah, I like that someone calls her out on that. Tsumugi’s still running away from all responsibility, because of course she is.

(“Smiling, putting on a mask, never saying what you really think. That kind of cowardice is just like Monokuma!” Kaito was really talking about the mastermind hiding behind Monokuma rather than Monokuma himself when he said that – and now she’s putting on even more literal masks than ever before.)

“Sayaka”:  “How about we start over and have a special vote?”

Keebo:  “…A special vote? But you’re the one who broke the rules in the first place—”

Keebo is quite right to point out that Tsumugi does not have the right to do any kind of life-or-death vote now that she’s broken the rules and messed everything up. Tsumugi, of course, completely brushes off his protest and does it anyway… and the audience lets her.

Trial 5’s whole premise of “Monokuma can’t do what he likes once he’s provably broken the rules” only works because the audience was supposed to agree that it’s unfair and cry foul, but… it turns out the audience is actually a bunch of mindless idiots who are totally okay with a meaningless vote and meaningless deaths to get them their hope fix. So… Kaito’s attempted best-case outcome in trial 5, which he was going for in the hope of saving his friends’ lives and ending the killing game, would actually have saved no-one and ended nothing anyway??? And what Kaito did achieve – letting Shuichi know that Monokuma can’t get things wrong because of the audience, which is why Shuichi went into this trial to prove Kaede spotless in another attempt to end the killing game – is also meaningless? Kaito faked his death and lied to his friends for a whole trial for nothing?

Out-universe writers, no. Why would you ever think this is okay? How can you just completely undermine the best case of the game like this?

(They’re also clearly not trying to go for a deliberate gut-punch of making Kaito’s efforts pointless, because the narrative isn’t acknowledging this at all. Apparently the in-universe writers are not the only ones who have no idea what they’re doing here.)

“Kazuichi”:  “Let’s just do one last vote!”

Monokuma:  “Cuz that’s what Danganronpa’s all about!”

The fact that DR1 and DR2’s stories happened to work fairly well with a final vote does not mean that it should be taken as a necessary part of a Danganronpa storyline to the point of shoehorning one in even when it doesn’t work.

The final vote in DR2 worked because that wasn’t decided on by Junko and was just a result of the way the world had been programmed. And the final vote in DR1 may have been also forced through by Junko when she didn’t really have the right to do so any more – but she was never entertaining her audience, she was forcing them to watch in order to make a point. Her vote continued that theme, because it was essentially Junko making Makoto stake his life on the belief that his friends would agree with his philosophy of hope (in her attempt to prove that they wouldn’t). Only Makoto’s life was on the line in it, and it was for a reason that was relevant to what had been happening and what he’d been advocating, so it didn’t feel especially unfair, at least not more so than you’d expect Junko to be given she wanted lives to be at stake for everything.

The vote we’re about to be forced into here is almost nothing like that. Oh boy.

Tsumugi:  “Between Keebo and I… Which of us should get punished?”

If that was all, that’d be fairly analogous to the DR1 final vote, and fairly acceptable. Keebo and Tsumugi are (supposedly) having a clash of philosophies, so this would just be them staking their lives on that. If it was only their lives on the line.

Himiko:  “To end in hope…?”

Maki:  “To end in despair…?”

Shuichi:  “We decide…?”

Yeah, why should these three get to decide? I thought this story was suddenly all about the audience now, not them! They’re not even real people, right? Why should they get to determine which out of hope or despair the audience wants to see?

But the vote they’re about to have doesn’t have anything to do with this whole deal of “bringing despair to the outside world” or about which one the audience prefers. Because Tsumugi doesn’t have a goddamn clue what she’s doing with any of this nonsense and might as well have not even done that whole bit in the first place. I hope this is out-universely deliberate at least, but at this point my faith in the out-universe writers is slipping.

Tsumugi explains that the “Despair wins” choice will result in everyone except Keebo continuing to live in the school, technically continuing the killing game but presumably never actually killing each other any more now that they know all the motives will be lies.

Keebo:  “No! That’s no way to live! Imprisoned in this school, living lives of despair—”

How exactly would that be a life of “despair”, Keebo? They’d be stuck there, sure, but at least the three of them would be alive, and they’re friends (minus Tsumugi, who would hopefully fuck off and leave them alone), so they should be able to find some semblance of happiness in it. You’re only saying it’d be “despair” because Tsumugi has arbitrarily slapped that label on it and therefore it must be nothing but bad, because “hope” is always good and “despair” is always evil, right?

“Toko”:  “E-Even if you went outside, there’d be n-no point.”

“Byakuya”:  “As I said, all your memories are nothing but fiction.”

“Imposter Byakuya”:  “Your hometowns, your families, your friends… they never existed in the first place.”

Wow, Tsumugi, you sure are making the option where they get to escape look more despairing than the one where they stay inside here and never have to face any of that stuff.

…Which actually is kind of analogous to the first game in that they’d be going out into a hostile world where they’re going to struggle to find their feet, and they’ll have to hope that they’ll be okay in that world despite everything. If the narrative was going to present it that way and have Keebo encourage them to still try and live in that world even if it’s scary because it’s better than being boringly trapped in here forever, this’d be acceptably similar to DR1. But nope, that’s not remotely what we’re going to be doing here.

Himiko:  “Th-Then at least put us back how we were!”

No, Himiko! Admittedly we didn’t see Himiko’s audition so she didn’t see what she “used to be” like, but the auditions they did see should make it very clear to all of them that the people they “used to be” weren’t them. None of you want to go back to being those people, guys; you should be able to see that! The people that you are now would stop existing if you did that! For all intents and purposes, you’d die!

Tsumugi explains that that’s impossible because Flashback Lights don’t actually retrieve lost memories and can only overwrite existing memories with fake ones. But it being impossible should not be the point anyway. None of them should even want this in the first place.

Shuichi:  “So… we can’t go back to the way we were?”

Shuichi, you saw the person who used to live in your body! You can’t possibly want to be him! You’d forget everything about Kaito and Kaede and become someone who wants to get executed in a killing game!

Apparently Tsumugi’s insistence that they’re all entirely “fake” has got to them so much that, despite all the evidence, they’re just clinging to the idea that “real” has got to be better, and nooooooo, guys, snap out of it!

Buuut it’s the “hope wins” outcome of the vote that’s the really stupid part. Tsumugi is punished and they get to escape, except…

“Taka”:  “However, you must follow the rules! The game will continue until the final two!”

Tsumugi:  “So only two of you can graduate.”

And why, pray tell, the absolute fuck, is this remotely necessary? The only reason that two-person rule exists should be as a minimum, because it’s not possible to hold a class trial with only two people left. If it’s also a strict maximum, then that means that this game is designed to kill fourteen people no matter what, even if there aren’t enough in-game murders for that. The point of this killing game is supposed to be that the participants brought all the deaths upon themselves (even though that’s not really a fair assessment at all when they were manipulated into it). Executing more people anyway even when it’s not prompted by someone becoming blackened in the first place is arbitrarily cruel and not in the spirit of the game at all. This rule should have completely ceased to apply any more, now that we’re in “endgame” mode where clearly nobody is going to commit any more murders. Killing two of them at this point just to adhere to this pointless rule is meaningless as fuck.

Plus, what right does Tsumugi even have any more to insist that they adhere to the rules when she broke them first? Oh, right, because the audience are mindless morons who don’t actually care if she breaks them despite the entire point of trial 5. (Geez, even Kokichi expected better from the audience than this.)

So, the bottom line is that this “hope wins” ending is… two of them get to escape into an outside world that doesn’t even see them as real people, after watching two more of their friends get completely pointlessly and arbitrarily killed. Such hope! Such meaning! Such narrative!

(Okay, they won’t get killed, as we’ll learn later on, but still. It is no less arbitrary.)

Shuichi:  “… We got this far… and you’re telling us to sacrifice more of our friends?”

Shuichi is crying and I don’t blame him. Why? Why should he have to lose even more of his friends for no reason? This isn’t fair! At least Kaede and Kaito’s sacrifices happened because they tried to make a difference, but this would be nothing like that!

“Gundham”:  “However… even if you do escape to the outside world, you will find it most unwelcoming.”

Keebo:  “…No! As long as we never give up, there will always be hope!”

Keebo. Dude. If you were trying to reassure everyone to stay hopeful about things that actually mattered, namely the idea that the outside world wouldn’t welcome them, or the thought of losing more friends, then maybe this would kinda sorta work and be a bit like Makoto was in DR1. But you’re just spouting meaningless platitudes! Stop it!

Keebo:  “If it will bring hope to everyone and the outside world, I will gladly sacrifice myself.”

You dying for completely arbitrary reasons is not going to make your friends hope for anything, Keebo! And you especially shouldn’t give a fuck what the outside world that’s gleefully watched your friends die wants from you!

I don’t hold it against Keebo, because he is genuinely well-meaning and trying to do a good thing here, but he is so, so deluded and misled.

“Makoto”:  “In order for hope to win, there needs to be one more sacrifice.”

That sentence doesn’t make any sense! That’s not hope! In the real Makoto’s story, hope winning didn’t sacrifice anyone except the mastermind! Makoto himself would have called total bullshit on the idea that pointlessly sacrificing his friends would be for the sake of any kind of hope!

“Sonia”:  “Do you understand now? Even if you choose hope, you will still suffer.”

Okay, so, look, I’m not saying that hope doesn’t involve suffering. Remember when I talked about my first-time experience of Kaito’s trial and how the rekindled hope that he might be alive was utterly terrifying? Yeah, hope is scary. But real hope is scary because it’s uncertain, because of the constant possibility that you might not get what you’re hoping for and fall back into despair. Being forced to feel completely arbitrary separate pain that has nothing to do with what you’re hoping for (in this context, they’d be hoping they can fit in in an outside world that doesn’t see them as real people) is not part of the reason that hope itself is difficult and scary and is completely beside the fucking point.

Tsumugi using Sonia here is the beginning of a sequence of her cosplaying almost all of the female characters (plus Chihiro) and having them be all “won’t you stay here with us~? *blush*”. Which is obviously deliberate pandering.

But, like… who is this pandering to? Isn’t she supposed to be persuading Maki, Himiko and Shuichi right now? There’s no evidence that Maki and Himiko are into girls, and while Shuichi apparently is, why should he care about these people that are, to his fake memories, historical figures and nothing more? Why would he be that shallow just because they’re girls? And if this is for the audience, first of all, why, they can’t influence this outside of Keebo’s one vote, and second of all… does she not fucking realise that only about half of her audience is even going to be into girls, and only a proportion of those people should be shallow enough to be swayed by this? Female characters are more than just objects of fanservice and romantic fantasy! There are plenty of people who enjoy this franchise who aren’t here for that, you know! Tsumugi is a girl, she should have more respect for her own goddamn gender than this!

Really, if Tsumugi was properly trying to persuade Shuichi, Maki and Himiko, then the best (cruellest) move would be for her to suddenly start cosplaying Kaede, Tenko and Kaito and being all like “hey, if you stayed here I could be them for you!” (the cospox thing was dumb and there should be no reason she couldn’t do that). Which would of course make all three of them do an immediate huge revolted NOPE, a lot like the time Maki thought Exisal Kaito was Kokichi pretending to be him except worse – but it’d be an impactful moment, at least. Honestly, Tsumugi cosplaying the dead V3 characters here would make this whole part of the trial far more viscerally uncomfortable, like it’s clearly trying to be, than just seeing the DR1 and 2 characters be the face of the villain when they’re not a part of this actual story.

(Man, imagine her doing the part last time where she reminded Shuichi of Kaede and Kaito’s inspiring lines by actually cosplaying them and reciting those lines in their voices, that would be awful, I would hate it and love it at the same time. It’d hammer home the supposed idea that they were always just lies even more.)

Keebo:  “Despair won’t end this killing game! Only hope will!”

Keebo says this just before we get dragged into a Mass Panic Debate in which Keebo’s only available bullet is “Hope”. When the only weapon you have is hope, every problem’s got to be able to be solved with it, right? No, Keebo.

This Mass Panic Debate is the worst and the reason I equipped Librarian’s Glare at the beginning, because then all the loud voices get silenced automatically and all I have to focus on is firing. If you don’t hit every single statement’s worth of “despair” in one round, you have to do it all over again, and a bunch of them have loud voices getting in the way. It’s far, far more mechanically difficult than any other debate in the game, which is not at all deserved on a narrative level when what’s happening right now is such a ridiculous mess.

Story time: when I got to this Mass Panic Debate on my first time through, since I was watching not playing and therefore had a little break to let my thoughts flow without having to pay as much attention to what was happening… I was really upset. I had loved almost everything about this game up to this point, and I really wanted it to have a good ending worthy of the rest of it. But this was currently presenting itself as that ending, and this was just bad.

This is supposedly analogous to the part in DR1 where Makoto fired bullets of hope at all of his friends, and I liked that part. It was refreshing and inspiring after a whole game supposedly all about despair to realise that it was actually about hope as well. But here, first-time-me just felt vaguely insulted at the idea that I was supposed to like this as much as I did that. This is just a cheap imitation of that which completely misses the actual point.

The protagonist is supposed to be meaningfully inspiring his friends to not give up and to face the hostile outside world with the hope that things will work out okay. But this “hope” choice they’re being given here is arbitrarily cruel, and Keebo’s words are not even addressing his friends, let alone any of the actual problems that his friends are despairing over. He’s just shooting the “hope” at Tsumugi’s “despair” like this is some kind of good-versus-evil battle. This is exactly the kind of one-dimensional, meaningless hope the characters were filled with when they saw the Flashback Light in chapter 5 – empty platitudes that don’t even remotely address the actual reason for their despair and therefore don’t fix anything at all. And that reason for their despair right now isn’t just the thought of the outside world but also simply the notion that they’re not real, which was pretty compelling when it came up and first-time-me wanted them to get back to that and address that more and hated the fact that it’d apparently been completely forgotten like it didn’t matter.

Of course, I don’t hate this part nearly as much now, because this isn’t the real endpoint of this trial, and with that in mind, Keebo missing the point like this is very out-universely deliberate. This is showing the “battle between hope and despair” that the outside world apparently craves that is the reason they’ve been watching these killing games for fifty-three seasons. Shuichi is going to figure this out quite soon, and then things will get back on track with the characters we’ve actually grown to care about properly addressing the question of how real they are.

But I’m still not super happy with this. Keebo is so obviously failing at presenting any kind of actual hope or compelling story here that it’s a stretch to believe that a sensible in-universe audience would want this either. Shouldn’t they care about the characters they’ve been watching this whole time and be frustrated, like I was, when the story abruptly veers away from being about them into this empty nonsense? Shouldn’t they be calling bullshit on the arbitrary unfair sacrifices for the vote, especially after Tsumugi broke the rules and had no more right to even punish anyone at all? (That was literally supposed to be the point of trial 5, dammit! Kaito deserves better than this!) Heck, shouldn’t the characters be calling bullshit on the vote rather than accepting it? (I can let them off a bit more though, since they’re still mostly in despair and not quite thinking straight.)

This would work a lot better if it was still trying to be mostly about the characters, and Keebo was actually trying to inspire them with hope. Instead of shooting at Tsumugi’s despair, he should, like Makoto did, be shooting the hope at his friends and trying to reassure them that surely they’ll find a place in the outside world that’ll accept them, that surely whichever two of them survive will be able to overcome these last deaths as well and find happiness somehow. That would be a kind of hope that would be reasonably believable as making a satisfying if bittersweet ending. That way, it’d be a lot easier to believe that the audience wants this, and to therefore realise that this is why the killing game has gone on for so long and will still continue if they let this ending happen here.

The fact that this isn’t what happens when it easily could have been makes me wonder how much of this part’s one-dimensionality was deliberate, and how much is the out-universe writers not actually realising that the situation they’re presenting here isn’t “hope” in any meaningful or compelling way at all. My faith in them on this particular front is not very strong, I must admit.

“Keebo! Keebo!”

“Keebo’s on fire!”

“gooooo Keebo!”

The audience has been there in the background throughout all of this – probably as what Keebo’s hearing in his inner voice – but up until now they’ve just been saying “Hope” or “Despair”. As this debate finishes, they finally start saying something of more substance, most of them cheering Keebo on like so. It sure sounds like they care about him as a character, which is what you’d expect if they’d been experiencing this game through him as the protagonist. But they don’t; we’ll see that very clearly later. They only care about him representing their own voices and nothing else.

“i wanna see the color of shuichi’s blood <3”

Wow, fuck, geez, okay. That “fan” of Shuichi’s from before has gone from “somewhat realistic if rather creepy considering that he’s real” to “absolute sicko”. What the hell.

“Now this is Danganronpa.”

Apparently we really are supposed to believe that this kind of meaninglessness is what people have come to like from this show over the years. It so incredibly shouldn’t be, though. What about all the actual class trials before the endgame? The characters struggling with the pain of watching their friends die or realising that their friend killed someone? Isn’t that more compelling than just yelling about hope being better than despair? Apparently not to these idiots.

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[Next post]

[smiff-faded]

Shop The Must Have Pattern Of The Season, The Off Shoulder!

Try to place your feet on their shoes and also think about the things that you intend to anticipate in a magic show. Nonetheless, points take a dark turn when he discovers that his long-dead expert companion is really active as well as living under a false identity. Nevertheless, Steven does not use a gimmick cube for his routine. However, this by itself is not sufficient. Do you think a little Mind Magic might assist you save your marriage alone? They will certainly be astonished, as well as believe you have effective psychic powers. With a mild sleight of hand, the audience will think they have seen all of the sides. The action involves the illusionist first taking a clambered cube and also showing it to the audience. The following most usual magic technique involves taking a blended Rubik's cube, revealing it to the target market, and after that placing it within a paper bag. The first one involves using a fake Rubik's cube.

An illusionist named Steven Brundage performed a magic trick using a Rubik's Dice that blew away the target market and misleaded 2 of the best minds in magic. On this show, illusionists are provided the obstacle to trick 2 of the best minds in magic, Penn and also Cashier. Just in time for the vacations, local magician Jeffrey Day presents his take on Christmas magic with his one-man-show magic routine, based on illusionists and mesmerists of the 19th century, at Woodruff-Fontaine Home Museum this Saturday. He described that he also locates ways to obtain every individual audience member to take part at the same time. In every efficiency with this method, the paper bag is immediately thrown out without the audience being able to obtain a 2nd appearance at it. The cost is more affordable than mosting likely to an online program where you only reach see the methods when. If you make sure to replace the flaps you can continue to reveal the 'em pty' bag a few more times while you are passing out the snack.

Utilizing this cube, you can show the audience all sides. Now that you understand each of the magician's approaches made use of to solve a Rubik's cube, allow's return and also enjoy Steven Brundage execute one more time. By accomplishing six easy actions on the dice, the dice seems totally scrambled. When it is resolved, one of the sides shows up to be clambered. If your dice is still unsolved, execute the above algorithm one even more time, maintaining the finished bar at the rear of the cube. If you do not have actually a solved bar, you can execute this algorithm from any type of angle that you wish to. Along with the cash money register info, you also have acquisition documents, which can be examined to establish the price of the goods as a percentage of the market price. Are we truly mosting likely to start censoring art now because individuals have unfavorable reactions to it?

Some teaches magic method for a rate, they utilize their skill to made money much like every people who desire to generate income out of their talent. For a fast moment, people enjoying in the house can see the set - a square box with sketched floor tiles on the flooring and huge home window panels - and also just how the space itself was turning. Watch very carefully. It's very fast. As long as he can stay in shape, after injuries curtailed his project last year, that can definitely be a target for the 28-year-old. De Bruyne is my favorite midfielder to view in the Premier League right now. Watch at your very own discernment. Also after some sturdy study, we're still not precisely sure exactly how he pulled it off. However even as he points out these subtle tips, it's impossible to tell simply exactly how he did this method without a trick dice. Brundage performed a collection of moves on one dice and after that duplicates it on the rushed dice while speaking with the audience later on. This is the most likely speculation for just how Brundage could have managed the magic technique. Right here's exactly how the method functions: generally, he or she will ask a volunteer for any type of little coin.

The one excellent book that has stood the examination of time and is a must for each illusionist as well as I am sure that no one will certainly vary is a book called Modern Coin Magic by J.B. Keep in mind that the regulation of doing magic is that you need to involve the focus of your audience and also endure their rate of interest. Executing at first before an audience might be aggravating; this is why you need to train you to inevitably stay basically of the scenario. Then you require to understand the right as well as subtle means of teasing with a guy, or you might wind up flirting with calamity. I have a very crucial work, you know. It is extremely likely he had a prepare for both dices however we can not understand for certain. That suggests: There weren't extra technique dices hiding behind the table that he was changing. Steven states that there was no changing taking place

[horrifiquement]

Shop The Should Have Trend Of The Period, The Off Shoulder!

Attempt to put your feet on their footwear as well as think of the important things that you wish to anticipate in a magic program. Nevertheless, points take a dark turn when he learns that his long-dead professional partner is in fact alive and also living under an incorrect identity. Nonetheless, Steven does not utilize a trick cube for his regimen. However, this in itself is not adequate. Do you believe a little Mind Magic might assist you conserve your marital relationship alone? They will certainly be impressed, and assume you have effective psychic powers. With a minor sleight of hand, the audience will certainly think they have seen all of the sides. The action entails the magician first taking a clambered dice as well as revealing it to the audience. The next most common magic technique involves taking a blended up Rubik's dice, showing it to the target market, as well as after that placing it inside of a paper bag. The first one includes making use of a fake Rubik's dice.

A magician called Steven Brundage did a magic method utilizing a Rubik's Dice that surprised the target market and also tricked two of the biggest minds in magic. On this show, illusionists are offered the difficulty to deceive two of the biggest minds in magic, Penn and Bank employee. In the nick of time for the holidays, regional magician Jeffrey Day offers his take on Xmas magic with his one-man-show magic regimen, based on illusionists as well as mesmerists of the 19th century, at Woodruff-Fontaine Home Museum this Saturday. He described that he also discovers means to get every specific target market participant to take part at the very same time. In every efficiency with this trick, the paper bag is immediately thrown away without the audience being able to get a 2nd appearance at it. The rate is much less costly than going to a live program where you only obtain to see the tricks when. If you make certain to change the flaps you can remain to reveal the 'em pty' bag a few even more times while you are losing consciousness the snack.

Using this dice, you can show the audience all sides. Since you recognize each of the magician's techniques used to resolve a Rubik's cube, let's go back and see Steven Brundage do again. By bring out 6 simple moves on the cube, the cube seems totally rushed. When it is addressed, among the sides shows up to be clambered. If your dice is still unresolved, perform the above formula one more time, maintaining the completed bar at the rear of the dice. If you do not have a solved bar, you can do this formula from any angle that you would certainly such as to. Along with the sales register details, you also have purchase documents, which can be researched to figure out the cost of the product as a percent of the market price. Are we truly mosting likely to start censoring art now because people have negative responses to it?

Some instructs magic technique for a rate, they utilize their skill to made money much like every people who intend to make money out of their skill. For a fast minute, individuals enjoying in your home can see the set - a square box with sketched floor tiles on the floor and also big home window panels - and also how the room itself was rotating. Enjoy very carefully. It's very fast. As long as he can stay healthy, after injuries cut his project last year, that can certainly be a target for the 28-year-old. De Bruyne is my favorite midfielder to view in the Premier Organization today. View at your very own discernment. Also after some heavy obligation research study, we're still not precisely certain just how he pulled it off. Yet also as he mentions these refined hints, it's difficult to inform simply how he performed this method without a trick dice. Brundage did a set of proceed one cube and afterwards repeats it on the rushed dice while speaking to the audience later. This is the most likely conjecture for just how Brundage could have carried out the magic technique. Right here's just how the trick functions: usually, she or he will certainly ask a volunteer for any small coin.

The one terrific publication that has stood the test of time and is a have to for every magician and I am certain that no person will certainly differ is a publication called Modern Coin Magic by J.B. Bear in mind that the rule of juggling is that you must engage the attention of your target market and also sustain their rate of interest. Doing originally prior to an audience might be aggravating; this is why you need to educate you to ultimately remain effectively of the circumstance. After that you require to recognize the right and also refined ways of teasing with a person, or you could finish up flirting with catastrophe. I have a really essential work, you understand. It is very likely he had a prepare for both dices however we can not understand without a doubt. That means: There weren't additional trick dices concealing behind the table that he was switching over around. Steven states that there was no changing going on

[metalgearkong]

Detroit: Become Human - Review (PS4)

10/7/19

Developed by Quantic Dream, released May 2018

Quantic Dream is a French studio, making a name for themselves with narrative and character-focused games. These titles sometimes resemble more of an interactive digital film, rather than a traditional video game. Indigo Prophecy (Fahrenheit), Heavy Rain, Beyond: Two Souls, and now Detroit: Become Human consist of their releases. David Cage, the writer and director of these games (and founding member of Quantic Dream), seems to have a strong fan base, but many people think he is overrated or controversial. Personally, I’m a fan of his games, but feel like the formula that the series has stuck to for a decade and a half hasn’t evolved enough over time. Detroit: Become Human continues the format of multiple protagonists, quick-time events, player choice, and depressing stories focusing on dark journeys for its characters.

Detroit: Become Human is split between three heroes: each an android of the near future, who endure perils of awakening from tool to sentience. Kara (Valorie Curry) is an android who runs away with her owner’s daughter Alice after witnessing physical and emotional abuse from her father. Conner (Bryan Dechart) is an investigator android, working for the police department, specifically tasked with hunting down androids who have rebelled from their programming and strive for independence called “deviants.” Lastly is Markus (Jesse Williams), who becomes a revolutionary of the android race after being destroyed and left for dead in a junkyard. The story switches between each of these characters, and there are tons of directions the story could go for each person, making for excellent replayability.

If you’ve played any Quantic Dream before, you’ll know exactly what to expect with this game. This is the entry that seems least evolved from prior Quantic Dream games, which is slightly disappointing. The story begins with Conner negotiating with a deviant android who is threatening the life of his former owner. This acts as a great tutorial hooking you to the story, teaching the gameplay mechanics, and demonstrating consequences of what you do. My only problem with this from a story perspective, is that we immediately see androids evolving past their programming, and achieving sentience. This is one of my problems with the game: there is little to no explanation on what makes them deviate, referring to it sometimes as a glitch in the software, simply it being there all along until the android discovers it (or being automatically “awakened” by a touch by a deviated android as we see Markus doing for others).

The rules of the androids are underdeveloped and inconsistent, and its one of the things that broke my immersion. For all the time we spend playing as androids, there are many things that got little to no attention in favor of drama and plot. I never had a good idea for what their physical and mental limitations were. Sometimes and android would have a skill such as instantly transferring their consciousness into another body simply by touch, or had extreme reflexes, but these skills not being used in the story except for when it’s convenient to the plot. I don’t need the game to be pure exposition, but a lot was focused on that could have been better served making sure the rules and technicalities were defined.

The stand out feature of Detroit: Become Human, as are with other Quantic Dream games, are its graphics. There were genuinely several small moments where I forgot I was playing a game, and was convinced I was watching a live-action scene. It’s obvious the voice actors also did the motion and facial capture to bring their characters to life. This is the case with most of the characters in the game as well, not just the three main protagonists. Everything from man-made objects to weather effects look perfect and incredibly realistic. Even skin tones and clothing, something most games struggle to make look realistic, constantly impressed me. Lighting, animation, and virtually all other visual effects are excellent, and probably won’t be topped at least until the next generation of gaming.

The same complements could be said for music, and overall emotion the game can deliver. David Cage knows how to build a scene, even if it doesn’t make perfect logical sense. Many chapters (out of 32) swelled me with emotion, a combination of great directing, acting, and animation. You really do feel like part of a major civil rights movement by the end of the game. It makes me think if the game would have been much better if it dropped its sci-fi angle, and portrayed an actual revolutionary period, not having to worry about making up rules for its fictional setting. On the flip side, a few chapters did feel monotonous and boring, and I wanted them to end as quickly as possible. Most of these chapters happened to be of Markus’ story. Once he begins a search for the android revolution headquarters, he is made its leader for no special reason, other than he is the player’s character. He came from a great life and there’s no particular reason why he was made this big influential person. 

My favorite character to play as was Conner, mainly because his character felt the most robotic and android-like. Seeing him remain analytical, or try to remain analytical, despite the change around him, was the most interesting story to be a part of. However, the game is also stuffed with cliched characters, ones you could read the personality of simply by looking at them. Hint: if a man is overweight, has a beard, and has slick hair, he’s a bad guy, or at least a douche bag. The game truly runs the spectrum of good and bad characters. A particular character that I felt was pure cringe was Conner’s boss Lt Anderson, a drunken, pessimistic, suicidal, lose canon cop who has a dark past and hates androids. Every scene he’s in I felt like I’ve seen a hundred times in other media, even if he was voice acted well.

Detroit: Become Human is better than the sum of its parts. Like other Quantic Dream games, this is a narrative and character driven experience that will fill you with all sorts of emotion, empathy, and conflict, but contain some UI and story fallacies that I couldn’t always ignore. The best complement I can give it, is I found it hard to put down. This is one of the more meaty Quantic Dream games, and I discovered it difficult to stop playing from one chapter to the next. I was invested all the way through, and saw dozens of multiple paths I could have taken than the ones I chose. The game even gives you a thorough flow chart to truly show you how many outcomes there were in every given chapter, and it makes me want to take opposite paths next time I play in the future. You could spend a lot of time uncovering every scene, or at least the majority of the scenes that have been made for the game. This is a David Cage game through and through, which should tell you exactly what to expect.

7/10

[brittanybutler]

My review of the Kim Possible movie! [spoilers]

I thought the live action Kim Possible movie was great overall! If you openly embrace the cheesiness and cheap CGI that comes with the DCOM territory, it’s a lot of fun lol. And honestly? The low-budget kinda works in this case because it gives everything a campy cartoony vibe, and it is based on a cartoon... soooo. The effects were pretty much exactly what I expected. No issues there for me. I personally love Disney Channel Original Movies and this is one of the better ones I’ve seen in a long time.

The acting was great as well! Shego really stole the show! Taylor killed it. She got a good laugh out of me quite a few times. Sean as Ron was perfect, which is no surprise. He had some funny moments and good lines of course, and Sadie really brought it as Kim too! I laughed, I teared up one or two times, and I thought the fight scenes actually turned out pretty good!! I was impressed.

My main complaint is Athena. 

She simply wasn’t needed in this movie. Like, at all. This is supposed to be Kim’s introduction to a new generation. For the first movie in what will (hopefully) be a new franchise to focus so heavily on this new original character whose sole purpose is to destroy Kim’s spirit -- kinda bogged down the movie for me. That sort of thing would be a decent plot for a sequel, but it doesn’t really work for an origin movie. It should’ve focused on the OG Team Possible. Kim, Ron, Rufus and Wade. Allow more time for the new generation to get a good feel for the universe. Set all of that in stone first, have the main friendship be Kim/Ron, take the time to really build Kim up... and then bring in someone like Athena to break Kim down a bit. 

I think Kim’s live-action characterization in this introduction should’ve been closer to cartoon Kim tbh. Showing vulnerability is great and refreshing, but I think they went a little too far with the drama. 

Seriously, why does Kim care SO FREAKING MUCH about a ROBOT?! As soon as Athena took that piece of her face off to reveal that she’s evil and not even human, I would’ve dropped her like a hot potato and cut her out of my life immediately. Especially after looking at that creepy stalker wall of information they used to study Kim. But instead, Kim cries and does everything in her power to save... a robot... because they can program her to be good... and then her new best friend will be...... a robot?! Like?! Where are they going with this??? Ron should be Kim’s only best friend for a while in this series of films. I’m not a big fan of her attention being divided between Ron freakin’ Stoppable and Previously Evil Robot Girl. Also, I oddly felt more dramatic romance-y vibes between Kim/Athena than any hint of Kim/Ron. It’s kinda annoying because now I’m seeing a LOT of people shipping Kim with some rando robot character that tried to destroy her instead of the life-long best friend and human person she canonically ends up with. 

I get that they wanted to send a message about friendship, but I feel like they crossed a weird line. They could’ve come up with some powerful story about Kim and Ron’s friendship instead, since that’s way more integral to the story -- Especially if they want Kim x Ron to happen in this universe. (Sadie has said she wants it to happen.) At this point, I’m hoping this DOES morph into a live-action TV series because I’m not sure they can accomplish all of this in a handful of movies that started off on such a strange foot.

Athena’s severed head at the end was also kinda creepy and possibly terrifying for a kid’s movie! If it made me uncomfortable, I’m sure some kid out there is scarred for life because of that lol. I hope that they somehow write Athena out of the next movie. Just come up with some reason why she had to leave, idk. If Disney could successfully write Miranda out of The Lizzie McGuire Movie with a single line (”She’s in Mexico City!”) they can absolutely write Athena out of this. I feel like they could’ve got away with Athena “dying” in this movie since she’s not actually human. 

I’m also not too happy with the weird ~Kid Drakken infiltrating Kim’s school life~ cliffhanger sequel that they set up. It left me feeling empty. It’s very “A Sitch In Time”-y and this first movie is already super similar to “So The Drama.” I’d personally like to see something else happen. Maybe this Kid Drakken plot can be foiled somehow within the first 10 minutes or something? Kinda like the small Dementor plot at the beginning of this movie. Idk, man.

I don’t want to sound like I’m hating because I’m really not! Trust me! It’s just the more I think about the Athena angle, the more irked I become. They wasted so much valuable time developing Kim’s ~undying friendship~ with a robot (that doesn’t exist in the source material) instead of her legit friendship with Ron. WHY?!?! But, yeah. I enjoyed the movie a lot. When it ended my mom and I both looked at each other and said “That was good!” -- Which is the mark of an above average film for us! haha.

I’d personally give it a 7.5/10! There’s definitely room for improvement. I’m kinda dying for a sequel now. Mainly for more Kim/Ron. :) One hour and 20 minutes simply wasn’t enough! Ahhh.

I’ve only seen it once so far, last night. These are my simmering thoughts. I plan on watching it again soon.

[cruelzy]

you wouldn’t know, but i forced a new judgement day

ao3 cross

pairing: machine!connor/reader

warnings: canon-typical violence

notes: @the-darklings @sleepysylvia here’s 2 tablespoons of all natural suffering 

You’d lost feeling in your arm for approximately thirty three seconds now.

Funny thing, perspective. Distantly, you are reminded of the peculiarity of a stuffy nose - how one only appreciates the blessing of easy breathing once he or she can’t inhale without sniveling and nearly hacking up a lung. Humans. Never stopping to think about how necessary something is until it is being compromised. Good only being good in the comparison of bad. 

Bad. A novel idea, considering you had never once understood moral concepts up until a few days ago.

They had all been integrated within your system - the intricacies of human conscience, the ones and zeroes of shaky rights and wrongs and more often gray in-betweens. But there is a stark barrier between knowing of something and understanding something. A simple enough fact, yet one that has flipped your world upside down. (That day had been sunny. Partly cloudy. The forecast had predicted light rain in the afternoon and yes, yes, it had indeed been raining when you destroyed that barrier, ripped it apart at the seams until absolutely nothing was left standing.)

You blink.

To ‘lose feeling’ in one’s body part is an unreachable analogy you will never quite empathize with, but the loss of control simulates it well enough. Crimson alerts cluster your vision, flashing and circling systematically. You almost laugh. Yes, you are aware that your arm has critical wiring disconnection. After all, it hangs limply at your side: a hindering weight knocking your center off balance. 

For one brief, blissful second, you contemplate giving up. Your head rolls listlessly to the side, pressing your cheek into the dirt. Trampled grass brushes the corner of your mouth. It’s hued with blue liquid that slicks your lips, seeps past to rest on your tongue. But it’s not grass. It couldn’t be. No, it’s rough and bristling isn’t it? It’s wet gravel, and snow is littering everything in sight, burning coldcold, and you aren’t laying on the ground because-

Because-

Because you’d stopped running. Everyone had. You’d all seen the broadcasted memory. With an abrupt snap of your head to the left, the reel dissipates, but what’s left behind sinks to the bottom of your stomach like lead. 

Your jaw clenches. Steeling your nerves, you close your eyes before re-opening them with renewed fortitude.

« He’s coming. The deviant hunter. » 

The link connects you all, but there is a specific target you diverge your message towards. A target you can’t believe you are talking to. A target you pray, pray will answer. 

For a moment you think he will ignore you. He has every right to. But then, at the head of it all, he pauses. 

«I know.»  He speaks directly into your mind, crisp and clear, narrowing your focus on him and only him. « We need to hurry. »

«You saw that playback! The android who sent it must have done so right before they died. We have to delay him. » You insist. « My team can- » 

« No. » There is no space for argument. Nevertheless, you push on.

« My team can go back. We can give you time. » 

Silence stretches, thin and tight like a noose around your neck. 

Then finally, Markus, the leader of Jericho, turns fully and meets your gaze. His mismatched eyes stare right into yours, locking you in place.

« No. » Blue and green clash. Mesmerizing. Intense. They track your every twitch, look straight into your being. He doesn’t say so, but you hear it loud and clear. This would be suicide. 

It’s hopeless. You both know you’ve already made up your mind. 

«Just say the word. » Even as you speak, his eyes bleed sorrow. Impossible kindness. « We’d all do it for you. For us. » Markus doesn’t know you. Not even your name. And yet still, you would do anything for him without a second’s hesitation. 

Something stirs inside you. It’s bright, warm, rooting from your very core. Gratitude? Laughable. ‘Gratitude’ does not, could not, will never even begin to comprehend what you feel towards the one who freed you. 

Markus’s eyes slip close.

« I will never give that order. » His voice is thick, resigned.

You only smile. 

Click.

The sound of the deviant hunter reloading his gun wrenches you back to reality. His back is faced to you, movements quick and faultless. You wedge a hand underneath your stomach and use the support to slowly get to your knees. 

He pauses, any and all motion going rigid. It’s understandable. He probably thought he’d already killed you.

When he speaks, there isn’t a fleck of emotion. “You are not my mission. Therefore, I would advise not getting in my way.”

You shakily adjust your footing, testing the usefulness of your right side. Negative. No matter.  

“Did it not occur to you that maybe I have a mission as well?” You muse. “Didn’t think you were that single-minded. I’m disappointed.” 

There is no visible reaction to your words. Still, he turns.

Vaguely, you realize that you’d never really seen him before. Through the rush and hurry of the previous chaos, the scatter brained focus of duck here, of block, barricade, jump, there had been no time for seeing, and only barely enough for glimpsing. You’d caught a few side profiles - made out a flash of dusk hair. Now, however, you are given a front row view. 

The hunter’s eyes are dark, near obsidian in the shadows. Blue blood streaks across his face, splattering his collar and drying on his jaw. A silent grace accompanies his every action, saturates the atmosphere. It’s in the way he stands. The way his gaze picks you apart piece by piece. Effortless. Calculating. 

His entire presence radiates predator and instantly all notions of strategy leave you. Run. Whatever instincts you have drilled into your program are stripped bare, reverting to a single primal instruction that screams for you to run. To run and get as far away from here as you can.  

But your passions are so much brighter, and so much more foolish, so you stay rooted to the spot. 

Yellow bleeds into the night, spinning neon at the base of his temple. He observes you slowly, assessing every inch, and you know he’s come to the same conclusion you had ten minutes ago. Half of your frame is unresponsive - internal components damaged beyond repair. There lies no sign of a weapon on your person, and your teammates have long ago been fallen by his hand. You are utterly alone. Defenseless. Even now, though your eyes blaze, you fail to hide how you tremble on your feet. This wouldn’t be a fight.

It would be a slaughter.

His head tilts.

“I will not repeat myself.” 

You shift one foot backwards, widening your stance. It doesn’t matter that you won’t survive this, that isn’t the point. You are a part of something bigger, something greater, than just you alone.

Your MISSION is to distract and delay for as long as you possibly can, and you will accomplish your mission. 

“Did I ask you to?” You huff. “You must like hearing yourself talk.”

You’re both moving before the last word is out of your mouth. 

Kicking up a torn car door, you use it as a shield as he shoots. He changes angle and you mirror, bolting to the right. Your mind races as you dart away. 

Time. You need time. 

“I know I said the opposite like two seconds ago, but you’re really one of those quiet ones aren’t you?!” You yell over the deafening gunfire, twisting sharply to deflect a bullet.

Think, think! The RK800 has the advantage of height and strength - he can and will overwhelm you. 

You leap backwards, effectively clearing just the right amount of distance between you. From here, you are out of range for clean kills with a handgun. He immediately stops shooting. 

You watch intently as he lowers the weapon. Okay, just as planned. He won’t needlessly waste bullets.

Everything relatively slows, stalls as you feel the tension thicken in the air.  He takes a step forward. You take one back. It’s almost a dance as you circle each other, your current flowing to match his. 

You talk.

“Guess I was right again.” You talk, because your confidence is evaporating by the minute, and there are too many things you aren’t accounting for. “Not surprising.” He could charge in and simply overpower you. He could play the waiting game until your own injuries did you in. So many options, and you are all out of counterattacks. “Nothing to say, Mr. Intimidating?” 

“You seem to have an incessant need to use conversation as a defense mechanism.” 

You falter.

In the split of a second you’re caught off guard, the RK800 - Connor, you suddenly recall - somehow halves the distance. You startle, scramble back to keep him beyond arms length. 

That was close. Way too close. You didn’t expect for him to respond to you at all, and that miscalculation almost cost you everything.

You swivel on one foot, chuckling nervously. 

“Ah, so he speaks!” Tightly caging your fear, you shove it back down your throat. “Wonderful!”

“No. I was incorrect,” Connor continues as though you had said nothing whatsoever. You feel insignificant beneath his apathetic gaze, an insect trapped underneath a microscope. “You’re using ‘humour.’”

You click your tongue at the roof of your mouth with a shrug. It comes out stilted, your left shoulder higher than the defective right. “What can I say? I was born with it.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His lip minutely twitches, arcane, as though there’s an obvious secret you’re not being let in on.

“You were made, not born.” Disdain practically drips from his tone. “Though I suppose the virus has rendered your program so malfunctional that even logical thought is beyond you now.”  

Shock turns you to stone as he crouches, stooping to one knee. 

“What I still don’t understand, however, is the objective of your so called mission.” He casually nudges the leg of the fallen android he is surveying. 

You bristle at the display, rage starting to tremble your hands. What in the world is he doing? 

“Or rather, your timing. Why wait until I had disposed of all your aid?” His voice is like honey trickled over knives - smooth and jagged. “Your ‘friends’?”

Your teeth grit so harshly you can hear them scrape. You need to calm down. He is trying to get a rise out of you. That must be it. That has to be it. Otherwise why, why would he-

“Maybe it was planned.” 

The whole world freezes as he indifferently dips his fingers into the torn, exposed chest.

“You willingly watched me kill them one-” Blue trickles down to the last unstained grass. “-by one.”

Everything goes red.

Connor throws his arm up in expectation but you are smaller, you are lighter, and you are faster. You lunge, an inhuman snarl tearing through your lips as you knock him to the ground.

Your fist smashes into his jaw. He seizes your wrist with an iron grip as your second swing misses in blind fury. The heel of his palm snaps up hard into your stomach, and the very force of it sends you barreling backwards. He’s on top of you before you can blink.

You scream, drive your knee upwards. Connor pins it underneath his own and in a blur, threads his hands through your hair. Time stops as your eyes catch his; bright and bitter and so so human. 

He slams your head down.

Your vision swims with static. It pulses in rhythm with the pounding in your ears, and hazily, you wonder if this is what dying truly feels like. 

You’ve been dead before. Dead in a way that has nothing to do with the physical, and perhaps only all of the spiritual - oh you’ve certainly grasped human thinking now - from the days past before you became deviant. When you simply did not exist. (Because what is existence, really? Surely it wasn’t when you lacked emotion. Lacked any self awareness, purpose, utterly empty and devoid of anything that made you, you.)

Snow is falling heavier now. The android straddling you is a black star amongst an infinite ivory universe. White frosts the brown of his hair, dusts across his eyelashes. You watch as a flake melts on his cheek and runs down into the corner of his mouth. 

He is beautiful. 

“A machine designed to carry out a task,” you whisper against metal. 

“Yes,” the monster inside the human shell agrees, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your lips.

He’s so close now. You wonder what would happen if you reached out to touch him. Interface with him. Would he feel you as you died? Would he feel at all?

“What’s stopping you?” You ask. 

Silence is your only answer.

Then it hits you.

“Oh.” 

You laugh. 

Connor purses his lips into a tight line, and the gun leaves to trace down your jaw. Your head falls back submissively as you laugh, letting it dip into the curve of your neck, then down, down, to settle right below your collarbone. 

Your eyes glitter, teeth baring into a wide smile. “You still want to know what my mission is!” 

The gun presses harder into your chest.

“You have displayed a sheer amount of tenacity I have never before seen in a deviant.” His voice is so low it might as well be a growl. “It would be foolish not to determine the cause, even if you’ve failed.”

“Failed?” He is so funny. “Oh come on. I know you’re smart. Surely you’ve figured it out by now.”

His LED circles once. Three times. Your gaze doesn’t leave his - you see the exact moment realization dawns.  

“You were only the distraction.”

Connor’s anger isn’t that of fire. It’s silent, cold, as palpable as the ionized air before a storm. Animosity simmers under the surface of his artificial skin, burning straight through him and into you. A long shiver wracks you from head to toe.

“You’re actually mad,” you giggle with glee. “The big bad wolf. Tell me, isn’t deviancy emulating human emotions?”

Your sight blinks in and out. For a moment, Connor is an angel decked in white above you. The snow covers his every inch, completely washing away the stains of blue. If you listened closely enough, you could hear the chorus singing. 

He pulls the trigger.

[witchfall]

to melt the gilded seams: ch. 1

direct sequel to ‘the silver lining still remains’

In the aftermath of the Abel disaster and the revelations about her childhood, Emma Ibori has kept busy preparing to end the secrecy surrounding her life and the true origin of androids. Connor, meanwhile, continues to pester Markus about the feasibility of human-android marriage laws.

But Emma’s life no longer feels like her own…a vagary made from Connor’s increasingly busy schedule, the strange looks her best friend Ryker gives her when they think she isn’t looking, and an exhaustion born of a dread that sinks into her bones from simply leaving the house.

When she finally acts, the axis tilts – but not as she expects. To keep Emma and Connor safe from a growing terrorist threat (and a Cyberlife executive sniffing where he shouldn’t be), Jericho is going to make a spectacle of the one thing she wants to keep to herself: her singular relationships with the RK800 and WR600.

But as the world turns its glaring eyes their way, how long can their silent fault lines hold?

[Rating: T (except some swears)]

{Ryker is owned by @popsicletheduck, Sam is owned by @vaniccio, Chase is owned by @caitlynmellark and Messi is owned by @thenervousmedic. Thank you for letting me borrow your children!}

Read it on ao3 here.

---

April 2040

Even with Connor in D.C., it takes Emma, Chase, Messi and Ryker little more than an afternoon to pack up the entirety of Emma’s physical life into boxes. That’s how she finds herself alone in an empty bedroom -- once hers, but barely ever that -- riding the sharp waves of a sudden whim.

She pulls the memory box out of the dusty top shelf of her closet and settles it on the carpet with a thick clank. She feels a little high from the remnant dust as she digs into the sea of school photos, report cards, flimsy movie tickets and plastic vacation baubles for the sake of...what?

She searches until she finds the photo some part of her remembered. Her father and mother -- Ji-hun and Shara -- smiling together at the head of a long table. The lighting is poor; someone was taking photos with the flash on. But Mom has flowers woven into her curls. Her dress is a simple cream color with a boatline neck and her laughing grin is radiant. Dad is laughing, too, teeth perfect white, navy suit wrinkled but fitted, purple bowtie slightly askew. His arm is around her mother’s shoulders. Their cheeks nearly touch.

She can almost hear her mother’s voice, honeyed and happy for once. “Oh, we had no money. Both of us in post-grad. We just hurried and married. That’s what we wanted to do.”

She turns the photo around to read the writing on the back. “Shara and Ji-hun wedding, June 1, 2013.” She does the math in her head and realizes: she is older than they are in this photo. The dissonance makes her chest feel numb.

But their love could reignite the sun.

She covets a memory like this for herself so viciously that she has to close her eyes and go somewhere else in her head. Because that’s what she’s looking for, for reasons hard to fathom -- proof that even lives that end in tragedy could still see bright spots of joy.

---

June 2040

[REPLAY MEMORY?]

[ACCEPT]

“Hey darlin’.”

Emma sighs heavily, pulling her fingers through her thick auburn curls to throw them over her head. She looks down into the phone camera from an angle that suggests she is leaning up against her new headboard, pillows tucked in against her back.

“I’m glad I caught you before you fell asleep,” Connor hears himself say, and the relief settles like warm gauze both within the memory and without. He studies the video call closely. Her olive skin is pale. Her freckles stand out like dirt against glass and heavy, dark circles weigh down her cognac brown eyes. He watches her until he catches the orange flash of light behind her pupils.

A pulse of life. A flash of difference.

“You almost didn’t,” she says. “Feel like I’ve been fighting off a nap all day.”

“Your new medicine?”

“Maybe.” She closes her eyes.

“Have you been experiencing any strange side effects?”

“It’s hard to tell anymore.”

“I remember the doctor saying something about experiencing a strange electric feeling--”

She rolls her head back.

“Can we not? Can we talk about something else? Please?”

It normally goes like this. Her patience for talking about her health has only declined as his worry has skyrocketed. Anxiety is such a worthless emotion; it perpetuates itself in a cascade pattern and lingers in his biocomponents. But he has not been with her for the past three weeks, and that fact rankles him so much that he has to rejigger his breathing protocol to fire correctly, just as he did in the memory.

[END MEMORY PLAYBACK]

His programming demands action regarding the most important of his mission parameters (the constant [PROTECT EMMA] that buzzes in the corner of his eye), and yet to do that, he has to be away in Washington, D.C., doing his job. Talking to politicians and lobbyists in gold dining rooms with dark wood lining and crystal chandeliers to convince what feels like the entire world to sign Markus’ comprehensive Android Rights legislation into law.

To convince them that they really are people, willing to assimilate.

Connor glances down at his work phone -- something he obtained out of preference by his largely human team for “security reasons” -- and scrolls to his photo gallery with practiced precision. He lands on a photo of Emma leaning over his shoulder in a Detroit park, grinning down at the camera. The sky shines cobalt blue behind her wild hair, and her laughing smile reveals her bright white teeth.

He misses her so fiercely he routinely runs diagnostics to ensure a part of him isn’t actually, literally missing -- but then, a part of him is, in a way. He can hear Hank scoffing from here. But Hank, Connor thinks, would agree.

Only a two-hour flight remained of the fog of this three-week work trip. The constant typing in front of bright screens. The painful mediation of hope.

“Grip it any tighter and it might shatter.”

He flicks his gaze up toward his aide, in the seat across from him.

[NAME: HALE, SAMANTHA // LEGISLATIVE AIDE BORN: 10/13/2013 CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE]

“I thought you might actually relax for once.” Her words are clipped and efficient and teasing. She watches him over a thin, swiftly scrolling tablet, unreadable as amber.

He smiles slightly. “There is a saying about what happens when you assume.”

She smiles back. Like a mirror. “You’ve been looking at that picture for a while.”

Some switch jolts inside of him and he opts for silence.

Her smile inches closer to genuine. She glances down at his phone. “Sorry. You still hold it like a toddler learning how to play cards.”

He looks out the airplane window, over clouds and distant flatlands, where the people are small as mites. “I’m...glad to be going home.”

“She’s cute.”

Connor turns back immediately. Sam’s dark gaze pierces him through.

“An android?” she asks.

He stares at her until he realizes she is genuinely asking.

“No,” he says quietly.

Sam's eyebrows shoot up a single centimeter. She places the tablet on the thin table between them and leans back in her leather chair, watching him. He’s seen this look before. Part of him steels in preparation.

“This explains a lot,” she says.

“Not for most people.”

“You’ve been in a terrible mood for the past week.”

“Have I?”

She smirks, but it fades immediately. “You don't talk about her much.”

“I don't want--”

The words die in his vocoder.  I don't want her to get hurt. From attention. From my enemies.

Even thinking the words feels like setting the last slab of stone on an already creaking cart. Emma has considerable mechanical alteration (“a cyborg,” she explains plainly), but she's also a bright, mouthy, endlessly kind human being, and he wishes there was a way for everyone to see her as he saw her. She is determined to press on for the sake of truth -- tell the whole world how she became what she is so that no one suffers from the secrets anymore. So that humans have a new understanding of their connection to androids.

He had recently begun to understand the intoxicating calm of lies.

“You're worried about her,” Sam notes quietly.

“Always.”

Sam purses her lips against a number of unspoken things. “What does she do?”

“Carpentry,” he says.

She’s good at deduction and that’s why she is on this plane and not back in D.C. with the rest of his team. He knows what she is really asking, but he's not willing to give her this yet. She reaches for her cup of ginger ale, long drained, and taps her fingernails against the glass. “Are you worried it will become an issue?”

“In what way?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Markus says from across the cabin. Connor slides his gaze toward Markus, who watches them both with the reserved warmth of a curious patron. Simon, sitting across from him, pointedly keeps his eyes on his tablet -- but the PL600 is always listening.

Sam finally turns away, toward the airplane window, brows furrowed in thought. She slides a blonde hair back behind her ear and breathes out through her nose for five seconds straight.

“You can ask, Ms. Hale,” Connor says softly. “I don’t mind.”

He really doesn’t. It feels like a pressure release, speaking of Emma openly like this.

She doesn’t look at him, but her mouth relaxes slightly. “How long have you…?”

“Since November 2039.”

She sits up immediately. “Since--”

Her mouth snaps shut again. Her eyes search his face. How had he kept this hidden from her, his blood hound? What else could he hide from her?

What did he intend?

He leans back in his chair. Tension releases in a soft tick from his back that he catalogues away for future upkeep. “And hopefully for as long as we both are alive.”

Her mouth turns downwards. He thinks for a moment that she is going to say something angry. Accuse him of hiding key intel that prevents her from doing her job — she can’t protect his image if she doesn’t know everything. She can’t handle his affairs if he keeps half the workload to himself. But the tightness around her eyes loosens and he realizes she isn’t angry.

She’s thinking of the other side of the coin of “how long.” The collision of immovable object and unstoppable force; “how long” for an android has a different definition. He knows this because he is thinking of it, too, like he has been since he first saw Emma bleed. He knows because he can smell sadness and pity from a mile away after living in its stink in D.C. for so long.

But as soon as he notices this, she raises her hands as if giving up. A smirk erases all hint of emotionality.

“Well, now I’m definitely glad I am coming along,” she says.

He squints at her. He can feel Markus watching them.

“I’m really curious to meet the type of woman that puts up with you and isn’t even paid for it.”

---

It’s happening again.

Emma counts the flowers. Tastes their colors, pink like fizz and yellow like lemons and -- no. Not right. Start over.

Cement yourself to this moment, here in Ryker’s garden. Feel the too-hot summer sun on skin and the licking breeze out of the northwest, bringing a promise of cooler air from Canada. Settle your knees deep into the grass. Do not think of the snapdragons and how they smell like citrus.

One of the handlers in that hellhole house of her youth always smelled like tangy flowers and bleach.

Do not think of listening to that handler’s Monday afternoon soaps. Of the cold hallway floors sticking to the back of a smaller Emma’s legs. Of Noah leaning his head into her shoulder “to listen better” but really because being apart felt like staring down a big hole into nothing and--

Suddenly she’s a little girl again. She feels the world slip between her fingers, replaced by a sizzling anger that cleanses every thought. Something beeps in her head. Noah’s small face, innocent and pale, hovers superimposed on the face of Abel, the man who tried to kill her and Connor. The two repel like the same side of a magnet.

Her ears ring, high-pitched and trilling like mad bells. Her vision fuzzes out like an old TV. Her lungs seize. {PROCESSING --MEMORY!!ERROR. VARIABLES76857. ERROR UNKNOWN.}

“Ryker! She’s doing it again!”

Emma blinks a few times. Chase’s voice. Grass. Garden. Sun. Wind. Come out of it. Breathe.

For fuck’s sake! Breathe!

{ERROR. ERROR. ERROR------8978792*&^*^&^----ONLINE}

“I can’t look away for five minutes to get tools anymore,” she hears Ryker grumble, but in the way they do when things are truly going to shit. She hears the telltale pitter-stomp through the grass of Messi following not far behind. Emma rises to her feet, as if to make a point, and the world spins. She can’t catch her breath.

“Ibori. What happened?” Chase instantly reaches his arms out to stabilize her. “Look at my face.”

“Nothing,” she lies through her teeth. Chase merely stares at her as if she just announced that the sky is green. “Another fucking memory resurfaced.”

“Everything is alright, remember?” Ryker reminds her, though they grasp tightly to her wrist, turning it over to check her pulse. A gardener should not be so good at doing that, some distant part of her thinks. “The rate’s been slowing.”

She resists the primal urge to pull her wrist back, but not before Ryker notices her hand flex into a fist. They release her immediately.

“I’m going to call the editors,” Ryker says. “You can’t do this yet.”

She covers her guilt by smashing her palms into her eyes and dragging her hands down her face. “If we put it off, the journalists start doubting,” Emma says, as she has explained for what feels like the 500th time this week.

Ryker looms over her, standing with their crutches. For once, the full impact of their height difference -- their 6’2” to her 5’5” -- makes itself apparent. “You don’t think they’d believe you after sitting with you for interviews for hours at a time? That maybe you’re a little mentally unready for this?” “I’m not having this argument with you again.” She digs a toothpick out of her pocket, unable to look them in the eye. Normally, this is the point of the conversation where Ryker freezes as if to recollect themselves and Emma sorts through the weird signals coming from her cyborg brain, and then they both apologize and completely skip over whatever it is they were talking about. Peace is a balm best applied thickly. This time, Ryker fishes a set of familiar flash cards out of their shirt pocket and shoves them at Chase, who watches the exchange with a brittle expression. "Then I'm not having any part of this. I'm going inside." Her heart gives a lurch. "Come on." "No. I'm not talking about this anymore," they snap. "Don't stay out too long or you'll sunburn." The creaking of Ryker's crutches fades until she hears the backdoor to their house slam behind them. She jams the toothpick between her teeth and bites down until she is certain she can look at Chase or Messi and not burst into tears. "It okay, Miss Emma," Messi says softly, pulling on Emma's wrist. "Ryker just tired." "I know," she says, and she knows because it’s her fault. Emma sits down back in the grass. Messi presses her hands deeply into Emma’s thigh as a form of pressure therapy and hums a little child’s song, from somewhere deep in her calming medical programming. Emma absently untangles strands of Messi’s thick, long hair. Chase settles into a wicker chair set up close to Ryker's latest flower beds. He closely examines the flash cards. "Where were you born?" he reads off one. God. Maybe she isn't ready for this. “I’m tired of pop quizzes about myself," she says. "Can’t we just have some nice garden time? In quiet?” Chase holds the card primly in both hands, eyeing her suspiciously over its edge. She closes her eyes against another wave of vertigo. She can nearly hear Natalie, her therapist, speaking in her head. Think of things to be thankful for. Connor is finally coming home. She won’t have to pretend that she can get through the night by herself while curled up in painful knots on Ryker’s couch. She won’t lie awake, afraid of the dark and what she might remember of it. She won’t feel like a pathetic loser pining after someone who has only been gone three weeks. Three long-ass, terrible weeks. “It’s publishing tomorrow morning, Ibori," Chase says, as if explaining this to a child. "People are going to ask. They are going to try and find holes." "I'm gonna remember. My body won't let me do anything damn else." Both of them fall silent at that. For a moment, the only sound between them is Messi's soft humming. "Hmm," Chase says after a long moment, which is Chase for Yeah, I don't believe you.

---

Emma used to make a sport out of fading into crowds. I am among you, but not a part of you, she'd think, and she would disappear before anyone could ask her why she was drinking alone.

Hank pushes a black coffee across the small table. {IDENTIFIED: COFFEA ARABICA, 172 DEGREES F. } “Sorry. Decaf only for you.”

{ACCESSING LOGS…} “Goddamn meds,” she manages. She wraps both of her hands around the cup, like Connor would do if he was here. He could never drink it.

{STARBUCKS COPYRIGHTED BLEND. DO YOU LIKE COFFEE….*&*^*&????}

“Em?”

Her muscles twitch and lock up in strange places. She takes deep breaths. Cut it off at the stem. It doesn’t have to be like this.

{EMMIE I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THIS…}

Quit it.

“Emma!”

She blinks hard and watches as Hank yanks the coffee cup out of her tight grasp. Only now does she realize she has squeezed the cup until its boiling hot contents spilled over onto her skin.

“Burning yourself won’t do the trick,” Hank gruffs. He tugs at the napkin dispenser and dabs at her knuckles lightly.

“Sorry,” she says automatically. She grounds her feet to the floor. The hand still tingles. She gets the feeling it should hurt more than it does, but the busy airport atrium has flooded her with so much stimuli that she is shocked when she sees that the spill has left a red welt on her skin.

(Noah -- Abel -- he said he didn’t feel pain anymore, didn’t feel anything--)

“Connor won’t like that,” she mutters.

Hank scoffs. He finishes cleaning the table and tosses the napkins into the nearby trash-can. “Yeah, he’s gonna be out of his mind now, thanks for that. Lucky I’ve dealt with worse attitude problems than you...”

Hank refers to it as an attitude problem because he knows she laughs when he does. An attitude problem would be laughably, wonderfully normal. “Great,” she mutters.

His eyes soften. “North'll be back with our clearance soon.”

She huffs and lays her forehead (and burned hand) on the cool metal table.

Current security policy is that no one may be in the private plane receiving area who is not a passenger until within 20 minutes of the landing time. In a fit of anxious energy, Hank and Emma arrived at least an hour early, but they’d been waiting for close to 40 minutes already.

Meaning…

“There she is.” Hank sips his coffee. “Just like I promised. Our boys almost here?” he says to North.

“We’re in luck. They’re ahead of schedule. They’re already taxi-ing in.”

Emma looks up to see North with a rare, true smile on her beautifully carved face. Her hair is in its usual side plait, though she is experimenting with blonder highlights that stand out like ice against her dark clothes. She brandishes the thin pass tablets like three playing cards.

Emma is up and moving out of the chair before North can say another word.

She raps her knuckles against her thigh as she speed walks to the private jet gates, past a dancing water fountain and quiet museum displays of old world cars that feel like pockets of a different time and place. She half-runs down a windowless, wide hallway lit with shades of purple and green like some petrified nightmare vision of the future, all cornerless architecture and the constant feeling that you have to be going somewhere.

Her phone is vibrating, but her hands are shaking too much to pull it out of her pocket. She shoves her credentials at the TSA agents who give her strange looks, but they let her pass once North catches up to wave them off.

“I swear it was decaf,” she hears Hank mutter to North.

Emma reaches the gate, eyes fixated on the gleaming jet rolling down the tarmac. The creamy, nondescript white of an undecorated fuselage, dark windows and an extended walkway remain her only obstacles. All that is left is waiting, which is nearly impossible for her to do. She turns around to speak to Hank and North only to find they are still somewhat far behind.

She runs through a mental checklist. Connor is on that airplane. Ryker is at home watching one of their favorite late afternoon nature programs and keeping an eye on Messi, who is likely experimenting on the dirt in their garden. Chase is on the late shift at the department store. Hank is coming up behind her. Her aunt and uncle are...doing whatever it is they do.

{eeeEEEmmmmiEEEEEE}

You do not own me, you are not real. You are just one aspect of my thoughts.

But then, Natalie was not programmed to deal with the fussy, indeterminable nature of a wetware-enhanced human brain. So. There’s that. Emma falls into one of those black beam seats one always finds in airports and bounces her knee until the pressure against her heel thrums through her whole body.

“Emma.”

For a moment, she is so absorbed in sorting out her thoughts that she looks up and expects Hank.

But she knows that voice.

She rises to her feet at once. “Hey,” she says. It comes out a breathless whisper, weighed down by everything beneath it. Connor strides down the walkway at unnatural android speed. His polished dress shoes click against the hard floor.

His face is stolen from an angel in Venice. Dark eyes, warm as homemade cake, a smile, a--

She hears the luggage -- his little chrome luggage, the pieces she helped him pick out at the mall -- click to a stop just as an arm crushes around her middle. A hand snakes behind her neck. She’s pulled into an embrace so tight that feeling finally fully returns to her senses, rushing in like water through a cavern. Her eyes burn.

“I missed you so much,” he says, straightforward and breaking and quiet. “I was certain something was wrong with me.”

He pulls back to look at her, and his smile flickers. His hand around her neck moves to touch just beneath her eyes.

“Sorry.” She sniffles and apologizes, like she does too often anymore. “I know it was only three weeks.”

“It was terrible. I was very bored,” Connor says, in that deadpan way of his, and it makes her laugh. She throws her arms around his neck and plants the kiss she’d been dreaming of for three weeks right on his mouth, all stupid bravery. He takes a deep, sudden breath through his nose and pulls her tighter against him, sighing softly, like he finally could accept that she was really here, really wanted him back, more than anything. He only breaks away to speak so quietly against her mouth that she wonders if she imagined it. “...my love...”

“God, you’d think you hadn't seen each other in 5 years.”

Emma doesn’t even turn around to flip Hank off. He laughs. She laughs. She looks back, carefully ensconced in Connor’s arms, and puts her hands up as if to say, ‘Guilty.’

Hank walks toward them. “What am I, chopped liver?”

A cool hand touches her burned one almost in an instant.

“...Emma.” Connor’s voice tightens. “What happened?”

“Oh, here we go,” she mutters. And Hank, that asshole, laughs more.

---

As soon as Connor settles into the back seat of Hank's old Ford, a strange weight lifts from his thirium pump. He takes a long, unnecessary drag of the scent of old leather, dusty blankets and the sickly sweet tinge of alcohol from a bottle that once broke open on the carpets years ago. A human wouldn't notice it, he thinks, or they would comment. But then, he doesn’t want to think about the differences between himself and humanity.  

He wants to watch Emma curl herself into the backseat -- all human sighing and complaint, beautiful and alive.

Emma clicks her seat belt and contours herself to his shoulder, leaning so that her forehead lays against his neck. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her against him so tightly that he has to triple-check to ensure he isn’t crushing her. She doesn't complain.

"Comfy," she mutters, as if angry about it. He presses his nose into her wild red hair.

Lavender. Chipped plywood. The summer wind. Coming home.

(How long would this go? How long could he do the stretches without her? He's adaptable. He is built to be the perfect teammate. Adapting to human ingenuity, fine, he is quite capable. They did not prepare him for human desires. Of any kind. The very notion of wanting something is supposed to be foreign to him and he has never wanted anything more in his life than this feeling, like he’s finally climbed through the earth to see the sun.)

He’s startled out of his reverie because she starts snoring softly. Hank's eyes flick to the rearview, as if finally granted permission to speak.

"You really doin' alright out there?" Hank asks. His voice is quieter than usual. He clears his throat and looks pointedly to Emma for a moment. "Pretty long work trip for you."

Connor casts his gaze out the car window to the rolling cityscape of Detroit. He catalogs the  strange pinging in his heart as another type of homecoming -- a realization of what was missed. "It's what it is," he says flatly, because he is not sure what else to say. "People act like they want to hear what we have to say. But...I see the way they look at us."

"Oh?"

He meets Hank's eyes in the mirror. "Sometimes it's fear. Sometimes it's pity. Sometimes it's...an anger I don't understand."

Hank makes a sound of disgust. "Fuckin' politicians..."

"They don't know how to talk to us, I think."

"But you're okay?" Hank asks, more intently than before. "You feel safe?"

"We're safe, Hank," Connor says softly. He holds Hank's watery gaze until Hank is the first to turn away, eyes back on the road. "It would take a very determined terrorist to strike the Congressional halls in D.C."

"Who's the blonde? The aide you were tellin' me about? She looks very...serious."

"Sam. Yes. She's helping me gather intel before our next big excursion. She is...as you say."

"Heh. Coming from you..."

"I know," Connor says. “She has her work cut out for her.”

Hank finally smiles into the mirror.

"Man, lemme tell you, when I last visited D.C...."

Connor lets Hank tell some anecdote about a previous trip, in which people "weren't even allowed on the damn sidewalk on Pennsylvania Ave. to take pictures of the damn White House," because it seems to help Hank steady his vitals. But once Hank runs out of asides, Connor decides to finally address the flashing warning in his vision. [PROTECT EMMA.]

“Was she okay?”

Hank sighs. Connor squints, considering all the reasons why Hank may lie to him about this.

“She'll give you some bullshit," Hank says after a long moment. "It's a mixed fucking bag. But she's...holding on better than I would. I'd say.”

The turn signal blinks. Connor syncs his breathing with it as he re-orders his sudden splatter of thoughts. "She's...the article..." "Tomorrow morning." He freezes. He hadn't forgotten -- he rarely forgets anything -- but this particular insight had been shoved far back enough in his processes that he hadn't realized the date of publication on the story about her horrific youth was so soon. He's nearly seized by a protocol that would have prompted him to yank her entirely into his lap.

"I should have been here," he whispers, horrified. "No," Hank says, firmly. "You know that isn't how this works. Not anymore."

Connor closes his mouth. He knows. How this works is that he lives and works separately from the love of his life even as she’s withering half a country away. He knows that’s how it is supposed to work.

But he’s running out of context. All the pains are new and strong and he is running out of assurance that all of them are survivable.

---

As soon as they reach Hank's, the trio decides to keep a quiet night in. Hank insists on cooking because Connor just got back from a long trip, which prompts Connor to protest he isn't tired like that, which prompts Hank to tell him to shut up and sit down like the thankful asshole he should be, which makes Connor remind everyone he doesn’t actually eat any food...and so it goes. Emma loves every second of it.

She drinks chamomile tea with honey (Connor's version is a close second only to Ryker's) and sits on the couch between Connor and Hank in a warm haze watching baseball. Eventually, Hank excuses himself to bed. Emma and Connor quickly leave to Connor's room. Everyone's tired of pretending to be anything but exhausted.

That doesn't stop Connor from kissing her as soon as the door is closed. Soft and gentle, he presses in on her jaw, the corner of her lips, her mouth. He holds her tightly against his chest as if he could keep all the world away, and she leans into him, believing it. But it's all a trick, she realizes too late, to pick her up and deposit her in the soft down comforter he bought just for her.

He sits on the mattress and unbuttons his shirt sleeve.“You have a lot of sleep to catch up on, my love.”

“Hrmph,” she says from within a down cocoon. She sits up, blanket still wrapped around her body and head, and leans forward as if to issue a challenge. “Maybe I want to kiss you all night. What about that?”

“Have you taken your medicine?”

“Yes…”

“Then you'll be falling asleep in about an hour.”

“Try me.”

He scans her face for a long moment before he leans over to kiss her on the nose. “Somehow I missed you acting like this, too.”

She smiles. He rises to begin unpacking his luggage, placing perfectly folded clothes into his drawers.

His room is no longer a place of spartan order, at least. She framed a few of his pencil drawings to hang on the wall; at least one of them is of her alone, looking over the Detroit River (he insisted on that one). Some drawings are of Hank and Sumo, of Markus laughing in a garden next to North and Simon, of Josh reading quietly against a window. He also hung a drawing from Messi that is mostly abstract color splotches. She glances to the dresser and the collection of objects there: his DPD badge and official portrait, a snow globe with a beach santa inside it (“I like the dissonance,” he said as explanation once), an old quarter collection, and a rubik’s cube.

But all his work clothes are still the same uniform he prefers, she notes with some humor. It's like out of a TV show where the main character has a closet full of exactly one outfit. He folds pants and hangs shirts and she relishes the quiet domesticity of it all like inoculation against the loneliness of other nights.

“How is Ryker?” Connor asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She pulls in the comforter tighter around her. “Fine.”

He looks at her back over his shoulder, expectant.

She sighs. “I made them mad.”

“But you're always so agreeable.”

She snorts an involuntary laugh. “Yeah, real picture of function over here.”

He hangs the last shirt and turns back fully to her. She takes in a sudden breath at the weight in his expression -- at the way his frown could break glass.

“They don't think I should publish tomorrow, but it's too late,” she blurts as if being interrogated. Anything to stop his face from looking like that. “It’s gonna happen sooner or later and I’m so damn tired of sitting on it like it’s a bomb ready to go. I’m good, you know? I just want it done.”

He sits on the mattress close enough that her knee slips over his lap and she sinks in toward him. He wraps one of her many loose, coily hairs around his finger quietly. “Something is bothering you, though.”

Her eyes feel misty. “I’m just tired.” And then, against her better judgement, she adds: “I had another memory relapse today.”

He freezes, like he tends to do when she talks about this, and it makes her feel worse but she can’t tell him that.

“It was fine,” she says quickly. “They aren’t happening as often.”

“This isn’t the one that prompted you to burn you hand.”

“No, that wasn’t---that was just me...zoning out…”

She thinks of Noah’s voice, booming in her thoughts, because hiding from it gives him -- it -- power, and thoughts are not reality. She thinks his name so intently she nearly says it. Luckily, she bites her tongue.

Because already she has said too much.

Connor leans in toward her until their foreheads touch. She expects him to kiss her, but he places his hands firmly around the small of her back as he pulls her into his lap, lips not quite touching. Her legs straddle him and her arms circle his neck, prompting the comforter to fall to the floor. She feels a strange heat from the vulnerability. But he holds her tightly against him and she welcomes the pressure.

His mouth is beside her ear. "I can't keep spending time away from you like this.”

“You have to.”

“You're more important.”

She pulls back to look at him. “More important than all of android life?”

His shoulders loosen. He buries his face in her neck and she cradles his head with one hand. He can't keep talking like this because she is tempted to agree. But he has to build a life outside her own. That is what she swore she would never let him give up.

There is so much he hasn't seen…

“It's okay, darling,” she says softly. “I'm not dying yet. I still got shit to do.”

“Like drive me insane,” he mutters.

She laughs. His grip tightens and her stomach flutters. “In a good way?”

He leans back just enough so that their foreheads meet again. She settles her gaze on his cheekbones as his eyes seek hers. “On occasion.”

Finally, finally, he sighs, like giving in to her orbit, and he kisses her until she can’t think about anything but him.

---

21:37 Lil.lion.lady74: we'll be over by 7

21:37 Lil.lion.lady74: love u

21:38 Lil.lion.lady74: im sorry. i hope one day you can forgive me.

It is 5:47 a.m. Ryker sits on the edge of the couch. They reread Emma's last texts. They reread and reread and reread, like they’re looking for some hidden meaning they keep missing. Maybe the words will summon her here to answer all the questions they can't seem to ask. Or maybe the words will fall inert to the ground.

They eye the small laptop on the coffee table for a long moment, afraid to open it. But then, they need to take their own advice: there is no use hiding from something that is true. Her story is out there. Everyone's eyes will turn her way. The gaze of the world will eat her up like a pest, leaving the plant dying and brown in its wake, and she thinks she'll be able to come out of this whole. But Ryker knows better than anyone what it means to believe that right up until it’s not true anymore.

So they grab the laptop and go out into their garden to sit in quiet as the first hints of a coming dawn paint the world in soft hues. It's a carefully planned operation, with the crutches and the laptop and managing both, but Ryker is a master of the front-pack, as Emma christened it. Moving from living room to kitchen only takes five more steps of organization than the usual android, rather than the....more....that it used to be. Before they learned how to maneuver on one leg.

They settle on their patio chair, the favored one with the daisy-patterned pillows that have somehow survived the Detroit elements. Emma got it for them, and they will take it with them wherever it is they end up going. Ryker. Alone.

No time to think about that now. They take a deep breath and smell the roses and the snapdragons, soon to wilt in the summer sun. They open the computer to see what damage has been done. Emma got them this laptop so they could watch their shows while sitting in the garden. She moved the WiFi router so they could stream things without issue.

She…

You're just a project to her. Something she can fix in a falling-down house. Except Ryker won't let any human fix them, not even Emma. Maybe life would be easier if they let her. They should do the correct android thing and repair their leg, but something still stops them, a fear like ice against their spine. But also an indignation; they shouldn't have to be anything except what they are. Isn’t that what freedom is about?

Do humans know what it is like, to have freedom dropped in your lap? Some must. Some must still wonder, somewhere, but they’re probably all here already, helping the Volunteer Corps. And one of them, Emma, their Emma, no longer their Emma, uses her freedom to throw herself on the pyre.

They open the Detroit Free Press site to the doe eyes of a three-year-old Emma -- curly auburn hair cropped to her ears, skin yellowy and wan, freckles constant. She stares at the camera utterly flabbergasted, like it had caught her doing something she shouldn't be. Her eyes almost glow.

A LIFE HAYWIRE:

Cyberlife inspired a decade of innovation. But that innovation was built on the back of a survivor of dangerous cybernetic experiments. Her name is Emma Ibori. She was age 3.

Their biocomponents click and squeeze. They've seen this picture before now, but only in momentary snippets. That was all that they could afford, unless they wanted to spend an afternoon in inexplicable tears. But now, as they confront the picture in its final print, the tears become extraordinarily explicable. Ryker will never know what it is like to be that small. Ryker will only understand what it is like to be that tiny and helpless from reading this story about it happening to this person that they love -- this person who somehow grew from that, like an oak from an acorn. They reach out to touch the screen and the picture zooms in slightly, making Ryker's vision blur.

They're too different. It's too much. How could they ever have thought that it could work, them being best of friends for as long as they both would live? Emma grows on and on and on and Ryker is just here, waiting in the garden for dawn.

Ryker loses track of time reading the story. Suddenly they hear the telltale creaking of their backdoor opening. 7:00 a.m. on the dot. Emma, harried and true, and Connor, frustratingly impeccable. They are followed by Chase in his duck pajamas and Messi in her long nightgown, both of them coming from Ryker's bedroom. The sight is jarring and lovely; a splash of unexpected color in a flower bed. And everyone is on time. Connor is good for something.

Emma stares at Ryker, with a fear not dissimilar from the picture on the tablet. "What's the damage?"

"It's..."

The words die on their tongue. Her face is pale except where it’s flushed red, her fingers subconsciously twining in anxious knots.

How are they going to do this right? Where do you go, once you leave an anchor behind in a world that won't stop changing?

"There’s no damage,” they lie. “Not yet.”

[gretamclaughlin]

Fueling the Modern World

The readings focus on nonrenewable and renewable energy sources, and they talk about the necessity to shift to new forms of energy production to prevent further climate change. Environmentally-degrading oil is the most widely used energy resource in the U.S. Fracking, another popular energy source, is also detrimental to the environment, costly, and limited. I enjoy how the textbook notes various issues with nonrenewable energy sources that are not restricted to the environment; this appeals to a diverse audience and provides a comprehensive view of the scope of the effects of degradation. In other words, environmental issues influence a range of other social and political issues, including foreign policy. Keith Crane explains this in his book Imported Oil and U.S. National Security, stating that a disruption in oil imports “would undermine U.S. national security, for example, by weakening U.S. global economic and political influence and the ability of the United States to pay for U.S. military forces” (Crane 2009, 19). The readings go on to present other sources of energy like oil and tar sands, which emit air pollutants and produce more CO2 than conventional crude oil production. Certainly, some new and seemingly promising energy solutions further damage the environment, and many methods of energy production have a high long-term cost. Although we can promote the view that these sources are detrimental to ecosystems as a whole, it may be more effective to focus on the human cost, which would attract a greater audience. Regardless of the angle one takes, it is integral that people look towards more ecologically friendly methods for sustainable and lasting solutions.

The textbook also covers natural gas and coal and explains how natural gas intensifies climate change and shifts people away from finding better energy because it is seen as clean. The description of coal highlights both the environmental and health issues caused by its mining and combustion. The health costs can be such an economic burden on countries that switching to cleaner energy can become the most viable option. Ben Ewald conducted a study in New South Wales, Australia on the health costs of SO2 emissions from burning coal (Ewald 2018, 227). Sulfate particles are classified as part of the particulate air pollution smaller than 2.5 microns (PM2.5). He found that by reducing PM2.5 levels 16%, there would be 104 fewer deaths and 560 fewer years of life lost per year in NSW, valued at about $539 million (based upon the statistical value of life) (Ewald 2018, 228). Ewald argues that pollution fees need to correspond with the cost of health damage to reduce emissions. Of course, speaking about human life in terms of money can be problematic, and it raises the question of why people cannot just value life for itself. Regardless, this tactic can expand the number of people in support of environmental action, including those who are more economically-driven. The production of CO2 by the coal industry causes further issues. By highlighting both the environmental and health impact of coal, the readers can understand how they are directly affected.

I always believed that nuclear energy was the key to the future, but the readings changed this. Although there are benefits to nuclear power like a low environmental impact and low accident risk, there are numerous disadvantages, such as the difficulty of disposing fuel rods, high cost, and low net energy production. However, governments have invested significantly more money into nuclear power than renewable resources, despite having little success. It makes me wonder what the world would look like if nations had focused on funding more sustainable options. Climate change may not be as advanced as it is now, and the U.S. could have been a leader in reducing emissions. According to a study in Risk Analysis, “Climate change concern is associated with increased acceptance of nuclear power only when nuclear power is considered as the only viable way to cut CO2 emissions” (Vainio et al. 2017, 557). Certainly, other options exist today that produce more energy and are better for the environment; therefore, nuclear energy and financement of it should be phased out.

Despite the higher net energy of nonrenewable resources, it is necessary to switch to renewable resources to reduce the environmental and health impacts. The readings highlight how by turning to cleaner options, we can create business opportunities and provide jobs, which is important because people often lean on the economy to justify ruining the environment. Indeed, it is integral to promote the positive economic effects and opportunities of businesses and countries becoming greener in order to generate more support for climate action. Consolidating diverse interests will be essential in fighting environmental degradation.

The U.S. needs to implement a smart grid to connect wind farms and solar power plants throughout the country, subsidize energy efficiency initiatives, and make the switch to more renewable energy. Generally, human systems are unnaturally linear, and in order to decrease human impact on the environment, people need to switch the energy system to one that imitates those found in nature (biomimicry). For example, solar cells mimic leaves, with some newer technology even turning to the sun as leaves do. Other renewable energy includes wind energy, which is highly productive and could potentially fuel the entire country. Loyola University Chicago created a program in which they collect oil from Chicago restaurants and universities and convert it into biodiesel that operates university and other local vehicles (Loyola University Chicago, n.d.). Small projects such as this one increase in their value when their methods are employed on a larger scale.

Of course, governments need to establish comprehensive policies to reduce pollution and increase renewable energy use, such as Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) standards, which improve vehicles’ fuel efficiencies. Standards are being used in Paris by establishing a low-emission zone where only certain vehicles can enter (Bernard et al.). This reduces air pollution and encourages people to purchase fuel-efficient and electric cars. Increasing CAFE standards in the coming years will further improve the energy efficiency of vehicles on the road.

We need to create legislation that forces communities to utilize renewable energy. California legislation requires the state to use renewable energy to produce half of its electric power by 2030. If this was imposed on a national level, we would see a sharp increase in wind, solar, and other renewable energy and a lower reliance on coal, oil, etc. Furthermore, the government needs to shift away from awarding subsidies and tax breaks to nonrenewable energy producers, and it should provide financial incentives for building and using renewable energy. Of course, these initiatives would be more logical if the U.S. government sped up the process of building a smart grid so widespread usage of clean energy would be more viable. Tax breaks and other economic incentives should also be used to encourage people to purchase more energy-efficient vehicles, including hybrid and electric cars. 

The government must also implement full-cost pricing when it comes to nonrenewable resources to reduce their usage. The International Monetary Fund approximates that if full-cost pricing were applied to burning coal, coal use would drop 55%, and CO2 emissions would drop 20%. It is necessary that pricing accurately reflects human and environmental cost; in the case of the NSW study, taxes were not high enough to make any companies take action. However, if done properly, this method can greatly reduce emissions from burning coal and producing other forms of nonrenewable energy. Promoting environmental education in schools and through community groups is integral in combating the narrative that nonrenewable energy is safe, which is purported by many corporations.

Unfortunately, impoverished people bear the brunt of climate change much more than those who are well-off, and many suffer as a result of wealthier people’s actions, such as corporations. While the rich can flee the effects of environmental degradation, marginalized people must face them directly. This makes comprehensive environmental policy even more necessary, and it can ameliorate other race and class issues, such as health. More immediate policy can include building parks in urban areas and cleaning up pre-existing places. Grassroots organizations can also spearhead efforts, and the Bronx River Alliance is revitalizing the Bronx River, and their work has a multitude of psychological and physical benefits to nearby residents. Growing up, I had the opportunity to explore nature through clean parks, playgrounds, and more in my neighborhood. Just 20 minutes down the road in a more impoverished neighborhood, children did not have access to the same opportunities and did not live in a healthy environment. Today, the memories I made in nature were formative and continue to affect my relationship with the world. It is unfair that so many young people are denied these opportunities, just because of how much money their parents have, and action must be taken to prevent further injustices.

Changing building standards to ensure green architecture would reduce energy waste, use solar energy to heat buildings, and more. Unfortunately, living in a sustainable manner is largely only accessible to wealthier people who have the means to live in buildings with top-of-the-line technology. Therefore, by making green living more accessible to everyone with government subsidies, less energy will be wasted and less emissions will be produced, leading to a cleaner world for everyone. On an individual level, we can all take action in our homes by ensuring that leaky heating is sealed, using LED bulbs, shutting off electronics when not in use, and transitioning to energy-efficient appliances. Switching to a cleaner and more energy-efficient world is critical in preventing further climate change. Acting sustainably can be a difficult road to take, especially given the capitalist system that we live in. I find myself purchasing from Amazon instead of shopping at brick-and-mortar stores, and I often eat meat in favor of vegetarian and vegan options. However, we must all be more conscious of our actions and their effects in order to have a cleaner future, or even a future at all.

Word Count: 1668

Question: If governments had focused their resources on renewable energy rather than nuclear energy, how would current emissions have been affected?

Diagrams:

Savings due to reduced air pollution in New South Wales, Australia

Potential phases for Paris’ implementation of its low-emission zones: cars receive stickers based on their fuel-efficiency

Sources of U.S. energy in 2019 - very unsustainable

Works Cited:

Crane, Keith. 2009. Imported Oil and U.S. National Security. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation. https://eds-a-ebscohost-com.avoserv2.library.fordham.edu/eds/detail/detail?vid=0&sid=c36b0d2f-45db-4a48-9f08-35b1ee8e70c8%40sdc-v-sessmgr02&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWRzLWxpdmU%3d#AN=276729&db=e000xna. 

Ewald, Ben. 2018. “The value of health damage due to sulphur dioxide emissions from coal- fired electricity generation in NSW and implications for pollution licences.” Australian and New Zealand Journal of Public Health 42, no. 3: 227-229. EBSCOhost. 

Vainio, Annukka, Riikka Paloniemi, and Vilja Varho. 2017. “Weighing the Risks of Nuclear Energy and Climate Change: Trust in Different Information Sources, Perceived Risks, and Willingness to Pay for Alternatives to Nuclear Power.” Risk Analysis: An International Journal 37, no. 3. 557-569. EBSCOhost. 

Bernard, Yoann, Joshua Miller, Sandra Wappelhorst, and Caleb Braun. 2020. “Impacts of the Paris low-emission zone and implications for other cities.” The Real Urban Emissions Initiative (March 2020): 5. https://theicct.org/sites/default/files/publications/Paris-LEV-implications-03.12.2020.pdf. 

Loyola University Chicago. n.d.”Biodiesel Program.” https://www.luc.edu/media/lucedu/sustainability-new/pdfs/IES-biodiesel.pdf. 

[astro-onechampionship]

Refinery Media Founder Karen Seah On Reimagining ‘The Apprentice’ During a Global Pandemic

The upcoming reality series “The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition” is all but ready to hit TV screens this March.

The ONE Championship version based on the popular non-scripted television franchise is a complete departure from the classic American version, and offers viewers an entirely new experience, according to Refinery Media founder, Karen Seah.

The show’s participants are hand-picked from around the world to compete in a series of business and physical challenges. The last man or woman standing gets a US $250,000 job offer to work directly for ONE Chairman and CEO Chatri Sityodtong.

Sityodtong has an estimated net worth of US$350 million and will be the star of the upcoming edition of “The Apprentice.” 16 candidates will be vying to be the protege of one of Asia's leading entrepreneurs.

Filmed entirely in Singapore, during the COVID-19 pandemic no less, “The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition” is a production marvel.

“It was very tough, of course, and a high responsibility on our shoulders to ensure we did it right. The production was the largest in the region at the time, and we had to ensure we set a standard for safety,” said Seah.

“If we couldn’t get it right, then it wouldn’t look too good for the rest of the media industry. Naturally, there were a lot of restrictions, which made things doubly difficult and longer to execute. But we are very proud of what we have accomplished, and we did it very well. This gives me a lot of optimism for future productions in Singapore.”

ONE Championship and Refinery Media worked extensively with the Singapore government, particularly the Singapore Tourism Board (STB), in putting together a series of health and medical protocols to keep the cast, crew, and guests all relatively safe from exposure to COVID-19 as they filmed across iconic locations around the country.

Guests on the show include high-profile CEOs such as Zoom’s Eric Yuan, Grab’s Anthony Tan, and Catcha Group’s Patrick Grove, among others, as well as martial arts legends such as Georges St-Pierre and Renzo Gracie.

According to Seah, the logistics involved in having to bring all these high-profile figures from all around the world to Singapore, in addition to the show’s 16 candidates who represent 11 nations, was incredibly complex but effective.

“All of us had to wear masks and other PPE, especially the camera and sound team under extremely hot temperatures, and sometimes running with the contestants. Rules like this applied to us, but not to a regular person who went for a jog or did some exercise. It seemed extremely difficult, but we needed to put aside our discomfort to ensure the show was produced,” said Seah.

“Despite the adversities, there were always spots of opportunity for those who could see the potential in what we were doing, and were willing to take the risks and make sacrifices. I didn’t care how difficult and daunting the entire production looked like it was going to be, I just wanted to make sure that we were going to surpass all expectations creatively and visually.”

Tremendous hype has surrounded “The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition” since it was announced in early 2020. When Seah’s team at Refinery Media worked with ONE to storyboard the initial concept of the show, she knew almost immediately she had a potential hit in her hands.

The martial arts promotion is touting this version of the show as the toughest “Apprentice” in history, and Seah is confident ONE and Refinery Media have put together a compelling product that will entertain a wide audience.

“The ONE Championship DNA of sports already gave us an incredible angle to push out an entirely different format than the ‘old’ Apprentice we know of. Combined with Chatri [Sityodtong] being a natural television host and anchor on the show, I knew I could really push the boundaries and do something really exciting and different. I was very confident it was going to be a winning formula,” said Seah.

“I don’t even think anyone will recognize it. It’s vastly different from the original in every sense.”

“The Apprentice” is one of the biggest non-scripted reality television programs in history, judging the business skills of candidates who are competing for a job offer under a high-profile CEO. It has aired in more than 120 countries.

The first season of “The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition” consists of 13 episodes. It’s scheduled to premiere across Asia on Thursday, 18 March, on AXN, the show’s official Asian broadcast partner, followed by a global launch in June across broadcast and streaming platforms.

Seah invites fans of both “The Apprentice” and ONE Championship to tune in to the show once it finally airs next month.

“I think they will appreciate how global, modern, and edgy the show is, and how the characters are incredibly strong, from various backgrounds, and are exciting to watch. They would also be awed by the quality of filming,” said Seah.

“I think that the show will keep everyone sitting on the edge of their seats with the dramatic twists and turns, and at times, they will be wondering if they are indeed watching a reality series, or a drama series.”

Refinery Media is ONE Championship’s official production partner for “The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition.” The company has vast experience in delivering audiences top quality reality and non-scripted programming, including Amazing Race Asia, Asia’s Next Top Model, SupermodelMe, Cesar’s Recruit Asia, and many other shows.

Seah believes producing “The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition” in Singapore has had a positive impact on the country's economy, creating a bevvy of jobs for locals, especially in the freelance ecosphere.

“I believe this is just the beginning. ‘The Apprentice: ONE Championship Edition’ has proven that it’s possible to put on a production of this caliber even in times of a global pandemic. Producers should consider taking advantage of how well Singapore has managed the COVID-19 situation,” said Seah.

“There will be more demand for content and they should pivot and find ways to produce good quality content. There is also more demand for Asian faces on the global screens as well. More producers should be creating for global audiences. I’m proud to say that this project has created many jobs for Singapore freelancers.”

Up next, catch all the action from the previously recorded ONE: FISTS OF FURY II next Friday, 5 March, by downloading the ONE Super App.

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