#Praetorian Jack Imagine

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Sneaking Through The Citadel To Meet With Jack

Praetorian Jack X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suggestive themes, steam, lots of kissing, basically over 1,000 words of pure self indulgence (no I'm not sorry)

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) I went to go see Furiosa Friday....now I'm obsessed! Especially one character in particular, so I had to write something for him! Cause I have no control over what the idea worms bring to eat at my spastic brain! So fellow fangirls that watched Furiosa please enjoy this little indulgent creation of mine! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Mild spoilers below!!

The sun setting behind the rocky horizon of the Wasteland's left a dusky orange haze painting The Citadel. Majority of the residences were beginning to settle down for the evening, except for several War Boys taking the first watch of the evening. You waited patiently in a darkening alcove, pressed tightly against the wall. The thin clothing you had to wear barely fought back the chill and the terror of getting caught had you fighting shivers and breathing softly. Getting caught wasn't an option as it would have you in serious trouble all around. Not just for yourself but the man you were sneaking around for. His death would be inevitable if he was spotted with you. A couple War Boys walked by, talking about the possibility of heading out to battle soon. You sucked in a breath, pressing further against the wall. They walked by, not even giving a glance in your direction. This was the hardest part, waiting for the darkness to deepen so you could further make your way out of the well guarded halls.

While the whole place had started to settle hours ago, you didn't move until you knew the moon was high in the sky and the watchmen had become lax in their duties. Not many people were stupid enough to challenge Immortan Joe, so the War Boy's didn't take the night watch seriously. On light bare feet you stuck close to the shadows and quickly made your way to a hidden part of The Citadel. Your heart hammered in your chest and you clutched at your fluttering wrap. Though you had done this several times, you just knew you'd eventually get caught and thrown out into the horrible outside world. Then mere moments passed, though it felt like a lifetime, you squeezed into a hidden opening of an abandoned alcove. You sighed in relief when hands wrapped around you, one on your hip the other across your mouth. Your muffled surprise was silenced when you caught a familiar glimpse of dark hair and a scarred lip.

"Don't do that," you seethed when Jack removed his hand.

"Always so nervous," he chuckled sitting back against the cold natural stones.

"You know what happens if we get caught," you glared. Jack just shrugged and you huffed.

Praetorian Jack, The Citadel's greatest warrior and the man who kept the War Rig running. His team was known as the best and all the War Boys fought for a chance to ride for him. He was the first man to show you an ounce of kindness when you arrived at The Citadel. Sold to Immortan Joe in exchange for food, the man who you thought loved you, dumped you at his feet and never looked back. Being barren saved you from the fate of one of his wives, you found yourself doing any chores that was deemed worthy of your station. Thrown to the feet of Jack, you had become his problem for a short while until you were drug to another part of The Citadel for other tasks. That short time with the quiet gruff man had something grow between you, hence the sneaking to see one another.

Jack offered out his hand, knowing that you were losing yourself within horrible memories and he worried about you. These were the few times that made life worth living. You shook your head taking his offered hand and he lead you closer to him. You sat down between his legs, resting your back against his warm chest. He had forgone his leather jacket, leaving his rough clothing to catch against your linen garments. His presence and scent also soothing your nerves, as he held your hand, rubbing the top of your hand. His hands calloused and scarred but tender and kind. His nose brushing against the back of your neck, leaving you shivering. He kissed you gently, careful not to leave any marks. You leaned in backwards, staring up at him. Jack gave you a small smile, kissing your forehead causing you to giggle quietly. His fingers tangling with yours, he pressed another kiss to your forehead, before his stare became heated. You sat still letting him litter you with attention. He kissed your temple, cupping your cheek as he kissed your nose, cheek, before pausing above your lips. Your head still leaned back he took in your features before capturing your lips in an searing kiss. The upside down kiss awkward, but making your bare toes curl.

He released you to turn you around, slipping you back down onto his lap your legs wrapped around his waist. Cupping your cheeks with both hands, he pulled you back into his embrace. His stubble scratching against your soft skin, but you sighed into his mouth, your arms resting on his shoulders as you played with the long dirty strands of his hair. Jack deepened his kiss, tasting you in a more passionate way. You melted, unable to keep yourself upright. He released your cheeks, wrapping strong arms around your body and holding you tightly against his body. Air became a necessity too quickly and it had you both parting against each other. Warm puffs of air brushing against your wet and kiss swollen lips, Jack pressed his forehead against yours. You traced his features, your fingers soft against his rough face. He shivered in delight kissing and nipping at the digits. When he pulled away, he noticed some of his remaining war grease had smudged against your forehead. He licked his thumb cleaning it away.

"I don't want this to end," you said.

"Maybe one day it doesn't have to," Jack replied.

You stared at him with a curious look. He lost himself, staring at you deeply. You were an oasis in the desert. No amount of fighting and driving could give him a jolt of adrenaline like you did. It was these few stolen moments that he truly lived for. He didn't care what Immortan Joe wanted, if it gave him you then he would do whatever it took. He remembered those tearful fearful eyes of yours, when the War Boys had thrown you at his feet. You had lost everything and you didn't know what to expect. But when he held out that dirty, blood drenched hand you took it. Raising yourself from the floor and then it ended for Jack. He had to protect you and learn more from you. Your story, like everyone else's was filled with sadness and tragedy. He longed to make you forget all the horrible and hard times. And these fleeting times, hidden away from the watchful eyes of The Citadel and it's overlord he got to make that promise come to fruition. Stolen kisses, quiet sighs, and warm embraces. It was all here, that oasis for his soul.

"I will find away to save you," he promised. But he didn't want you to answer, to protest. So he kissed you, hard, fiercely, silencing any protests immediately. You held tightly, trying to keep up as Jack laid you gently back onto the stones. You threaded your fingers through his hair. He was all you could see, all that mattered as he leaned over you. Releasing you once more he laid down beside you. Tucking you into his side so you both could look up at the stars. A dusty haze always above your heads, but not enough to darken the night sky. You reached up, like you could scoop them up. Jack slid his hand up your arm his hand cupping the back of yours as his fingers also reached to the sky. Like you both could grab destiny together that played amongst the stars. You pulled your gaze from up above, looking towards the gentle man beside you.

"Let's save each other," you replied with conviction.

"You already have," Jack held on tighter. You searched for any sign that he said that just to make you feel better, only to see truth staring you in the face. You grasped his hand pulling it down to your chest. He felt your heartbeat thundering against your chest and Jack knew that he would give up anything to protect that kind heart. He held on tightly, not wanting to let any second pass him by in your presence. Even when time ran out and you both had to part ways, he held you against him. Taking you with him no matter where he was. And every time he looked up at the sky he could see you gazing back at him. You pushed him onwards and you held your ground. Knowing that the promised moments together were worth fighting for.

[trashy-greyjoy]

the idea that furiosa sees jack in max truly makes me want to chew through my own femur. george miller, why would you do this?

[orangesnail]

Modern Furiosa and Jack just relaxing on the front veranda of a federation-style home, with a semi dry lawn due to yearly drought. The dry afternoon heat with only a hot breeze makes them chase the small relief of the tree shadows, moving their chairs every so often. The sky is clear, a vivid blue that slowly turns into a deep orange which cradles the setting sun. A symphony of warbling magpies, screeching lorikeets and the songs of willie wagtails cements itself as the background music for a lazy afternoon. Jack has his hands behind his head, reclining and having a quick snooze. Furiosa is just admiring the view.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Furiosa thoughts

About 48 hours after watching, I think my take on Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is coalescing into: I enjoyed it as a Mad Max movie but found it disappointing as a Fury Road prequel.

Any Mad Max movie made after Fury Road was always going to suffer the fate of being compared to Fury Road, which is the best action movie ever made. So like, compared to any other action movie you can think of, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (we'll call it FMMS going forward) is very very good! It just isn't Fury Road.

The rest is under the cut for spoilers:

The action sequences were compelling. (I was aware I was hunched forward in my seat in tension/anticipation almost the entire time.) Some of them were even brilliant. That long sequence where the Octoboss and the Mortiflyers (yes those are their names) are attacking the War Rig with all kinds of airborne contraptions? Phenomenal. I was like yes okay now we are in a Mad Max movie! Other than that one sequence, though, in which we see Furiosa and Praetorian Jack begin to trust each other, I thought they rarely achieved the kind of wordless advancement of character relationships through action beats that is the lifeblood of Fury Road. So the action was good, but it was just normal-good, not Fury Road transcendent.

I did miss John Seale's cinematography. While I thought the action choreography was great, the shot selection was just not as dynamic and interesting as in Fury Road. I also really did not vibe with so much of the musical themes being recycled from Fury Road. The Fury Road score is SO memorable and the music is such an integral part of the momentum and feeling of every scene in the movie; I can play that score and see every beat of the action unfolding in my brain now. I wanted new score that felt like it was a part of this new action that we were seeing.

I loved all the new worldbuilding details and finally getting to see inside Gastown and the Bullet Farm. Those locations and their unique features were utilized really well for the action that took place in them. Loved the new details we got about the Citadel. The grappling hooks just dipping down to yoink people's vehicles during battle? Fantastic. The hidden Citadel ledge with the little pool of water?? That was such a fanfic-ready location. Pretty sure I already wrote at least one fic set there back in like 2016.

The Green Place! Very different from what I imagined but so much worldbuilding in just a few shots.

In general I thought the new cast rose to the challenge. Alyla Browne who played little kid Furiosa I thought was phenomenal actually. That's a tough role, both emotionally and physically, for a child actor and she slayed it. Casting Indigenous model and actress Charlee Fraser to play Furiosa's mother certainly made the Stolen Generation parallels more obvious. I'll have a lot more to say about Dementus down below, but Chris Hemsworth brought a great combo of bonkers and menacing.

I never doubted that Anya Taylor-Joy could bring the emotional intensity needed to the role--she can do crazy eyes like nobody's business, and with the growl she put in her voice she really did sound like Charlize Theron a bit. I found her physicality convincing for a young Furiosa. But she is not Charlize, through no fault of her own. Charlize is tall and she has broad shoulders and she just takes up so much space when moving and fighting as Furiosa and I think it was always going to be hard to replicate that. As long as they didn't try too hard to bridge the gap between the characters I was fine with it. But that one scene at the end where she's bringing the Wives to the Rig I was very viscerally like that is NOT our Furiosa. (I almost wish they would've used Charlize's stunt double for that scene the way they popped Jacob Tomuri into Max's place.) They could have simply left a time gap--based on the "15 years" she says to Dementus and the 7,000+ days we hear about in Fury Road there should be at least a 4-year gap between the film timelines, although in terms of bridging the look of the two actors it feels like it should be more like 10 years.

If FMMS had been a self-contained movie about a character named Furiosa in the Mad Max universe, I think I would have found it very satisfying. But as a prequel to Fury Road there were a bunch of ways I thought it was lacking on a story level.

I think it's pretty clear that this is not the backstory, or at least not the complete backstory, that Charlize Theron was imagining while playing Furiosa. Which...there's nothing objectively wrong with that; word of God and what actors think about their characters doesn't supersede what's on film for determining what is canon. However, Fury Road positions Joe as Furiosa's main antagonist, and while we don't get the full story behind the incandescent rage she directs at him, we know that rage is there and is a big part of her motivation. In interviews at the time, Charlize talked about the idea that Furiosa had been stolen to be a Wife but then was discovered to be infertile and discarded, how she survived by hiding in the Citadel and eventually rose to a position of power, how she saw her actions not as saving the Wives but as stealing them, and that her motivation at least starts out as more about hurting Joe than helping these women.

We get only the tiniest suggestion of Furiosa's backstory in Fury Road ("I was taken as a child, stolen") and the rest we piece together by implication. She is a healthy full-life woman working for a man who keeps healthy full-life women as sex slaves, hoping one of them will produce a viable male heir for him. She is effectively a general in his army, projecting his power on the wasteland, a position no other woman seems to occupy. She tells Max she is seeking "redemption." Redemption for what? She doesn't say. But "whatever she has done to win a position of power within this misogynist death cult" seems like a pretty obvious answer.

And that's interesting! That's an interesting backstory that engages with some of the core themes and moral questions of the Mad Max universe. These movies deal a lot with the tension between self-preservation and human connection. Do you screw someone else over to protect yourself? Even if it means putting them in the terrible position that you yourself have clawed your way out of? Even if it means enforcing your own oppressor's power over them? Or do you take the risk of helping people and caring enough to connect with them, even though this carries an emotional and physical risk?

FMMS doesn't really engage with Furiosa's relationship to Joe like, at all. It's not like Joe comes off looking like a good guy. He's just hardly in the movie. I don't know if this would have been different if Hugh Keays-Byrne were still alive. I don't know if there was pressure from the studio to cast an A-list male lead actor alongside Anya Taylor-Joy (who's a hot commodity now but wasn't what I would call an A-lister when she was originally cast). I don't know if, once Chris Hemsworth was cast, that affected how central his character's role became, since he is certainly the biggest name attached to the film. I would have actually been fine with Chris Hemsworth or another actor of his ilk playing a younger Joe, and us getting to see some of the charisma that attracted followers to him.

But the end result is that we have Dementus, who is a perfectly fine Mad Max villain, and quite entertaining at times! But not the most compelling antagonist you could give Furiosa.

The four Mad Max movies that feature Max go through an interesting evolution. In the first two movies, the villains are people "outside" society--criminals and roving gangs--and the people Max is defending are "civilization." So we have Mad Max where Max is a very fucked-up cop, and Road Warrior where Max is the prototypical western gunslinger, riding in to town to protect the settlement from an outside threat, but ultimately unable to accept any of the comforts of civilization for himself.

Then in Thunderdome and Fury Road, the dynamic switches. Now the antagonists are warlords and dictators. They are civilization. And the people Max ends up helping are trying to escape them.

To me, Dementus feels much more like the earlier kind of Mad Max villain. If there's another Mad Max movie I can most compare FMMS to, it's the first one. Dementus is Furiosa's Toecutter. (Kills her family, gives her her signature disabling injury, movie ends with her seeking revenge on him but it doesn't feel heroic or triumphant.) The whole end of FMMS when Furiosa is implacably hunting down Dementus? Extremely Mad Max 1.

But violent revenge holds a different symbolic place in Furiosa's story than it does in Max's. The end of Mad Max is a tragedy because Max tells us it is. He explicitly states, early in the movie, that he needs to stop being a cop or he'll become no different than the violent criminals he's pursuing. So he leaves his job and goes on an extended weird vacation with his wife and child, trying to get away from the violence of a collapsing society. But that violence finds him anyway, and by the end of the movie, Max has become the exact thing he said he didn't want to be. It's a tragedy not because the people Max kills in revenge for killing his family don't deserve it, but because seeking violent sadistic revenge is damaging to Max. That is not what he needs in order to heal from the loss of his wife and child. What he needs is to take the risk of human connection again. This is what he starts groping toward in the following two movies and fully realizes in Fury Road.

But Furiosa doesn't have the same arc. Her story in Fury Road is about how a few people struggling against their oppressor can be the catalyst that brings down a whole regime. Furiosa getting to rip Joe's face off is fucking satisfying, and it's supposed to be! So it's a bit weird, then, to spend an entire movie giving her a backstory that not only is not about Joe at all, but implies that seeking and getting revenge against Dementus for killing her mother and Jack is what made her into the person we see in Fury Road.

Aside from questions of revenge, what I thought Furiosa's goal was going to be is set up in the beginning of the movie. "No matter what happens, find your way home." Very clear objective there. And then we see her try to get home like, 1.5 times. I thought we were well set up to follow the tried and true film story format of "simple goal, big obstacles, high stakes." I wanted to see her trying over and over again to get home, and being thwarted in different ways every time. I wanted to see grief and guilt over her mother's death turn her mother's last command into a mission for which she would sacrifice anything (and anyone) else. I wanted to see her justify working for Joe and accumulating power in the violent world of the Citadel as what she has to do in order to get home. I wanted to see "Have you done this before?" "Many times." But we didn't really get that either.

Ultimately, I think the least frustrating way to think about the film--which the film itself encourages--is as one of many possible Wasteland legends about a character called Furiosa. Maybe it happened this way. Maybe it didn't. Maybe this is the Furiosa we see in Fury Road. Maybe it isn't. It all depends on how much you believe of the History Man's tales.

[ogradyfilm]

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga - Hope Takes Root

[The following essay contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

I. Living Off the Corpse of the Old World

Come on, Max. Tell me your story. What burned you out? Kill one man too many? See too many people die? Lose some family? Oh, so that's it. You lost your family. That makes you something special, does it?

This monologue, originally uttered in 1981’s The Road Warrior, is still thematically relevant to the increasingly sprawling Mad Max Saga, resonating three films and more than four decades later. Every installment in the franchise—from its scrappy, low-budget debut to its most recent spinoff—revolves around loss. The desolate Wasteland takes, and takes, and takes again, consuming friends, family, resources, sanity. Those that linger are little more than disillusioned scavengers—“maggots living off the corpse of the old world.”

That description certainly applies to Dementus, the central antagonist of Furiosa. A charismatic, flamboyant warlord commanding veritable legions of bloodthirsty marauders, the self-proclaimed “King of the Bikers” (one of several grandiose titles that he flaunts like undeserved trophies) quickly establishes himself as a cunning tactician, utilizing an audacious Trojan Horse strategy to effortlessly overwhelm a formidable stronghold with minimal casualties to his own troops.

Despite his short-term victories on the battlefield, however, Dementus consistently proves himself to be an utterly incompetent leader in times of peace, with his conquests almost immediately descending into chaos and disarray. He’s essentially a post-apocalyptic Ozymandias in the making: “Round the decay of that colossal wreck,” you can easily imagine the History Man saying of his ruined domain, “the lone and level sands stretch far away.”

II. A Fuel-Injected Suicide Machine

Of course, it is implied that Dementus’ numerous “failures” are actually intentional. Although he claims to seek a “land of abundance,” finding it isn't his true goal; rather, what he desires is the pursuit of paradise—the thrill of a chase without end, futile and fruitless. To paraphrase Michael Mann’s Heat: “For [him], the action is the juice.”

[FINAL WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW!]

Beneath his boasts, bluster, and pretensions of ambition, Dementus is a devout nihilist, so irreparably shattered by the tragic deaths of his children (symbolized by the stuffed toy that he constantly carries on his person) that even physical sensation—pain, pleasure, exhilaration—now eludes him. As he explains to Furiosa during their climactic confrontation, the gaping wound in his heart can only be healed (albeit temporarily) by violence—the fleeting adrenaline rush of seizing territory and crushing his enemies underfoot.

Perhaps this is what motivates him to “mentor” our young heroine: he wants to remold something untainted by rust and radiation in his own savage image—not merely as an heir or a replacement for his biological offspring, but as the ultimate validation of his pessimistic philosophy. To this end, he forces the poor girl to watch as he brutally murders her mother, burning every excruciating second of agony and torment into her memory. To add insult to injury, he literally tastes the tears that she weeps, reveling in her grief and misery.

III. Feels Like Hope

Nevertheless, Love somehow manages to endure amidst the despair—like a lush and verdant Green Place thriving in the middle of a barren desert. If Dementus is a dark reflection of Max Rockatansky’s worst qualities—selfishness, cynicism, indiscriminate rage—then Praetorian Jack anticipates his eventual altruism. Like Max, Jack’s parents were once “warriors searching for a righteous cause.” Unfortunately, nobility and morality are as illusory and insubstantial as a mirage among the merciless dunes; following their senseless deaths, their orphaned son resigned himself to an empty existence of defending an egomaniacal tyrant’s supply caravans from roving bandits and rival gangs.

In Furiosa, though, Jack recognizes a kindred spirit. While circumstances have reduced them to their basest survival instincts, they both dream of something greater: she of returning to the home from which she was snatched, and he of discovering a purpose beyond the “fire and blood” of the Road War. Together, they forge a relationship that transcends romance, nourishing the seed of Hope in one another. He wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his life in exchange for hers; and she, in turn, would gladly sacrifice a chance at freedom in order to protect him.

Even Jack’s unceremonious demise can’t totally extinguish the faint ember of optimism that he sparked in Furiosa’s subconscious. Though she briefly succumbs to wrath and exacts cruel vengeance on Dementus, she refuses to fulfill her adversary’s grim prophecy that she will become his successor—the personification of his bleak worldview. Instead, she follows Jack’s example; inspired by his inherent goodness, she conspires to liberate Immortan Joe’s abused and exploited “wives” (glorified sex slaves, valued solely as breeding stock), leading them to salvation beyond his seemingly infinite reach.

IV. Some Kind of Redemption

“Who killed the world?” is a recurring question throughout Mad Max: Fury Road; the complementary characters in its belated prequel provide something resembling an answer. Dementus, haunted by his traumatic Past, destroys everything that he touches; by the conclusion of his journey, his band of loyal disciples has dwindled to a meager handful, and he finally marches towards his doom alone. Joe, meanwhile, rules the Present with an iron fist, but his single-minded obsession with producing a “pure” genetic legacy sabotages his dynastic aspirations; without any “perfect” progeny to inherit his cult of personality, his empire is too fragile to outlast him. Furiosa, on the other hand, realizes that the Future lies not in oppression and subjugation, but in cooperation, collaboration, and compassion.

Greed, authoritarianism, and Hate killed the world; it is therefore only logical that Love should resurrect it.

It’s a message as elegantly simple and universal as the archetypes that populate George Miller’s modern mythology. Furiosa is a worthy addition to the legendary series, expanding upon and recontextualizing its predecessors while simultaneously excelling on its own merits. It is magnificent, spectacular, and appropriately epic.

[j4m3s-b4k3r]

The Darkest Of Angels

The latest instalment in the MAD MAX series, FURIOSA, is not as inventive as its predecessor, FURY ROAD. There are few moments to match the kooky joy of seeing the DOOF WARRIOR thrashing his guitar made out of a bedpan, atop a truck full of Taiko drummers in this movie. But FURIOSA delivered, and not in the ways expected. It is dark. A post-nuclear Dickensian western. A harrowing tale of an orphan taken to the Wasteland workhouse. With no inheritance to save her day, she wants revenge. There's plenty of George Miller’s signature kinetic storytelling. This isn't mere mayhem, but a thoughtful meditation on war, revenge, grief, and hope, told in 5 chapters.

1: The Pole of Inaccessibility

“Do Not Look Away, You Mustn’t Look Away.”

The tale begins in the “Green Place”, an EDEN hidden in the Wasteland. Instead of an apple, a peach is plucked by a little girl - a much younger FURIOSA. For the first hour, the titular character is played by Alyla Browne, who gives an absolutely riveting performance. Many of the traumatic moments that will shape the character are dealt with by this incredible young actor. 

Furiosa is soon kidnapped by the motorbike crazies that populate the MAD MAX films. Unfortunately for the goons, Furiosa’s mum MARY JABASSA is a veritable fury, and relentlessly hunts them down. Played by Charlee Fraser, the character isn’t in the story for long but she absolutely fizzes with intensity while she’s on screen. Leaving a white hot afterglow that lasts for the rest of the film. Unfortunately, she is soon dealt with by the villain of the tale. 

When we first meet DEMENTUS, he is clothed in white robes, like a desert messiah in his tent. Hemsworth’s performance is one of the highlights of the film. Dementus has a rural Australian accent, and a speaking style reminiscent of earlier generations. This may be lost on anyone without a small town Australian grandfather, but for me it had a chilling effect. At once folksy, familiar and terrifying. Most of the quotable lines from this film are from Dementus. He’s a bad egg, but eminently watchable. A Long John Silver of the desert.

2: Lessons from the Wasteland

"Who's got the goods? The bollocks, the testes to ride with Dementus?! "

Anya Taylor-Joy was arresting, and did wonders with a largely non verbal role. She was a strange choice for the role though. Alyla Browne believably played a child version of Charlize Theron, but Anya Taylor-Joy’s distinctive features and slight frame aren’t going to look like Theron in 10-15 years time. 

When Charlize Theron’s FURIOSA spoke with a north American accent in FURY ROAD, I accepted it as possible in Miller’s Wasteland. After all, we’d already learned years ago that way out in the middle of the outback, you might meet... TINA TURNER. So yeah, that accent made sense in 2015. However, we now know that Furiosa’s parents and childhood accent were both Australian. Then, she somehow acquires a North American accent growing up in the Citadel. Surrounded by Aussie War Boys?

George Miller deservedly gets praise for his imaginative visual world building and storytelling, but sometimes his world doesn’t make ‘sense’. I know that these films are best taken as kinetic & operatic comic books, taking place in a mythic world. However, inconsistencies sometimes break the spell, popping me out of the movie watching experience, to ask real world questions. 

However, Tom Burke’s Aussie accent was flawless, and his turn as PRAETORIAN JACK was wonderful. A stoic character, with as many wounds and losses as any other wretch in this misbegotten landscape, but who hasn’t lost the ability to be humane.

3: The Stowaway

“Didja see that? How they fought for each other, this little army of two? Where were they going, so full of hope?”

Each MAD MAX film thus far took us to a completely new part of the Wasteland. FURIOSA too shows us a new location, the Green Place. Experienced for mere moments, before being hauled to locations we’d previously seen in FURY ROAD. 

Though shown 15-20 years earlier, they looked exactly the same. Instead of seeing The Citadel only partially built, ruled by a younger Immortan Joe (perhaps not yet needing his mask, but already showing the signs of physical frailties?) characters & locations look as they did in a movie set 15-20 years later.The only character who shows the passage of time is Furiosa herself. 

George Miller takes big swings with these MAD MAX films, but in completely different ways with each one. FURIOSA is back to a revenge story, which is where the series began, but with a completely different structure this time. Ending on a dialogue in the desert, instead of blow-the-hinges off action sequence. After the excitement of what came before, a verbal showdown in the desert was anticlimactic for some. ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, climaxing with jibber jabber instead of Leone’s gunfight. For me though, this ending (and Hemsworth’s speech) was one of the high points of the film.

The film has many images that stay with me - A time-lapse shot of a young tree growing from a discarded wig. A lizard eats flies buzzing around a skull in the desert, only to be crushed under a racing motorbike tire. Parasailing marauders attack a giant truck from the sky. The sadistically twisted villain wears a child’s teddy bear. Owned by a victim? Or his own children from long ago? What a grimly beautiful world this is.

4: Homeward

“There will always be war. But to get home, Furiosa fought the world.”

Some critics said FURIOSA was “an epic slice of myth-making”, while others called it “a joyless, pointless, pretentious and inartistic slog”. Generally though, critical response was effusive. 90% on Rotten Tomatoes with an 89% audience score. Interestingly, these action films are consistently rated higher by critics than by audiences:

FURIOSA: 90%/89% FURY ROAD: 97%/86%  BEYOND THUNDERDOME: 79%/49%  ROAD WARRIOR: 94%/86%  MAD MAX: 90%/70% 

Also interesting, is that FURIOSA’s audience score is the highest of all the 5 films. Stranger still is that this favourable response didn’t result in box office success.. There are many theories as to why this is so. Although some say that this is the best prequel ever, any prequel is by definition unnecessary. Perhaps those that focus on a sidekick character will have a harder time connecting with audiences. Especially if the franchise’s main character is a no show. (Likewise, SHORT ROUND: AN INDIANA JONES SAGA might tank at the box office too, if Indy only has a cameo of mere seconds.)

This gets to why an audience decides to go see a movie. Personally, I just needed to know that George Miller - a director I’ve followed since my teens - was making another movie. That’s it. I was already in line before I knew what it was about. But most people, even MAD MAX fans, lost interest when they heard the famous character wasn’t in it. Joe & Jane Public bond with actors and characters. Directors not so much.

5. Beyond Vengeance

“D’ya have it in ya to make it epic?”

Movies used to be cheap entertainment, that audiences could afford to take a chance on, but they are expensive nowadays. Especially with all the bells & whistles of IMAX and reserved seating. People have been burned so many times by gushing press luring them to lame movies, that positive reviews and ‘buzz’ are now simply assumed to be studio psyops. Flatly ignored. Instead, if it’s a film they are unsure of, many prefer to wait a few weeks and try movies at home, affordably. On the big screen TVs & sound systems bought during the pandemic.

Given FURIOSA’s poor box office, we may never get the 6th instalment in the MAD MAX saga; WASTELAND. Which makes me regret that George Miller hadn’t made that film before this one. FURIOSA isn’t my fave of the MAD MAX films, but ranks high in my personal list. A fantastic addition to this series, that deserved more success than it got, sadly. Seeing George Miller stretch himself, in this mythic world he has constructed over decades, is a true cinematic joy.

“To feel alive, we seek sensation — any sensation to wash away the cranky black sorrow!”

[tastytofusoup]

Some rambling thoughts about Mass Effect 2. (Following playthrough 11 of ME1, on my 1st playthrough of the Legendary Edition (modded), and my 4th playthrough of ME2)

1: I don’t know how it’s taken me this long to realise it, but where in Mass Effect you’re in the front seat of the overarching main plot, figuring it all out and achieving everything yourself with your team, Mass Effect 2 is mostly a series of short stories. The main plot is dealt with mostly in the background by The Illusive Man and his people. I don’t think this is really a bad thing, they’re good short stories, and I like the game a lot, but it’s interesting to consider. If you imagine keeping the same squad as the first game and dealing with Mass Effect 2′s main Collector plot, without needing to do any of the recruiting and loyalty-gaining, you realise that said plot is barely existent.

2: Because of the changes to Mass Effect 1′s combat in the Legendary Edition, Mass Effect 2 now has the weakest combat in the series, I think easily. Combat in Mass Effect 1 now feels more solid, and fun, most importantly. I don’t have a lot of experience with 3, from what I’ve played, its combat improved on 2′s formula and made it much more satisfying. Mostly because playing as a biotic you’re much more free to wham bam spam those biotic combos. I find Andromeda’s combat fun in a similar way, cos it’s largely continuing with what 3 had going for it. 2 is clunky, it’s slow, fun elements like biotics are actively limited. Especially on Insanity difficulty, it feels like the game’s intentionally limiting fun through its design.

3, basically: Insanity difficulty in 2 is some garbage eh? I’m playing right now on Insanity for the first time. Here’s a game that makes it essential to be in cover, otherwise you die in 2 seconds, but the cover system is shit. Ideally, a more fluid Tom Clancy style, move-between-cover system would’ve suited this game really well. Would’ve made it much easier to more safely move around to adjust - making the higher difficulties more exciting, less annoying. As it stands, you’re still easily knocked out of cover, staggered, and dead. Still too easily able to accidentally get in or out of cover yourself - or jump over it. Again, you’re dead. And if you want to move, you deal with sluggishly getting out of cover, slowly turning, slowly getting into a sprint, and if you haven’t already been killed a second ago during the process, slowly making it into cover elsewhere. Preferably without accidentally getting into cover where you don’t want to, because holding down sprint is the same button to get into cover. Again, you’re probably dead in this situation, like I was last night while fighting a praetorian. Salt is definitely present here, although I don’t think I’m wrong either. I’ve only played on Normal and Veteran I think before, and I remember a lot of fun, and I’m missing those ways that the game was fun. Notably, I miss my companions, because if you play on Insanity you’re basically alone, because your companions will be limp on the ground during a good 75% of combat. I have fond memories of Jack and Kasumi wiping the floor with the opposition, but now my friends are mostly wiping the floor with their own bodies.

BioWare increased the difficulty hugely, but didn’t adjust companions enough to make them at all survivable. The difficulty is expecting behaviour near player level in order to not die, but their AI is nowhere near capable. So this party-based RPG/Shooter, where the story revolves around you building your team, becomes you vs the world. On this difficulty you should be tactically choosing party members based on their abilities to suit the mission, but in practice it doesn’t matter much, because even if you spend half your time micromanaging them to very conservatively stay out of harm’s way, they’re still gonna melt, and their abilities are going to be worthless. The play is then to not revive them, because looting medkits while full on medigel gives you XP, which you’re missing out on if you revive. Mechanically, the game encourages you to not use the revive function they’ve given you, while making your companions ridiculously squishy. I find this strange. There’s also the issue of everyone having shields and armour (by default, I’m using a mod that removes it from all basic enemies and doubles their HP instead). The problem is this limits the amount you can effectively use your abilities. The biotics, the tech. You know, the fun. Compared to Mass Effect 1 where you’re free to throw out all of this fun stuff. If only they’d also added biotic combos to the ME1 rework, but it’s honestly fun enough as it is now. I remember having enough fun as an Adept in ME2 on Normal/Veteran, but on Insanity biotics feel so weak that they barely feel worth having except Barrier and Warp - occasionally throwing out a pull to disable or combo. I’m only putting up with Insanity on this because I want to 100% the achievements on the Legendary Edition.

Honestly, ME1′s Insanity can afford to be harder, because of how the combat works. Idk how Insanity is with the original combat because I’ve never done a full playthrough with it, but at least now with the changes, it could easily have another difficulty level. I’ve never felt more powerful than I just did at the end of the game on the Insanity Legendary Edition run I just finished. Completely destroyed everything in Bring Down The Sky, Ilos, and the endgame, more than I ever have on Normal. A Rifle/Sniper-using Adept? Where Assault Rifles are actually accurate and good now? Explosive Rounds galore while tossing out singularities? FUN! ME2 is the opposite case. This brand of difficulty isn’t my jam, not when it’s basically sacrificing all the things that make the game’s combat fun for me, and highlighting all the annoying parts. Some parts though haven’t been any more of a problem than on Normal, it’s weird. Closing those doors in the Archangel mission? I usually die a few times there, only died once this time. It’s likely experience at play, but I feel like for most people 2′s difficulty is sufficient on Normal or Veteran - so you’ve got a nice challenge vs fun balance. Any higher just gets dumb and annoying. I did Horizon last night. The last section of it on Insanity, goddamn. I don’t even want to think about the Collector ship and endgame.

On the plus side with ME2, I’m playing with a bunch of mods as I did with 1. There’s a lot you can adjust, gameplay-wise and visually. Being in ME1 armour, with ME1 running animations, and carrying a full set of weapons like ME1 right now is fun! Feels more like a direct continuation!

Neha in ME1:

Neha in ME2!:

Custom stealthy black medium armour for Kasumi’s heist, also fun!:

Unfortunately I can’t find a way to edit companion health/shield amounts, or I’d just increase them by a bunch. Honestly I’d even rather turn their damage way down and their health way up, just to reliably have them around during fights.

But hey ho. Otherwise, ME2′s strengths are still there, and being able to mod it to make it a better experience is great. I’ve got 3 just as modded for when I get to it - complete with a thoroughly overhauled ending.

[shirlleycoyle]

Welcome to the Capitol Hill Green Zone

There was a fire near the Capitol on Monday. The smoke came from inside Washington’s “Green Zone,” or the especially secure area patrolled by the National Guard, put in place to ensure that Wednesday’s inauguration does not face the same violence as Congress saw with vote certification on January 6.

With the fire in the Green Zone came a brief panic. Did the dark clouds herald a second assault on the Capitol in as many weeks? To the relief of breathless news anchors, in a panic about fears of bombs and gunmen, the fire had a far more mundane explanation. A homeless woman, trying to keep warm in winter, was using a portable heater. Its fires spread, consuming her possessions and burning her, but she declined a trip to the hospital.

That small news, of a national failing so durable and familiar it feels like background, comes 12 paragraphs deep into this WTOP story. Before that, we are treated to the theater and security of spectacle, of the great lengths to which the national security state, having largely failed on January 6, promises to make sure that the ceremony of democracy continues smoothly on January 20th. 

What makes a fire at an encampment different on January 18, 2021 than it would have been on, say, January 18, 2020 is that a large chunk of the District is now surrounded and fortified in a kind of Green Zone. With the influx of 20,000 National Guards to the Capitol, the city is now more than ready to repel the last assault, if only its forces could be deployed back in time to do so. 

“Green Zone” is Pentagon jargon made real. It’s a euphemism for safety and security within a tightly patrolled perimeter, a term whose very use masks the violence that calls it into being. There are no Green Zones in peacetime.

“Green Zone” entered the popular vocabulary of Americans following the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Thanks largely to the destabilizing nature of invasion, a galaxy-brained overestimation of how smooth things would be, and especially an ill-conceived political purge in a formerly one-party state that barred its entire government and military workforce from holding jobs, the US summoned an insurgency into being.

To govern in insurgency, the U.S. carved a little fortified retreat into the center of the nation it had sent into chaos. Surrounded by tall concrete walls, Iraq’s Green Zone was full of amenities for its highly transitional residents, almost all of them from the United States or allied nations. These residents worked in the offices of the Coalition Provisional Authority, the government imposed upon post-Saddam Iraq. The relative calm enjoyed inside the Iraq Green Zone was only possible because of the violence done by the U.S. outside of it.

And even then, that calm came up short. While there are only 1/8th as many American troops in Iraq as DC right now, rocket attacks persist, 17 years after the Green Zone’s creation. The U.S. Embassy, still inside the Green Zone in Baghdad, was hit with rockets on December 20, 2020.

U.S. Embassy building, Green Zone, Baghdad, damaged during the Dec 20, 2020 rocket attack. (Jack Holt / CENTCOM)

While the U.S. is awash in small arms, rocket attacks remain an extremely distant possibility. And, before I continue with this, I should say explicitly that the Green Zone imposed in Iraq meant not just Americans with guns and lethal authority, but it also meant checkpoints Iraqis had to navigate without the occupiers speaking their language. At a minimum, internal security forces almost always have the benefit of language and deescalation, should they choose to pursue it.

What we gain from thinking about 2021 Inauguration DC as a Green Zone is a sense of solidarity across occupations, even as the degrees of violence and imposition through force vary. President Trump, more explicitly than virtually every one of his predecessors, saw little distinction between enemies foreign or domestic, and sought to do what violence he could to his enemies where he found them.

“Trump’s domestic politics are the same as his foreign policy, turned inward: the failure of the state was that it was insufficiently violent against its enemies,” I wrote in Hell World the week of the Capitol assault. “Make America Great Again was a call for a new baptism in blood, and specifically the blood of people in the United States who did not subscribe to the same specific strain of nationalism that Trump ingested on Fox News and then found throughout the entire voting base of the Republican Party.”

I think that this war nationalism, pointed inwards as well as out, is essential to understanding the present. That war nationalism persists, even as the wars that animated it barely capture public imagination.

As I was drafting this, I received a press release from the symbolic heart of the forever war.

"Explosions reported earlier today about 40 miles outside of Baghdad, Iraq, in the town of Jurf Sakhar were not the result of U.S. military action," said captain Bill Urban, the spokesperson for U.S. Central Command. (Central Command is the part of the Pentagon that oversees all wars in the Middle East, its slice of the globe.)

Like the fire at the encampment, the existence of tragedy in the presence of the military suggests an immediate causal explanation to all observers, regardless of what actually happened. In the absence of other sources, those in the profession of violence craft their own narratives, and share them where they can.

The indefinite continuation of the Forever War creates a perverse praetorianism, one that sees the wars as not yet won because of constraints on violence. This praetorianism comes home and joins police forces, whose officers then underestimate publicly posted threats to assassinate members of Congress, while simultaneously sharing memes about how weird-tasting milkshakes are the work of dedicated antifascists.

National Guard troops guard a street leading to the White House two days before president elect is to be inaugurated. Washington D.C. is on lockdown after rioters stormed the United States Capitol building because Donald J. Trump falsely insists he won the election despite evidence to the contrary. Image: Jeremy Hogan/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images

Relying on police to solve the problem of violence like January 6 places a tremendous amount of faith in police, hardly apolitical actors, taking the threat seriously. Giving police new powers to pursue domestic terrorism overlooks the vastly expanded set of police powers since 9/11, and it misses how police are already leaning on surveillance platforms, like war-surplus drones and helicopters, to record and track events like Black Lives Matter protests.

With tools like this on call, how did the security of DC fail so utterly that the Capitol was breached?

“D.C. officials mismanaged two far-right street mobilizations by allowing Proud Boys and other street militants to assault local counterprotesters and bystanders in November and December, disproportionately focusing police resources on separating 'mutual combatants,' while discouraging residents from counterprotesting,” writes Daniel Trombly in Foreign Policy.

“Fears that street clashes might provoke Trump to invoke the Insurrection Act or federalize the MPD further encouraged an attitude of waiting out far-right street politics,” Trombly continues. “Neither D.C. officials nor USCP expected or prepared for the Capitol to be stormed, and encouragement and assistance within the Hill may have exacerbated this problem. The solution for the inauguration, an influx of tens of thousands of National Guard and federal law enforcement personnel and stifling security measures, are unsustainable, and the creation of a new domestic War on Terror is dangerous.”

The United States has spent the last 19+ years living inside the paranoid logic of a forever war, convinced enemies are everywhere, building Green Zones where it can, and doing violence to secure them.

What matters most for the people of Washington in the aftermath of the inauguration is that the fortress comes down. 

More should happen, too. The people of DC deserve statehood, like that of all people residing in U.S. territories, and while it's unlikely that an expansion of democracy within the country will dissuade violence from the kind of people who take private jets to try and overthrow an election, a U.S. that is more democratic will effectively bar from office the kinds of leaders who insist on winning by restricting the franchise.

Dismantling the Capitol Hill Green Zone is a first step to dismantling the antidemocratic strains within the United States that it was a reaction against. But it cannot be fully dismantled without a move away from the Forever War.

The inauguration will take place in a Washington fortified against violence, where the fortunate huddle indoors against disease and those let down by society lose all their possessions to fire while struggling to keep warm outdoors, their personal tragedy only news when it is mistaken for violence. 

Inside that hollowed fortress Washington, Joe Biden will become the third president to inherit the Forever War. May he be the last to do so.

This essay originally appeared as a newsletter at Wars of Future Past, a newsletter by defense technology journalist Kelsey D. Atherton.

Welcome to the Capitol Hill Green Zone syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Twenty-Three: Ajax

Why I Decided to Never Sleep Again: It’s Safer for Everyone.

  Normally, Pax’s list of Ways Things Could Go Wrong was WAY too creative and masterfully crafted for the fates to come close to guessing every item enlisted. Today, they must have been high-fiving each other around that stupid ball of fately yarn.

Everything started with Pax’s nightmare. Well, everything actually started for Pax when his father, Santiago, tortured an opposing mob leader and that mob leader’s family to death, and Eris found this an attractive mating call. However, Pax thought that was not an appropriate story for any eldest brother to tell his little brother, thank you Kouta. Pax would have rather been told that his parents met at a mixer for singles who liked to limbo, as he’d rewritten the story in his head.

Regardless of awesome limbo singles mixers, Pax’s jokes, hopes, and wishes for fluffy bunnies failed him when he fell asleep. The beginning was always fuzzy, but clarity hit when he fell on the deck of a ship. Pax could never focus on what ship.

The smell of rot intermixed with saltwater.

Pain kept him from pushing off the slimy floorboards. One of his arms wouldn’t move. The other trembled violently when he tried to sit up. As his gaze hardened on his functional hand, he internally screamed. And probably externally, he couldn’t be sure.

He managed to press his working hand into the floorboard, just in time for his own bronze dagger to stab through his palm, pinning him to the deck.

Glittery blood smeared onto the slimy wood.

Someone released a booming laugh somewhere nearby.

Pax cussed, shrieked, and sobbed at the laugher, especially insulting the laugher’s mother, but, he couldn’t look at the laugher. No, because he could sense the approach of something worse.

Mist and smoke twisted around the animalistic arches of his brother’s calves as the Leonis Caput stalked out of the shadows. Normally, Pax could see right through Axel’s fear magic and Mist manipulation, but Axel had become the monster. The half-decayed feline skeleton crept closer, obsidian claws fully extended from one hand, Pax’s remaining dagger clutched in the other. Blood and saliva dripped from the helmet’s jaws as it leisurely performed the flickering dance at the end of its hunt.

Pax cried and struggled to unpin his functional arm, but his palm felt like it was on fire. When he thrust his forearm upward to dislodge the dagger, the world went white momentarily. When he regained clarity of the deck, there was more blood oozing from his hand, but it still had a bronze blade pinned through it, like some serial killer decided to organize body parts on a corkboard.

And he knew the Leonis Caput was that serial killer.

When the dream shifted, Pax decided he would make a thank you basket for Atë. Not one with flowers and chocolates. She didn’t strike him as that kind of girl. Maybe something with laughing gas, so she could drop that on the next Olympian meeting she snuck into. The image of Poseidon giggling uncontrollably at Hades’ stupid helmet brought Pax more joy than twenty Reese’s Sticks.

“Without Hades’ permission to walk the earth, I’ll need a shadow bridge—something weak I can suspend between here and the Underworld. Then my ghost army can walk freely and… oh…” A hissing laugh, that Pax thought befit a mid-level villain. “Does Camp Half-Blood have a lot of restless ghosts.”

They were in a shack, somewhere hot.

For an instance, Pax thought the person speaking was his dead brother Kouta, a Native American with long, black hair pulled into a bun and stray locks in braids with feathers. The “oh no, you were dead!” was a little hackneyed after seeing Jack, but he realized that wasn’t his brother when the person released a second hissing laugh.

Fog warped around her, twisting away the shade of his brother to leave a different corpse. Well, sort of. She looked like two morticians got into a fight over preparing a body, flipped a coin, and the coin landed stubbornly on its edge, so one mortician mummified half her face and body into a blackened, hardened heap, and the other sucked all the blood out the other half to leave a chalky pale… thing. Split right down the middle hot dog style. Pax wondered if they’d discussed splitting her at the waist instead, and decided no one wanted to touch both her feet.

Her eyes were pits of nothingness.    

There were two other people with the corpse lady. One, he readily recognized as his mother. She didn’t look like his mother right now. She looked like a floating triangle with a top hat, stick arms, and feet, but Pax just knew it was Eris the Goddess of Strife. She held a martini glass in one hand and a cup with a sting attached in the other. Only his mom would have that much style.

The last woman in the room, Pax assumed, was Hemera, the primordial Goddess of Day that his mother had godnapped. She would have been pretty, if her sapphire dress wasn’t in shreds and her golden hair wasn’t tangled and she didn’t have a pink sock tied around her mouth. She looked how Pax would imagine a distraught queen to look. Memo to self: Ask Calex if he’s ever met the Queen, and if he’s ever seen her distraught before. Her skin blazed intermittedly, like an emergency lighthouse.  

Pax assumed she’d be under the Golden Net that they’d stolen from Camp Half-Blood, but instead her hands were chained to the ground. The chains dazzled and flashed a Made in Sparta: Keep Your God Here each time she twisted to get out.  

“We’ll get you a shadow bridge soon, Two-Faced—” Eris said.

“Melinoe,” Two-Faced corrected.

“—and your little gift of extended darkness… or we’ll have the Olympians crush us like roaches, but—eh—who has time to keep track of their attention. Lapis, darling henchie—” The yellow triangle held the cup up to her slit of a mouth, like a walkie-talkie. “—how’s delivering that ultimatum to my mother? Is it as nightmarish as your heart could hope there?” The triangle winked at Hemera.

Hemera huffed back.

“Sunshine and freaking rainbows, Ajaxamamma. Why does your afterlife have so many lines and so many rivers? It’s stupid.”

Lapis’s irritation came through the cup clearly. Pax wanted to dance at hearing her voice. Atë had pulled through after all—though he wished he could actually see his siblings. Disembodied, cup-voices were a close second.

A delivery to Pax’s grandmother though? With an ultimatum? Although Pax desperately tried to forget all the lectures Alabaster gave him on mythology, he was pretty sure he’d heard his mother complain that Hemera was Nyx’s favorite, despite being the least dark of Nyx’s children. And Nyx did live somewhere below the Underworld. Below the Underworld… huh, good name for a metal band.

And what did Eris need the Golden Net for if she had chained down Hemera?

“We’ve been telling Hades for centuries that his stupid single-file system is outdated. Thanatos and I tried suggesting a computerized system. I suggested we let waiting spirits wonder among the living, but noooo, too much chaos,” Two-Faced Melinoe growled.

The triangle spun a few times in the air, waving a hand at Melinoe to quiet down. “Now, Lapis, sweetie, did you find a good place to take a snack break and help Hiro extort Mr. Percy Jackson? You know he works much better in a team,” Eris said. “Our little champion got Frank’s extortion all good to go.” The triangle raised her martini glass. Upon examining it, Pax realized the stirring stick with two olives was Frank’s mysterious wizarding wand. Or, what Pax hoped was his wizarding wand. Maybe Frank just really liked wood and had a secret collection in his praetorian house.

Eris giggled. “Imagine? Just one little flame and we could squash Frank Zhang right now, leaving his friends to watch him wither, all in confusion of his malady. Oh, maybe another day.”

Pax felt his stomach drop and promptly fight with his intestines to see who could sink to his feet first. That stick was Frank’s lifeline?!?! That was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard! What—was Percy’s lifeline tied to a goldfish somewhere?

No, he knew what Percy’s was: his Bat Signal, Grover Underwood. But Grover was a Lord of the Wild now. Maybe Pax was lacking faith in his little brother, Hiro, but kidnapping Grover wouldn’t be stealing candy from a baby. It would be a walk in the park. One infested with angry dryads and nature spirits armed with deadly flowers, sleep incantations, and club-signs about saving the trees.

Like the dream knew about Pax’s concern, the scenery shifted again.

This time, he was in a small room, probably in an apartment. Although muted, Pax could still hear the thrum of a city outside the closed window. There was a heavy, oak bassinet in one corner, and a changing table beside it. Baby diapers littered the changing table. A baby monitor sat nearby. Pax could see a stray sock on the ground. This was a travesty: somewhere, somehow, a baby only had one sock on.

Weird spot for Grover Underwood to be, but maybe Camp Half-Blood was desperate for recruits and had started far younger. Or, maybe Grover was recruiting baby ecoterrorists. It was like the same thing.

Although Pax knew he couldn’t touch anything as a dream projection, he still stepped over to the crib. There was a tiny human inside. His heart did a little disco. The baby did only have one sock on, and he couldn’t return the sock. It had beautiful blue eyes, staring directly at him, despite his dream projection status.

Pax made a face at the baby and it giggled and kicked at the pink blankets around it. Girl? Unless this was a hyper progressive, awesome household, he assumed so.

Pax wished he could pick up this stranger’s baby and play with her until she laughed herself to sleep. That wasn’t super illegal or creepy, right? He couldn’t wait to have at least ten children.

All her toys were ocean themed and the twirling, dangling toy-thing that hung over her bed—it had beads he recognized from Camp Half-Blood’s crafting sessions.

Sweat broke out on Pax’s face. One of the blankets wrapped around her was artfully woven with little owls decorating the edges. Something Annabeth Chase might make. As a matter of fact, the corner of the blanket had a tiny, cursive signature that read, May Athena grant you wisdom, Love Annabeth.

Something creaked behind him. Pax whirled to find someone pushing the window open. A boy, fourteen years old, crawled noiselessly through the crack. His long, black hair slid over the window sill as he righted himself. He wore a burgundy button down shirt with suspenders. As per usual, they were lined with darts. Now though, he wore shoulder holsters over them, armed with two handguns, one much larger than the other. Those had been Kouta’s, their oldest brother’s, revolvers.

His Asiatic features broke into an impish smile as Hiro danced into the room.

“No—No—Hiro—stop!” Pax shouted.

The only one that seemed to hear him was the baby. She stopped kicking.

Pax could see how Hiro’s feet wouldn’t make any noise: he wore his acrobatics shoes. He stepped alongside the crib and stuck his tongue out at the baby.

She giggled again.

Hiro made the motion to clap his hands in excitement. Pax could tell the emotion was genuine. Hiro was struggling not to continue dancing around the baby’s room.

Instead, he withdrew a radio from his belt and set it beside the baby monitor. Once done, he reached into the crib and wrapped the baby up in her blankets. Upon noticing the sock on the floor, he—as he should—put the sock back onto her foot.

At least Hiro had manners while kidnapping.

Then Hiro hoisted her into his left arm, careful to position her so she wouldn’t get stabbed by a dart.

Pax hoped that would be it.

It wasn’t.

Hiro pulled out his brother’s huge revolver: the cold metal of the Taurus Judge gleamed in the nightlight. He tapped it on the changing table.

A low, feminine voice hummed through his radio into the baby monitor. Within a few notes, Pax recognized his sister, Lapis’s voice, singing, “I’ve got the whole world in my hands! I’ve got the whoooollle world in my hands—”

Within seconds two people burst through the door in pajamas. From his old days in reconnaissance, Pax recognized the forty-year-old women to be Sally Jackson. He assumed the man was Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson’s step-father.

Sally’s jaw dropped. She took a step into the room.

Paul’s face went blanch white. He held a handgun but immediately lowered it when he saw what was in Hiro’s hands.

Hiro gestured the revolver towards the baby. Sally and Paul froze.

“Gods no,” Sally whispered.

“What do you want?” Paul demanded. “Put her down!”

The baby made a soft whine.

Hiro bounced her a few times and nuzzled his forehead to the baby’s. He gestured at Paul’s weapon with his elbow. Slowly, Paul put it on the floor.

From the radio, Lapis said, “Hey, Dart Face, I assume that’s them?”

Hiro made a sharp, upward whistle of affirmation.

“Oh, holy Hun-Batz,” Lapis hissed. “Okay, well, hello Mrs. Jackson and Mr. Blofis. I’m sorry I can’t be there to help threaten you in person, but I don’t have the stomach to kill tiny people, so I got sent on the nicer job of trudging through the Underworld—”

“Don’t hurt her,” Sally begged. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Hey—rude, Mrs. Jackson. Do I interrupt people when they’re threatening me? Well, yes, but I shoot them with lightning. Anyway, the person you’re looking at is my dumb baby brother, and I’d think of him if I were looking at your child, so I can’t be there. Grime-licking Dart Face—I can tell you’re making that stupid face—”

Lapis was accurate. Hiro was smirking at the radio in his best, haha! You love me! look he could give.  

“Anyway, Hiro doesn’t have a little sibling. He doesn’t understand what it would mean to lose something that depends on you to live. As such, I think he could actually break her neck. That gun definitely has enough firepower to turn her into modern wall art.”

Sally sobbed.

Paul sank to his knees.

Pax couldn’t stop trembling. This was bad. This was way worse than he thought it would be, and he was a creative genius when it came to worst case scenarios.

From Hiro’s placid smile, Pax got the feeling she was right: Hiro could do it, go home, make some soba, and catch Attack on Titan’s latest episode without a blink. If his hands weren’t full, he’d probably be signing some inappropriate jokes in ASL.

There was a pause. Pax could tell, from the hesitation, that Lapis didn’t want to be doing this. She inhaled shakily. “So, please, I know the temptation to do something stupid is strong, but let’s show that your genes are smart enough to deserve going to the next generation, right? Now, our employer isn’t totally heartless. Ajaxapax and his crew want to give you a chance here.”

Pax puffed up his cheeks to pop them. He needed to stop thinking that things couldn’t get worse. That was like telling the Fates that machines would replace them in the next year because handcrafting thread was out of style.

Hiro glared at the radio. Apparently Lapis hadn’t said something they’d rehearsed earlier. Hiro kicked the changing table, making the radio flop on its side.

“Augh, fine Dart Face. You see, we’re his little henchmen, and we take our job with pride. We do our best to please him and stay on his good side.[1] And Ajax doesn’t want Percy in the fight at Camp Half-Blood…”

Pax trembled. He didn’t want Hiro to hurt the Jackson family, but Pax realized the icing on top of the cake—except it really wasn’t icing, because baked goods were delicious and this problem was not. Once Percy found out about this, Eris would succeed in causing her little war. Percy would kill him.

 Thanks for reading! :D Things are starting to heat upppp, question is, which side is going to break under the heat first?

[1] Lyrics from Kidnap the Sandy Claws. The Korn version of the song was inspiration for this scene.That and my sister calling me up in the middle of sleep hours saying, “I have the best way to kidnap a kid.” Thanks, Sis. -.-

[spinningwebsandtales]

Hi! Just read your praetorian Jack imagine, I absolutely loved it.

Is there a chance you’d be writing more for him in the future?

Thank you so much for reading and it makes me really happy that you enjoyed it so much!

I do plan on writing more for Jack I'm just waiting for my brain to come up with some ideas. So hopefully soon one will pop into my head and I can get it out there for my fellow Praetorian Jack fans!