#Introduction to artificial intelligence

[liveblack]

What is Artificial Intelligence(AI) | Liveblack

AI(Artificial Intelligence) is a controversial topic. People love to explore new options that help them do their work effortlessly. However, every new thing comes with flaws as well.

AI technology is just like that. AI has lots of benefits wrapped around its disadvantages. The Internet is flooded with heaps of rumours, hopes, and fears that many people are positive about

AI and so many are negative.

Does AI take human jobs? The question arises after AI was introduced to this world. Well, as we all know humans develop AI so it has to be controlled by humans. AI might aid humans to work faster and smarter in a way that lets them explore their potential or productivity to create something innovative. But what does AI mean? Let’s check out.

What is Artificial Intelligence(AI)?

AI is a set of technologies that allow computers to work on advanced functions to analyse and understand data, translate and give recommendations according to tasks. AI is a computer-controlled robot that works on tasks assigned by humans.

AI processes a large amount of data and can make decisions, recognise patterns, make predictions, automate tasks, etc.

Introduction to artificial intelligence is still being determined, but we have curated a whole content to let you know more about it.

What do you know about artificial intelligence? Do you think AI can replace humans in jobs, and industries? No matter what industry you take, AI has the adaptability to change according to the situation. Every day, everything is evolving, and artificial intelligence is programmed in a way to work on different responsibilities. This is a matter where people are divided into two groups because of AI. Some people believe AI can take over jobs and humans become jobless in future. On the other hand, the second kind of people thinks that AI complements human creativity and helps them explore their true potential.

Well, whatever an AI can do, it can never surpass human intelligence because human values, creativity, and decision-making can always be led by humans and not AI.

What is the Foundation of AI?

Artificial intelligence isn’t a new-age term. It has been known since the 1950s. Alan Turing, a British mathematician and computer scientist is the brain behind the foundation of AI. 1950 is the year when researchers started exploring artificial intelligence and its possible applications.

Machine learning, neural networks, natural language processing (NLP), problem-solving, etc. are the key components of artificial intelligence. This will help humans do their work at a fast pace.

Let us get into the main point for we are here to discuss the whole artificial intelligence concept.

How does artificial intelligence influence digital marketing?

Imagine you have loads and loads of data about your customer’s behaviour, likes, dislikes, and all the trends they like to follow!!! Sounds easy peasy to get your marketing work done, right? AI can help you with this task to get a clearer idea to set your marketing goals according to your customers’ choices.

AI is helping shape the future of digital marketing in a way that aids brands to generate unique concepts and customers to get personalized experiences.

Let us have a look into different points that artificial intelligence has made easier for brands to target their audience.

Enhanced Data Analysis -

With AI, analyze the enormous amount of data where you can spot the pattern of your customer’s behaviour, preferences, etc. to make informed decisions. AI’s capability of data analysis can be your best-helping buddy in designing a marketing strategy and campaign.

In this way, marketers get a deeper understanding of insights and get the points that save their time and energy to target the audience in a better way. These smart buddies convert a bunch of data into a meaningful pile of information to optimize data to plan for a future marketing campaign. When marketers get to know about the preferences of their customers they have the purchasing patterns, product or service preferences, etc.

So the marketers can design their budget according to the data given by the AI. This way marketers build meaningful relationships with customers. With the given data or information, marketers can design personalized offers, vouchers, personalized messages and emails, and make customers feel valued to win their trust. This is the way to maximize ROI(return on investment) because happy customers always return to the brand they trust.

Understands Individualized Preferences -

AI-driven systems improve customer experience. How? By providing information that helps marketers gain real-time insights they can see customer preferences and market their products accordingly. Promotional emails, personalized messages and recommendations can be a helpful thing in getting customers’ attention.

AI algorithms understand the repetitive patterns of purchasing and record the content people return to again and again. That’s what helps marketers to design their marketing campaigns and make their customers feel valued and cared for. With this knowledge by their side, bands and businesses can be more productive with their marketing strategies.

Providing personalized content and suggestions to customers creates a connection and builds trust which increases the conversion rate and engagement.

By catering for the needs of customers, a brand and business can attract customers and strengthen their relationship with them. AI is helping to make this bond strong with the information it collects.

AI and machine learning are two different things yet they are connected. Machine learning is a part of artificial intelligence that allows machines to learn from experiences to make more improvements. Machine learning analyzes enormous amounts of data, gets insights, and makes reasonable decisions.

Bard is Google’s AI. AI by Google is a tool to explore creative and unique ideas. This can help in translation, generate texts, and create more productive content. Bard can reply only with information that is already programmed in it or fetched from other sources.

Well, whatever we think about AI or how we can adopt it in our daily lives, the future holds surprises for us. Artificial intelligence has the potential to change the game with its ability to solve problems and aid humans in creating new ideas, and concepts, and exploring vast possibilities.

[thekagemusha]

The last dawn

She lay on the cold snow, her blood tracing a crimson branch across the pristine white. Her wound was deep, pain surging through her body, yet deeper still, an inexplicable sensation flickered in her heart: an unexpected calm.

The snow fell gently, as if trying to wrap her in a white shroud. Her breaths were short and heavy, each one a reminder of the years that had passed. She gazed at the sky; the clouds moved swiftly, much like life itself. She had always believed time was endless, but now she understood; life was nothing more than a fleeting moment, passing in the space of a single breath.

Familiar faces paraded through her mind: a mother whose loving hands once held her close, a child whose laughter brought light to the home, a love that, though unfinished, still warmed her heart. Strangely, none of these images troubled her.

Everything, even the painful memories, seemed to take on a new meaning, as if they were simply pieces of a story. A story that was meant to end. Her eyes began to close slowly. She whispered to herself, “Is the end merely another beginning?” She didn’t know, and it no longer mattered. The wind's murmur was like a lullaby, luring her into an eternal sleep.

The last thing she felt was the cold snow against her skin. The last thing she saw was the sky, still blanketed in falling snow. And her final thought was this: life is beautiful, even in death.

Then, all went silent, and the snow continued to fall, softly and endlessly.

and, thank you for reading this.

[nitinrajput2922]

How To Get A Machine Learning Certification Course Online?

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Introduction: Embarking on the Journey to a Machine Learning Certification Course Online

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Finding the right online course to get certified in ML can be overwhelming. With so many options out there, how do you choose the one that suits your goals? Do you go for a short-term course or a more intensive one? And what about the credibility of the certification? These are the questions that often swirl in the minds of aspiring ML professionals. Fear not! This blog will guide you through the essential steps to getting a machine learning certification online, making sure you don't get lost in the sea of choices.

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Finding an Artificial Intelligence Institute In Delhi that offers a balance between theory and practice is key to getting the most out of your learning experience. Consider the credibility of the platform and the instructors as well. After all, you wouldn’t want to invest time and money into a course only to find out that the certification holds little weight in the industry.

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For those in India looking to get certified, enrolling in an Artificial Intelligence And Machine Learning Course in Noida is a valuable step toward becoming a skilled machine learning professional. With determination, continuous learning, and practical application, you'll be well on your way to achieving your certification goals and advancing your career in this dynamic and rapidly evolving field. So go ahead, take the plunge, and start your journey toward machine learning mastery today!

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[techgabbing]

What is Artificial Intelligence (AI)? A Comprehensive Guide for Beginners

Dive into Artificial Intelligence (AI) with this beginner's guide, covering basics, key concepts, and how AI is reshaping the future.

[kynmites-blog]

Since reddit killed my ability to interact with the world, I've devolved to talking with AI for want of distant interaction.

I have finally caved to create this tumblr since I've been lurking in r/curatedtumblr I might as well actually use the platform.

I've been mulling over creating a "formal" explanation of my observations on manic-depression, both internal and external, as well as my thoughts and understanding of the human mind and brain.

All this is unprofessional and only loosely based on things I half remember reading. As such, I am very probably wrong, woefully ignorant, and incredibly biased.

I'm sure I will figure this site out eventually, but for now, here is my boilerplate list of biases as I am aware of them now.

White, Cisgender, Aromantic Asexual, Highschool grad, Blue collar worker, lower middle class upbringing for the most part, millennial, agnostic atheist, political Satanist.

I hope to actually post here, but I'm very scatter brained, and my interests in this blog is tepid at best.

[kimludcom]

An Introduction To Artificial Intelligence - A Business Nerd's Guide @Kimlud

[rhk111sblog]

Here is another Example of Companies from the United States (US) investing in COMMUNIST Vietnam instead of their Country’s supposed “Ally”, the Philippines. This time it is Nvidia Corporation and Apple Incorporated. Now the US and their Filipino Doggies want the Philippines to CUT Economic Ties with China when the US Government can’t even convince their own Companies to take China’s Place and invest in the Philippines? Utter STPDITY at its worst

[liveblack]

[edu-all]

Reflection on the course “Introduction to AI, 5 ECTs”

From searching the course, registration and doing the course to this reflection, bundle of experiences has been achieved. The expected outcomes from the course are: The topic AI has been becoming increasingly discussed everywhere: media, academia, industry. It is important to be updated with the rapid developments in AI. Hence, I have started from the introduction part. From the course, I have…

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Nine

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, mild angst, mild fluff

Word Count: 6k

The mandate becomes clearer. You start your first day at the archive. Ghost shares information.

Chapter Eight // Chapter Ten

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

United Nations Preservation of Humanity Charter (UN Mandate I)

Pillar I: Genetic Continuity: All citizens capable of reproduction must contribute to the gene pool unless medically exempt.

Pillar II: Historical Memory: Each Safe Zone and its civilians must preserve human history, language, and art, ensuring no generation forgets humanity’s origins.

Pillar III: Weapons Compact: All Safe Zones are forbidden from producing, obtaining, or trading weapons of mass destruction without prior UN Council approval. Military force may be used only under UN mandate to prevent genocide or extinction-level threats. The production or attainment of firearms, explosives, projectiles, blades, or any instrument of war by civilians is prohibited.

Pillar IV: Bioethics: Non-consensual testing on humans is prohibited. Artificial intelligence, cloning, and biotechnology is outlawed unless authorized by UN Council and must prioritize long-term human well-being.

Pillar V: Reintegration: No persons may be denied sanctuary in a Safe Zone on the basis of origin, gender, or religious belief. All survivors have the right to seek safety and sustenance.

Pillar VI: Equity of Resources: Vital resources, such as water, food, medicine, and power, must be shared across Safe Zones under UN allocation protocols, and redistributed in times of shortage.

Pillar VII: Rewilding: Each Safe Zone and the citizens therein must preserve or restore a percentage of surrounding ecosystems to maintain biodiversity and prevent ecological collapse.

Pillar VIII: Cultural Sovereignty: Safe Zones and the citizens therein retain cultural autonomy, as long as that autonomy does not propagate ideologies that promote extinction, discrimination, or historical erasure. Minority cultures, languages, and traditions must be legally protected.

Pillar IX: Equal Dignity: All individuals, regardless of origin, ethnicity, religious belief, sexual orientation, or country of birth, are equal under the law and entitled to equal protection and opportunity.

Pillar X: Anti-Extremism: All Safe Zones and the citizens therein must report, identify, or otherwise notify the respective authoritative bodies of any organizations, groups, collectives, or movements advocating genocide, supremacy, or systemic subjugation.

You close the pamphlet, shutting out what you didn’t want to know but need to understand. The Preservation of Humanity Charter. Mandate I. Specific and yet entirely vague—open to interpretation. On the surface, nothing appears nefarious, yet you detect hypocrisy in it, that as you dig deeper and ask more questions, fractures will appear.

Your gaze shifts to the collection of reading materials the transitional advisor and family planner handed you when you departed. They stare back, mocking. With a sigh, you set the pamphlet down and reach for another. This one is black with white lettering. “Bill of Rights” is embossed on the front near the top of the thin booklet. In the middle is the emblem of the United Nations.

Opening it, you scan the introduction.

In recognition of the fragility of civilization and the enduring worth of all persons, the United Nations affirms the following rights and protections as universal and mandatory for all Safe Zones, Neutral Zones, governing bodies, and military authorities. These rights are preserved under The United Nations Preservation of Humanity Charter, Mandate III, in alliance with the global standards set forth by the United Nations Continuity Council.

You pause in your reading, mind drifting toward all that’s been lost. There was so much chaos when the structures in place began to collapse—when everything destabilized and devolved. No one believed that any of this would happen. When world leaders threatened one another and preached for isolationism, nothing seemed to come of it. People went to work, lived their lives, spent time with their friends and families.

Then came the trade wars, the tariffs, and sanctions. Even then, people only complained about rising prices and the cost of living. Land and border disputes followed. More empty threats where nothing happened, and the news cycle carried on. But one country put boots on the ground. Another did the same in retaliation. Like a faucet being slowly turned on, the droplets became a stream and then a current.

Article I – Right to Existence and Liberty.

All citizens have the right to life, dignity, liberty, and autonomy. No persons shall be subject to enslavement, forced labor, or arbitrary detention.

All “citizens.” You’re not a citizen—not yet. Where does that leave you? Will they grant you full status when probation is lifted?

Article II – Equality Under Law.

A loud, repeated thudding fills the room, coming from the front door. Clutching the thin black booklet, you head for the door, yanking it open, only to find Lieutenant Riley on the other side holding a cardboard box.

“You’re here early,” you blurt.

“Brought you something,” he replies, voice raspy but gentle.

Behind the balaclava, all you can see are his gorgeous brown eyes. There is no crease in his brow—nothing that indicates any emotion. Yet his shoulders are a tad slumped, almost as if he’s exhausted and would rather be in bed.

You step to the side, holding the door open enough for Lieutenant Riley to enter. Shutting the door, you follow behind him as he makes his way into the bedroom. Placing the cardboard box on the bed, Lieutenant Riley rests his hands atop it, silently observing you as you approach the box.

“You brought me something?” you ask with a hint of excitement.

Neutrality becomes softness. A flush of pink blooms at the edges of the balaclava. Ghost taps the top of the box and takes a step back, extending an arm in open invitation.

“Go on,” he urges.

Placing the thin, black booklet on the bed, you reach for the box with eager, itching fingers. Anticipation flowers in your stomach. Only days ago, Lieutenant Riley dumped you out of his lap and left, hardly giving you a glance as he walked out the door. Now, here he is, bringing you a gift.

You open the box and find an array of colors.

“Is this…” you trail off, reaching into the box, fingers gliding along soft fabric.

Lifting it from its home, you unfurl it. A sweater. Deep maroon by the color. The fit looks almost perfect. Holding the sweater off to the side, you peer down into the box.

“Have you brought me clothes?” you ask, almost choking on your words.

On your release from quarantine, you were given a single outfit. You’ve been rotating through two shirts and two pants the last two weeks. Placing the sweater on the bed, you start removing more items. There are tank tops, dress pants, and cardigans. There’s even a sundress. A wave of joy washes over you, drowning you in rapt glee as you retrieve more clothing items out of the cardboard box.

“I guessed on your size,” says Ghost as a mountain of clothes begins to form on the thin duvet. “Wasn’t sure about color. Or style.”

While the clothes are clearly second-hand, all of it is in good condition. You’ll have more than two shirts to wear. More than two pants. Ghost has brought you an entire wardrobe.

Gratitude explodes within you, bringing you to the brink of tears.

“I can exchange what you don’t like,” he continues, rambling on like he’s suddenly nervous. “If something is too big, can always have it resized.”

“Lieutenant,” you whisper, clutching a pair of black slacks to your chest.

“Do you like it?” he asks, taking a step toward you.

He sounds so eager—so hopeful.

Words form and then promptly leave your head, escaping into the air. So, you don’t speak. You walk around the corner of the bed, and push into Lieutenant Riley’s space. Placing your hand on his arm for support, you go up on your toes, pressing your lips to his balaclava-covered cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, squeezing his arm. “For thinking of me.”

Lieutenant Riley’s brow is soft and delicate. He leans in your direction, pure affection in his gaze. It’s startling, sending a rush of heat up your neck and a little flip of your stomach. You quickly drop your hand, backing up.

“You start at the archive today,” states Ghost that soft gaze following your every step.

“I do,” you exhale, smiling in his direction as you delicately fold a pair of jeans. “I’m excited to be around books again.”

“Should pick something out,” nods Ghost. “Look your best for the big day.”

“You’re right,” you grin. “I should.”

After a long deliberation and several spins for Lieutenant Riley’s viewing pleasure, you select a simple black dress with a forest green cardigan. It’s plain and comfortable but professional.

Ghost lightly tugs on the hem of the cardigan. “Fit all right?”

“It’s lovely,” you beam, shying away from how intensely Lieutenant Riley watches you.

It’s hunger but not lecherous in nature. Like dark water, you cannot see into his depths—you cannot begin to guess what he might be thinking. Yet you like the attention, and whatever animosity that lingered between the two of you from the other night is gone. Lieutenant Riley’s body language is relaxed and intimate. The man is in a good mood, and that contentment only heightens your own happiness.

You should enjoy this day. It’s a fresh start. A new beginning in the face of all that you’ve lost.

Ghost releases the cardigan, his arm returning to his side. “Ready?”

You nod. “Ready.”

Out on the street, Ghost escorts you toward a black SUV.

You come to a dead stop. “Is this yours?” you ask in disbelief. “People own cars?”

Ghost opens the front passenger door. “No,” he answers, stepping to the side to indicate that you should get in.

“No this isn’t yours? Or no people don’t own cars?”

“Yes.”

You poke him in the chest, but you’re grinning. “Don’t you dare,” you laugh.

“Dare what?” he replies in mock confusion.

You shake your head good-naturedly, sliding into the passenger seat. Ghost shuts the door, circling around the front of the vehicle to hop into the driver side.

You arch an eyebrow. “Why are you taking me to work in a non-military vehicle?”

“How do you know that?” counters Ghost, draping his arm across the steering wheel.

“So it’s a civilian vehicle?”

“Didn’t say that,” he says casually, leaning back in the seat, reaching into his pocket as he digs around for something.

You open your mouth. Shut it. Ghost chuckles, and you playfully smack his bicep with the back of your hand. Withdrawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Ghost sets both in the middle console. The SUV roars to life, the floor gently rattling beneath your feet. Ghost checks the side mirror and shifts gears. The vehicle rolls forward, cruising slowly down the street.

Two weeks behind the wall and all you’ve seen is the inside of your temporary apartment, and a few surrounding streets. This is furtherment—a consolidation of what was and the exploration of possibilities. Home is behind you, though it dwells in your heart, and for now, you must make peace with your new reality. You must navigate this to your advantage, happiness, and well-being.

That is the core of survival after all. To carry on.

“Where is the archive?” you ask, peering upward through the windshield at the towering buildings.

“It’s inside the library,” answers Ghost, turning on his blinker as he rolls up to a stop sign. “In the civilian zone.”

“We’re going to the civilian zone?” Your voice is laced with excitement.

All you’ve known is grim-faced men and a militarized looming presence. This might just be your first real sense of normalcy in almost a month.

“We are,” replies Ghost.

You can’t sit still as the SUV shepherds the two of you along. Beneath your skin is a buzzing adrenaline. It pushes you to twist and turn, to try and absorb everything around you. The neutral greyness of the militarized zone starts to change, shifting toward greenery. Where there were only sidewalk, road, and buildings, trees and plants begin to appear at even intervals, adding a touch of color.

Ghost slows the vehicle at a small guard gate. The barrier lifts, and a guard waves the SUV through. The transition to the civilian zone is almost instantaneous—a whiplash. While there are several vehicles on the road, the majority are buses, and beside those in designated lanes are bicyclists and motorized scooters. No one walks around in uniform. It’s so…ordinary, and yet so strange, like you’ve been transported back to a time before the collapse or shoved into a parallel reality.

There is a communal quality to the way people move in groups or pairs. No one appears to be any hurry. Lieutenant Riley turns, and you nearly tell him to stop the car. You press your face to the glass, mouth agape as he drives by an open market.

As he takes another turn, you whirl around in your seat. “What was that? Can we stop there?”

Behind the balaclava, the skin around Lieutenant Riley’s eyes wrinkle, hinting at a hidden smile. “Another time,” he murmurs. “Promise. Don’t want to be late on your first day.”

You press yourself against the seat, head tilted in the direction of the window. While everything appears clean—utopian even—there is an underlying rawness, a wear and tear that can only come from age and lack of sufficient resources. Questions fire off in your head. There is so much you want to ask Ghost. If he weren’t so goddamn stubborn, you’d talk his ear off for hours. Instead, you sit still, toying with the hem of your dress as Lieutenant Riley guides the vehicle along.

A few more turns, and then you’re solidified, staring up in shock at the building before you.

“Oh my God,” you say aloud.

Lieutenant Riley snorts at your outburst.

The library’s front façade are book spines in various colors and titles. This is not a structure built in the collapse but from the time before, when libraries were receiving adequate funding, the government cared about knowledge, and learning was publicly free institution. The very center of the building, where the stone stairs meet the entrance doors, is a wall of glass, splitting the book spines into two sections.

“This is—This is amazing,” you gasp.

Ghost grunts in what must be an agreement. Either way, you don’t particularly care. This is a library, a place you never thought you’d see in all its glory again.

“Are you crying?” asks Lieutenant Riley, reaching across the center counsel to place his hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you hiccup, wiping away a wayward tear.

“What’s upset you?” He sounds genuinely worried, and that only makes you cry harder.

“I’m happy. I promise,” you say through a shaky breath.

The crease in the middle of Lieutenant Riley’s brow doesn’t abate. “Need to take a minute?”

You nod, sniffling, using the sleeve of the cardigan to absorb the remaining tears. “Just a bit overwhelmed.” Ghost nods but remains the quiet companion as you gather your composure. “I’m ready,” you murmur after a minute.

Lieutenant Riley leans away from you, fingers pressing against the door lock buttons. You hear the audible transition of the locks disengaging. Reaching for the handle, you take a deep breath, readying yourself for what’s to come.

The car door opens. Crisp, cool air rushes in. You inhale sharply, slipping from the seat, landing on solid ground. Glancing over your shoulder, you lock gazes with Lieutenant Riley. He gives a little nod, an encouraging inclination to go.

You raise your hand in the smallest goodbye, slamming the SUV door. Through the window tint, you watch him watching you. Backward step. A turn of your heel. Forward step by forward step. Stairs.

At the top, just before the glass doors, you turn one last time. Ghost is still parked at the curb. Waiting. This is a different version of him, a patient and caring Lieutenant Riley you haven’t seen before. He’s certainly flirted, found ways to comfort you, but there has always been distance—a separation. You consider this change as you enter the library, questioning whether Lieutenant Riley’s motivations are pure.

Who did they assign to you?

Why does it matter?

It matters to me.

The bit of joy that’s made a nest in you fractures. Small cracks. Tiny fissures. Not enough to notice but just wide enough to allow bitterness in.

I was offended they didn’t make me an offer.

Perhaps Lieutenant Riley’s motivations aren’t pure. It’s clear that he wants you to himself, but why? Why you when he could probably have anyone?

As you enter the library, you’re greeted by a warmly lit space, the interior all dark wood and polished stone. Overhead, you notice a balcony of a second story. All you can see of it are the tops of the shelves, but that isn’t what captures your attention. As you approach the front desk, you notice the lack of books on the shelves. Some are completely empty, others full. Most are partially stocked with sections of barren shelving, dust collecting in the corners.

You give your name at the desk, and the receptionist smiles.

“Follow me,” she says, voice soft and lyrical.

As the two of you head toward the back of the building, your awe becomes worry. Most of the lights are turned off back here. The bit of light it does receive comes from the main windows up front and a few skylights that cut through the middle of the second-story ceiling. Rope barricades close off endless rows of empty shelves. Destruction has not touched them. They are simply empty. Bones and broken skulls that once held neural gore.

“Through this door, dear,” says the receptionist, indicating a door that says, “Archival Department” and below that “Employees Only.”

“Thank you,” you reply, but she’s already off, shoes clacking against the marble.

You press your hand to the door, standing there in the muted shadows. Instinct is rising, whispering to run, to seek shelter in more familiar places. But there is nowhere for you to go. Even if you were to walk out the front door, Lieutenant Riley might not be out front, and you don’t know how to return to your apartment.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to the door with the other hand on the handle. “Fuck.”

You have to do this.

You have to do this.

You have to—

Turning the handle, you shove it open, barreling through without looking where you’re going. You nearly take a tumble, righting yourself at the last moment. The door slam shuts behind you, and three pairs of eyes stare back.

“That’s certainly an entrance,” comes a masculine voice with a thick Irish accent.

A tall, lanky man with wire-thin glasses sits behind a plain wood desk covered in stacks of paper and various office supplies. His auburn hair has a touch of grey in it—messy too like he’s only just rolled out of bed. In his hand is a white mug with black lettering that says Yes, I really do need all these books.

“Hi,” you manage, raising your hand in greeting.

When he smiles, there is a fatherly touch to it. You instantly gravitate toward it. “I’m Arthur,” he says, rising from his chair and circling around the front of his desk, arm extended, hand offered in a handshake.

You give your own name, clasping his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’re me new archivist.”

“I am,” you nod.

Arthur beams. “Welcome.” He turns to the other two people in the room. Both are women around your age give or take a year or two. “This is Hannah.” He nods toward a blonde with a head of tight curls. “And that is Eloise.”

“Hello,” they greet in unison, all smiles.

The room itself is a quaint office space. Along the far wall are large windows that let in natural light. There are four desks in total, three clearly belong to Arthur, Hannah, and Eloise. The fourth sits empty and must be yours. Beneath your shoes is worn, dark wood and the walls are an off beige with one accent wall in dark green. Pushed up against the three walls without windows are rows and rows of shelving, all of it packed and overflowing. A few of the wood shelves sag inward, threatening to collapse at any moment.

“Charles mentioned your experience,” says Arthur. He takes a drink from his mug. “We’re happy to have you. Too much work for three.” He chuckles. “Not that four will be much better.”

“I noticed all the empty shelves,” you reply, taking a leap in what he might be referring to.

He nods solemnly. “This library services the entire Safe Zone. You’d think they’d assign more staff.” Arthur shakes his head. “We can’t process all this material fast enough. Demand is high but we’re only three.” He lifts his coffee mug in your direction. “Four.”

“Staying busy sounds nice,” you reply, because it’s true. You need out of your fucking head. You need to be away from Ghost and from that apartment for a bit. “And books make me happy.”

Arthur nods. “Hopefully you’ll still love them as time goes on.” He clears his throat. “Now, about the job.”

An endless sea of information rushes at you. Eloise and Hannah float about the office, the two of them chatting in French as they rifle through paperwork. Arthur leaves them to it, taking you on a full tour of the office space and then into the library itself. You stay politely silent through most of it, asking questions when there are lulls. Meandering through the library, Arthur circles back to the office, bringing you to another door.

“Behind here,” he begins. “Is everything we have yet to duplicate.”

While walking through the library, Arthur explained the only books on the shelves were ones they already had duplicates of. There are plenty more where there are only singular copies. Some in pristine condition, others needing a reprint. But it’s not all physical. There are digital versions too that are sitting, waiting to be processed.

“It’s a maze in there.”

“I’m ready,” you smile.

Arthur opens the door, the two of you stepping inside. The quality of the air is immediately different. On the wall next to the door are several panels indicating temperature, air quality, and humidity. It’s all being monitored. But that’s not what shocks you.

Arthur wasn’t joking. The place is a fucking maze.

“What—what is all this?” you ask, turning toward him, gesturing at what can only be called a mess.

Arthur sighs, adjusting his glasses. “That is too much work for four people.”

There is no organization. To order in the chaos. It’s just rows of shelving, stacks of cardboard boxes and storage bins. There are even stacked books pressed up against the wall. A home was found, even that means home is on the goddamn floor.

“No kidding,” you whisper.

Just as Arthur opens his mouth, the door swings open.

“It’s lunch,” says Hannah.

Arthur checks his watch. “Look at that.”

“And someone is here for you,” adds Hannah, smiling in your direction.

“Me?” You point at yourself as if there might be another of you lurking in the stacks.

Hannah’s smile shifts, becoming a knowing smirk like she’s holding on to a little secret.

Arthur claps and pats his stomach. “Lunch is an hour. A full hour.” He winks. “We take that seriously around here.”

At the library reception desk, you find an unexpected visitor.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, approaching Ghost slowly. “Are we leaving?”

You don’t want to go. Only a few hours in and you’re eager to stay, to idle amongst the shelves.

In one hand, Ghost carries a soft-sided insulated cooler bag. Tucked under that arm is large blanket. The receptionists gaze lingers on the two of you, observing with abject curiosity. Ghost is in his all-black fatigues and balaclava.

“Thought I’d bring lunch,” he states.

“That’s kind of you,” you murmur, reaching for the blanket.

Ghost surrenders it without protest. “There’s a park across the street.”

You nod, clutching the blanket to your chest. “I’d like that.”

A few minutes later and you’re sitting on the blanket, soaking up the sun as Lieutenant Riley opens the cooler bag. He retrieves a glass bottle of water along with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and some cut raw veggies.

“Eat as much as you want,” sighs Ghost as he settles onto his back, arms tucked behind his head.

Unwrapping one of the sandwiches, you take a bite, chewing slowly. “Thank you.”

Lieutenant Riley glances at you. “You didn’t pack a lunch. Knew you’d be hungry.”

“Looking after me?” you tease.

“That’s my job.”

You snort and take another bite. As you chew, you pour yourself some water. It’s cold and crisp. Refreshing. “Didn’t work today?” you venture to ask.

“Work every day,” sighs Ghost. “Price doesn’t mind if I slip away for an hour or two.”

“Must be nice,” you murmur.

“First day treating you well?”

You nod, still chewing. Swallowing, you answer him. “It’s a good fit. Keep me busy.”

“Good.”

“Arthur is the Lead Archivist. And Irish. Hannah and Eloise speak French, but their accents are different.” You take another bite. “Pretty sure Hannah’s Canadian and Eloise is from France,” you muse. After a few seconds of silence, you continue. “Is that normal for all the Safe Zones?”

Ghost adjusts, stretching. “Is what normal?”

“Is it normal for people from different countries to all live in a Safe Zone together?”

Lieutenant Riley stares up into the sky. “It’s on purpose.” You start to formulate a follow-up question, but he carries on. “To dispel supremacy movements. Can’t gather support if the remaining population is scattered across hundreds of Safe Zones.”

“There are hundreds of Safe Zones?” Ghost nods but doesn’t elaborate. “How many exactly?” you probe.

“Just over two hundred.”

Two hundred? There aren’t even two hundred countries. You recall the map in Commander Graves’ office, of the different colored stars that dotted the unlabeled land masses. Of the stars, there were eight different colors, but now that you consider it, they easily could have been two hundred of them on it.

“Are they all large like this one?”

“No,” snorts Lieutenant Riley. “Most are small. Only a few dozen are the size of this one. Ten that are even larger.”

This is the most information Ghost has given you. He appears more open than before. Relaxed. You take another bite of your sandwich, knowing that you need to take advantage of this opportunity.

“Is that why the country flags are black on your uniforms?”

Like a sudden breeze that chills the bones, Lieutenant Riley’s demeanor shifts to a somber note. “Partially,” he answers, voice raspy. “Black flags used to mean something different. Now it’s a statement of grief and remembrance.”

“I don’t entirely understand,” you say softly, shifting closer to him. “There’s so much I don’t know. And no one is willing to talk to me about it. They just…stare at me like I’m dumb.”

You recall Commander Graves’ disgusted expression, and the aloofness you received from Charles. Joann didn’t acknowledge your lack of understanding either.

Ghost still stares into the sky. “Countries exist by law and not land. Borders don’t bloody matter when half a continent is devasted by warfare.”

A sourness blooms in your stomach, the food sitting heavy. “What about your home?”

“Habitable. But destroyed. The infrastructure is gone. All the major cities are craters.”

You reach out, placing your hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

Lieutenant Riley finally looks at you, a sadness settling in his brow. “I’ll be fine, dove. Everyone I care about is here.”

You give his arm a little squeeze before retreating, fiddling with the paper wrapper your sandwich sits in. While you’d like more answers, it’s clear that this topic upsets him. Lieutenant Riley’s home is gone—obliterated. It’s not a pleasant topic for idle conversation.

“With the school attached, I might be asked to lead a writing or reading class. Maybe sub if someone is sick. Arthur mentioned that they try to go there once a week to help those students who are behind reading level.”

It’s an attempt to turn the conversation around, to divert Lieutenant Riley’s thoughts elsewhere. He takes it, some of that sadness receding.

“You interested in that?” he inquires.

You incline your head. “Yes. Did it all the time in my previous community.” Taking another bite of your sandwich, you chew thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t call what we had a ‘school.’ Did our best though.”

Lieutenant Riley’s gaze is soft. There is a lightness to it, an affectionate edge that reminds you of this morning. You fluster under that stare, staring down at your lap.

“You’ll be brilliant,” he states with such confidence that you believe it too. A smile forms on your lips, spreading wide until your cheeks hurt. Lieutenant Riley rolls onto his side. “Can I kiss you?”

Startled, you blink rapidly. “I—” You giggle. “Yes.”

As you lean toward him, Ghost reaches out, grasping the back of your neck to draw you closer. With one hand on his chest, and the other pushing up his balaclava to reveal his lips, you don’t care if anyone is watching. The sweet connection is instant sunshine—a flowering of a season. Low in your core, a heat stirs.

Soft and slow, Ghost restrains himself, and that only fuels the desire swirling inside you. This is the Lieutenant Riley you like. The one you want to know. Even though you’ve been ripped from your home, you could make a new one here, with him, if only it were always like this.

“Dove,” he breathes against your lips.

That name he calls you. An endearment. You pretend to hate it, but the way he always says it with a husky tone sends you over the edge every time. It drives into your skull. Burrows in your bone.

“Need to take you back,” he whispers, nuzzling your cheek. You linger here, eyes closing as his thumb traces the underside of your bottom lip.

The walk back is silent but not awkward. You stand close to him, arms occasionally brushing against each other with the sway of your body. The urge to hold his hand is suffocating, but you resist. There is no relationship here—only a terrible back-and-forth that you cannot wrap your head around.

The rest of your workday is a blur. It’s combing the library catalog and organizing stacks of paperwork Eloise places on your desk. There is no clear organization. Most of the paperwork are inquiries from other Safe Zones, wanting to know if they have extra copies of certain materials. You do not touch anything in the storage room, but neither do Arthur, Hannah, or Eloise. It dawns on you then, that the work happening requires far more people than what’s been staffed.

When Lieutenant Riley comes to pick you up, you’re almost thankful. Exhaustion settles over you, and you don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep in the passenger seat until Ghost awakens you. Every step is a drag, and all you want is your bed.

With a groan, you flop onto the duvet. Beside you, the bed dips as Ghost sits.

“Are you staying?” you ask into the bedding.

“No.” Silence. Then, “I have to take you to the family planner at the end of the week.”

Your eyes pop open, the tiredness vanishing. Pushing up, you turn toward Lieutenant Riley. “Did they say why?”

He shakes his head. “Just that they want to see you.”

This is it.

The push.

“You’re being pushy.”

“I’m sorry if I’m coming across that way.” Joann folds her hands in front of her on the desk. She has this superior look about her, as if to say, I know more than you. “I’m simply thinking ahead. Better to start the search now than wait until you’re ready.”

“I’m not ready,” you scoff, still in complete belief at Joann’s audacity to hurl this at you. “I haven’t even been assigned my new home after probation. I just started my job a few days ago.” You shake your head. “This is all very sudden.”

Joann puts on an air of false sympathy. “I completely understand. It’s a difficult transition. But if you put this off, you’ll find yourself rushing later.”

I fucking doubt that, you think even as the words threaten to leave your mouth.

She raises her hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t think of it in the way you’re thinking. You don’t need to make a decision tomorrow.” Joann shrugs. “Think of it as shopping.”

“You’re asking me to shop around for a potential spouse?”

“Or sperm donor,” interjects Joann. “We are inclusive here.”

You wince, wanting to be done with this conversation. It’s not as easy as saying no and moving on. Joann isn’t here speaking with you just for you to throw a no in her face. Not that she gave you the option. I put you down for single’s social, she had said with a bright smile, as if that’s something you wanted to hear today.

“Do I need to wear anything specific?” you ask. “Is this a casual event? Or…”

“It’s casual, but I’d recommend something that compliments you.” She laughs. “No one is going to be in a suit if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Didn’t know those still existed,” you mutter.

Joann ignores your comment. “Look at this as an opportunity. I’ve already received a few inquiries about your eligibility.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “You’ve received what?”

Joann continues like she didn’t hear you. “All of them will be there. And I’ll likely receive more after you attend.” She sighs dreamily. “Especially from those military boys. They see what they want and go after it.”

No. Fucking no.

“This will overwhelm me,” you chuckle nervously. “I shouldn’t go.”

Joann blinks. “Course you should. It’ll do you good to get out. Talk with people other than Lieutenant Riley. I know he’s mysterious and has a bit of a bad boy reputation, but he’s not the only option.” She smooths her hand over the small stack of papers in front of her. “It’s also an excellent opportunity to make some connections. Maybe find friends.”

You could use some friends, but your coworkers are starting to fill that gap. Eloise brought you some croissants she made, and Hannah presented you with your very own coffee mug with “Book Sniffer” on it because she caught you smelling a particularly beautiful copy of War & Peace.

Gathering up the papers, Joann gently taps them against the top of the table. “Lieutenant Riley will be there but I recommend you branch out. I know that he’s probably a place of safety for you right now but lingering at his side all night isn’t the best idea.”

“Why is that?” you snap.

While you’re genuinely interested in knowing, you’re also a bit pissed off that Joann called you out. Ghost is your safety net, and if he’s attending, why would you leave his side to speak with anyone else.

“It’s not fair to others,” answers Joann simply. “Stick by Lieutenant Riley’s side during the whole social and people will think you’re spoken for. They’ll complain.” She looks at you pointedly. “And we don’t want that.”

Fuck.

Causing problems. It’s the exact thing you don’t want to do while you’re on your probationary period. Once you’re past it, things might be different. Charles hasn’t discussed what comes after. He didn’t say whether or not you receive immediate citizenship or if there’s an additional process.

No one is giving you clear direction. No one wants to fully explain. It’s expected submission, to look down and follow along. Pushing back or questioning too much seems to aggravate everyone.

“No,” you agree. “We don’t want that.”

Joann’s face lights up, and you immediately want to slap it off her face. “Brilliant,” she sighs. “Here’s the information. Can’t wait to hear all about it when I see you next.”

Fucking doubtful.

With a half-hearted smile, you make your exit, meeting Ghost in the lobby of the building. When he notices you, he immediately turns in your direction, walking toward you with purpose in every step.

“Everything good?” he asks, grasping your arm to pull you in.

You hand him the information instead of speaking. Ghost takes it, gaze roaming over the piece of paper rapidly.

“You’re fucking joking,” he growls.

[luminatricky]

Vampire? In Gotham! (part 3)

Summary: the batfam have a meeting, Constantine got a little too lost in the sauce when crafting Danny's sob story, and we find out what Dracula's been up to all these years. Oh and the DC version of Vlad is fully dead? More at 9

Relationships: the batfam

on god I spent too much time thinking about danny's vampsona. he's got two outfits so far. no I didn't make a concept board. no I didn't make a picrew. I don't know what you're talking about

(sorry if this is all horribly ooc I struggled a bit with making this intelligible)

Red Hood doesn't usually leave Crime Alley. That's a known fact. But Batman doesn't usually call a meeting that includes Red Hood. The old man learned years ago not to involve him unless it's important with a capitol I.

Pulling into the Batcave, Jason slows to a stop on his motorcycle. He follows the voices of his family to the Batcomputer. Everyone is in full gear, but not everyone is fully present.

Dickhead was ransacking the medical room for...blood bags? Barbie and Replacement carved out a corner to the right of the main computer. They'd set up a foldable table for their personal laptops, sitting side by side as they quietly schemed together. Damian was working hard on some sort of artwork with a similar table to the left. He stuck his tongue out in concentration. Adorable.

Bruce was pulling up a very old case file in the central system. It looked to be a string of serial disappearances.

Jason wasn't the last to arrive for once. The elevator to the manor dings behind him. Alfred and the rest of the brood step out into the cave, carrying weapons and gadgets by the armful. Old looking Batarangs, glorified flashlights, cases upon cases of the anti-toxin epipens filled with unfamiliar blue formula. And wooden stakes.

Like a good grandson he steps up to help lighten Alfred's load, but he only gets two steps in before the old butler gives him a very disapproving eyebrow raise. Jason retreats with his hands up. He turns back to Bruce.

"This better be a bloodsucker apocalypse or you won't see me til Christmas."

Bruce pulls up a detailed list of the weapons and their uses on screen. Everyone stops what their doing and takes a picture with their phones. Garlic Batarangs, flashlights with artificial sunlight, a cure for vampirism. Wooden stakes need no introduction or explanation, except for why his dad - who is very against killing to put it fucking gently - would be giving them a vamp equivalent of a gun.

"Potentially," Bruce says. "We need to draw up new contingencies. But we also need to debrief so we have all the facts to do so."

Surprisingly, both Duke AND Tim groan. Jason understands Duke. The teen does not have the patience - ahem, attention - to learn all the contingencies at once. Which Bruce recently subjected him to from what he's gleaned from the sibling group chat.

But Tim? Making and learning ridiculous lists is the guy's bread and butter, the freak. So why -

"C'mon Bruce. What we know so far about the guy makes it seem he might be genuine. We do not have to plan a murder yet. Murder is messy - and wrong, definitely wrong." Tim tacks the last part on way too quickly for anyone here to believe that's what he actually feels. Hah. Another one straying off the path of the No Kill Rule. He can't wait to hear the details when one of their siblings interrogates him about it later.

Bruce exhales through his nose. He puts the previous topic away in favor of pulling up a picture of a middle-aged man with glacial blue eyes. His face is long and angular, and he wears old style European clothes that screams 'I'm an old rich vampire, come stake me'. Jason snorts - something about his face is so punchable.

"Dr. Alucard seemed genuine at first, too." He pulls up a picture of the same man, but this time with sunken in cheek bones. His salt and pepper hair is fully bleached, and his eyes glow unnervingly. It's a candid of him mid-fight in the Batcave, a furious snarl on his lips, baring some wicked fangs at a young Batman. "Or should I say, Dracula." He's answered with a round of gasps.

Jason's starting to see how every single one of them ended up as (melo)dramatic little shits.

He puts the pictures away. "Around the time when I was first starting out, the Penguin accidentally freed him from where he was sealed in Gotham's cemetery." Bruce begins. Jason wonders with a tight chest just what was wrong with that place. Why do the dead keep coming back to life there?

If he had a nickel...

Bruce pulls up the headlines of the 'Lost Ones' case. Jason opens his mouth to comment, but Dick beats him to it. "They seriously thought it was Batman? C'mon! How incompetent is the GCPD?"

Jason scoffs. "Says the fucking cop."

"Ex-cop, thank you. And I worked in Bludhaven before I figured out they were just as corrupted and rooting that out from the inside was a terrible plan."

"Anyone coulda told you that," Duke snarks. Jason backs him up. "Your problem is you always want to give people the benefit of the doubt when you shouldn't."

"Boys." Bruce interrupts. They all stop at the tone he uses. Alfred clears his throat, and answers Dick's rhetorical question from earlier. "That was unfortunately a common occurrence when Master B was a young bat. It would do you all well to be mindful of keeping your reputations positive amidst suspicion."

Jason doesn't laugh out of respect for Alfred - he was so not talking about him. He needs to do the opposite of spit rainbows out his ass to be effective.

"Oh my God is that why Bruce keeps gatekeeping everyone he meets? He's hazing them like a vigilante initiation ritual?" Steph whispers to Cass. He hears her softly laugh in response as she nods.

"I agree with Grayson. The GCPD are fools to think that if Father were a serial killer or trafficker that they'd ever even know. He is better than that." The demon brat brags.

Bruce huffs fondly. "It's a good thing I'm not." He gestures to the weapons. "We fought. He'd started turning people left and right, making them mind controlled vampire pawns. The Joker got turned-"

Jason's vision floods green. "And you didn't fucking stake him? Even more fucking dangerous -"

"-and I managed to capture him at a blood bank before he could do more than destruction of private property." Bruce raises his voice over him. Jason clenches and unclenches his fists. He itches to shoot something, to break something, to get relief to this God forsaken green-flavored, rage-filled pressure starting to boil over in his chest at the reminder of his murderer.

Blessedly everyone shuts the fuck up as he tries to not blow his top. Bruce should've staked him. He had the perfect excuse all lined up, and the opportunity, and goddamit Barbara wouldn't be in a wheelchair and Duke's parents would be fine and Jason wouldn't have come back evil -

Bruce isn't and wasn't evil, he reminds himself. Not like Jason is. And it's not helpful to blame him for his nature right now when they need to fucking debrief. Woulda-coulda-shoulda's are for chumps.

When he blinks back the green, shoved it down to where it's there but managed, his family haven't moved an inch from where they had been. It's a small but meaningful relief to see that they hadn't taken defensive positions like they would've in the past. They just untensed as Jason's arms stopped trembling from supernatural rage.

No one calls attention to his near-episode further, and he's grateful. "I took him back to the cave. With his blood samples I managed to create a cure for the thralls. They all went back to their everyday lives without any memories of what happened. Joker is no exception."

Which is code for, 'I found a reason to bypass normal ethics and experiment on the Joker for the greater good and yes I still remember which cell he was in. It was the highlight of that week.' It makes him feel marginally better and worse in equal measure. Where the fuck was that energy when he kicked the bucket? (Superman, was where. They already had this conversation)

"At that time Wayne Enterprises had been taking it's first steps into solar energy. When Dracula invaded the cave, we were able to survive due to the stored sunlight that the proto-type gathered."

"Wait. No, wait. Hold on. The urn on the fireplace? Please tell me that's a grandma we don't talk about." Duke pleads. "Please. It's not Kentucky Fried Vampire. Please."

When Bruce doesn't say anything for way too long, Steph nearly chokes on trying to hold back her laughter. Alfred clears his throat. "Batman was rather hurt after the altercation. And Dr. Alucard was rather rude in how he barged in - uninvited! I found it suitable that if he insisted on destroying the decorations, that he should contribute."

Steph full out cannot stop once it begins. Everyone else stares dumbfounded either at Bruce or Alfred. Dick looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. Duke is regretting his life decisions, probably the ones about joining this family. Damian is not comprehending the issue with any of this, expecting a follow up anytime soon. Cass shakes her head, but Jason hears a quiet "grandma dracula is disappointed".

He doesn't know how to feel other than dear Lord please he cannot laugh. No matter how absurd this is. He sounds ridiculous in his helmet.

"...leaving the ashes unattended would spell disaster in the wrong hands," Bruce clarifies once the giggles fall away, "Dracula kidnapped Vicky Vale to use her soul in resurrecting his wife from her ashes. Letting Alfred hide it in plain sight didn't sound like a bad enough idea to try to stop him."

"Precisely, Master Bruce." The butler approves.

"Damn. That's just cold." Dick remarks. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free arm. "I would ask what the hell he deserved that for but he's literally an ancient evil vampire, so." His older brother jostles the blood bags he's cradling. "Hopefully this guy's an unrelated friendly."

Duke whines in the back of his throat. Jason squeezes his shoulder in sympathy.

"Tonight?" Cass redirects.

"Tonight I came across the unknown on our usual route. I had Robin stay back when I spotted him a distance away. He'd been running across rooftops, watching the people below. I followed for half a block before he walked down the side of a building and into an alley right on the border of Park Row."

"Crime Alley." Jason corrects.

"Crime Alley," Bruce amends. "Once there, he paused for a moment, searching the crowds for something. He took out a clear canister filled with a dark red liquid. It had the same viscosity as blood."

"Where's he getting the blood from? There hasn't been anymore blood bank robberies, attempted or otherwise. And no one's turned up with weird wounds, dead or alive." Steph pipes up. Babs lifts her hand up as she adds her two cents. "Unlessss, mystery teeth here is using the same tactic Drac did. If he's just arriving then we shouldn't be noticing anything just yet."

Bruce holds up a gloved finger in a 'I wasn't done' gesture. "When I approached, the unknown claimed that the canister was a synthesizer when asked. I couldn't detect any lie in his body language or voice. He then introduced himself as 'Dante Nightingale', but asked to be called Danny, which either means he's a modern vampire or an old one who is familiar with the times. I then confronted him about stalking humans from an alleyway. He revealed intel that will be worrying if confirmed."

Jason hums. "Sounds like this guy might not be the supernatural flavor of creep, at least," he mutters under his breath.

Tim raises his hand next. "From what B told me earlier, Danny said that there was some weird ghostly-doppelganger-vampire activity that our suspect hasn't seen before. The behavior, not the creatures." Tim pushes up his blue light glasses as he takes a breath. "Anyways. The info on Shades checks out. The JLD records told me all about them. Show of hands if anyone's seen Appalachia Tik Tok?"

Oh Jason doesn't like where this is going. Alfred (surprisingly), Cass, Dick, Babs, Steph, and Duke all put their hands up too.

Tim goes on. "The mimics? Shades are like that, but with a life force sucking aspect. They're basically ghosts who never were alive and didn't form right, so they eat human emotions until they become fully sentient ghosts called Specters. In a really creepy 'I'm going to replace you' way. So. Bad stuff."

Jason shivers when Bruce nods. "Nightingale claims that they're walking the streets in unusual numbers. That he had just arrived and in Gotham and that he was exploring tonight when he noticed something off."

"Ohhhhkay! Just what we needed, yeah? Invisible monsters in Gotham!" Dick says. "Quick, scratch that off the bingo."

Tim rolls his eyes. "Do we have a description? Power set, background check? I need everything I can to narrow down which type of vamp in the database." He's tapping away at his laptop again, not looking up as he types.

Bruce motions for Damian to come closer. The demon brat hands off the artwork he'd been quietly working on as they talked. Bruce observes it, before nodding at where Damian stands at attention like a good little soldier. Damian preens.

Jason blinks away the green.

Their dad scans the sheet with a device, and the image pops up on the main computer. The man in the portrait has pale skin - obviously. Fangs - no duh. Although notably shaped differently from Drac's. Claws a good few inches long and white in color. Jason spies an interesting ring. It's crown shaped and encased in fake(?) ice. Freckles on his rounder face, framed by wispy-looking stark white hair. Skeleton earrings, black turtleneck, a white blouse with a ridiculously low vee neck tucked into green pants. A delicate chain in the shape of a spiderweb wraps around his covered throat in a pleasing contrast.

The man's eyes are a hauntingly familiar shade of green. He sees it often.

The pupils glow a lighter hue of lazarus, shaped like four-pointed stars. Jason would say the guy looks more like a fae took a dip in the Pits than bloodsucker. But what does he know? Guy didn't deny the blood drinking accusations for fuck's sake.

Babs jumps in again. "We had B give Robin a description because apparently his presence is a hell of an EMP. Video feed and coms went down as soon as Batman joined him in the alley. So a few feet away." She clicks a few things on her own screen, and then starts reading down some sort of list she typed up for herself.

"Dante Nightingale, aged nineteen. A farm boy from Illinois. Parents Robert and Jane Nightingale. No other relatives. Totally normal until he was struck by lightning at thirteen and his metagene activated, giving him minor power over ice and sensitivity to heat." She taps something on her computer and a young Danny Nightingale jumps next to Damian's portrait. The black haired boy has a big goofy grin on his even rounder face, splattered with freckles. In this picture, it's obvious that although he's trying to look happy for picture day, the kid had serious bags under his eyes, and a look in those clear blues that just screamed that Danny had seen some awful things. "Then at fourteen, the whole family got into a car crash. Robert and Jane died on scene, while Dante lasted three days in the hospital before going missing entirely."

Babs pushes up her glasses and takes a deep steadying breath. "The nurses on duty reported a change in hair and eye color, as well as strange dental elongation in the canines. Paired with uncontrollable ice stronger than recorded earlier, this led them to believe that Danny's metagene strained under the new trauma and started causing physical mutations alongside the modifications to his original ability. But I think we all know what was actually happening to him."

"...What else do we know about the kid?" Dick asks. Anyone who didn't know him would say that Dick was relaxed, but Jason and anyone else who knew him could clearly see that Danny's story hit a little too close to home. Dead parents in an 'accident' where the kid was there to see. Yeah.

Heh. This looks like a classic meta trafficking case, the more he follows that thought. Not the casual kind most parents have to fear - pick a kid off the street just 'cause they were there, someone will pay for 'em no matter if they're pretty or not.

No. This was targeted. Planned out weeks, months, years in advance. Someone wanted this kid for something specific - enough to murder his parents for and make it look like an accident. Likely, it was to have an ice meta under mind control, considering what Bruce said about Dracula and his thralls. If he's right, Jason might have to go all Buffy Summers and deal with them.

Jason reaches out to catch Duke by the shoulder again and this time he doesn't let go. His newest brother looks at him, big brown eyes wide and fearful. It could've been him, easy. They both think it. They both know it. Fuck, Danny was just a few years younger than he is now.

Jason squeezes. He whispers low to him. "I'd shoot them in the balls for you. Won't let 'em take you. End bloodlines if I have to, to get you back." Duke gulps, and nods. The teen squeezes his eyes shut and Jason pretends he doesn't see him quickly wipe his eyes.

"...Recently, he got legally un-declared dead, and opened a bank account. Looks like one very dead Vlad Masters left his fortune to him sometime earlier. Man owned a goddamn castle. They found a secret lab in his basement with strange equipment when they went looking for evidence. And. Oh. Oh that's not good."

"What is it?" He asked, not wanting to know the answer already.

"Police found a mystery green liquid they couldn't identify but put the composition on file. I just ran it through our systems. 70% match to lazarus water. What's more, there were blood packs close by that were heavily contaminated with the same substance." She looks like she was ready to throw up at the dots they were all connecting.

He might as well. "Alright. Meta kid's trafficked at fourteen and turned into a vampire. Spends the next five years caught by mad scientist vampires who poked and prodded at him like a rat. Then, he murders the assholes, runs off with their money, and moves to Gotham. Fuck's sake." Jason sums up.

Bruce makes a 'I'm not disagreeing with you but I have an opinion' grunt. "That's one possibility. The most likely one from what we know right now."

"But?" Someone prompts.

"But. He mentioned a term called 'Fraid'. He said that someone told him that myself and 'my Fraid' were good people. Nightingale claimed it was a cultural term for found family," Bruce explained. The man's mouth twitches into a frown. "If he was being held hostage all that time, would they have bothered to teach him that? And if they did, experimentation wouldn't be all they had wanted from him. No one would bother to teach someone disposable."

Tim stopped typing for a second, eyes widening and then blanking quick as a whip. Swallowed. Went back in with a vigor.

"So. Either. He got away from his kidnappers, and there's some found family out there somewhere. Or he never got away from them, but he was not expendable. His kidnappers may have forced him into their family." Steph reasoned out.

"Man. This is fucked up." Duke mutters. "You're telling me, kid." Jason whispers back.

Damian bristles. "Father. We have to interrogate him. Nightingale may have connections to the League of Assassins, or a similar organization run by vampires. The lazarus water is damning. We must make sure." The demon brat demands. Which. Fair. More unknown lazarus pits are just asking for evil to pull up with some friends.

Bruce makes an 'I agree with you but I'm thinking' grunt. But before he can respond, Tim cuts in. "So Fraid is definitely what he says it means. But according to the records, only the dead or undead use it. Obviously I did a little digging. Vampires don't count as either of those, even though some sleep in coffins and stuff. No, most vampires count as something called 'death touched'. Meaning they're still alive, albeit really in tune with the other side." Tim shifts, chugging a quick bit of cold coffee. "Only one match came up when I searched for undead vampire. The thing is, it exists, but the file is on the JLD's red tape section."

Which is code for 'don't fucking touch this dimwits if you value your life, call us for fucks sake'. Pleasant.

"Yes Father. If Drake is not once again wildly incorrect and foolish, Nightingale is undead. And it's obvious how." Damian presses.

"I will make the call. Red Robin, keep looking. I'll type up the rest of the abilities and send them to you all. Everyone working with me officially, no one goes on patrol alone. We work in pairs until further notice. Everyone bring with them the anti-vampire precautions we have until we have better options." Batman commands to the group. He zeroes in on Jason, and Jason gears up to rip Bruce a new one for treating him like he's still one his birds.

But that's not what happens. "And Red Hood. Just...be careful."

Instead of acknowledging the icky ooey gooey feelings, Jason snorts derisively. "I'll tell my guys and girls to keep a lookout. If anyone goes missing I'd bet ya a thousand it'll be one of mine. Everyone knows no one's gonna call the cops." He turns around and stuffs his pockets with the gadgets, and Dick threw him a blood bag. "Later assholes."

Jason revs his bike. Tonight, he'll make his rounds, doing what said he would. And hey. Probably hit up that rage room in Bristol he goes to in civvies. Crime's been real quiet recently, and he knows it's likely purposeful.

That pisses him off that they think they can hide from him forever in his own territory.

Tonight's been bad, too. He'd rather go beat up some stupid garbage than risk a pit rage on some numb nut that at most only needs a couple slices to catch his drift. Heh. He's gonna see if they'd let him tape a pic of Dracula to a TV so he can cave his face in post-mortem.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein is not, of course, an example of the imperial gothic but instead a still relevant anti-Enlightenment fable. If a novel ever illustrated how the sleep of reason begets monsters, it is Shelley’s story of how a scientist’s urge to create artificial life leads to utter destruction. However, in Universal Studios’s 1931 Frankenstein, the many pertinent philosophical issues that the original gothic novel explores reshape into thinly veiled imperial gothic through the introduction of a eugenic and highly racialised discourse that changes the monster from a rightfully vengeful and eminently intelligent being into an atavistic criminal. In its Hollywood guise, the monster is not a tragic, lonesome and then understandably vengeful product of unethical science but instead a reincarnation of the degenerate criminal whose brain the monster is provided with in the film. This takes on a peculiarly American dynamics in the movie. As Elizabeth Young suggests in Black Frankenstein: The Making of an American Metaphor (2008), a connection between the monster and the supposedly primitive black American was made as early as during the immediate post-Civil War period when ‘the “hideous progeny” of Shelley’s novel was symbolically reborn in racist parody as the symbol of the miscegenated nation’. An important reference to American Reconstruction history is also the ending of the movie. Instead of escaping to the North Pole, as is the case in Shelley’s novel, the monster is exorcised by what amounts to a lynch mob. In Frankenstein the movie, as in the American South, justice is done by the people on the spot; by ‘lynch law’. The violation of the sanctified space and body of Frankenstein’s fiancée, Elizabeth, as much as the accidental drowning of the little girl, justifies this public rage in the eyes of the movie audience. This is the end that comes to those who dare violate the purity of white women, or oppose the progress of modernity in any form, be they black Americans in the South, Native Americans on the reservations or unruly natives in the Philippines. Like so many lynching victims, Frankenstein dies in flames. In this way, the discursive conditions that informed the British colonial enterprise as well as the racism that structured black and white relations in the US permeate Frankenstein. The childlike and aggressive monster is an example of the kind of human category that can never ‘possess the intelligence to make a rational choice of political allegiance’, as Lansing put it. In addition to this, the audience is also free to imagine an alternative narrative in which Fritz never drops the jar with the ‘normal’ brain to the floor. It is not science or faith in modernity that Frankenstein fears, it is atavism. The resolution to the crisis that atavism constitutes is the sad but necessary violence of the lynch mob. When the monster has been burned, the movie can end with the happy union of the film’s central white couple.

Johan Anders Höglund, The American Imperial Gothic: Popular Culture, Empire, Violence