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saltskinandasociopath · 3 years

Text

the removalist

summary: Kibum likes the way he looks. He takes care of himself, tends to the health of his skin, his hair, everything that builds up to his image. Everything is within his control - if he doesn’t want to go to the gym, he won’t. If he wants to drink sugary coffee, he will. And if he wants to do anything else that affects his body, his anatomy, he will.

Every inch of his body is his - except for five inches long, three inches wide, inked into his skin, marking him for someone else. Before he could even recognize himself in the mirror, part of him was never within his say, or even his parents’.

pairing: onew/key

notes/warnings: kibum uses he/they pronouns in this fic. there is a very, very brief allusion to self-harm.

can be found at ao3 here

When Kibum was growing up, he was told his mark meant something. It meant he would have someone who loved him, who he loved back, so undeniable that it was stamped upon his own body at birth.

The kids who are growing up now should have it different than him. They deserve to know their options. Because up until a few years ago, there was no sanctioned way to get out of a soulmate bond.

As a teenager, fumbling his way into understanding what he wanted, even he could see that permanence was not infallible. The ways to obscure it were plentiful, his first introduction to it, idle drawings in homeroom, used to play cruel tricks. Things never change, even as he’s passing 30. Adults obscure, deceive, to the same degree. Their methods are just more stylized with age - sometimes.

The “fake soulmate” scam wanders regularly through the news. Any town big enough to have strangers is worth the scammer’s time, and it’s common enough it makes the list of tips for any person newly moving.

Skepticism is a regular practice for Kibum through school, and through his first years of freedom. Slowly, irrevocably, it becomes entrenched as a tenet. Soulmates, if they are real, aren’t mandated at birth. The inability of people to even be open to this possibility will result in those same news stories running, year after year, only the names switched out.

He’s thankful he doesn’t have this romanticism, this naivete, anymore. His soulmate mark means nothing. The problem is convincing everyone else the same.

Soulmates are a blackboard, free for everyone to draw their expectations on it, and society to have a helpful slot of categorization, even control. The marks that they supposedly share have meant whatever is most helpful to the current zeitgeist, tortured out so that the people in charge can use it as they want.

So, the only reasonable conclusion to draw is that it doesn’t mean anything at all, if it can be used to justify anything.

Kibum does count himself lucky: by the time he’s found his own place as an adult, tattoos are no longer the undeniable mark of a criminal. It will be years, if ever, before they are accepted in an office, but for now it’s sufficient that they are dubiously affiliated with the artists, the rootless spirits who go outside the bounds of conventionality.

It was within Kibum’s lifetime that you could be charged for getting a tattoo deemed too close to the soul mark. He would have gladly taken that risk, if there hadn’t been a breakthrough.

Removal, free and clear. A soul mark could be lasered away - in a single treatment, if the mark wasn’t too large or ornate, and the bearer didn’t mind the time or pain.

Not an alteration, used to play games with others; not a concealment, clothing, jewelry, accessories chosen for style and caution.

Permanent removal, that had been tested patiently and carefully with soulmate pairs that had been interviewed and profiled and analyzed, before they were allowed to proceed.

It was a miracle, to have it authorized in even its small capacity. Removalists were scrutinized by officials and laypeople alike, gossiped and targeted by conservative groups. Many didn’t last long, and Kibum had never heard of any that stayed in one place for too long. Public opinion was rarely openly welcoming, and enough places were actively hostile. It was in those places where people like Kibum needed a removalist the most - even if it were only for a week.

At the news of the limited sanctions, Kibum had cried, and lied about why when his classmate asked.

There were testimonies, less-than-official transcripts from the first ex-soulmates in history. Kibum had devoured them as soon as they were made available.

The freedom to be free, one had said, and Kibum swallowed this phrase and carried it around with him.

He wears his soul mark at the shallow slope of his left trapezius. The edges of it - the bare limbs of an ugly, dead tree, crawling over the top of his shoulder - are visible only if he twists his head as far as it will go.

He had thought, even with authorization, he’d have to wait years for his opportunity. He doesn’t have the wealth to travel last minute, to catch a removalist before they pack up shop.

Luck, would seem just as fairytale as soulmates. But he can believe in luck, because, one day, his phone buzzes with a text. He cracks his neck and looks away from his current assignment.

In a universe so stupid as to have soul marks, he’ll weather the potential hypocrisy of attributing this to luck:

minho-oh: look

minho-oh: [image file, a building with a sign posted in the window]

minho-oh: [image file, zoomed in of the sign]

“opening soon - tattoo, piercing

removal-certified”

It’s only in the second image that the second line of text is legible. The first line was large enough to be read from the street, through the window of the car Minho must be in.

Minho sends him another message, a phone number. Then, the link to a website.

fraekey: see anyone inside?

minho-oh: firstly youre welcome

minho-oh: no

minho-oh: might be open want me to go in

fraekey: no

fraekey: thx

He has a project to complete, he sternly tells himself. As much as he longs to, he can’t fly across town and put himself at the mercy of a stranger. In the back of his mind, he’ll tick off all the boxes of what to take care of before he can move forward with this. In the meantime, he pulls open the site Minho sent on his battered laptop, and saves the tab for later.

--------------

He figures out the route to the shop the next morning, and sets aside time in the afternoon to travel. The plastered paper Minho had photographed is already looking damaged along the bottom.

After the website didn’t raise any obvious red flags, he had this as his next to-do.

If soul marks could be exploited for gain, then so could removals. That racket had a far more lucrative, and documented, history than a still newly-legitimate procedure.

Kibum could have been lucky twice over, if there were someone from the business just outside to observe, but that wouldn’t be the case. He’ll judge the book by its cover, and modestly considers himself pretty good at that.

The storefront is plain enough, the areas where a more permanent sign could be installed obvious. It’s not clear to Kibum if the owner would even bother: if they put up even a small public notice that they were certified, they’re sure not to last long once the local traditionalists catch wind of him. They will pull up roots, out of their own best interest.

The business may be open, as the lights are on inside, but Kibum still hasn’t spotted anyone - customer or employee. The money to make this their space has been deliberately spent on good lighting for the chairs, the mirrors to examine tattoos in-progress. Photos framed on the walls are soothing, natural landscapes that seem better suited to a therapist’s office.

Closer to the front row of windows is a waiting area, a newer-looking couch, and a table laden with design books.

All in all, it looks exceedingly normal. Kibum’s been inside a few tattoo parlors. He’s held the hand of a friend, picking out a design that would obscure the true shape of his soul mark. This looks no different at all, and he tries to visualize himself being in one of those chairs, staring at those landscape photos of mountains, of forests. There was the faintest buzz of music when Kibum first walked up that’s since tapered off. He wonders what they’ll play as he puts his future in their hands.

Like most of his shirts, this one hides the mark, so he resists the nervous, excited urge to touch it. There’s no need to draw the attention of the few strangers on the street, and risk his tenuous luck any further.

--------------

He does enjoy a good hosting opportunity, to mark the occasion, even if the company is ingracious.

“So?” Minho demands over dinner, apparently unwilling to wait any longer. “Did you make an appointment?”

Kibum himself is busy eating his food, but gives him a response in the form of a small headshake. Frustrated, Minho elbows Jonghyun, who after chattering happily about the progress of his latest project for the first hour, has succumbed to his creative sleeplessness and is dozing off in his chair.

The third and final guest, Taemin, is swallowed up on his phone, not even bothering to glance up at Minho’s groan.

Kibum forces himself to swallow before admitting, “Not yet.”

He had arrived home, intent on submitting the mandatory form, but even as the page stays open, his information filled out, he had busied himself inviting his friends over. It had lingered at the back of his mind all throughout preparation, but something else had lingered too: the memory of his grandmother weeping over the anniversary of her husband’s death, the paper-thin soil of the dark palm of her hand as it caught tears.

There’s a very small part of him who has a fondness for fairy tales. It’s picked a hell of a time to start acting up, taking advantage of Kibum’s busy excitement, creating a handy excuse, small as it may be.

“But he will,” Jonghyun murmurs, intruding and startling Kibum from his thoughts. Minho wrinkles up his face as Kibum latches onto the reminder. He nods in firm agreement, making a stabbing motion towards Minho in affirmation.

“If he’s not even saying it - “

“I’m saying it,” Kibum snaps, sipping his drink as he resists surrendering to Minho’s inquisitive face. He can only muster so much guilt on this point, for his friends who have listened to him time and time again, eagerly excoriating the institutional failings of soulmate bonds, and now they see him pondering the last leap. He can understand that, but he hasn’t changed his mind, and he won’t. He’s having a moment of perspective, shaded briefly with melancholy. It will pass.

“I’m going to make an appointment. I had to go by and see it for myself. Make sure I wasn’t endangering myself, Minho. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“So tonight, then - we pack up and leave and you open up that laptop, and you set it up. Right?” Minho is dogged when he’s on the trail of something, and he stares at Kibum like he’s going to leap out the window any moment.

“Absolutely,” Kibum says. Taemin flicks his eyes up at him, just long enough to communicate judgment.

He kicks from beneath the table, and Minho jumps up, swearing.

“Taemin, that was rude,” Kibum says as he takes a sip.

--------------

It’s a small shop, Jinki can admit. But he looks around it with satisfaction, at the conclusion of his second day open. He had a couple of walk-ins, inquiring after potential work, and his hand is itching to draw out each as soon as he’s settled.

The shop will never be big, nor will it last long. It was overly optimistic enough to arrange a six-month lease. His savings will take a hit, likely carrying him through the last two months.

With all that in mind - he’s pleased. This town may be just like any other, in that his certified status will raise eyebrows, and a few vocal objecters. The latter will grab some appeal the longer than he stays, the more it’s seen he has customers. It won’t matter that it’s simply one service he provides. He spends far more time creating art, than removing marks.

Yet it’s started already - he had to replace his poster once outright, and tape it up a couple more times than that. A normal day, with nothing he hasn’t already accepted as part of his chosen occupation.

He checks his work email one last time, and deletes the few obvious bogus requests. He bookmarks one or two for later review. Just as he’s going to close up, a new one comes in.

The mandatory fields, he reads through without a second glance, saving the contact information:

Name: Kim Kibum

Age: 31

Gender: Male

Soulmate Status: Not Met

Inclusion of Soulmate: N/A

Gender of Soulmate: N/A

Duration of Contact with Soulmate: N/A

For Jinki to work on a client, he requests even more information, a habit justified more strongly with each passing year:

Privacy: Only contact through text.

Emergency contact: Kim Jonghyun, [phone number]

Timeframe: ASAP

Additional Information: just take it off as soon as you can, you’ll be my hero

The request behind the last line is nothing unusual in spirit. Even so, he smiles at the wording and looks for the next available window towards the end of the day. It’s a grown-in habit, a way to ensure privacy.

He finds a window that works in just two days, and sends back his response.

--------------

He gets a response before he even finishes brushing his teeth, the noise of the notification summoning him.

Accepted. Accepted.

Kibum can hardly believe in luck onceover, much again twice. He immediately puts down his laptop and goes back to the bathroom. Hurriedly, he spits and rinses out his mouth, before stripping off his top. His hair is getting longer, the motion pushes some of it in front of his eyes.

He likes the way he looks. He takes care of himself, tends to the health of his skin, his hair, everything that builds up to his image. Everything is within his control - if he doesn’t want to go to the gym, he won’t. If he wants to drink sugary coffee, he will. And if he wants to do anything else that affects his body, his anatomy, he will.

Permanence is terrifyingly inflexible, and that is what a soulmate bond purports to be. People can call it destiny if they want. Every aspect of it is like static to Kibum, sparking out painful, abrupt reminders that it’s there. That it’s waiting for him to walk into its grasp.

Watching himself in the mirror, he remembers, suddenly, with vicious accuracy, a story he heard as a child. A woman, who had been caught in a house fire, was terribly burned. She was found after the fire was extinguished. Burnt beyond all recognition, until her family asked not to see her face, her clothes, her jewelry, but rather her belly. The unscarred expanse of inked flesh, soft to the touch. And touch it they did, their clumsy hands jostling the ashes that were the rest of her skin. The collapsed cavern of her chest, flaking into nothingness, above it.

The lesson Kibum was expected to learn: your soulmate cannot be taken away from you.

The lesson Kibum learned: not even death will let you escape.

Removal is a goddamn miracle. A miracle he has no intention of letting pass by him.

“Your days are numbered,” he says, pinching the very thickest part, until it’s tight and barely visible between his fingers. He flips the lights of the bathroom off before he releases, unwilling to see it stretch out to its full length again.

--------------

When Jinki goes to open on the day of the removal appointment, there’s a letter slid beneath the sliding gate. He already knows in his heart what it is, but he has to check. The first line proves his theory right, and he throws it in the trash.

It’s empty besides the single missive. He takes it out regardless, unwilling to have it stay within his space, reminding him of its presence.

He’s sure, if he had the disposition, he could make a good guess at the contents. They’re all along the same lines, blustering noise, railing on about an affront against nature.

He has one appointment scheduled, a touch-up, and nothing else until the removal at the end of the day with Kim Kibum. Still, he’ll keep himself available for walk-ins, for calls, to be there for anyone who needs him.

His sketchbook is on one of the back shelves. Grabbing it, he sets it on his lap and flips open a fresh page to keep his hands warm up.

He begins to sketch what he knows best: the mark that crawls up his back, that sits at the brink of his shoulder like a bug.

--------------

It feels like a month since Minho first alerted him to this space, a week since he’s seen it with his own two eyes, but in truth it’s been three days. Kibum looks up, finds the address, and double-checks it against his email. The gate is drawn down, the setting sun lining across its canopy.

For a terrifying moment, he suspects that his opportunity has passed, that the removalist has already been driven out of town. A breath struggles out weakly, before he forces himself to take another, more measured. He glances at his phone again. He is a few minutes early. Quickly tipping his head forward, sunglasses fall down over his eyes and land at the bridge of his nose. He settles against a nearby wall and projects his best ‘fuck off’ energy in the direction of any passersby. The gate of the store is to his right; there’s an alley to his left.

The effort at projection falls apart in a prompt half-second; there’s the sound that could be a metal gate being handled, in preparation to be lifted.

The once is enough to irritate Kibum, but it happens again, then twice. He pushes himself off the wall and turns to fully face the line of the storefront, so he can confirm if any motion is accompanying the sound. Like it was waiting for his attention, it remains silent.

When there is a noise, it’s not a metallic shaking, but the digital almost-silence of an incoming text. As soon as he pulls it open and sees the message - the hello, is this kibum? Please come in through the back in solid letters - he becomes aware of a presence standing a respectful few feet away, between him and the street.

He looks up, twists to the left, and feels a rush of satisfaction. He’s motivated by more than physical entanglements, but he can permit himself the moment.

“Sorry about that,” the man says. He gestures towards the gate. “Put it down for some lunch and someone’s having fun. Are you ready to come back?”

“Absolutely,” Kibum says, but pauses. He looks, follows the line of his arm, and sees a lock clamped, keeping the gate locked down.

When he turns back, the man looks patient, but motions him to follow.

Kibum gladly follows, away from the reminder,. He can feel his eagerness sparking dangerously high, leaping after the few minutes of uncertainty in waiting. There is already warmth working his way through him, the potent combination of new attraction and general giddiness.

Here’s an objectively attractive individual, and equally objective is Kibum’s imminent freedom. Kibum gets to meet this person, and have no such perceptions of what he’s supposed to be.

If he’s the removalist, Kibum can’t help but wonder how long his own mark has been gone.

The man pulls open the side door to the building, and Kibum realizes as he walks in that they’re the only two in the building.

“Hi, I’m Lee Jinki,” the man says simply as he turns. “Could you confirm what you’re here for, Kibum?”

“Removal,” he says. At Jinki’s raised eyebrows, he elaborates, holding back from rolling his eyes because he doesn’t want to antagonize this man. “Soul mark removal.”

Jinki smiles a little bit, and Kibum’s barest wisp of an eyeroll freezes, because that’s a disarming look. He could take down some armies with that, but Kibum tries not to let it show on his face the borderline flustering it invokes in him.

“Forgive me, but even if I didn’t have to, I might have anyway. Kim Kibum isn’t an uncommon name.”

He gestures for Kibum silently to sit down, and he goes to, retorting: “Maybe I’ll get that changed next.”

The tiniest hint of an amused snort comes from Jinki’s back, which Kibum watches appreciatively, the muscles of his shoulders moving as he rummages through a cupboard. Happily, he’s left something towards the back of one of the higher shelves, stretching his arms out. He enjoys the sight, politely looking away before it becomes creepy.

The time Jinki takes collecting the items is unhurried, but he turns his head halfway to continue engaging with Kibum.

“I do have to go over a few things first, as a mark removal. Some of them you have already answered, but I am required to administer the rest in-person.” He steps back, a small stack of items in his arms, at the top a clipboard filled with papers. At some point he tucked a pen behind his ear that wobbles dangerously as he leans forward to lay his deposit on the nearest table. “If at any point you have questions for me, feel free to ask. We can take a break whenever you’d like as well - by law, there have to be at least two appointments: this initial one where all your information is confirmed, and the second for the actual removal. Depending on the size, the removal could take multiple sessions.”

Kibum had started nodding along just in the first sentence, but stopped as Jinki continued. He knew generally that the process could be prolonged, but he was certain his wouldn’t take more than one session, not if he had any say.

“Easy ones first,” Jinki settles into a seat, popping his left leg over his right. Kibum follows his motion, settles at the edge of a chair. “Please confirm your name for me.”

“Kim Kibum,” he easily responds, but can’t help but slip. “I just said that.”

Jinki doesn’t take any offense to that, simply marking something on the clipboard.

“ID, please?”

After Kibum has provided it, Jinki copies some information and hands it back.

“Age?”

“31.”

“Gender.”

Kibum knows better than to let the question unsettle him visibly, but familiar frustration curdles up. Jinki catches what is unsaid, looking up at Kibum with cautious interest.

“If you need me to change it, the only requirement is consistency between the request and the documentation afterwards. We can revise the request at any time.”

“I’m guessing there’s not much room for flexibility.”

“There’s not,” Jinki acknowledges. He doesn’t look away or show any other signs of disturbance. “But if you’d like me to use something else while we work together, please let me know.”

“‘He’ works today. Thank you,” Kibum says, a little taken aback by the ease of his acknowledgement.

And simple as that, Jinki moves on, which Kibum would be grateful for except -

“Have you met your soulmate? Yes or no,” as he asks, he pages forward, giving Kibum a glimpse of the progress of his notation

“What happens if I say ‘yes’?” Kibum asks. He has a morbid curiosity to satisfy, but hastens to add, to clarify: “It is a no, like I said.”

“Well,” Jinki carefully looks at him, settles his clipboard so it balances across the side of his knee. “I would have to ask if they are aware of your initiation of the removal process - and if they consent.”

“Not fucking applicable,” Kibum exclaims. Nausea batters at the sides of his stomach.

There’s the soft noises of Jinki’s shifting, and Kibum is familiar with the feeling of anger, the prickled sensation of offense, but this is an overwhelming fury, more than he thinks he’s ever felt.

In his field of vision, like a knife thrust forward, there’s a bottle of water, held out. He blinks, swimming back to the surface of his own awareness.

Kibum takes it without comment, twisting the cap open and forcing himself to take a few sips.

“People must lie about that,” he can’t help but comment. He expects nothing in response, but Jinki colorlessly confirms:

“Yes,”

Kibum sharply looks at Jinki, examines the meticulous neutrality in his face.

“There’s a dead end,” he says. Jinki doesn’t squirm - Kibum suspects he’s far too solicitous of Kibum’s well-being to let himself slip in such a way - but there’s a rigidity to his jaw that’s almost painful for Kibum to imagine. “Can I see?

“It’s not a full dead end,” Jinki admits. “You can still go through with it - after some additional statements were read. I also have to keep a record of it with your signature.”

“Let me guess,” Kibum says, voice thick with disgust. He can remember every single side comment made when removals were in the news.

“‘Questionable impact on mental health’, ‘emotional instability’, ‘underresearched long-term impact.’”

“In so many words,” Jinki allows, leaning back. He takes a long, measured look at Kibum before organizing his papers neatly, clipping them tight. He then holds it out for Kibum to take; he waits for him to begin flipping through, his eyes rapidly skimming.

Like a speared fish, certain phrases snag at his gaze, holding him tight.

“Pen,” he demands.

“I can’t. I have to file this paperwork with the government.”

Kibum stands up in a huff, turning away from Jinki. The papers have spilled to the floor, creating a wake for his upset.

He’s angry at this, yes - but he is also angry at himself. He had read up on the process before, and had considered himself prepared. His feet scuff against the floor - how many others have walked this path. How many times has Jinki had to go through motions he hates, giving as light a touch as he could.

He didn’t want to give any ground for surprise, for emotional reactions, so he couldn’t give any ground to be refused. There is gratitude, that his assessment of Jinki leads him to feel fairly safe - that he will not be refused. Yet he’s exasperated, the edges of himself grated just by this short series of questions. It’s efficient - he’ll give the government that much. People must walk away.

He won’t.

“I’m fine,” he says, brittle. He sits down again. “No, I haven’t met my soulmate.”

“OK,” Jinki says evenly. He had already marked it off, and doesn’t move, just continues to look Kibum in the eyes. The papers are back in his hands; he had silently gathered them as Kibum lost himself. “In that case, all I am required to notify you is that you may be contacted by acquaintances, friends, or even distant family about their own mark disappearing. You do not have any obligation, legal or otherwise, to notify them of your own removal.”

“That’s part of it?” Kibum asks.

Jinki shakes his head.

“No. Still true.”

Kibum smiles a little.

“Thank you. Is there anything else?”

“Well, I do need to see your mark,” Jinki says wryly. “That way I can give you an estimate on how big of a job it will be.”

“And how much it’ll cost.”

“Flat rate,” Jinki corrects and stands. Kibum looks up at him, put off until Jinki lifts an eyebrow, gesturing his hand out in a question.

“May I see it?”

“Oh - of course,” Kibum says, resisting the faint flush he can feel at the tips of his ears. “It’s high on my back. Over the - “ he pushes the ball of his left shoulder forward, concaving at the collarbone. “ - goes to the front a bit.”

“Collarbone, I see. Fair warning: the skin there is quite thin. There’ll be some sensitivity, and, though it isn’t as consistent as tattooing, removals can cause some pain. If that is the case for you, it’ll be heightened here. I can administer anesthetics as necessary, though we will have to go through your options.”

“Doesn’t that figure,” Kibum says. He finishes the motion he had started to expose the mark, having paused as Jinki spoke; he pulls the shoulder of his shirt away from his body and bends his back forward so the removalist can get a full look. There’s a mirror behind Jinki, and Kibum is looking away from him, trying to spy a glance and assess if he needs to take off his shirt entirely.

Out of the corner of his eye, the tattoo reminds him of nothing so much as insect legs.

It seems fully visible, and glances back up at Jinki. His neck cracks in the crunched space between the top of his spinal column, and the base of his skull.

There’s a strange look on his face, made stranger from the unnatural angle. His warm brown eyes are newly heated, in a way surpassing his near-clinical, gently evaluative demeanor. It’s so divorced from what had come before that Kibum shrinks back, reverting back to the familiar anxiety of a stranger seeing his soul mark. A hint of motion pulls his gaze down to Jinki’s gloved hands.

“I’m sorry,” Jinki says, as Kibum watches how his hands withdraw back to his sides. He steps back, polite apology writ large in his eyes. His manner is reserved once more, but he pulls up his hand, his thumb lingering just above Kibum’s clavicle. He moves it, deliberately unresolved in the action, and Kibum understands instantly, flushing with embarrassment.

“It was an accident.”

“Oh?” Jinki asks. Kibum tilts his neck back, silently giving Jinki permission to approach again, to press his fingers clinically against the mark. He traces the edges of the lines with short, neat fingernails Kibum is hypersensitive to. No one has touched his soul mark like this - those he’s hooked up with had no fixation on it, out of design. Jinki continues, oblivious - Kibum hopes - to his thoughts. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be the first. The first for me, maybe. But not the first, ever.”

“I know,” Kibum says. He’s done his research. “Me and a friend were curious, and stupid. His hand slipped.”

It truly was an accident that led to the erratic, thin line, only interrupted by the outer edges of the tattoo. It’s a perfect shadow without interruption.

Cutting it out doesn’t work. Light scars disappear, swallowed beneath the mark.

All the ways a soul mark could be altered are well-documented, everywhere from research journals to personal anecdotes. Those who’ve lost a limb have had the ‘comfort’ of finding their soul mark migrated elsewhere on their body.

Which is why places like this, so new, are so important. Kibum doesn’t follow the science too closely. It suffices him to know that it works , that it’s worked its way up from rumor, to distasteful hypothesis, to confirmed process, and finally to reluctantly sanctioned. He can excise himself from the universe’s plan. It doesn’t matter if it hurts.

“I don’t think this’ll take long at all. We can certainly do it in a single session, if that’s your preference.” Jinki remarks, breaking Kibum’s train of thought. He leans back and falls into the chair. The wheels squeak against the tile. “Do you want to make a follow-up appointment? At minimum, it will be four days from now.”

Kibum submerges his thoughts. They are easily drowned beneath the feral, hungry urge for freedom.

“Absolutely.”

--------------

When he’s alone again, Jinki locks up. He picks up his things and gathers them into his backpack. The only sound, the only feeling in his body, is his breath.

There is a cascade of tattoos across his upper arm, trailing down the scapula. The bare branch that’s been with him since birth is obscured among the crowd, though never misrepresented.

He examines it all quietly in the bathroom, his shirt stripped off. He tries to imagine it as a bare patch of skin, watches with an odd detachment, the way his body cringes in on itself from expected hurt.

A soulmate. It was bound to happen at some point.

It would be delusional to see himself as an exception to Kibum’s outlook. And yet - he finds himself being affected by what he’s only heard of before.

When you first meet your soulmate, you won’t be able to imagine life without them.

How lucky he is, to have that axiom fulfilled in his lifetime.

He is just as lucky as all of his clients, all of those who weren’t able to say “not applicable”.

They were people who needed to have their soulmate detached from them. People who needed, not as theory, not as principle, but, as basic survival, to get away. The stories come out, as blunt, angry words, or silent agreement at his gentle suggestions.

Kibum may not have needed it in the same way, but he deserved it just as much. Jinki didn’t have someone available to pass it off to, certainly not in this short of timespan. He’d just have to do it.

For better, or for worse, soulmates were. Jinki saw many occasions of “worse”; the taste of a “better” never seemed possible. And now it’s an intoxicant, seeping into his good sense, drawing poisonous decisions in the air. An unreasonable, unethical fantasy where he somehow stays soulmates with Kibum, inserts himself into his life.

He shakes his head, sharp. He couldn’t behave like this - he couldn’t pursue Kibum.

Kibum’s first visit, being the last of the day, makes it easy for him to distract himself with errands. He calls in an order to a restaurant; he takes long, unhurried steps to calm his mind as much as possible.

Soulmates are everywhere, he knows that, so it’s not bad luck to find himself waiting in line behind a couple with joined hands. Simple probability, it is, to watch them lean against each other. Statistical likelihood, that soft kiss she pressed to her partner’s cheek, the innocent pleasure the kissed emanates in response.

As happy as they are, just as much are the ones who’ve had their marks removed. So it would be for Kibum.

He shouldn’t tell him, is his unhappy conclusion. To bring it up to him now would reek of selfishness and desperation. Neither of them made the decision to link them together. Neither of them owed their love to the other.

What bothered him, though - what lurked on his ceiling as he laid in bed hours later - were the testimonials of those who had been removed. To them, the thought of their former soulmate invoked nothing. There was no grief, no passion, no anger. They were once again the strangers they were meant to be at the outset of life. That was what gave them peace.

He wonders if he could stand it. To not only hold the laser to Kibum’s skin, but to let his eyes flicker upwards, and watch the absolute dissolution of himself in Kibum’s lovely eyes.

Jinki doesn’t know what kind of person he’d be, if he had to watch his soulmate lose all feeling for you, in real-time.

What kind of person he will be, because he must go through with it.

His last, fitful notion is a question if Kibum will know in the moment after, what has happened. And if his first feeling for the new stranger Jinki will be, is hatred for not telling him.

He sleeps, barely, distressed by dreams he does not remember.

--------------

made an appointment, Kibum texts, triumphant, while he’s still on his way home.

minho-oh: at the new one?

minho-oh: you ow me dinner

fraekey: pass

jjjjjong: name

jjjjong: cant believe you didn’t do this already?? don’t they have a list??

Kibum pulls up the list of certified removalists reluctantly. Jonghyun is right - there is a list, maintained by the government. He has never bothered to watch it closely; according to all the reports from those interested in removals, is that “new” persons are out of date almost instantly, their address vacant, at best case. Most common is that they’ve stopped practicing entirely, the list serving the opposing groups more than the supporters.

To his surprise, Lee Jinki is listed, though the address is for Goyang. Last renewed in December of 2020, and certified since 2016. He’s one of only a fistful that have been active for more than 3 years, and who knows if the others are still an option.

He shares the link to the group chat without comment, settling into his thoughts.

There has to be the exact mixture of laziness and dislike for the government oversight to operate how it is: it’s a dogged, bureaucratic nightmare to become properly licensed, much less stay licensed. It’s much, much easier to advertise yourself as certified and count on the lack of upkeep as an excuse for not being listed. Little wonder there’s support groups for victims of botched removals - or faked removals entirely. It’s a nasty operation, on par with those who fake soul marks, and easy to pull over if the soul mark isn’t in an easily accessible place. The right mixture of ink tone, embarrassment, and placement, and people are doubly punished for the crime of wanting something else.

jjjjjong: did he treat you alright??

jjjjjong: i know you dont have many options but if hes an asshole

jjjjjong: …..

Kibum loves Jonghyun, but he’s been with his soulmate for five years. He had never actively looked for his soulmate, but there was Taemin one day, added into their group. Kibum came to love Taemin too, but the idea of anyone with a soulmate, voicing small objections, is enough to rankle.

fraekey: good

fraekey: maybe better than good

fraekey: i deserve a celebration after

taemin: do u need some water

He doesn’t dignify it with a response, just lets Minho and Jonghyun’s responses remove it from his screen. If Taemin wants attention, he can get it from Jonghyun tonight. Kibum doesn’t feel like playing that part.

There’s a light inside of him, glowing stronger and stronger with each remembrance that soon he’ll go back. Just four days, and he won’t have anything but himself making his decisions.

jjjjjong: text me back when youre awake

jjjjjong: ill come with you if you want

jjjjjong: we can celebrate after w everyone

He lets himself lie back, fully relaxing into that satisfying buzz. His thoughts wander freely, dancing among what he’ll wear on his first day, something that freely and carelessly draws the eye to his shoulders - to what he’ll have for lunch tomorrow - to indulgent fantasy of challenging some faceless lover to find his soul mark - go on, find it, I bet you can’t….

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, dozing headfirst into a warm, aimless pleasure.

--------------

Three days. Jinki has three days to stick through his decision about his soulmate.

He won’t tell Kibum, but the weight of it, or the anecdotal feeling of the bond pairing deepening, makes him constantly uncertain. He finds himself arguing about it, silently furious inside his own brain at the premise. He is familiar enough with injustice, but this is a new twist of it, one that burns, and gouges within.

He passes the morning of this first day after, with self-imposed torture, refreshing himself on old clients, writing out to his acquaintances with words that only poke around what he really wants to know. It’s ironic, that what responses he will get from other removalists are also anecdotal.

Every removalist he’s known has kept their soul mark; he was not an aberration. All of them, for one reason or another, made the choice to meet their imposition. Some would call it keeping faith.

He knows better. The world is a much more complex place than that.

The shop has a couple more bookings later in the morning and afternoon, a fact he is thankful for. He is equally thankful, in a way that feels perverse to him, that there are no removal requests besides Kibum’s. He’s been asked before, a couple times: and what about you? The question always belies some anxiety, some quest from the asker to check themselves against him as a metric.

Perhaps it would’ve been best to lean into it more decisively, to avail himself of those services to find your soulmate faster. They’re a feature of all the dating apps, a way to disclose in shorthand what you’re looking for.

If you are searching for your soulmate, you can put your mark front and center in the photo, and request verification of any photos sent in claiming to be your match.

If you have a mark, but not looking for your soulmate, it’s best to steel yourself appropriately when striking up a conversation - or, worse yet, a relationship. No matter what they say, don’t get hung up on them, in case you are pushed to the side without warning. Jinki would fall into this category; Jinki could pretend.

Or he could spare himself the lie, simply put himself down in the chair, and use the laser on himself without any further dramatics. He could have done this years ago, as soon as he completed his course.

He didn’t.

When he’s on his late lunch, he pulls open his texts and emails, to see if any other removalist has gotten back to him.

No one has, except one. To his bland inquiries about immediate reactions - moments, seconds, after the last bit of ink is taken off - there is little artifice.

Honestly, Jinki, I feel for them but there’s nothing consistent. Some say it feels like nothing at all, others swear it’s like a weight off their neck. It depends on the person, the situation they’re coming from.

As long as they aren’t in a dangerous situation, I don’t think they’ll notice.

He stares at the last phrase, lets the feeling of melancholy splash gently within. Kibum won’t even notice he’s gone.

Fuck. He needs to get his mind off things, and looks for something else to do, some place to walk through and find his sense of calm again.

--------------

fraekey: come out w me already

fraekey: literally outside your place

Minho complains while still mid-hug, which is so him Kibum feels very affectionate after a long day of slogging through new client inquiries. He lets himself be led inside because his friend doesn’t even have proper pants on, and that’s something he’s pretty insistent about when it comes to dressing for the occasion.

“I have great legs,” Minho rebuts at one of his remarks. “And I would have been ready if you gave me more than 90 seconds notice.”

“Did I not say I wanted to celebrate earlier?” Kibum asks, innocence bursting apart at the strain of his playacting. The look on Minho’s face is priceless, and he can only take it in for a moment before the other man closes the bathroom door. He considers Minho’s wardrobe. “Wear your black shirt! The one that makes you look fun.”

The door pops open wide enough for Minho to thrust his hand through, finger raised up and a “fuck you, I am fun” drifting out. He sounds very affronted, which satisfies Kibum even more than the slight buzz of a pre-game.

Minho interrupts him a few minutes later, not by being dressed up for a night out (as Kibum very specifically requested in the text he sent after telling him he was outside), but by asking - yelling from beyond the door:

“When’s your appointment?”

“Three days.”

“Do you want company?” Minho yells back, but pops open the door, half-dressed with his shirt not yet buttoned. Kibum gives him a moment of silent appraisal that Minho already is anticipating, starting a slow circle so he can see what’s been put together so far.

“Acceptable,” Kibum declares, in full knowledge Minho is going to get hit on all night. “And, no, I don’t.”

It’s the same response he’d give Jonghyun, but where Jonghyun has found - and is, against all odds, pleased with Taemin as a soulmate - Minho is just as alone as Kibum. The difference softens his tone, and Minho seizes on it without mercy.

He does, at least, have the decency to wait until they’re a drink or two in, secure in their spot at the small table.

“Kibum - Kibum - please just - just promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind. About anything. Ever. I’m there,” he says intently. Minho does everything intently. It’s one of the many things that is embarrassingly sincere about him.

Kibum tries to wave him off, but Minho repeats the sentiment, with bonus obscenities to make a person (a person who’s not Kibum) blush.

His mind is wandering freely, encouraged softly with the drink and company. Minho’s fingers are suddenly at his shirt collar, adjusting it in such a deliberate way Kibum knows his mark was in danger of showing.

“You’re going to lose your excuse to touch me this week,” he proclaims suddenly. His voice is a little louder than he intended, but he leans into it, smirking at Minho’s distressed look. “No more protective lurking - “

“You can’t take that away from me,” Minho says, offended. “Fuck you.”

“If you want, honey,” he tosses back, taking a sip of his drink delicately.

Minho, furiously polite, orders another beer.

--------------

Jinki finds where his feet have taken him, and basks beneath the gentle, bluish-green glow of the large saltwater exhibit at the aquarium. He stations himself at one of the benches and leans back, his palms supporting his weight, fingers drumming against the surface. Unfocusing, the track of one large fish looks like nothing more than a mote across the surface of his eye.

His phone buzzes. There are other visitors near him, so he gets up and re-positions against the nearest wall. Clutching the phone close to his body, he opens the messages that are sent to his work number.

Ah - ah.

hi i just wanted to say thanks again for yesterday i really appreciate what you do

He pulls up the phone number and adds it as a contact under “Kim.Kibum”.

He pauses a moment, and then revises it to “Kim.KibumCLIENT”. He contemplates the tank, now sharply following the sinuous line of an eel, for a long moment before opening up to respond.

lee.art: you’re welcome. glad to help how i can

Kim.KibumCLIENT: seriously you’re doing me a favor look who you’re freeing me from

Kim.KibumCLIENT: [image file]

It’s a picture taken of another man, handsome, tall, smiling fondly and crookedly at the camera. Jinki’s heart skips in fear, before his mind catches up. He has to resist the urge to touch his hand to his mark, pull his shirt to the side and confirm it’s still there in the half-reflection of the glass of the tank.

Another image comes over while he’s still lost in thought: the same man, blurred in a motion forward, the vaguest outline of a hand pushing against his shoulder.

Kim.KibumCLIENT: he’s terrible see? you are a charity

He can’t relent, when the line is tossed straight towards him. He closes around the bait, knowing the hook will pierce him through.

lee-art: i’m not a charity

lee-art: i take card cash and arcade tokens

Kim.KibumCLIENT: where do you even get arcade tokens?

Kim.KibumCLIENT: has someone paid you in arcade tokens?

lee-art: not yet but i would accept it

Kim.KibumCLIENT: cute

Jinki closes his phone and shoves it into his pocket. He can’t do this - he can’t. He couldn’t even in normal circumstances, recognizing as any reasonable person that he’s the recipient of a drunk text. Or, at best, a buzzed text.

He makes the adult decision to turn his notifications to silent and shove it back into his pocket. He needs to maintain the emotional support he can find, surrounded by hundreds of fish.

When he pulls out his phone later to look at the photos he’s taken, struck in renewed admiration for the sights, he can’t help but open the message history back up as well. Even the smallest doubt is too much, if it turns out to be accurate.

lee-art: everything alright?

--------------

Several hours later, Kibum is crumpled up on Minho’s couch, his feet on his friend’s lap. It’s too warm, and somehow too cold at the same time, and he shoves his body around in an effort to avoid the aches of a morning that is coming too quickly.

Something is digging into his hip. He’s still wearing his jacket on one arm - it’s all too difficult to extract it. Fumbling, his phone ends up in his hand, and he traces out the unlock pattern.

There’s a dozen photos he took idly throughout the night, and a few unread messages, one from a phone number he hasn’t saved yet. He pulls down the menu to read it.

everything alright?

Someone cares about him. He presses the phone against his chest, warm against bared skin and curls in on himself again. Someone wants him to be safe.

The sweetness of the thought carries him back into sleep.

--------------

When they wake up seven hours later, their hand is stiff and cramped, and Minho is pulling at their shoulder.

“Look, you can stay if you want, but I haven’t shopped yet this week so you’re on your own while I’m at work,” he says, and Kibum waves him off.

Theoretically, they could just take the day off, being in business for themselves as a freelancer. On the other hand, they have rent to pay. The night before they had pulled up to Minho’s place with an overnight bag including their laptop, and they drag it out to set up shop after putting on some coffee.

They do have more than laziness to justify making Minho’s apartment their own for the day - their own place is across town, and Minho has a better internet connection.

Plus, Kibum still has some clothes here that Minho throws in his own laundry whenever they have a sleepover night. It never made sense to make things less convenient, and extract every sign of Kibum’s presence, for some awkward politesse.

They pass the day without much notice, until they crack their jaw in a yawn and realize their stomach has been growling for more than an hour. Food - they blink. Minho had mentioned he didn’t have food. He could eat grass off the lawn if he wanted too.

Leaning back, they fiddle around on their phone and swipe up to see some messages from clients, their mom, Jonghyun, and messages they only vaguely remember, ending with someone asking if everything was alright.

Shortly after that, there’s a photo of coral.

They scroll up and realize, with increasing horror, that they had texted Jinki’s business number.

fraekey: hey, this is kibum….obviously…..i’ve just looked and i’m so sorry about this

fraekey: honestly i’m embarrassed. but because you were nice enough to ask

fraekey: that’s just my friend, i’m sure he was just being annoying. he’d never hurt me seriously

When a response pings just a few minutes later, when Kibum’s still preoccupied with trying to remember all the details of last night, they jump to read it quickly, like it might disappear.

jinki: it’s okay. i’m glad it’s just your friend

jinki: if you don’t mind me asking what were you drinking?

fraekey: too much

jinki: that’s fair

Before Kibum can consider what to do next, another photo comes over. It’s taken from the ground level of a large tank, long strands of seaweed stretching from the floor to the surface, fish streaming from side to side. A shark - they think - looms large at the edges. There’s the smallest reflection of the taker’s hand at the corner.

jinki: looks like we had different nights. did you see the coral?

fraekey: yeah is that here?

Kibum didn’t grow up in this town, and they’re not the type to frequent museums or aquariums. Jinki is new, and his priorities were clearly different. They’re curious, and unafraid to admit it.

jinki: yes

jinki: you haven’t been there?

fraekey: no

jinki: oh ok

Kibum bites his lip, and considers ending it at the natural pause, thanking Jinki and telling him they’ll see him at their appointment. But they had enjoyed Jinki’s company, and part of them is glad they already broke the ice in a fairly harmless way. They have a good feeling, a pleasant instinct brimming beneath their skin.

jinki: sorry i shouldn’t have assumed

fraekey: no its ok

fraekey: anyway…. sorry again. my appt is at 5 right? ill make it up to you with some takeout if thats ok. i noticed there’s nothing good by your shop anyway.

fraekey: just tell me what you like and i’ll bring you something

jinki: it’s almost noon. if it works for you i’m about to take lunch instead?

Kibum huffs out a startled laugh at the invitation, warmth curling within his chest as they smile. They close down their laptop and head to the bathroom to clean up, all too aware of the stiffness in their legs from sitting the entire morning.

fraekey: let me pick since you’re new

fraekey: assuming no seafood

jinki: very tactful

--------------

Jinki fidgets quietly, unobtrusively beneath the table of the cafe. He had ordered a sandwich and drink upon arrival after he received a text from Kibum encouraging him to pick out what he’d like. He replied back simply ok ive ordered, just as the other circled around.

“Hey,” the devil themselves says, sitting down with their own food across from Jinki with a smile.

“Hi,” Jinki says back. The excitement of seeing Kibum again had overridden his determination from yesterday so easily, just over text. Now that Kibum is in front of him, he can feel it cracking apart even more. “How’d you get your food first?”

Kibum laughs, and shows their phone to him, a text showing his order had been received over five minutes ago. His eyes are sparkling with amusement.

“So you ordered already? This saves me from lines.”

“Cool,” he says. He likes placing orders when he gets somewhere, even if that’s a more efficient option. Maybe it’s the feeling of human interaction, or maybe he is as old as he feels sometimes. The look on Kibum’s face is amiable, lightly amused after something Jinki can’t put his finger on. When Jinki’s name is called, he excuses himself to pick it up, distracted with the minute beauty of Kibum’s expressive face.

When he comes back, Kibum is eating with meticulous care.

“You know, it kind of defeats the purpose of me treating you if you go and pay for yourself,” Kibum says suddenly, providing the explanation Jinki was seeking. Jinki flushes. “But that’s OK, I can tell you’re going through some stuff.”

“Really?” Jinki says, willing his voice to remain steady. Kibum’s tone is so genuinely light that they can’t possibly be aware of their bond. Jinki was overly careful when getting dressed for this occasion, seeing transparency and looseness in shirts he had worn for years without concern. “What am I going through?”

“New town,” Kibum says blithely. “Setting up your business, going to an aquarium by yourself means you don’t have local friends yet. If you had some, but the schedules didn’t line up, you probably would’ve just waited.”

“There’s nothing wrong with going to an aquarium by yourself,” Jinki says. He pushes forward, because Kibum’s face is quirking in a way that makes him want to keep talking, keep them present for as long as Jinki can maintain this tenuously casual facade “You can take as much time as you want. No one’s rushing you, or telling you what you want to see is silly. You can read all the displays like they were meant to be read, and just - enjoy it. At your own pace.”

Kibum sits back in their chair. Instead of amusement, there’s a discernible ah of realization written in their eyes.

“I think I can get that appeal,” they say wryly, and with just the barest hint of motion, indicates their soul mark.

Jinki nods, unable to speak so close to the matter. He clears his throat, and moves to take his first bite. He chews around it without looking further at Kibum, uncertain of what to do next.

“It doesn’t sound like you would ever like one,” Kibum says. They haven’t adjusted their volume at all, and Jinki is halfway towards making some gesture, when they continue, with a small, wry smile. “Company at the aquarium, so to speak.”

“I’m not - against it,” Jinki allows. Even those words come out slow, thoughtful. He hopes he can stay on top of the analogy, his own confused feelings, and Kibum’s needs. It’s a demanding balancing act, held underneath Kibum’s watchful eye. “It’s going to work for some people, but not for others. I see people having fun at the aquarium all the time. It’s not like I want to go around breaking them up.”

Kibum snorts, raises their mug to their lips. They flick their eyes up to Jinki as he continues, almost stumbling against his own thoughts.

“People think you’re lonely, when you’re by yourself. And maybe you are sometimes, but you need to find your - your company by yourself.”

“You don’t need one assigned ,” Kibum interrupts. They tap their fingernails against their mug, the thickness of it dulling out the noise. “Exactly. God, it’s so stupid, isn’t it? Presumptuous as hell.”

“It is.”

“And flawed, I swear, my best friend has this soulmate who’s going to land them in jail one day - “

The look on Kibum’s face makes Jinki himself laugh, swallowing down his half-eaten bite too early so as to avoid choking. There’s affection and annoyance and sincerity and commiseration, and he wonders at having it pointed at him: when Kibum peers towards him and opens their eyes just a tad wider, as though imploring Jinki to take their side against these people he’s never met, like backing them in this argument is all they could ever ask for.

It's a hot, undeniable pleasure to have his soulmate look at him like that, and as soon as he ties Kibum to soulmate, he can feel the grin fall off his face.

Kibum isn’t asking him anything, but Jinki can see how Kibum’s own expression changes as he takes in Jinki’s. He clears his throat and wonders when he got through his food so quickly, moves to take a drink to cover the moment.

“I was wondering something,” Kibum asks. They don’t even acknowledge Jinki’s faltering, and he thinks how many people see that for the kindness it clearly is meant as. “I saw that you were listed online and you’ve been active for a few years. That’s pretty rare, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“So what makes you different?” they press, completely unashamed. Jinki lets out a startled chuckle at their bluntness.

“Well,” Jinki starts. He considers Kibum, and he’s not sure if it’s the sense he has of the other’s character, or this alien recklessness that’s lived in him since he first saw Kibum’s mark. “It helps to know how the bureaucracy works, and where it doesn’t.”

Jinki ducks his head to drink, his eyeline sliding somewhere behind Kibum’s shoulder. He may have been able to lay the groundwork, but he can wait to see what Kibum picks out.

“That sounds very vague. Let me guess,” Kibum leans forward. Their eyes are narrowed, and the way they tilt their head in evaluation makes Jinki think of butterflies, pinned to a board beneath glass for observation. “You don’t pay for recertification.”

“I pay. You can go to jail for not.”

“You don’t file in triplicate.”

“Oh, I file in quadruplicate,” Jinki says, stone-faced.

“Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess all day? What if I have better things to do?” Kibum is flirting with Jinki, but beneath the twinkling brightness of this energy, there’s genuine curiosity, and a little bit of anxiety.

“People really underestimate just how...banal, everything can be. The worst kind of people are still human, still make mistakes. They don’t double-check on things. They don’t cover all technicalities. And I’m - really good at technicalities.”

He presses forward, before he can lose the nerve. The prospect of some intimacy with Kibum, even if it’s just the disclosure of a secret he’s kept for years, it’s intoxicating and freeing and Jinki has already made up his mind.

“And if you pay enough, no one asks how you got certified in the first place. They just assume if they can’t find your file, it must be somewhere. Because there’s always somewhere else, where the person before them, or the person before the person before them, messed something up. And people love believing the people they replaced messed things up for them.”

“I saw you on the registration site.”

“Yeah, I passed my last evaluation with flying colors.”

What he doesn’t say, Kibum seems to pick up on. There’s a heavy moment where all this bravery, this impetuous compulsion, drains out of Jinki. He wonders, dully, how quickly he’ll have to leave. It’s almost a good thing he’s made so little of a life here. He’ll miss the aquarium, at least.

“So what else is it?” Kibum asks. “That can’t be it. No one wants to get on the list that hard without something else going on.”

“Like I said. People are flawed. I make mistakes. Typos, wrong phone numbers, bad forwarding addresses.”

“No, instead of yes.”

Jinki looks them in the eyes, forces himself not to touch his soul mark.

“There was a woman, once, who told me her soulmate worked for the government. Imagine that,” for a brief moment, he can taste the imagined terror. “I could have been sending him instructions. And any good I could have done her would instantly be punishment.”

Kibum’s drink is empty. They seem to remember only after reaching for it.

“Why did you tell me this?” they ask. It’s a reasonable question. Jinki can hardly conceive of telling anyone this. And yet he has shown his heart, laid it out in front of a stranger.

He could give them the truth, right now. It’s the perfect reasoning; the explanation is begging to be spoken.

“Arcade tokens,” he says. “Now that I’ve confided all my secrets to you, I think I deserve those arcade tokens.”

Kibum doesn’t quite reward him with a laugh, but the tension has softly, unmistakably broken.

“I - “ Jinki makes a start of it. “I had a judgment of you, when we met. How you acted - about removals, and how you spoke to me last night and today. I thought the judgment was right. You seem like a good person, and not the type to run to endear yourself to the government.”

“Plus I’d get rid of my own removal, pretty neatly,” Kibum says acerbically. Jinki can feel his lips twitch, even as he twists away from the shame of this intimacy.

“You could have waited until I was done, “ Jinki presses. He can’t quite look away, nor truly return Kibum’s gaze. He’s stuck himself in a torturous midway point. “You still could, as soon as you walk out my door.”

“I won’t.”

“I know,” he confesses, breathing through the raw catch in his throat.

--------------

Kibum holds the secret that Jinki shared with them close to his heart, wondering about its purpose - at why the removalist had trusted them to share such a thing. It occupies their thoughts all the way through the night, and into the next day.

It cannot occupy their evening, however, as Jonghyun is being sad in their living room. He’s more specifically, being sad in Kibum’s lap.

They had a fight, he and Taemin. Kibum has tact, and good sense, and does not make any comment on this as proof that soulmates aren’t a guarantee of happiness. However, they are marking it down silently, certain this will come to mind whenever they face this argument in the future.

They have twenty-five texts from Jonghyun, from during the fight, to right before Kibum opened their front door. The last text read someone comfort me and it was sent to them and Minho and four other people, only two of whom Kibum knows personally.

Jonghyun had talked, and Kibum had listened, because they were his friend, but it has been past that moment for a while now. As it stands, Jonghyun is sad in Kibum’s lap, but also on the brink of softly snoring. Kibum shifts as delicately as they can to grab their phone. Taemin has texted them too, just one or two asking if Jonghyun is with them, and if he’s okay.

fraekey: hes here hes safe

fraekey: now until hes ready to talk to you

fraekey: congenially, fuck off

The second message is sent because they know the fight will end peaceably, and the two will reconcile. The third message is sent out of principle, knowing it needs to be said because someone has to be the sensible person, and it was not going to be Jonghyun, and would never be Taemin.

If it were a break-up, Kibum would have handled things very differently, but Kibum knows it’s not. Not because they’re soulmates, but because he has known Jonghyun for more than a decade, and knows this isn’t how his breakups go.

They relax as much as they can without disrupting the now-fully snoring body braced against him. Jonghyun clenches around their waist and cuddles harder.

minho-oh: hows he doing

fraekey: emotionally exhausted

minho-oh: want to hand off?

fraekey: no

fraekey: sleeping on me

minho-oh: i can come over

fraekey: u need a hobby besides this

minho-oh: emotional support is my hobby

They exchange a few more texts, with Minho finally winning the concession that Kibum will let him know when Jonghyun wakes up. Minho can pick him up and take him home, and Kibum will sleep, or perhaps work late. They’re not nearly the night owl Jonghyun is, but occasionally the urge to stay active takes them by surprise, carries them through odd hours.

Jonghyun shifts to his side, his shirt riding up. The dark lines of his soulmate mark catch Kibum’s eyes. Soft and lovingly written, they always seemed, and they still seem that way even in this light. When Jonghyun wakes up, when he stretches in front of some reflective surface, he’ll be glad it’s still there. He’ll find it a comfort, a reminder of what he has.

Suddenly irritated, he flips on the TV, lowering the volume before Jonghyun can wake up and ask Kibum to take him to the home he shares with Taemin.

--------------

Kim.KibumCLIENT: hey

Kim.KibumCLIENT: i promise i’m not drunk

lee-art: its 5pm on a wednesday i hope not

Kim.KibumCLIENT: can we reschedule? for sooner? like tonight?

lee-art: legally there is a 4-day waiting period, so we can’t schedule any sooner than tomorrow.

Kim.KibumCLIENT: can we do it earlier in the day?

lee-art: yes

lee-art: my walk-in times start at 11, if you can get there at 9 we can complete it before then so you still have some privacy

Kim.KibumCLIENT: that would be great, thank you

Kim.KibumCLIENT: i didn’t meet my soulmate

Kim.KibumCLIENT: btw

Kim.KibumCLIENT: i know how this sounds

Kim.KibumCLIENT: but one of my friends with a soulmate just spent the last three hours crying after a fight with their soulmate

Kim.KibumCLIENT: and it just made me think of how much i dont want it. you know?

lee-art: i understand

lee-art: text me when you are here and i’ll let you in

lee-art: front gate will be locked

Kim.KibumCLIENT: thanks i owe you

Jinki drops the phone onto his lap. His decision to not tell Kibum - to give one secret away, and hold tight this one instead - screams, and screams in protest.

His head lurching towards a migraine, he stands up from the couch and presses the heel of his palm against his eye. Kaleidoscoping pain bursts from beneath this contact, and he only barely stops himself from sobbing out.

--------------

fraekey: i’m outside

lee-art: be right there

“Lurking outside your business first thing in the morning makes me feel like I’m stalking you,” Kibum complains lightly when Jinki comes out.

“Guilt?” Jinki asks. “Unresolved guilt or reluctance, is my professional opinion.”

“Wow, you’re fun first thing in the morning.”

“I am,” Jinki says, smiling lightly. He pulls from behind his back a small bag and opens it to show a selection from the local conbini and what seems to be a street vendor. “Breakfast, if you haven’t had a chance?”

Kibum’s stomach growls.

“Absolutely,” he says, picking out a chapssal doughnut. “Shouldn’t I have done this for you?”

“Oh, probably,” Jinki says. “Come on back.”

Jinki leads him into the store and putters around like he’s nervous, or waiting for Kibum to finish eating. Kibum is still chewing, savoring the remaining crunchiness.

All this turns to sand in his mouth when Jinki pulls aside his shirt collar and shows him a mirror of what’s been Kibum’s bane for the last twenty years.

“Fuck me,” Kibum says. Jinki just nods.

“I thought about what it would mean, to not tell you,” Jinki starts. His voice, nervous, jumps higher as he continues. “It seemed like the right thing, but it’s possible you’d be able to tell when I was doing the removal itself. And I didn’t want you to find out that way, or to feel like I made a decision for you, without you. And telling you now - I don’t know, really. I can feel - that doesn’t matter, except to say that if I feel….that there are things that have happened already, then maybe you have too.”

“Maybe this situation is too messed up for there to be a good answer. But if either option doesn’t feel right, then the best choice has to be the one where you know exactly as much as I do.”

Now, Kibum’s mind is racing, and, now, it all goes together: the odds and ends of how Jinki has behaved around him. His catches, his pauses, the sudden changes in his mood, it all locks together in a swirl he suddenly finds himself trapped in.

“Do you love me?” Kibum says, in a rush. It’s a bit of horrified fascination, to be this close to something he’s been terrified of his entire life. He’s been around soulmates, people who are seeking theirs out, people who never want to see them again, but no one’s ever been able to explain it in a way he can understand, the feeling, the inevitability that - this person, this stranger, now holds the ultimate power over them.

His heart is thumping, and honestly he can’t say if it’s terror or not-terror, standing stark straight and frigid and sharp. It’s like casting a new light source in a room he’s spent years in, pulling shadows out that are unfamiliar, disquieting.

Jinki looks carefully at him, his eyes weighty with something that may be grief. Kibum wonders where this clarity is coming from. Some insight worming inside of him, without his seeking it out.

“I think it’s more like - I’ve always had this inside me,” as though without thinking, Jinki reaches up and touches the edges of his fingers to the mark. “This...reservoir in me. And I knew it was there, but not how - how big. How much it could flood the rest of me. And you’re - you’re someone I would - or, I could - do that for.” He staggers for a moment, processing his own disclosure. “I could.”

Jinki seems to lose all willpower with that answer, swaying forward, his whole body moving sharply there, then back, like a metronome switched abruptly off.

“But I could just as much...not. Does that make sense?” he asks, suddenly, desperately, and Kibum has the oddest sensation of hating the pity rising up in him.

“I understand,” Kibum says, while he really, truly doesn’t. There’s a looming pause teetering between the two of them.

“Did you ask me here just to tell me this?”

“I can - I can remove it,” if you want is what Kibum is hearing, prowling just behind his words.

“Not - not now,” Kibum says, lurching out of his mouth. “Let’s just - tonight. I can’t do it tonight. Tomorrow. Um - 5. Please. We’ll - I’ll be back then.”

Jinki doesn’t say anything, agreement or disagreement, as Kibum backs himself out towards the side door. His fingers land on the door frame as he goes to leave, some force making him want to take a glance back.

Jinki isn’t looking at him, sitting on the couch, head in his hands. His mark is half-hidden in shadow.

Kibum runs - he runs to his car, he slams the door. He doesn’t remember driving home.

--------------

They’re not sure what exact words they’ve used - shots done back-to-back will do that - but from the look Minho gives them at the end of the night, it’s maudlin as hell.

“Hyung,” Minho says. “Let’s - let’s go home. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Home,” Kibum groans. They’ve let their head drop to the tabletop a few too many times; they can feel grains of food pressed into his skin. It’s disgusting. They’re disgusting. “I don’t want to go home, stupid. Take me somewhere else.”

“Kibum - “ Minho starts. He sounds overly sympathetic. Kibum kind of hates him, except Minho doesn’t have a soul mate, and Kibum is lucid enough to recognize it’s annoying to be dragged out twice in one week, not even respecting their friend’s work obligations in light of their own emotional emergency.

They just can’t afford to lose Minho. They think if they have to explain this to Jonghyun or Taemin, they will literally shrivel into paper.

Paper, on the other hand, burns really quick. That’d be nice.

Minho’s still talking: something about sleeping.

“Noooo,” they whine. They’d prefer to be lost in this haze of slightly fuzzy guilt. The clarity of sobriety sounds like torture.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Minho says, and Kibum hates that they snuffle into his shoulder and start talking even more, all the way as they’re being dragged into the back of a cab.

“I have never hated anything more than the very concept of fate. What an asshole,” Kibum declares to both Minho and the driver. “And I want to hate him too, you know.”

“Who, Jinki?” Minho asks the very obvious question, and Kibum throws him what they want to be a withering look, but it feels more pathetic than anything.

“He shouldn’t have told me, but he had to tell me and I fucking respect him for that but it would be so much harder if he was a jerk.”

“There’s only room for one jerk in a soulmate bond,” Minho says, with a smile, and Kibum sniffs, too sensitive to take the joke with his normal grace.

“Sorry, Bummie,” he says placidly, kissing the top of their head. Minho is the worst, but also warm, and present, and Kibum gives him a hundred thousand mental credits for letting them wipe their snotty nose without another comment, just a largely stifled groan.

��I can’t not do it, you know?” they say suddenly. “If I didn’t - then I’m surrendering, right, and conceding to the universe that I was wrong all along. And I’m not - I’m not wrong, I’m right, it’s outdated, it’s flawed, it’s - it’s exploitative. Right?”

Kibum doesn’t mean to sound so lost when they ask: they really don’t.

Minho doesn’t answer, just lets Kibum tug his arm around themselves tighter.

The clock reads 1:45. It’s already tomorrow.

“Have you thought about, just, not even acknowledging it?”

“That’s stupid,” Kibum says.

“No, listen to me,” Minho is warm, and loud, and Kibum just wants to let it overlap them. “You are someone who’s never taken any direction. No one tells you what to do, Kim Kibum. Not one fucking person has ever managed to tell you what to do. What makes the universe any different, huh? Who says that you have to do what they say? Who says you don’t?”

--------------

Jinki starts every time his phone rings, or buzzes, or is present in his field of vision. He keeps hoping to see some resolution, before the appointment time comes, but that’s an optimism he wishes would go away.

Every once in a while, he has managed to convince himself that it would be for the best if Kibum walked away, but the lie breaks apart easily.

He wants Kibum. He wants Kibum to want him back. But that’s an untenable hope, burning him from the inside out, his thoughts an almost useless extinguisher.

The day has to pass on, and on, as he’s locked in this rigor. Before he can really process it, the clock tells him he’ll have an answer shortly.

He has to breathe in, out, in, in, in , trying hard to control the expanding circle within his chest, to force it to obey his commands. The normal functioning of his body is misfiring, jerky motions of anxiety trembling at the ends of his fingers, tension grafted tight around his joints.

The doorbell rings, and it’s only in that explosive moment, that Jinki realizes oh, he’s left Kibum outside, waiting, the gate drawn down on a typically closed day. He must already think that’s an answer. But that presumes Kibum was asking , that he wanted to hear Jinki’s thoughts on the matter.

Jinki’s thoughts do not matter, not on this point.

He opens up the door with an almost noiseless gesture, and reads Kibum’s face like a jumbled puzzle. The barest impression of what could be, the suggestion of some great potential.

It hurts, like the acid burn of swallowed vomit.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course. You have an appointment,” Jinki says. The end of his voice lifts, the indication of uncertainty, the request for resolution.

Kibum will give him an answer, he knows. Some parts of his face click together, and Jinki knows it in the instant before he opens his mouth. Kibum would never have run from this, left Jinki a victim bleeding out, open and wounded.

“I do still want to get it removed,” Kibum confesses. He forces himself to look Jinki in the eye, a trace of a plea in his voice. Like he’s asking Jinki to lend him some understanding, some forgiveness.

“Kibum…” Jinki says, and he wants him to understand everything in that word, because he doesn’t think he has any more to give. He settles for something that will never be enough, will never capture the roiling turbulence of fear-respect-sympathy-loss-nausea-relief.

“It would be my honor.”

Kibum stares at him for a moment, his face once again unreadable. He blurts out: “Can I use your bathroom for a minute?”

--------------

It’s longer than a minute that he’s in there. He spent the entire morning distracted, thinking of how he can best do this. Of how he can avoid hurting Jinki, obsessing over what he could do when he saw Kibum again. Fear for himself - the existential disquiet that’s settled in the center of him, sinking down like an ever-increasing weight.

He can imagine the sickening blend of it all, imagine it all emerging from the mark, reverberating out until he’s swarmed and swallowed up.

He’s never thought about this option before - the premise of a soulmate was absurd, but the actual presence of one? Who’s kind and supportive? What would Kibum be throwing away?

He’s not throwing away anything, is the stubborn reply in the responding breath. He’s freeing himself. He always knew it would have a price, he just never knew what the price would be.

He can do this. He can dive off this board and into the darkness of water.

When he comes out, he finds Jinki first, allows himself a moment to look at him, uninterrupted.

“Ready,” he says, and Jinki meets his gaze without flinching. He waves him over, the device of his removal close at hand.

He hasn’t made any motion, even after Kibum sits down, and he realizes, a dart of pain glancing across his heart, he’s waiting for Kibum’s permission to touch.

Starting to move his shirt aside, Kibum holds it away long enough for Jinki to take control, to pull the fabric away and secure it down.

Jinki picks up the tool and says, achingly polite. “I’ll be starting where the mark is darkest. If there’s any pain at all, please let me know.”

“Does it hurt?” he can’t help but ask.

Jinki doesn’t look up at him at first, but Kibum catches how he breathes in. When he looks up, Kibum memorizes the look in his eyes, unwilling to let shelter.

“I won’t let that happen.”

He sounds so sure of himself, so resolute, that Kibum struggles not to flush at his respectful touch.

--------------

He puts the tool to Kibum’s skin, and he pulls the trigger.

Fire flares beneath his skin, and it takes all his control to not pass it along to Kibum, to not let it show in his face. He ducks his head down, closer than he has to be, so all that consumes his vision is the slow eradication of Kibum’s mark.

“Feeling okay?” he means to ask, but Kibum is already asking him the same.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he lies, and continues on.

--------------

Kibum can’t help but watch him, until he’s overwhelmed with shame for doing so. He wouldn’t appreciate being watched so closely if he were in his shoes.

If he were in Jinki’s shoes, though, he’s not sure he could even do this.

He forces himself to look anywhere else, and distantly processes that, true to Jinki’s word, there’s no pain. But every once in a while there’s a bare, acrid noise, and if Jinki doesn’t want to acknowledge it, he won’t either.

He expected more to it - that knowing it was Jinki, knowing the context - would change the sensation. But there’s almost no sensation at all, just the buzzing whine of the tool against his skin.

He chances another glance at Jinki, the way he’s focused singularly on the task at hand, as though nothing in the world could intrude on him at this moment.

--------------

The more he works on it, the more of the dark ink he removes, the more certain Jinki is that, for him, it is love.

Jinki has tried to tell himself it’s not, that he couldn’t love someone he’s never met, no matter what his parents have told him. But with every flaring ignition of light, he can feel the pain curdling within his chest.

But what isn’t love, if not the willingness to sacrifice? So he’ll sacrifice his own bond, for Kibum’s happiness.

He has lightened the main branch well enough, but Kibum’s skin is showing signs of redness, so he moves to the thin tendrils. In the moment he moves his hand away, he thinks of the ex-soulmate of one of his customers, looking for them - looking for the one who didn’t want him anymore, and looking for him: Jinki, as the person who severed their bond, who hadn’t finished his lease yet. He had stood and received his anger in their place.

It feels gross, a slimy growth on his heart, to have some connection with that man who threw a chair, swelled over with rage.

Belatedly, he can understand the smallest commonality between them, what it could have been like for him to wake up and realize that the person you always trusted would be there - didn’t want you.

What helps allay the distaste, is that this is their only shared feature. He won’t mistreat Kibum. He won’t lie to him, or manipulate him. He’ll do what he asks, gladly.

Silently, he continues on in his work. He knows Kibum keeps taking glances at him, but he keeps himself from looking up, focused on giving him what he wants. That’s the better expression of respect - to give him the room he wants.

--------------

The time it takes passes in a mishmash of overly fast, and slow-motion.

“There,” Jinki says. He leans back, and Kibum catches the aborted motion of his left hand, the way it jerks.

“Can I see it?”

“Of course.”

Jinki reaches for a small handheld mirror, going to stand, but Kibum stops him, lifting his own hand and stopping just before it reaches, improper, for the curve of Jinki’s hip.

“I mean - yours,” Kibum says, the ugly presumption of it tripping clumsily. He knows exactly which part of him is creating this wildness: the one that had split off, denying to the very end that Jinki’s mark was an exact match to his. If it’s still there, it insists, then this was all a mistake, the similarity leading them to unnecessary panic. He’s not sure if that’s what he wants. Yet he needs to know, all the same.

Jinki pauses and sits back down, slowly. He rolls his shoulder forward, pulls his shirt collar away. It is just enough for Kibum to recognize the newly bare skin he had memorized in a lightning moment of shock.

Kibum spins around, spies the mirror on his own, and goes to grab it. There’s a pang of pain with the motion, but not enough to stop his fingers from closing around it.

“Here,” he says, brusk, shoving it at Jinki. “I can look at mine later.”

Jinki accepts the mirror without protestation, but he makes no motion to use it, instead looking at Kibum, silent and prolonged enough that a pang of regret distends within.

“This seems like it’s more for you, than for me,” he finally says. The placidity of his tone is unnerving, like the portent of some storm on an endless sea. “I’d rather not. Here -”

He flips the mirror around, and stops looking at Kibum, a cessation that hurts Kibum more than he thought it would.

Mechanically, he accepts it and uses it to angle. His skin looks red, and he has been burnt clean of his mark. Not a millimeter of it remains, and he is both grateful and overwhelmed at the sight. The mirror shakes in his grip, almost slipping loose.

“Kibum,” Jinki says quietly. Kibum stills, not quite able to look at him yet, pulling down the mirror just enough to settle his gaze at Jinki’s neck. His apple bobs up and down; his teeth chew at his bottom lip.

--------------

The small “huh” that falls from Kibum’s lips, finally seems to indicate his acceptance. Released from his pulling grip, his shirt skids back to half-cover where his mark once was. The skin there is still red and sensitive, and Jinki is holding himself tight, to keep himself from making any reckless motion, the reflex of his own pain still throbbing. It’s the urge to offer some comfort or support to this person he’s known for a week, and been connected to his whole life.

Kibum lets the mirror drop, and drags his eyes up to meet Jinki’s at last. He can feel his smile, feel how anemic it is, and hopes it looks better than it feels.

“Thank you,” Kibum says. Despite the awkwardness, the removal, Jinki can still feel it, like the ragged wisps of a tissue, the sincere feeling underneath his words.

He wonders how long it will take for Kibum to forget him.

“Have dinner with me,” Kibum says in a rush, looking directly at Jinki’s eyes, a sharp turn from how he had avoided meeting his eyes for the last few minutes. Jinki is so consumed by his own thoughts he hardly understands. He still doesn’t, even as the words register.

“Sorry?” he responds. “I - “

“I was thinking,” Kibum bursts out, swinging his legs so that he’s sitting upright. “Ever since you told me, I’ve been thinking about what I felt about you. Love would be a lot to say, right now. But whatever I did feel, and how much I liked you, and how much of that was me, or was this,” he moves his shoulder up, the redness of his skin glowing, “But either way I still felt something.”

“When we were talking about how stupid it all is, I meant that. And I still think it’s fucked to feel like you have to follow something from universe to decide who you can be with, but I’d just be following another arbitrary thing to hear that - to see your mark - and have that tell me who I can’t be with. So - have dinner with me. Go out with me, because - I want to do what I want to do. Be with who I want to be with, because that’s what I want. I can’t just throw away that I like you, Jinki, that I like who you are, that I want to spend time with you, on some rigid idea that you absolutely could never be who I want.”

At Jinki’s stunned silence, he seems to lose a bit of his bravado.

“I don’t want to impose on you, and it’s not a commitment. But, god, you get it, you really do, otherwise you wouldn’t make all this effort to do this for people. You’re every day letting people say fuck the universe, and I just wanted to keep doing what we have been doing: getting to know you, talking to you, just...being around you.”

“If you don’t want to eat something, then I don’t know. Take a walk with me instead,” he tests a smile, the lightest baring of teeth. “Watch the sun set. Or if you just want to take something home, it’ll be my treat. Anything, I guess - I just want to thank you, if nothing else, for not just this, but being someone I could talk to.”

Jinki wrestles his face into some acceptable expression, unsure how to parse Kibum’s invitation. A part of him wonders if he didn’t do the process right, if somehow, after so many, he missed a critical step and that’s what’s informing Kibum’s decision. That would be a betrayal of what Kibum asked for.

But if it’s not - that’s the sensible call, Jinki is well-skilled at this by now, and he can feel the absence of it on his skin still, even if he rejected looking at it directly. He took away the soul mark. Kibum is asking of his own will.

He wants to say yes - he wants to paper over the hurt before he can ever really process the damage - but it’s so much. And he is buckling beneath the weight.

“No,” he says. It surprises Kibum too, by the brief flash of hurt on his face. “No, thank you.”

“Oh,” Kibum stutters, and Jinki knows, very suddenly, that he’s broken his heart, but he hides it in an instant, puts it away into some back pocket. It will go away - Jinki knows it will. This isn’t a soulmate. The pain will pass.

And just as he’s thinking it, it seems to happen. Kibum’s face closes off into a beautiful veneer, the barest flicker of loss in his eyes before it disappears, flattened out.

“I understand,” he says, warm in an utterly reasonable and polite way. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Jinki says, and he can tell he’s nowhere near as controlled as Kibum is, but it’s passable enough, enough to carry Kibum out the door, to leave Jinki alone in his store, scrubbed raw of emotion.

--------------

He throws himself into this work.

They both throw themselves into their work.

Kibum picks up more freelance work than they can do in a reasonable day, preoccupying themselves as best they can. On the days where they don’t, where their friends break through, they throw themselves into that, noisily showing they’re fine. They have only ever been fine.

There are only so many removals in a given city. It takes time for people to trust, and Jinki intends to see himself through his six months, and then move on. Regular tattoo requests are booked. Regular removals are booked. He responds to his colleagues and makes small talk with customers, filling up all his social needs. When he can, he becomes a regular visitor at the aquarium. The docents learn his name, share with him the minutiae of the animals they care for. He learns the shark’s names, recites them beneath his breath as he watches them loop the tanks.

--------------

It’s been three weeks, and his skin has lost the redness, when Kibum notices a small dash of ink on his wrist. He rubs at it, at first idly, then more seriously, when what he takes as a pen mark doesn’t rub off.

He puts it to the back of his mind; he showers. He scrubs at his skin until it’s red, red, red, burnt and ragged and the mark is still there.

And when he wakes the next morning, it has grown, a twining, pretzeling pair of lines that have thickened the next day.

He throws up, hyperventilating against his knees, for a half a day. His phone fills up with unresponded-to texts.

Is this what has happened? Is this something the universe has deemed for him, some secondary replacement for Jinki? When he denied the best option, when he was determined to go down this path, who has been tied to him now?

His fingers shake over his phone screen, over the phone number he saved for Jinki.

What is there even to say? Why would his first instinct be to talk to him?

After a day when Kibum takes a photo of the new soul mark, near fully illustrated, only the latest in a four-day progression of images, Jonghyun lets himself in in the middle of the night. He finds Kibum lying half-asleep, half-awake on his couch, his TV blindly playing on from the program he had put on hours ago.

He had told them all about Jinki, after the celebration he had promised to have. His heart couldn’t help but spill out to Jonghyun the next morning, once the night had served its purpose.

“Kibum, what’s wrong?”

With a half-huff, half-miserable groan, he tilts his arm wrist-up and shoves his sleeve up. He twists his arms around so that there can be no mistake. Shock writes itself large across Jonghyun’s expressive face.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Kibum agrees.

“What do you want to do?” Jonghyun asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Jonghyun says. He settles down next to Kibum and tugs him until he falls against his slighter frame. “We’ll just wait then. Minho’ll bring some food in a bit.”

“How do you know that?” he grouses.

“C’mon, Kibum,” he presses a kiss against the crown of Kibum’s head. “I’ll call him in five minutes and he’ll be here in one. Probably with enough food for the next two weeks. He’ll haul his whole fridge over.”

He can’t really argue with that.

And, as foretold, his apartment is invaded the next day. Minho does come over, Taemin towed in his wake. Jonghyun has enough decorum to make a conscious effort to avoid fluttering against Taemin’s side, but Kibum still catches glances of their intimacy over the weekend, the easy touch of hand to hip, the brush of a kiss against a cheek.

In the dead of that night, when Jonghyun is curled up on the couch, pen in hand, notebook lamplit in the shadows, Kibum goes to him, and poses the question:

“If you woke up tomorrow with a new mark, what would you do?”

Jonghyun inhales, and seems to stop his initial response. Instead, he folds his head down, rolling it back and forth until Kibum hears it crack.

“I don’t know. I want to say that I wouldn’t change anything - I’d still love Taemin, he’d still love me. What’s on my body - or what’s not on it - doesn’t change anything.”

“You believe in soulmates,” Kibum says, irritated. “You’ve been the poster boy for years.”

“I believe in Taemin,” Jonghyun says.

Kibum scoffs.

“You were literally crying in my lap about him last month.”

Jonghyun shrugs.

“The people you love aren’t flawless. Taemin is a mess, sometimes. So am I. The point of being together isn’t to pretend that we’re not. Our messes - they sync up. Imperfect instruments on the same key.”

Jonghyun and his damn poetry, Kibum thinks in the middle of his sniffle.

“What do you want?”

Kibum squeezes his fingers into a fist, watches the knuckles tighten beneath whitened skin. What does he want? He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to throw up and rip off his skin and burn. He wants to be at peace. He wants love that doesn’t insist on itself.

Jinki. He wants Jinki.

“I can’t,” he says. There’s a numbness at the ends of his toes. He makes them flex, feels the pinpricks of blood flow. “I can’t have who I want.”

“I didn’t ask who you wanted, Kibum,” Jonghyun corrects him. “I asked what you wanted. You can’t figure that out if you’re still mixing up the two.”

He is right, and Kibum can recognize it. The only way to move is forward, and it’s only going to hurt more the longer he stays where he is.

A fresh round of tears starts to rip through him, and Jonghyun shifts them both up, bracing Kibum’s weight against his, pulling his chin against his chest, his hair shifted beneath his jaw. The sound of his humming is felt more than heard, the tune drawling across Kibum’s skin, raising the soft hairs of his arms.

--------------

Jinki, too, is watching something new bloom across his skin. And from the first moment, he knows it’s not the mark he shared with Kibum.

He knows he will not be what this new person wants. He knows he will not be what this new person deserves. He has broken, irreparably, in the doing, and he is already thinking of who can remove this for him. His hands are shaking, now. He cannot trust himself to do what needs to be done.

It is this maelstrom of thoughts that keeps him moving forward. When he looks at himself in the mirror, when he joins a client to examine the new art on their body, he knows the calm on his face is an outright lie.

And then one day -

Kim.KibumCLIENT: i’m outside. if we could talk for a minute.

Kim.KibumCLIENT: i’m not asking you out again

Kim.KibumCLIENT: but i need to talk to you

It’s an echo, a discordant memory, that leads him outside, that has him seeing Kibum as though they were still strangers. A twinge: they were still strangers. He had made that happen, confirmed it when Kibum tried to have it both ways, as painful as it was.

He ushers them back; he takes the time to draw some of the shutters down, to dim the lights so that this moment is as private as it can be. He is cognizant that this could give the wrong idea, but he tries to make it obvious that Kibum can leave at any moment they choose, of their own free will.

The sideways glance of free will rakes across his emotions, bursting them to sharp life before he tamps down on them, brutal, efficient.

Kibum’s wearing long sleeves, on a rather warm day, Jinki notes - bracelets, too, silvery and sleek and new.

They’ve started talking, with a slow cadence that feels like the rumble at the top of a snowy mountain. And Jinki can only watch, marking the path that leads down to him, helpless before it.

“Firstly, I’m sorry about asking you to look at your removal. You were right. I was asking for myself, and not for you, and I was only thinking about myself. I can be selfish, you know? But I didn’t mean to - I didn’t want to hurt you. I got caught up in all the bullshit of it. On top of that I asked you out when you had just done this - this huge, unbelievable thing for me, this selfless act, and I didn’t give you time to deal with it. And I should have. So - I’m sorry.”

“And I’m pushing my luck coming to see you again, when you probably would rather never see me again,” they press on, a blink of agony rippling across their face that, perversely, makes Jinki’s heart sing, “But this thing happened, and you’re the only person who - who knows - who could give me the help that I need - “

They cut themselves off, sharpening the end of need like a knife - and struggle with their bracelets. Long, skillful fingers have turned to trembling.

For Jinki, all the knowledge he thought was ripening, unwanted, turns suddenly into something else entirely. It wasn’t what he thought at all, and he has to fight to keep himself upright as they succeed in taking off their bracelets.

“I need you to take it off,” Kibum is saying. “I don’t want to find the other person who has this. They’re not - they’re not you.”

“And I know you’ve already - you’ve already said no. But I can’t pretend like it’s not still hurting me, to not - be that person for you, but I just can’t be that person for someone else, even if I wanted to. I can’t ask you - god, I can’t ask you again to remove this for me, but I don’t know anyone else who does this. Who can help me try to move forward.”

“Kibum,” Jinki says. His mouth is dry, and all he can say again is hoarse, and plain: “Kibum.”

“See?” Kibum says. They roll out their wrist; the shirt has long sleeves, but a loose, wide collar. Their shoulder is as naked as when Jinki last saw it.

But now there are delicate lines on their wrist, a single petal in bloom, a burst of veins crackled together.

Jinki reaches out to examine it, his own hand palm-down, and he says,

“I like it,” he admits. He lets the smile he has been holding back swim to the surface, burst out in all its need to express his joy. His relief, as he turns over his own wrist.

A striking similarity, at first glance. At the base of his, he had noticed the gentle shadowing, the suggestion of continuation. And, here, in Kibum, he finds it. Not a match - not a soulmate, not as it has always been known.

No longer an always, he thinks, giddy, anchorless and floating where his joy takes him.

--------------

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” Jinki says. He stills wears a smile Kibum didn’t think he’d be so lucky to see again. He ducks down, but Kibum can still see the edge of it, the very suggestion of its overpowering happiness.

It feels like electricity crawling on their skin, holding their wrists in such close proximity. It must be their imagination, but in a week of impossibilities, Kibum is willing to flex. Jinki is examining their marks closely, an expert’s eye for details.

“They’re not identical,” he finally says. Kibum’s heart drops, but Jinki’s hand closes around their wrist. He no longer wears a wide, dizzying smile, but a softer one - one that asks for Kibum’s patience, promises him kindness.

“Look,” he says gently, and he moves so that their wrists are touching, their palms facing away in a mirror. They’re not matching, no, but the lines feed into each other perfectly, the base of one petal unfolding on Jinki’s skin, the edge of it on Kibum’s.

Kibum falls into silence, their mind whirling with suppositions and theories and fear. Hesitatingly, eager, wanting:

“What does it mean?” they say.

Jinki’s touch is reverent. He speaks with consideration:

“The ones we’re born with, the ones that have matches. I’ve known for a long time that people aren’t supposed to spend their lives together, just because they have them. You know that, too. But they do mean something, like they’re - like they’re signs. But not all signs are meant to bring you together. Sometimes signs are cautions, or informative. There’s something that reverberates between people. It - it resonates and people want to think that this person will be everything they ever dreamed of. But it just means that this person means more to them than most. It’s just a beginning. But people want it to be the end.”

“They want finality. But - look at us,” he continues, somehow even gentler, like he has an infinite capacity for enduring trials, and Kibum - Kibum is his antithesis, an absolute impossible person to ask to wait, the need bursting out of them, and that makes sense, rushing around Kibum like a reassuring whisper. What better to build something together, than a balance and counterbalance.

“What we had was one type of sign. And this is another, to show, maybe - “ he takes a breath, and Kibum thinks it’s the bravest thing he’s done, in several weeks of unbelievable courage - “This is the real sign to not be alone.”

“Jinki,” Kibum starts, and perhaps they finish too. There’s nothing else to say, no one else to be.

“Kibum,” Jinki returns, a little wry humor scratching at the catch in his voice. He’s crying, Kibum realizes, and maybe Kibum is too.

They could be doing much better things, they decide in a rush, throwing themselves headlong into this, because - because, fuck, they tried so hard to prove the universe wrong, they’re going to give it a chance to prove itself right.

They surge towards Jinki, holds his head between their hands, his chin against their palms like a tealight, and it’s another rush of movement, the tide scattering joyously against rocks, Jinki moving against them now. The distance between them vanishes in a moment, their lips meeting.

Jinki vocalizes something in his throat, some knotted-up ball of hope and fear and expectations bursting apart into separate threads. The fear rushes away, the hope lays out, no longer contained and compressed away. Expectations, surpassed, dwarfed.

Kibum kisses him. There’s nothing else to be said. They kiss him, and Jinki kisses them back. One of them walks their embrace to the couch for waiting clients (it’s Kibum - it must be, because Jinki can’t feel the floor beneath him), a clumsy series of motions to sit. Kibum has their hand on Jinki’s waist, their other hand still poised beneath Jinki’s jawline, keeping time with all the smallest motions of pleasure.

It’s only because Kibum moves, their lips dotting up his cheek until they are a breath away from Jinki’s ear, that they hear him at all.

“Go out with me,” Jinki asks softly. “And break up with me whenever you want, OK?”

He has fallen backwards, supine fully, bracketed by Kibum’s arms, looking up at their face, the both of them wondering at the strange whims of the universe. The goddamn drama of it all.

“OK,” Kibum agrees. The sweetness of Jinki’s request disarms them, leaves them defenseless and vulnerable. “To both. But stay with me first. Stay.”

Jinki nods, sealing their agreement in silence.

With this, they relent simultaneously, their bodies bowing and arching, into a resumed series of kisses that Kibum hastens to plant against Jinki’s electrified skin.

--------------

(The story makes Jonghyun cry; Kibum can see it already, and when it comes true, Jinki hardly knows him and goes to comfort, confusion not enough to override his nature.

Taemin is there and is Taemin; Kibum wouldn't ask for anything else.

Kibum is swept up into Minho’s arms and he squeezes him back, relenting, relenting, because it’s been a hell of a month and he’s been a hell of a burden, perhaps, but he made it through. Jinki held his hand all the way up from the car, and Kibum only dropped it when he had to. He knows it will still be there at the end of the night.

Jinki will hold out his hand again and again, only firstly this weekend, when Kibum is his company at the aquarium, trying mightily to understand the appeal of sharks.)

#shinee fic #onew x key #onkey #onkey fic #salt writes

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pleasancies · 3 years

Text

First Shot

wordcount : 2k+

content / warnings : futuristic whump, lady whump, defiant whumpee, electrocution, hunted, animal attack, starvation, human experimentation, animal death, graphic depictions of violence, eating live animals, leg injury

I was planning for a simple running off from wild animals story but stuff happens. The story got dark. Tag : @summer-of-whump

***

Previous Chapter

Avis woke up with a shiver. Wind gushes through her hair. Little thorns prickled at her back. She tried to heave herself up, but there's a twinge of pain in her arms that runs deep into her bones. It was dark, but she could smell the rain, hear the sound of leaves rustling and crickets chirping. She needs to get up. Keep moving. This isn't the lab anymore. She has to go back. Avis slowed her breathing. Her finger clawed into the ground. Grass brushing against her palm. With a count of to three, she heaved herself up. Pain flared on her arm. She grimaced. Pushing her body to stand was easier.

Every step was uncertain. Bare feet meets fallen twigs. The sound of it breaking is almost deafening. She felt around. Trees, moss, and stone. Avis was afraid she's going around in circles. But she's free, as baffling as it is. Last thing she remembered was the lab. The oxygen mask. John and Lisette. Fenrir.

Did they left her her because they thought she's dead? The test, whatever it is, was a blank in Avis head. Possible memory wiping technology? Too many question marks. Potential threats to report when she managed to get back to her friends.

"Hello, Miss. How are you feeling?" The voice made her jump. She turned her head, frantically looking where it came for.

"Down here. Look at your feet."

Sure enough, there's an ankle bracelet. Avis did the sensible thing to do, prying at it so it falls off. It was glued to her legs.

The voice speaks again, "This is the test we were preparing you for. Don't worry, the serum will kick in soon and fingers crossed it works. Now, I'd like you to—"

"Go fuck yourself, John." Avis spat. She grabbed a sturdy looking branch. Clenching her jaws, she forced it between her ankles. Avis let out a small yelp, as the twig tears apart the fused flesh and machine. Drops of blood falls along her toes. Still, she kept going without hesitation.

A nasty crackling noise send Avis movements into a halt. Her entire body jerked as electricity pierced her ankles and burned her veins.

"If you tried to break free then I'll zap you again. Got it?"

Avis tried to speak, but her teeth was still chattering from the aftershocks. She could hear Lisette murmuring on the other side. The girl was too far from the mic for anyone to clearly hear.

John went on, "I really don't want to do this. The more we hurt you, the more likely this project fails and you die. But you took things to an extreme."

"I'm a Heretic, I have to do what I have to do," Avis muttered. Her ankle cuff buzzed a noise that might have been an exasperated sigh.

"I urged Professor Clayton to release you without the shock bracelet. I don't want to reinforce your group's indoctrination that we're sadistic tyrants. But I guess he's right. You and your people are beyond saving."

"I don't need a baby-faced intern who looked like he could die if he lift a potato sack to save me."

Lisette's laugh can be overheard from the speaker.

"That goes for you too, Lise. You're complicit in this," John gruntled. "Fair enough, answer me, Miss. How do you feel? Avoid using profanities, please."

"Like I've been electrocuted, dear boy."

"Other than that. Emotions, physical conditions, list everything."

Avis frowned. It would be so easy to flip him off. Why would she answer to some milquetoast intern about how she feels? The boy might never even starve in his life. Her jaw and gums hurt. After the shock, her ankle felt strangely heavy. There's a veiled threat in his words. They injected her with something.

"How do you feel, Heretic?"

Do you even know my name?

She pick herself up, looking at the distance. Now she could see faint outlines of the trees around her. Faint glints of light hidden in branches. A camera? Avis stared at it.

"Hungry."

"Good, good. How about your emotions, and your perception. Compare to what you see and hear when you first wake up to now."

"A-agitated. Pissed. I want to kill you. My left arm hurts. My teeth hurts." Avis stopped, composing her thoughts. The tip of her fingers felt foreign. As if it belonged to someone else. She wondered what Sherman are doing now.

"Miss."

"Sorry. I'm thinking about my friends."

There's that buzz again. She could discern it. General interference and background noise. Keyboards clacking. Pen scratching at paper.

"Why do you think of them?" John's voice sounds so clear. Sickening. Avis could hear his breath. It was slightly shallow. Did this kid has ashtma? The image of him wheezing to death as she slowly crush his windpipes made a tight sensation in her belly.

"Dunno. Can you stop talking? Your voice makes me want to gnaw at my ankle."

"Alright. Answer my question first, Miss. Any significant change in your senses. This could be vision, hearing, smell, anything."

Avis point at the hidden cameras, "One, two, three, four, there might another one over there, but I need to come closer."

She put a hand on her stomach. It's like there's a hole in there. Somehow it reminds her of the well in her parents' house. The twinge on her arm had dissipate, replaced by a dull throb coming from the inside of her gums. There's just so many things she doesn't see or hear before. Hard to keep track. Her thoughts were jumbled, running all over the place. John muttered a curse.

"John, I thought you said there's no need for profanities."

"You're not supposed to hear that. It's the serum."

Avis froze. The buzzing thoughts stopped. Cold panic gripped her chest. The forest she's starting to feel familiar with becomes unrecognizable. As if someone had brought her to a mirror world. The trees and rocks similar, yet still a twisted replica of itself. How could she not notice?

"What did you do to me?"

"It's only temporary, calm down."

She hissed. Avis took a start, crouching on the ground. The cameras are more than blinking lenses. She could see the machines, the holes it's stuck to. She lunged at the closest one. Her thoughts blend into a murky set of instinct and sensation. Lisette shouted in the background. Avis bit at the lenses, and pulled. She bashed it on to the trees. Stray cables flew.

There's still more eyes watching her. A few trees away. She took a step back, lowered her body, and—

An ear-piercing scream echoes throughout the woods. Her vision went dark. Her body convulsed. Avis fell. She grunted as her back collide with ground.

Still pumped with adrenaline, Avis practically jumped from the ground. Her head flinched back before she speaks. "C-coward! Where are you!"

Another shock. Blood leaked from her ankle. Avis curled in on herself. She blinked away her tears.

No, I'm not going to die like this!

Her body wailed in protest as she heaved herself up. They tased her again. And again.

She lay there for a while, afraid to move. Her fingers twitched. Something had grown in the tips of her nails.

"You're allowed to move now," the voice from the bracelet said. It was deeper. Older. "Please stand."

Getting up was a chore. Avis almost flinched as she expects another sting. One of her feet feels heavy. She leaned at a tree, trying not to move so hard. The gnawing feeling at her stomach is stronger now. She was still shaking and her ankle hurts everytime the skin touches the bracelet.

"I'm so sorry for ruining this Professor," John said.

"Don't be sorry. She's still awake. Project Fenrir, would you please tell me about your injuries?"

Avis grimaced, "You burned my ankle."

"How about your hunger?"

She wondered what Professor Clayton looked like. Until now the man only exist as a name John and Lisette talked about. How big is his head? Does it fit into her mouth? Avis shook her head. Disturbing that the serum made those thoughts came so easily to her.

"You didn't see me eating did you?"

"Aside from the camera I guess not."

"Thought so."

Maybe eating the head is unwise. It would satisfy her anger but it might hurt her jaw. Avis hope this professor is fat. More meat to fill her sick.

"I want to eat you, old man."

"We'll feed you. Soon. This is your test. We will send you a moving obstacle. Defeating them will grant you food. The wound in your ankle might hamper your movements, but if you're as skilled as your file suggest, I believe you can survive them. Good luck!"

Avis cursed under her breath. They left her no choice but to obey. She put her finger into her mouth. Her teeth had grown. Sharp edges and bigger fangs. She hoped the change isn't too drastic. Her friends would have a hard time finding her if she looked like a monster. James kids' would be afraid of her and she couldn't be their nanny anymore.

She should keep moving. Whatever that moving obstacle was, it's not going to be pretty.

Despite her limp, it was easier to navigate the forest. She had adjusted through the dark, and the uneven terrain wasn't so rough after you noticed it's patterns. It was an artificial forest. For miles there was no animal or a single fruit growing in the trees. The ground won't be too altered by the vegetation.

James had taught her once about the fake forests. The trees are real and organic, everyone knows that. But what's unsettling was it's history. Years ago, when the seeds of the trees weren't even made. The Empire was given a choice of which artificial plant variety it's going to use for conservation efforts. They chose the ones unable to bear fruit. The official documents said it produce oxygen more than the others. Besides, most of the land animals that can survive without human intervention had gone extinct. But the thing killed nearby wild plants. Soon enough, the main source of food are from corporate farms and their trademarked seeds.

Avis thought about James while she aimlessly walked in the forest. How he might think, working as a forester and having to plant the artificial seeds. She missed him. She missed Sherman, Emmett, Nancy, pretty much everyone. She hoped they made it out of the city.

A howl tore through the forest. The hurried steps making a beeline to Avis location. She heard panting and leaves crunching. It was a pack. Avis crouched, running more with her hands than her feet. She made a turn. The wolves changed their direction.

The animals were more intelligent that it supposed to. It doesn't seem to follow Avis by a trail. Everytime she repositioned herself the wolves follow. Always a straight line to her. It wasn't long until her throbbing ankle made her trip. Avis bit her lip. She shouldn't make a noise. She grabbed at her bracelet, desperately pulling at it so her burns get a chance to breathe. The footsteps grew louder. She clenched her teeth and started to stand.

The ground was spinning under her feet. Avis staggered. She was out of breath. Her stomach is growling.

Left foot, right foot. Come on, move!

Her face meets the forest floor. The hairs in the back of her neck stood up. A growl. Right behind her.

It dragged her by the neck. The other lunged at her face. Avis clawed and kicked. It hits the air. Another touches flesh. She smelled blood. Her throat was dry. She heard a yelp. It pulled her out of panic. Avis crawled as fast she could. They can't make her kill these animals.

One wolf caught her by the hair. They yanked her off the ground. She land head first onto a tree. She slid down, only to be bit by the ribs and feet. Avis flailed her claws into the air. They dropped her.

The smell of blood was too much. It filled her nostril. The emptiness in her middle ached. Avis lost. Her teeth finds flesh. Her ears barely register the dying cry of the two dogs. She chewed. She swallowed. Warmth filled her stomach. Nerves flared in delight.

When Avis came to her senses, there was only her and two carcass.

"Congratulations, Fenrir. You passed your first test with flying colors."

Next Chapter

#whump #whump fic #oc whump #whump series #lady whump #lady whumpee #dead dove do not eat #animal attack #animal death #electrocution #defiant whumpee #starvation #human experimentation #futuristic whump #summer of whump #summerofwhump #summerofwhump9 #leg injury #injury whump

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nodesiretogrowup · 4 years

Text

alrighty, review time!

Do you think Donald wrote the song? He did write a song when he was younger and the lyrics fit him best

I love that Donald is the sane man of the Caballeros

Why did you choose the bathroom? That’s really weird and kind of perverted

I love the picture of a rubber ducky in a top hat on the wall

Just how big is that bathtub? Four grown men were able to fit in it at the same time

Never mess with a man who has a demon-ghost butler

“That’s the FOURTH rich guy’s bathroom we’ve been kicked out of.” I...I would like to know about the other three. And again, WHY THE BATHROOM?!

“We just need someone to listen to us!” Donald giving us the theme/moral of the episode

Was Louie just waiting out there?

Louie looks like a drug dealer. He also looks a bit like the reboot version of himself from that poster in Quack Pack

“And you’re willing to do whatever I say, at any cost whatsoever?” “Well, not any...” “QUIET, DONALD!” Guys, you should listen to Donald, he knows Louie better than you

Poor Donald, the only sane man here

I love the stickers on Louie’s laptop. I wonder if he actually knows how to hack

I love the stupid “it” trends. Hats-Hats and Invisible Piercings, what will they think of next

Of course Dewey would keep up with an IT list. He actually cares about his image/how his peers view him

The lead singer of the Feather Weights looks like a punk girl version of Drake. I’m gonna go with them being related somehow. Or they used to date. Or they go to the same hair stylist. THEY ARE TIED TOGETHER SOMEHOW

Yo-yo tricks were more of a 2000s thing, Dewey (seriously though, does anyone else remember when yo-yos were SUPER POPULAR for some reason?)

Panchito is so ridiculously EXTRA and I LOVE HIM

“These are my people.” Oh sweet Dewford, they wish they were on your level

“Internet fame-the most important fame of all” Well it’s the most achievable

And then Dewey just rolls off screen

“If only someone had a super-elaborate scheme to get in...KA-BOOM!” Dewey’s not the only showman in the family

This show LOVES some big boards

Why/when did Louie plan all of this? I mean he did want the Caballeros to make him their manager so he could get a cut, but why?

Already you can see that Louie’s pride is gonna get in the way

Again, Donald is being the responsible one

I love their signatures. Panchito’s is like a 12 year old girl’s, José’s is curvy, and Donald’s is the least showy. And I love that Panchito thought “Don” was enough lol. He is close to Launchpad levels of ditziness

The pictures Louie uses on his board are GREAT! I love fridge-raiding Panchito

Agent Dewey-License to Chill. Dewey, that was two episodes ago

“I have a very special job for you.” “Oh-ho ho-ho, special.”

Luis P Canard. Is that a false identity Louie already had or did he make it up for the party? Or is there an actual Luis P Canard?

Huey looks SO CUTE! Though he should have known something was up when Louie asked him to forge a signature. Do you think Huey has forged other documents with or without knowing it?

Louie looks good with that black “lipstick”

“Welcome to the scheme.” “What scheme?” “Nothing.” “TELL NO ONE.”

Gyro Gearloose-Kid inventor. Does that mean he was a child prodigy or that he LITERALLY invents kids? Or both? The possible clone’s tube had K.I.D. on it. I bet this will be explored more, probably next episode

I love how they all stare at the earpieces when Gyro says the DEFINITELY won’t explode

I love that the lion statues have sunglasses and there’s a statue of a ballerina hippo from Fantasia

OUR QUEEN HAS ARRIVED

How do ducks whistle if they don’t have lips?

Daisy-smiles, Donald-I WOULD DIE FOR YOU

I love Daisy’s fake laugh

With both of them in tuxes you can really see that Dewey and Louie have different body types. Louie has broader shoulders.

“I’M GONNA DANCE DOWN THE RED CARPET.” No Dewey, that’s for the after party

It’s the PEP guy! I feel like he’s gonna become a villain with how much he’s been embarrassed (and he already LOOKS like a cheesy superhero show villain)

GRAVES IS BACK, BABY

Dewey has made a LOT of enemies

“New plan-Dewey is NOT going to the party!” DAMN, THAT’S COLD

“This is the Dewey-est party in town!”

“Oh, WHY was I cursed to be so FLASHY and UNFORGETTABLE?!” I love my dramatic son

Why did the Caballeros have to switch hats?

“SO TIGHT. !”

WE NEED MORE DJ DAFT DUCK

Ok, real talk? That party looks boring as fuck

I like that there’s sweat when Dewey pulls off his helmet. It’s the little details

“Everyone listens to my plan.” Dewey looks PISSED

“The plan to wow Glamour with our haunting melodies.” Panchito is Drake/DW if he was a Latin Lover. THEY NEED TO MEET. IT WOULD BE HAMMY AND GLORIOUS

“You mean our SICK dance beats!”

Donald is like “girls, girls, you’re BOTH pretty”

But seriously, they need to decide what direction they want to go with their sound

Donald is ALWAYS the voice of reason (except in The Town Where Everyone Was Nice, he got a bit caught up in that lie)

“I will charm my way on stage with my golden voice.” #youtried

That smirk José gives him, beautiful

“Easy, grownups.” YOU JUST GOT DISSED BY A 10 YEAR OLD!

“So I’ll dazzly Daisy with my hip, cool yo-yo tricks.” I would have liked to see how that played out

Does Louie have some kind of dirt on Jane? Why does she keep helping him out? Why does she call him “Mr. Duck?”

Glamour is a BITCH. And it seems like Daisy might share the same luck as Donald and Della

SERIOUSLY, WHAT DO YOU HAVE ON HER, LOUIE?!

Donald was posing all cool

Why send Donald in to do the most important part of the plan? At least have someone with him. Louie should have gone with him so Donald could distract Daisy and Louie could use his pickpocket skills to get the pass. Louie did not account for the variables

“Ooooh PHOOEY.” I love that all of the Duck family say Donald’s catchphrase

POOR DEWEY!

I love Louie’s other distraction ideas-explosion, food poisoning, SET FREE A WILD MONGOOSE, ghosts, ANOTHER explosion

LET DAISY SAY FUCK

I’m pretty sure Donald got a boner when he saw Daisy DESTROY that vase (I also found it hot). He was scaroused

OUCH. That HAD to have hurt/broken SOMETHING

How did Louie get that picture of Webby? Hell, how was that pic taken in the first place?

“WHEEEEEEE” Webby knows what’s up

“MY FAULT! It’s...your bag.” Oh Donald

LET DAISY SAY FUCK

“My band is sorta...crashing the party.” DONALD YOU ARE TOO CUTE

The yo-yo just rolls away

Louie, you hurt Dewey’s feelings! Also, your plans are pretty ridiculous too, including the one you are currently trying to pull off. There had to be a better idea than a harpy

Listy-er

GLAMOUR MUST DIE FOR WHAT SHE DID TO LOUIE! IT’S A GOOD THING DONALD WASN’T THERE OR ELSE SHE WOULD BE

“I don’t want to be at Funzo’s forever.” “Why not?” Oh Webby, so innocent to the horrors of minimum wage jobs. Also it’s nice to see Webby being able to have an ordinary conversation with someone

FALCON’S EYEBROWS ARE MESMERIZING

It’s equal parts cute and sad how long Dewey takes to count

MANNY IS FUCKING SWOLE

Manny is 0 for 2 when it comes to being the muscle (I’m counting him vs Mega-Beaks as well)

“That was odd.” You have no idea

Donald sees Daisy as the GODDESS she is. GET YOU A MAN LIKE DONALD

I KNEW IT! I KNEW SHE WANTED TO BE A FASHION DESIGNER! It was like the only guess I got right so let me have this

“Nobody listens to me either.” Awww

“They don’t understand me.” AWWW

“Well that’s weird, I understand you perfectly.” MY HEART!!!

I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH! And when it changes into how Daisy hears him...chef’s kisses. It reminded me of Remember Me from Coco and I Love You Too Much from Book of Life

Real talk-the song really got me. I feel a lot like Donald. A lot of times it feels like no one is listening or understands me because my thought process is a bit different. Or they can understand but they don’t care, like how Daisy feels. When Donald sings for her, I teared up because I want to be comfortable enough with someone to let down my guard like that. Music is a big part of who I am so I would love if someone sang for me even if they don’t have the “perfect” voice. I want someone to feel comfortable enough with me to let down their guard and be real

Daisy is a woman of ACTION

Do you think she’s been stuck in that elevator before?

“My kids!” “Wait, you have kids?” Whenever Donald calls them his kids I gain 5 years to my lifespan. I can’t wait for Daisy to officially meet the kids

“Oh no, not again!” Starting to rethink your life-choices aren’t ya?

I love Mark. He’s so stupid and out of touch with the real world

“Oh Gravesy! Long time, no crime.” GRAVEBEAK LIVES ON!

I love Mark’s hoverboard crashing and catching fire in the background. And then it chases Slash

Haha, Mark’s name is Markus. What a dewb

I was rooting for rich lesbian aunt, but mom works too

Graves is SO DONE with these people

Dewey is all of us

Poor Louie. His self confidence is the most fragile of the kids

Nerp

“Just listen to me for once.” WE ALL NEED TO LISTEN TO EACH OTHER, THAT’S THE THEME OF THE EPISODE

THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS! And Mark seemed into it ;)

“I want to look away but I can’t” CALLING IT NOW, THIS LINE’S GONNA BE A MEME

I want Dewey’s yo-yo skills to be a reoccurring thing

That’s one of the things he has in common with his uncle-being a performer even if they aren’t the best at it

Louie’s face as he sneaks away is great

“The failure of it is ridiculous...and BEAUTIFUL!” Gonna use that to describe myself from now on

Dewey is IT. SO FABULOUS!

Daisy, maybe you should let the man get rid of them

DOUBLE BADASS ONE-LINERS

LET DONALD SAY FUCK

HE’S SO PROUD OF HIS BOY

I like the “totally not Pirates of the Caribbean” music that accompanies José when he’s fighting

“Nice singing.” “Nice moves.” NOW KISS

“Oo, nice dagger.” Webby, not the time for that

There is NO WAY that the scene with Gabby and Webby isn’t foreshadowing SOMETHING

“I gotta get out of Duckburg.” Jane starts a GoFundMe page to get out of Duckburg when she gets home

BATTLE COUPLE!

DAISY WILL FUCK YOU UP

DON’T MESS WITH HER MAN

It was then Donald realized that he had met his future wife

DONALD AIN’T GONNA TAKE THAT SHIT FROM YOU

It was then Daisy realized she had met her future husband

“LOVE YOUR BLOG” Who knew Manny kept on on the latest trends

Glamour probably realized those fuckers were crazy so she should back off

SILENT M’MA CABRERA!

OMG EVEN THE TREE HAS FUCKING SUNGLASSES

Manny is one suave motherfucker

Glamour playing with the yo-yo while Mark acts like a spoiled brat

DEWEY IS PROUD OF HIS DADNALD!

IF WE DON’T GET DEWEY’S DOZEN AT SOME POINT I’M SUING

“Our brotherhood is the greatest scheme of all!” SO FUCKING WHOLESOME! MORE LOUIE AND DEWEY PLOTS

“HEY, YOU’RE MESSING WITH MY MOJO!” Don’t be a hater, Manny!

“I could listen to it all night.” DAAAAAWWWWWWW

GAAAAAAHHHHH THIS EPISODE WAS SO GOOD! I love that there was a common theme of feeling like you aren’t being heard. Daisy felt like she was too unimportant to be listened to, Louie doesn’t listen to Dewey because he feels like Dewey isn’t serious enough, and NO ONE listens to Donald because his voice is hard to understand. In the end they all get heard, with Donald and Daisy getting the bonus of finding someone who understands them. The two of them really are relationship goals. I cannot WAIT for more wholesome Donisy content. This one bumped Quack Pack down from my favorite so far.

#ducktales #dt spoilers

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annashipper · 6 years

Text

Anonymous Submission

Anon please - I really don’t understand why you think Ben’s predicament is funny. You laugh at him and mock him for failing to sell a disastrous relationship he never wanted but is stuck in nevertheless for reasons beyond our comprehension.

I’ve followed this sham from the beginning. Back in the day, we skeptics/truthers didn’t laugh at Ben. We may have laughed when he accidentally made Zero look stupid or when her feeble attempts to shine failed dismally but we never found his pain funny. Pap walks and red carpets weren’t hilarious outings we bought popcorn to enjoy - they were ordeals to get through - watching them through our fingers, flinching at his discomfort and misery. Sad, unwilling, miserable attempts to shill the kid/s made us shiver at his obvious discomfort and pain at having to comply.

Yet now Ben’s suddenly a great joke. A lumbering oaf to laugh at and entertain us. His shoehorning is suddenly hilarious - you revel in his pain and mock his unwilling attempts to sell the sham as if you think he’s a failure when he doesn’t do it well - why do you want him to sell this? If he did you’d call him fake, devious, two-faced, manipulative, etc. Suddenly whatever he does, it’s as if you think he deserves it. Why do you luxuriate in his misery? Do you now think this is all his fault? Do you want him to pay? To suffer? Do you think he deserves this? That he’s getting his just desserts?

I just don’t understand - Why has this disaster turned from something we watched - cringing along with him, into something we’re supposed to sadistically love, relish and enjoy. I for one feel none of your pleasure and enjoyment watching any of this and I don’t understand how any genuine skeptic could.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nonny, there are some points of your submission that are confusing to me. I could have answered you via private messages, but since another Nonny had similar qualms yesterday (LINK), I thought I’d answer your questions in public.

Apologies in advance for the rant.

We Skeptics never called ourselves “truthers”. That’s what the Nannies used to call us.

It was never Ben making Weirdo look stupid. In the early days of the showmance in particular, it was Weirdo and Harvey making him look like a schmuck. The lever of second-hand embarassment fans of his with half a brain have had to endure was (and still is) palpable.

Skeptics have been having gigglefests since before I ever joined the community back in January of 2015. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again for anyone who doesn’t remember those early days of Showmance From Hell(TM) documentation: if it weren’t for @benedicts-third-testicle and her snark, I never would have joined Tumblr in the first place.

Soooooo. Those who truly here back in 2014-5 remember how Ben transformed from a happy-go-lucky guy in 2014 to someone looking physically ill by the spring of 2015. We also remember the ridiculous polls, the even more ridiculous drinking games, the CumberPorn, the Showmance bingo (which @gatorfisch still plays from time to time and cracks me up), the DorkyBatch pic or gif of the day, the snarky questions and the even snarkier answers, the vigorous fact checking, the readers of Bally’s blog losing their glunch, the up/down bump compares, the submissions of crazy theories on what would happen next during those early days, how PR was basically answering Ms Bally’s concerns through weird handholding and bikini sneaky pap shots that were blurred, the press rundowns each and every day, that Ben should always strive to be a #supportivefruithusband to Weirdo whom fetch still eludes because she obviously never tried to follow Spinsie’s advice and take on mandarine juggling on London street corners, Ms Ballsy stocking up on Baileys, pop corn and Tim Tams in preparation for pap walks through airports (which at that time were a dime a dozen), everyone stocking up on the alcoholic beverage of their choice to watch the BAFTAs and Oscars that year, bingate, the showmance (which on Ballsy’s blog was called the shamwow) playlist, etc.

As far as I’m concerned, nothing’s changed since those days.

I was then and I still am a SkeptoNanny. I was and still am cringing whenever Ben looks pissy / sad / done standing or sitting next to Weirdo although he smiles standing or sitting around everyone else. I was and still am getting a sad every time I think of how much Ben’s demeanour has changed since 2014.

Something I’ve always been accused of by Skeptics who run their own blogs as well as Nonnies, is that I nanny Ben a little too much, and they’re all absolutely right. I always did go out of my way to find excuses for his behaviour, and it’s something I intend to keep doing, because for all of his idiocy, I’m still a fan of his work, and I truly believe he’s a nice guy whose one true error in judgement was agreeing to play along with the game Weirdo thought would be fun on the night of January 3rd, 2015 at PSIFF. The moment he agreed to keep baiting that first pregnancy for free publicity because Harvey had promised him an Oscar, he basically signed up for all of the craziness we’ve been witnessing (and alternating between groaning and giggling at) ever since.

At the same time, I always thought the awkward shoehorning was hilarious. I always laughed at the piss-poor attempts to disguise set-up pap walks as relentless hounding from the paparazzi. I always found Weirdo’s fetchlessness endlessly entertaining. I always assumed she would never get a voice in this showmance, and the past four years have not proved me wrong. I always got the giggles out of the weird handholding.

What I would urge you and everyone else who agrees with you on my stance to do would be to read through my blog and take what I have to say seriously, instead of assuming I’m always being snarky in my observations / answers to asks and submissions.

I have stated repeatedly that I believe Ben has had a firm grasp on the stirring wheel of this showmance since March of 2016, and I mean that. As such, it’s getting increasingly hard for me to keep making excuses for his poor choices to make this whole thing look realistic.

The way he keeps flogging this particular dead horse to receive free publicity, and the unfortunate way his quotes regarding his wife and children come at complete odds with his actions leave me speechless. Or they would leave me speechless if this showmance hadn’t been so very inconsistent since day one.

You ask why I “want him to sell this“. Well, I’m a firm believer in doing something right or not doing it at all. Since Ben doesn’t seem to be willing to end this showmance until “people who think his wife and child(ren) are a PR stunt” will shut up, he might as well do it properly and try to make the whole thing look realistic. This has nothing to do with the Skeptical community and everything to do with his public image.

Skeptics who run their own blogs and have not been commenting publicly on the showmance for ages are still paying attention. Closet Skeptics are still putting together the pieces to this ridiculous puzzle and laughing their heads off at the idiocy in my private messages. Regular Anons who don’t send me submissions anymore are still reading my blog and sending me private messages and/or e-mails. Newly formed Skeptics still emerge every time Ben decides to rock the proverbial boat by trotting Weirdo out.

Unfortately, having spent the past 4 years documenting those very inconsistencies has basically turned those of us who are truly paying attention to what’s being said versus what’s being done into human bullshit detectors, and just because Ben is alternating between trying to bore us to death and upping the stupidity level when he decides it’s time for free publicity for one of his projects is not going to drive anyone away.

The most depressing part of all is that the clickability of Skeptical blogs far surpasses the clickability of any other part of the fandom (be it Fan blogs, Nanny blogs, Anti blogs or just Ben’s official/unofficial web page).

So yeah. I’m gonna keep speaking my mind, and I’m far past sugarcoating my opinions. While I don’t expect anyone to agree with me, I am not going to treat a 42 year old successful man like a helpless toddler who doesn’t have the means and the opportunity to release himself from whatever Madame Fetchlessly Irrelevant is holding over his head.

That being said, I’m still going to keep making excuses for him when it makes sense to do so, and I’m still going to root for him to do well in all of his endeavours.

The fact that he’s painted himself into a ridiculous corner with this showmance doesn’t change the fact that I believe he has tremendous capacity for kindness and a raw talent that he’s able to hone into an impossibly sharp edge when he’s in front of a camera or an audience.

Just don’t ask him to do it when his wife is within a five foot radius. That seems to be his Achilles heel...

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unf8rtunate · 4 years

Text

Report from the Field #3: The Imperial Missive

Officer on duty: Anastasia Tersk

Ana, except for the drinking, saves money. She lives meagerly in an apartment only two blocks from the station.

In a surprising turn of events, I was completely awake and sober at the station that morning. I wish I hadn’t been, though, in the wake of the Prime Minister getting ousted on corruption charges, someone leaked a memo to the press that held yet more corruption. I was watching the news vod from my desk with more disdain than I was supposed to feel when the station chief appeared behind me.

“Good stuff, eh, Ana?”

“What? Good stuff?”

“Hah! Not even a week after Minister Bruke leaves, the Court is still up to its ears in dirty deals. Hard to believe we’ve fallen so far.”

“I guess, but who knows if that memo’s even real. It could be a fake to get attention.”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out, Ana.”

“How do you mean?”

“You and Konstantin are going to interview the military police commander. He’s the prime suspect for the leak.”

“Wait. You want me to interview someone? I’m sorry sir, but--”

“No, I want you to follow Konstantin around and back him up.” I still wasn’t sure exactly what the chief wanted me to do, but he was already gone so I decided to take him at his word; I’d follow Konstantin around watch him interview people.

Oddly enough, I’d arrived so early that Konstantin wasn’t even in yet, so I took the opportunity to stare at my holo screen absentmindedly until he showed up. No use wasting precious resources by doing something; I set the news feed to update automatically and watched the headlines flicker down the screen without really reading them. Something about the memo, and a high profile corruption case in another district. At least it was someone else’s problem, although with every new corrupt Court official, my job got harder.

I was wondering if I could afford some of the fancier whiskey for the weekend when Konstantin snapped me out of my daze.

“It seems we’ve got our work cut out for us, wouldn’t you say?” Konstantin was awash with grey. A grey jacket overlaid a grey tie, which sat taughtly under a grey overgrown 5 o’clock shadow, which connected vaguely, yet easily to his darkish grey hair. In addition, his typically pale face smiled kindly down at me over grey bags in his eyes. “You look cheerful, what happened?”

“Nothing happened, and thanks. I assume you’ve talked to the chief?” I stood up hastily to let my jacket on, noticing the surprising cold in the office; I’d usually show up after the building had warmed up. “I sent a message to the MP commander’s office, letting them know we were coming.”

“Are you sure nothing happened? You’re early.” He followed me to the door of the station; I paused just outside, breathing in the fresh, crisp air, and closing my eyes to feel the chill in my nose. “You know you can tell me. That’s what partners do, they don’t keep secrets.”

“I don’t have any secrets, Konstantin. You of all people should know that. See that? Hard work paying off. We’ve been granted an audience with commander Trevic. I should come in early more often.”

“You should come in on time more often, I say.” Konstantin chuckled to himself as he caught up with me and breathed in the morning air himself, his light grey much more comfortable now.

We took the train downtown to the commander’s office. It was so uneventful, if it had been a normal day, I’d have fallen asleep, but I was too excited by the idea of getting this much work done in the morning, I couldn’t bear to miss any of it. The commander’s office sat atop a massive barracks that was more out of place than anything else downtown. Konstantin and I skirted around some of the MPs drilling in the training grounds before the building itself. I nodded curtly at the MP in front of the front door, who didn’t react. There was less of an atrium than there was a sorting area. After going through security, Konstantin and I were prompted, in that order, to give the elevator guard a digi-badge to confirm our identities. I almost asked if our inspector badges weren’t good enough, but I held my tongue.

The elevator guard, as it turned out, accepted our digi-badges, and granted us access to the penthouse, and with it, the commander. It was Konstantin’s turn to give a curt nod, and our unspoken inspector duties fulfilled, I followed him into the elevator and the interview.

The penthouse was small and minimalist. Beside the required workspace materials, there were two images of what I assumed were relatives, a map of the city, and an abstract painting depicting some purple blobs that I didn’t understand. The man himself, when we entered, faced away from us, and simply motioned vaguely at us as we approached his desk. Flanking him were two closed doors that looked like they held great secrets within. The holo screen flickered away as he turned around to see us.

As we sat down, a slight but noticeable frown came over his pudgy, pink face and rested just above his chin, accenting it. He craned his small, beady eyes away from me and left them staring into Konstantin.

“What’s all this, now?” He rumbled under his mustache. “I was made aware of an appointment, but I never get to the finer details of things.” He rotated in his chair, just enough to look at me again, “And who’s this?” He grunted a bit at himself, readjusting in his chair.

“I’m inspector Konstantin Kamelov, and this is my partner, inspector Anastasia Tersk. We’re here because-”

“Oh, don’t be silly! Little girls can’t be inspectors! Why are you really here? Did Fyodor send you? I bet this is one of his little jokes that he likes so…”

“Like I was saying, we’ve been asked to investigate a document that was leaked recently-”

“Come now, my friend, do not be coy with me! I know Fyodor has his little jokes from time to time, surely you can’t be serious!”

“We’ve been asked to investigate a-”

“Are you serious then? A woman inspector? My, how the world changes when one isn’t paying attention.”

“Are you done?”

“Is this a real investigation, then?”

“Yes, this is a real investigation. Like I was saying, I’m inspector Kamelov, and this is inspector Tersk, my partner. We’re here because of the document leak, surely you heard about it.”

“Ah, that. A nasty sort of business that; leaks lead to floods, you know, and all that.”

“Right. Anyway, we’d like to ask you a few questions about this administration. It may be difficult, but there are some suspicious individuals in this office that we’d like your thoughts on.”

“I see, but what do you need from me, then? Thoughts? Surely you can get those from me at any time. Why the personal meeting?”

“Ana, would you read the good commander the list of names?”

“Okay. Prime suspect in the military police office: Terral Trevic. Additional suspects-”

“Now hold on just a moment! Why am I the prime suspect? I released no such document! This is pure slander! Who gave you that? A name, I demand it!”

“I just got this from Konstantin. I don’t know where-”

“Quiet, girl! Inspector! I demand to know why I’m a suspect!” I shrank back into the chair and peeked at Konstantin. He wore a concentrated, yet indifferent face and stoically watched the commander with a neatly raised eyebrow.

“It could have only been leaked from someone with 10th level clearance or higher. You’re the only one with that kind of access in this office. It had to be you, didn’t it? The only remaining question is why. What do you have to gain?” Konstantin’s face contorted more, the beginnings of an angry snarl emerging around the grey. His upper lip twitched slightly. I crossed my arms.

“This is ridiculous! I didn’t even know about this until this morning, along with everyone else! The military police have nothing to do with this! You should be investigating the central office! Minister Bruke himself led that sewage pit, that’s where you SHOULD be! Or the treasury! Those godforsaken leeches!”

“We’ll get there, certainly, but I’m not done here.”

“What in the hell does that mean, inspector? Haven’t I been slandered enough? It’s insulting that you should even show up!”

“I need access to all of your correspondence from the past two weeks.”

“Absolutely not, inspector! To come into MY office with this disgusting piece, and accuse ME of treason; it’s not simply insulting, it’s entirely degrading!”

“I do have the documentation from the Department.”

“I must see it then.”

Konstantin produced a data pad from his grey jacket and slid it across the commander’s desk. Slowly, cautiously, timidly, he inspected its contents for the proper authority, and, finding it, sat back in a great huff that ruffled his face as well as his stretched uniform.

“Very well, inspector, I will have my office send you the required information.”

“Thank you commander. In addition, you won’t be able to leave the city until the investigation is over.”

“Now hold on a moment, inspector. What do you mean, ‘won’t be able to leave the city?’” He leaned up with another grunt that filled the room.

“We’ve locked down your credentials. You won’t be able to leave the city until the investigation is over and you get approval from the Department. If you are innocent, that is.”

The commander was angry, and it showed. His face grew a brighter shade of pink, almost reaching red, and it jiggled when he mumbled at us. I mimicked Konstantin as he stood up, all the way up to the coat swirl as he turned on a heel to leave the office. My coat didn’t quite swirl as much as Konstantin’s, but I felt dramatic doing it. I followed him out of the office, a million questions in my mind. I wondered about them all the way back to the train station.

“So what’s the plan now?”

“We’ll go down to city hall and talk to the deputy mayor, I suppose.”

“What about commander Trevic? I thought he was the prime suspect?”

“He was, but I doubt he’s the leak. He did give us access to his correspondence when we asked nicely. And he hasn’t left his office yet.”

“How do you know that?” Konstantin looked up at me as the train jostled a bit over the tracks.

“I bugged his room while we were in there, and he hasn’t moved.”

“Oh. So what do we have on the deputy mayor then?”

“She would likely be the next prime minister, if Bruke hadn’t resigned, but her name’s been tied in with that mess, so I doubt she’ll win in a real election. Either way, crazier things have happened, so…”

“Okay, sure, but why do we want to talk to her? Can’t we get a statement or something?”

“We could, certainly,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “but then she’d have time to think about her answer, I suppose. This way, we’ll get a more honest take.” The train slowed outside of the downtown stop. Konstantin and I stood up.

“Fine, but also,” Konstantin raised an eyebrow at me, “how are we supposed to find her? The deputy mayor’s gotta be pretty busy, especially at a time like this, right?”

“Busy? Yeah, she’s busy, but she’s got time for us.” Just barely, a smile began to come over Konstantin’s face, under the grey. I sighed, out of questions for him, and contented myself with stuffing my hands in my pockets and making faces to try to keep myself warm on the walk to city hall.

I’d never actually seen it in person. On the news vods, it looked much more grandiose, like a noble castle upholding justice. When I saw it for real, it was much less valiant than it was old. Maybe it was cleaned out for photoshoots, but even the outside of the building had seen better days. Mold poured from the windows, and black stains perpetrated its entire exterior. It had been renovated so many times that some of the windows, in addition to the mold, had fresh sawdust on them. The doors had been rebuilt to replace the ancient portcullis, and white stone replaced where the gate had once been. Instead, Konstantin and I walked unceremoniously through outdated but functional doors and into a sad, albeit well lit, atrium.

A tired, frail, old woman strained to look at us. A permanent frown burned into her face, her eyes looked first through me, then through Konstantin. She opened her mouth to speak, but as we arrived at her desk, Konstantin smiled warmly and interrupted her, “We’re simply here for an appointment, miss. No need to lift a finger.” The woman’s shoulders shrunk slightly, and she squinted at him.

“An appointment? With whom, might I ask.” Konstantin’s smile flickered on his face as he reached into his jacket. There was a modest shuffling from inside his coat while he searched for it, but he found his badge and held it triumphantly in front of the woman. Her eyebrows retracted. “Ah, I see. That kind of appointment.” She paused, “Well… don’t let me stop you.” Her attention left us and returned to whatever had taken it before.

Konstantin, with a ruffle of his coat and a quick heel turn, briskly moved past her desk. Hearing this, my eyes left the woman and found him, and I jogged to keep up, “What was that all about?” I asked, catching up.

“You will quickly learn that the unofficial power of the watch greatly outweighs the official power.” I gave him a puzzled look, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“We have a reputation for brutality. For better or for worse, Ana, most people don’t care to argue with us. It can be very useful at times, like when we want a hasty meeting with someone.”

“But also…” I let him finish.

“But also, there are many who don’t trust our judgment.”

I contemplated the idea. It made enough sense; the watch held the entirety of the military might within the city. And I’d certainly never heard of the watch being audited or otherwise inspected for integrity. Perhaps that was why the interviews were so easy to get. I wondered, but not for long.

“Welcome, inspectors!” A cheery voice greeted me. A man in a modest, but fine suit holding a data pad stood before us. He wore a deceptively friendly look, and only paid attention to us peripherally. His head, seemingly independent of his body, indicated for us to follow, as his body, unaware of its attachments, swung around, marching down a corridor. I followed Konstantin who followed the man, as he led us down a short series of winding corridors. At the end, he opened a door for us and, looking up for the first time, saw me and gave a confused complexion as I followed Konstantin into a small, meticulously decorated office.

A woman with strikingly blonde hair sat behind a desk covered in knick knacks and pictures. She read vigorously in the direction of a screen and didn’t hear us come in. She didn’t hear the door close behind us, and she didn’t hear us sit down. She didn’t hear Konstantin cough, but she did hear me pipe up.

“Hello? Are you…” I snuck a peek at my notes, “Sara Dyatski? I’m inspector Tersk, and this is inspector Kamelov. We have some questions for you.” Startled, Sara Dyatski snapped out of a trance. She looked at me, searching for something, but not finding it.

“And you are..?” She placed her hands gently on her desk in front of us, still searching.

“I’m inspector Tersk,” I repeated, “And this is inspector Kamelov. We had some questions for you.”

“Oh! Of course; why didn’t you say that!” She laughed at herself. Konstantin cleared his throat again. She covered her mouth with a fragile hand and regained her composure. “My apologies, inspectors. So what can I do for you?”

Konstantin crossed his legs and nodded at her, “Ms. Dyatski, I’m sure you’re aware of the leaked document from this office?” Ms. Dyatski nodded somberly. “We think we know where it came from.” Ms. Dyatski nodded stiffly. “Did you release it, Ms. Dyatski?” Ms. Dyatski nodded sadly.

“What’s going to happen to me?” She emerged timidly from behind her desk. Konstantin’s gaze intensified. He stared into her face, “That’s a very good question, Ms. Dyatski. What happens to you depends on who you were talking about. We’d also like to know that, but our efforts so far have been,” He flattened his hair, “unsatisfactory.” His voice deepened, becoming raspy.

“I-” She stuttered, her hands slowly reaching under her desk for something. I shifted in my chair, ready for her to pull a weapon. Instead, she produced a small satchel and set it amongst the clutter of her desk. “ I can’t tell you anything else, but I’m sure this will cover things.” She forced a smile as her hands fell to her side again.

Konstantin, still resolute, reached for the satchel. I watched him pick it up carefully and bring it closer to himself. His hand rested on the gold colored clip for a moment while his eyes stayed on Ms. Dyatski. His vision dropped to the bag. I took a good look at it, it was black, faux leather, with a gold colored buckle holding it shut. It was simply made, with only stitched accents around its body, which was full, but not too heavy. Gently, Konstantin opened the buckle and lifted the flap to reveal several stacks of freshly printed cash. Confused, he cocked his head and stared at it for a moment before both his and my attention returned to Ms. Dyatski.

She held a gun in her hand. Facing us but laid on her desk, I stared down the barrel. She primed it, making both Konstantin and I tense. I watched her as a thin line of blood trickled from her nostril to her upper lip and her eyes stretched open unnaturally. Slowly, she raised the gun to her own head. “Wait-” Konstantin blurted out a moment before she pulled the trigger. He froze, halfway out of his chair, arm outstretched, reaching for her. His mouth hung open and in the quiet after the gunshot, I could hear his breathing, becoming more intense with the seconds. He clenched his fist and smashed it into the table.

He stood up and stared daggers at me. I tentatively stood up, picking up the satchel. “What, uh, does this-” I began.

“Fuck!” He shouted. He snatched the bag from me and looked inside. He rifled through the cash and inspected one of the bills. He dropped the satchel, but held onto a stack of bills. Furiously, his eyes searched the office, but he didn’t see what he wanted, so he went back to the bills. He flipped through them quickly, looking again for something. He dropped his stack and picked up a new one, looking at only a few bills in the bunch. He fell to his knees and dug through the cash, pausing only briefly to inspect each one. I watched him in awe.

Coming to a realisation, he let a bill slowly fall from his hands and saw his mess. Cash so fresh that it still had a tinge of warmth to it lay strewn all over the office, becoming nearly indistinguishable from the clutter otherwise, save for the value of it. Konstantin stood up.

“Come, Ana, we’re leaving.” He pushed the office door open in front of him. I took one last look at the mess we left behind. The deputy mayor’s body lay contorted on the floor, her head poking out from the side of her desk, a chunk missing from her skull. Her eyes remained starkly open, seeing nothing.

Konstantin was silent, but rushed on our journey. He ignored everyone, including both me and the old woman on our way out of city hall. Once outside, I tried to stop him, taking his wrist, but he resisted me. I decided to simply follow him and see what happened.

We arrived close to the Court Bank Central Administrative Office, or as it was commonly known, the treasury. I followed Konstantin inside, remiss to notice the details of our surroundings. Konstantin hurried past all security, me and his coat quickly after. Hastily, he checked the signage for our destination. We arrived at the office of the Senior Court Administrator of Finance, or as he was commonly known, the secretary of the treasury. A plaque, of course in gold, on his door told me that his name was Yevgeny Mishkal, but I didn’t get a good look because Konstantin kicked it. Meekly, the door crumpled, and pieces of expensive, but not expensive enough wood fell to the floor. Konstantin marched inside, immediately to the secretary, who was likely in shock from the surprise, and pushed him to the ground.

“Talk. Now.” Konstantin barked at the old man, who tried in vain to collect his glasses and pick himself up from the floor. As he got on all fours, Konstantin delivered his foot into the old man’s stomach, sending him back onto the floor.

Through his teeth, the secretary coughed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Desperately, he turned himself over and tried to look at Konstantin through trembling fingers, “I can assure you! This has all been a great misunderstanding! Take the money!”

Konstantin clenched his fist while his face erupted with rage. “You have the gall to embezzle money in the first place! I should kill you right now for that; then to destroy the deputy mayor and tell me this is a misunderstanding? What fucking planet do you think I’m from? Explain yourself!” He fell on top of the old man, and holding the other by his collar pushed his face in so close that their noses touched. I tried to say something, but both of them ignored me.

The secretary cringed away from Konstantin, pleading, “I’m innocent, you have to believe me! I had nothing to do with any of that! Embezzlement?” Konstantin pushed him to the ground, hands wrapped around his throat. “You’re innocent? And yet you’ve been taking money from the treasury like a common highwayman! I have proof, you dirty bastard. It’s over.” There was a surprised fear in the secretary’s eyes as Konstantin struggled not to strangle him.

Still feeling skittish, I knelt down beside Konstantin and laid a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking, trembling, and slowly let go of his grip. The secretary was half crying, half groaning on the floor as Konstantin stood up over him.

It took about a minute for security to show up, but by that time, we’d cuffed the secretary, and hoisted him from the fetal position. Security demanded to know what was going on, so Konstantin told them.

“Inspector Kamelov, this is my partner inspector Tersk. We were assigned to investigate the recent document leaks. We started with the military police commander, Trevic. He was a dud, but he made a good point about the central office. So we found the deputy mayor, who admitted to being the leak right before putting a bullet in her head. From there, I connected the dots; before our meeting with Trevic, I realised that only someone with level 10 clearance or higher could be responsible. That, and while the treasury wasn’t directly implicated by the Bruke scandal, they had to have been involved. Then, I found un notarised cash in the deputy mayor’s office that had come straight from the treasury itself.

I found that all of the bills, while still unofficial, had been signed by the secretary. So I put it all together. The Bruke scandal, Trevic’s accusations, the clearance levels, and the money. It all leads here.”

Security didn’t buy it, but in the end, Konstantin was right. The secretary had been stealing money directly from the treasury before it could be accounted for. Of course he would have been caught eventually, but I suppose he planned to leave before then. We had to get the chief down to the treasury, and he wasn’t pleased to find that Konstantin had assaulted a Court official, and less pleased that I hadn’t done anything, but we got away with it. We went drinking that night. Together.

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rolandfontana · 5 years

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“Important Tips” for Protecting Your IP from China

Ron Hesse of GlobalAutoIndustry.com recently interviewed Fred Rocafort — one of our firm’s China lawyers — on “Important Tips for Protecting Your IP from China.”

Per GlobalAutoIndustry.com, the 14 minute interview focused on the following:

• With regards to IP, what are the most serious IP-related risks faced by U.S. and other foreign companies when doing business in China? • Are there any essential steps that foreign companies must take in order to protect their IP in China? • Can foreign companies expect fair treatment when dealing with Chinese law enforcement and courts? • Are any of your recommendations applicable in countries other than China, such as alternative manufacturing destinations in Southeast Asia?

I so loved the description of Fred that I cannot resist repeating much of it below:

About Fred Rocafort: Fred is an Attorney with HarrisBricken who focuses on international IP, and customs & trade issues.

Fred is a former diplomat who joined Harris Bricken after more than a decade of international legal experience, primarily in China, Vietnam, and Thailand. His wide range of experience includes starting and operating his own business in Asia, working as an in-house counsel for a Hong Kong-based multinational, as well as many years as a State Department official, providing a client-centric perspective to his legal work.

Fred began his career overseas as a U.S. vice-consul in Guangzhou, China, adjudicating thousands of visa applications and advocating for fairer treatment of American companies and citizens in China and for stronger anti-counterfeiting enforcement. After entering the private sector, Fred worked at a Shanghai law firm as a foreign legal advisor and later joined one of the oldest American law firms in China. He also led the legal team at a Hong Kong-based brand protection consultancy, spending most of his time out in the field, protecting clients against counterfeiters and fraudsters from Binh Duong to Buenos Aires.

Fred is an ardent supporter of FC Barcelona—and would be even in the absence of Catalan forebears who immigrated to Puerto Rico in the mid-1800s. An avid explorer of Hong Kong’s countryside, he now spends much of his free time discovering the Pacific Northwest’s natural charms.

The below is Fred’s interview, but to capture all of its tones and nuances, I urge you to go here and give it a full listen.

Ron Hesse: Welcome to the globalauto industry.com audio interview series. I’m Ron Hesse and today I’m interviewing Fred Roca forward. Fred is an attorney with Harris Bricken whoo focuses on international IP and customs/trade issues. Today’s topic is important tips for protecting your IP from China. How are you doing Fred?

Fred Rocafort: Good, Ron. It’s a pleasure to be on your podcast. Thanks for having me.

Ron Hesse: You’re welcome. Let’s get started. Let me start off with this Fred, with regards to IP, what are the most serious IP related risks faced by U.S. and other foreign companies when doing business in China?

Fred Rocafort: The first risk is the one I think most people think of right away, which is a potential loss of revenue both from customers who unwittingly buy fake products but also from from those who for whatever reason, find that purchasing a fake is an acceptable compromise. This may be because they’re buying a shirt or shoes and then they’re more most concerned with sending out a particular image, but in other cases it may be a misunderstanding of what the genuine product can achieve as compared to a fake one. So this would be the case perhaps of something like a phone charger. In addition to that, they’re so related to risk the form of brand dilution. If you have too many fakes out in the market, some customers may decide it’s simply not worth paying for the real thing.

They may feel that the fakes out there take away some of the prestige, some of the cachet from the genuine articles. And they think there’s no point in buying the genuine product because people might assume it’s fake. You also have reputational costs. If a user or especially someone unwittingly using a counterfeit product has problems with the quality of the product, if there are any accidents or injuries resulting from the use of the counterfeits, the reputational impact might still fall on the genuine brand, especially if you cannot determine with clarity that it was indeed a fake product. And finally, and there is the risk — which is becoming more severe actually as we enter this new period with China — the risk of industrial espionage.

And of course this sometimes is carried out by commercial rivals who want to a copy products or use them as part of their own development processes. But in the case of China, there is the very real risk that these efforts could be aided by government authorities, for example, in the form of inspections that are going to be taking place there — new cybersecurity measures. So there’s a whole host of risks against which foreign companies must protect themselves. Are there any essential steps foreign companies must to protect their IP in China? Yeah, certainly. The first, and this might seem obvious to some people, but the first step is to register your IP in China. Again, this might seem like something obvious like, well of course if you want to protect your trademark, if you want to protect your patents, you have to register them.

But many would be surprised to discover that many foreign companies fail to register their IP in places like China for example. They might feel that because they’re not planning to to sell in China they do not need to register their IP there. However, in those cases you are exposed to what we call bad faith registrations by people who have nothing to do with your brand. And this can lead to another risk — the risk of detentions and seizures by customs when the products are being exported. If you have not registered a trademark but someone else has, as far as Chinese law is concerned, they [not you] . are the legitimate owner of the IP and your products using that IP can be seized at the Chinese border.. In addition to registering the IP with China’s patent and trade office you should also register your IP registration with China customs.

And then the same way you would do it here in the U.S., it’s essentially a two step approach. You, you have to obtain legal title if you will, but then you also have to inform the enforcement authorities of your problem and your desire to get them to help you out with enforcement. Registration is very important, but it’s just a start. It’s also critical to cooperate with law enforcement and facilitate their efforts, and also with the courts. Again, this might seem like an obvious thing to do, but again it is surprising to see foreign companies fail to cooperate efficiently. They don’t respond to requests, for example, from authorities for assistance with identifying products with to determine if they are in fake or not.

If the seizure figures are low, some foreign companies feel it’s really not worth their trouble to prepare all the documentation. But this is counterproductive. And finally, don’t ignore your own backyard. Basically this means the idea here is to guard against internal risks that may actually be a lot more harmful than external risks. We’re talking about things like, like leakage, whether it’s intentional or whether simply you’re allowing back doors that allow outside parties to come in take your design files or facilitate their own efforts to copy your product to then make a product that competes against yours. So, it’s very important to audit your own facilities and your own suppliers with an eye to makin sure there are no problems contributing to the counterfeiting problem.

Foreign companies expect fair treatment when dealing with Chinese law enforcement and courts. Based on my own experience with China’s courts I can tell you that they regularly handed down judgments in favor of my foreign clients. Perhaps in some instances the damages were not that spectacular from the point of view of U. S. plaintiffs who are used to more generous awards.

In China, it’s important to be careful when litigating in some of the economically less developed areas where judges might be more sensitive to social pressures and they might be hesitant to impose damage awards, especially when the plaintiff is a large multinational. Obviously political winds can also play a role. In the current environment it’s probably fair to say that at least some Chinese judges would think they would stand to lose if they were to side with a U.S. firm against a, a local defendant. Another thing to remember is that while some parts of China — especially the larger cities like Beijing and Shanghai — have specialized IP courts where the judges feel very comfortable tackling the issues surrounding intellectual property, many areas do not. Judges that deal with very few IP related cases might apply legal reasoning that perhaps works when dealing with a different kind of case, but not with with IP.

Ron Hesse: Are any of your recommendations applicable in countries other than China such as alternative manufacturing destinations in Southeast Asia?

Fred Rocafort: Definitely. On the one hand, the, the legal IP protection framework in China is more robust really than in places like Vietnam and Cambodia, especially if you’re looking at the protections as they exist on paper. However, one thing we always point out to clients is that that’s not the full picture. You also have to consider the actual likelihood of someone — let’s say your supplier or one of your own employees actually going in and stealing your IP. And you also have to consider things such as the ease of finding another manufacturing facility that will very quickly be able to copy whatever material, whatever prototypes, whatever designs are brought to them. In this regard, I think it’s fair to say that the IP risks in China are still greater than in places like Southeast Asia.

Fred Rocafort: All of these tips, all of these recommendations that I provided, by and large apply to all these destinations. Registering your IP is something you need to do no matter where you are and no matter where you are it makes sense to work with local law enforcement. Something that is also true across the board is the need to protect your own facilities. It may be the case that you’re manufacturing in a country that doesn’t have much of a counterfeiting problem. However, if there are weaknesses at your supplier’s facility — if it is possible to get access to your sensitive designs the counterfeiting groups will figure out a way to get access to that. Right? I mean, if it’s easier for them to go to another country and work with employees there to support a counterfeiting operation, they’ll do it. Crime nowadays is international. Criminal groups are perhaps some of the most adept organizations when it comes to working across borders. So pretty much everything that you’d be doing in China to protect your IP, you should be doing in other countries that are becoming popular manufacturing destinations.

Ron Hesse: Excellent points. Thank you for your great insight, Fred. And that concludes today’s audio interview. Everyone have a wonderful day.

“Important Tips” for Protecting Your IP from China syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

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neptunecreek · 5 years

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Investigative Scoops Worth Rereading: Year in Review 2018

In an era where political and corporate leaders are attacking the free press as “the enemy of the people,” it’s crucial that we recognize the truth: journalists every day are uncovering stories that protect our rights and hold those in power accountable. Meanwhile, as the media landscape shrinks, non-profits are also stepping in to carry the load. Here are some of the investigative bombshells that we read, re-read, and shared this year. (And a big thank you to our friends and supporters on Twitter who helped us remember all the great scoops from 2018.)

Give Me My Data

Engadget reporters undertook a massive task to find out who controls your online data:

A team of nine Engadget reporters in London, Paris, New York and San Francisco filed more than 150 subject access requests—in other words, requests for personal data—to more than 30 popular tech companies, ranging from social networks to dating apps to streaming services. We reached out before May 25th—when previous laws for data access existed in the EU—as well as after, to see how procedures might have changed.

The result was one of the most comprehensive examinations of the state of play of consumer privacy across the major platforms.

Who Controls Your Data? - Engadget

Georgia On My Fender

One of the nation's most ubiquitous surveillance technologies—automated license plate readers (ALPR)—proliferate in the Peach State. Following in the footsteps of EFF’s research in California, reporters from different Atlanta media outlets teamed up to generate the first comprehensive portrait of ALPR data collection across the state. They filed numerous public records requests with jurisdictions deploying the technology, including obtaining two days worth of data from the Georgia Department of Public Safety. They created maps of how and where this data was collected and generated a visualization showing how one car can be tracked in near real-time over the course of a single data.

Follow The Trail of a License Plate - Knight Lab

Eyes On The Road - Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Fake Friends on Facebook

EFF has long raised concerns with the practice of law enforcement officials creating fake profiles to infiltrate private groups on social media sites such as Facebook. This year saw incredible reporting on this epidemic, most notable from The Appeal, which revealed how Memphis Police Department created a “Bob Smith” profile to spy on Black Lives Matter activists. This lead EFF to successfully pressure Facebook to send MPD a cease and desist letter and update its online guidelines for law enforcement. Meanwhile, NBC News also probed the issue nationwide, while Gizmodo filed public records requests around the country to gauge how departments are writing policies for these types of covert investigations.

Meet ‘Bob Smith,’ The Fake Facebook Profile Memphis Police Allegedly Used To Spy On Black Activists - The Appeal

Very Few Police Departments Have Rules for Undercover Cops on Facebook, The Wildly Unregulated Practice of Undercover Cops Friending People on Facebook - The Root

Propaganda Bonanza

Visit EFF’s offices and you’ll be amused to find printouts of vintage National Security Agency posters taped to the walls (particularly in the restroom). These propaganda artifacts were obtained and released by GovernmentAttic.org, a transparency organization that does incredible work.

The NSA Just Released 136 Historical Propaganda Posters - Motherboard

Facing Down Amazon

The American Civil Liberties Union kicked off multiple national and local news cycles—and energized an internal worker resistance—when it revealed through public records that Amazon was providing real-time face recognition (“Rekognition”) technology to local police departments. Documents obtained by the ACLU detailed how the program "can identify, track, and analyze people in real time and recognize up to 100 people in a single image" and "quickly scan information it collects against databases featuring tens of millions of faces."

EFF called for Amazon to stop providing its technology to law enforcement to power surveillance. We also called on technology companies to adopt a "Know Your Customer" program and for employees as those companies to advocate for implementing these programs to protect against future corporate involvement in these sorts of government efforts.

Amazon Teams Up With Law Enforcement to Deploy Dangerous New Face Recognition Technology - ACLU of Northern California

I’m an Amazon Employee. My Company Shouldn’t Sell Facial Recognition Tech to Police. - Medium Power Trip

Scooping the Messenger

In August, Reuters published a bombshell in the battle over encryption: the U.S. Department of Justice was trying to force Facebook to break its Messenger encryption in a sealed court case. As Dan Levine and Joseph Menn reported:

The potential impact of the judge’s coming ruling is unclear. If the government prevails in the Facebook Messenger case, it could make similar arguments to force companies to rewrite other popular encrypted services such as Signal and Facebook’s billion-user WhatsApp, which include both voice and text functions, some legal experts said.

In November, EFF, the ACLU, and Riana Pfefferkorn of Stanford Law School’s Center for Internet and Society teamed up to file a petition asking the court to release all court orders and related materials in the case.

U.S. Government Seeks Facebook Help to Wiretap Messenger - Reuters

FBI Exaggerations

Speaking of encryption: for years, FBI and Justice Department officials have pursued backdoors into the crucial technology that keeps our communications safe. They complain about the problem of “Going Dark,” the idea that encryption prevents them from investigating communications and devices. But it turns out that the FBI egregiously exaggerated in Congressional testimony. As The Washington Post’s Devlin Barrett reported:

The FBI has repeatedly provided grossly inflated statistics to Congress and the public about the extent of problems posed by encrypted cellphones, claiming investigators were locked out of nearly 7,800 devices connected to crimes last year when the correct number was much smaller, probably between 1,000 and 2,000, The Washington Post has learned…

The FBI first became aware of the miscount about a month ago and still does not have an accurate count of how many encrypted phones they received as part of criminal investigations last year, officials said. Last week, one internal estimate put the correct number of locked phones at 1,200, though officials expect that number to change as they launch a new audit, which could take weeks to complete, according to people familiar with the work.

In May, EFF filed a Freedom of Information Act request with the FBI to get to the bottom of this misinformation, and we currently working our way through the tedious FOIA process.

FBI Repeatedly Overstated Encryption Threat Figures to Congress, Public - The Washington Post

Silicon Valley Scandals

It’s been a year of huge scoops revealing how Facebook, Google, and other Silicon Valley companies have routinely failed to protect the privacy of their users (or actively violated it). In fact, we’ve had so many tabs open that we can’t adequately capture them all. However, here are a few that really stuck out:

Delay, Deny and Deflect: How Facebook’s Leaders Fought Through Crisis - New York Times

Facebook Is Giving Advertisers Access to Your Shadow Contact Information - Gizmodo (and just about everything else from Kashmir Hill this year)

As Facebook Raised a Privacy Wall, It Carved an Opening for Tech Giants- New York Times

Google Tracks Your Movements, Like it or Not - Associated Press

Your Apps Know Where You Were Last Night, and They’re Not Keeping It Secret - New York Times

Other Excellent Pieces from 2018

Still looking for more to read? Here are a few more pieces that we highly recommend:

Service Meant to Monitor Inmates’ Calls Could Track You, Too - New York Times

Cops Around the Country Can Now Unlock iPhones, Records Show - Motherboard

ICE is about to start tracking license plates across the US - The Verge

The Cambridge Analytica Files - The Guardian

This article is part of our Year in Review series. Read other articles about the fight for digital rights in 2018.

DONATE TO EFF

Like what you're reading? Support digital freedom defense today!

from Deeplinks http://bit.ly/2CxlwGL

#Deeplinks

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christophergill8 · 6 years

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Identity and tax thieves don't discriminate by age, targeting both youngsters and the elderly

Classes, from Kindergarten to high school to college, are or about to be in session across much of the United States.

That means parents can breathe a sigh of relief now that schools and teachers will once again add structure to their children's lives.

But the beginning of the school year also prompts a new parental concern: their youngsters' privacy.

No age limit for ID theft: Identity thieves don't set age limits on the people whose lives they try to steal.

When a young person's identity is stolen, it sometimes takes longer to discover since most kids aren't involved in transactions, like paying bills or making credit card purchases, that often alert folks to the crime.

And since most young people don't file tax returns, a child's identity is perfect for a criminal looking to file a fraudulent tax return seeking a fake refund.

That's why the Federal Trade Commission has issued the following six tips to help you safeguard your child's personal information, whether your son or daughter is in pre-school or about to finish college.

Protect your child's Social Security number (SSN). Don't carry your child's Social Security card with you, and don't share it unless you know and trust the other party. Ask why it's necessary and how it will be protected. Ask if you can use a different identifier, or use only the last four digits.

Know your rights under FERPA. The Federal Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA) protects the privacy of student records. FERPA requires schools to notify parents and guardians about their school directory policy. It also gives you the right to opt out of sharing contact or other directory information with third parties, including other families.

Limit what kids share online. Teach kids not to post their name, address or full date of birth on social media. The FTC publication Net Cetera: Chatting with Kids About Being Online has more tips for talking with your children about online safety. It offers practical tips and ideas for getting the conversation started about social networking, privacy, mobile devices, computer security and dealing with cyberbullying.

Use strong passwords on smartphones, tablets or laptops. Teach your youngsters the importance of changing passwords and not sharing them. This is especially important for college students in a dorm or other shared living space.

Check whether your child has a credit report. As you child nears his or her 16th birthday, find out whether he or she has a credit report. You can call Equifax at (800) 525-6285 and Experian at (888) 397-3742 or email TransUnion at [email protected]. If you find a credit report in your child's name — and it has errors due to fraud or misuse — by checking early you'll have plenty of time to correct the record before your child applies for a job, applies for a car or college tuition loan or needs to rent an apartment.

Use a shredder. Shred all documents with your child's personal information before throwing them away.

Click image for a look at the FTC's full document-shredding infographic.

Older ID theft victims, too: As I noted earlier, identity thieves don't discriminate by age when they are seeking someone's life to steal. And another prime target of these crooks and scam artists is older people.

In fact, my octogenarian mother called me this morning concerned about a message she got. The reception on her cell phone was not good — and neither is her hearing — and it was cut off before completion so she didn't get all the info the caller tried to leave.

She did know, though, that someone could be facing jail time if they didn't call back the number left on her voice mail. She was concerned that this person would be in bigger trouble than they already apparently were if she didn't alert him or her and she wanted my help in trying to do just that.

Little did my trusting and eager-to-help mom know, but she was the caller's intended target.

The message she partially received was the pervasive Internal Revenue Service agent impersonation phone scam.

Despite shutting down the scam's home base in India a couple of years ago and this summer sentencing 24 participants to time in U.S. federal prisons, the tax scam is still making the rounds.

Look out for Social Security, Medicare schemes: So, too, are false Medicare and Social Security advertisements. These are placed, warns the Social Security Administration, by scammers who target the older audiences seeking information on these federal programs.

These unscrupulous advertisers offer Social Security services for a fee, even though the same services are available directly at no cost from Social Security.

The services that these crooks are trying to sell include getting a:

Corrected Social Security card showing a person's married name;

Social Security card to replace a lost card;

Social Security statement; and

Social Security number for a child.

If you receive misleading information about Social Security, send the complete ad, including the envelope, to:

Office of the Inspector General Fraud Hotline Social Security Administration P.O. Box 17768 Baltimore, MD 21235

And if you, your children or an older relative is ever a victim of identity theft, check out this blog post on what to do and/or go to IdentityTheft.gov to find out what steps to take.

You also might find these items of interest:

5 signs that 'IRS' caller is a crook

4 tax cyber security tips from IRS, NY tax officials

Protecting your financial & tax data from Equifax (and tax) hackers

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from Tax News By Christopher http://www.dontmesswithtaxes.com/2018/08/no-age-discrimination-by-tax-identity-thieves-who-targeting-youngsters-and-elderly-alike.html

0 notes

melbynews-blog · 6 years

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War Propaganda Is Exposed When Pearson Sharp Goes to Syria & Tells the Truth

Neuer Beitrag veröffentlicht bei https://melby.de/war-propaganda-is-exposed-when-pearson-sharp-goes-to-syria-tells-the-truth/

War Propaganda Is Exposed When Pearson Sharp Goes to Syria & Tells the Truth

“This sincere young journalist is having a real Mr. Smith Goes to Washington experience in #Douma,” tweeted journalist Caitlin Johnstone, referring to Pearson Sharp (One America News Network) whose on-the-ground reporting from Syria flies in the face of official mainstream reports out of Syria. Realizing that everything we’ve been told about Syria is false, Sharp — like Mr. Smith in Washington — goes about exposing the lies. While legacy media rants on about a horrifying attack, reports out of Douma suggest it didn’t happen. Sharp found no witnesses nor evidence. Nor did journalists, Robert Fisk (UK The Independent) and Uli Gack (German ZDF).

The world’s eyes are on Syria like never before. Concerns about potential full-scale military confrontation with Russia have caused people to re-examine the Syria situation, sending into overdrive the establishment’s megaphone, a.k.a. the mainstream media (“MSM” hereafter). The war machine relies on public support, so intelligence agencies have perfected the craft of psychological operations — psy-ops — to mind control us into supporting wars that benefit war profiteers and hurt everyone else. The cost has been more than a half million dead in Syria, 2.4 million in Iraq, and trillions in tax dollars. In the US, propaganda was legalized and Pentagon — yes, Pentagon — funds were earmarked for psy-op campaigns geared to cripple dissent and manufacture consent for wars.

In this article, we examine nine war psy-op tactics used by MSM in Syria. By comparing MSM Syria reports to what real journalism looks like — featuring Pearson Sharp — we get a crystal clear picture of how MSM goes about deceiving and manipulating us. The more expert we become at collectively decoding and exposing their tricks — and sharing these tools of discernment with friends — the sooner establishment narratives will crumble. Following is an investigation into just how they operate.

First we consider Sharp who’s a role model in how the Fourth Estate is supposed to function. In self-filmed videos, he randomly approaches and interviews locals and hospital personnel in Douma with the assistance of an interpreter. To prove he isn’t speaking to government plants, he randomly approaches people in the streets with film rolling. His interviewing style is thorough, covering all bases, never leading the speaker to a desired answer, and eliciting their assessment and conclusions. Of the five journalists reviewed herein, Sharp is the only one with full interviews, which creates transparency.

Ground zero interviews in Douma

At ground zero, we learn people laughed when they first heard about the alleged attack on TV. They think it’s a “show”. “The West keeps playing this game. This is not the first time,” they concur. “This is how the West plays its game to find an excuse to attack Syria or bomb Syria.” In the hospital, staff report there were typical cases of smoke and dust inhalation that day, but no deaths nor gas victims — fewer patients than usual. In a gas attack, they explain, hundreds of victims would be admitted. They say the video of children being sprayed with water and inhalers was staged by intruders yelling “chemical attack!”

1. Halt the Investigation & Make the Rest Up (Starring Robert Fisk, The Independent)

These hospital testimonies and Sharp’s inability to find a single witness of a real gas attack corroborate the findings of award-winning Middle East correspondent Robert Fisk in this article (also a short audio here), who interviewed “more than 20 people” in Douma. Fisk has more journalistic latitude than his MSM counterparts discussed below, but he doesn’t go far enough. “How could it be that Douma refugees who had reached camps in Turkey were already describing a gas attack which no one in Douma today seemed to recall?” he wonders. But without further investigation, he draws his conclusion that news didn’t spread due to people living in tunnels “so isolated from each other for so long” during the siege. That does not square. Military reports stated that the terrorists packed civilians in close quarters, yet he leaves it at that, not willing — or too polite — to call out MSM reports from up north the way Sharp does, such as in this tweet:

Just watched a Sky News report about Douma — reporter COMPLETELY LIES about what she saw. I didn’t meet ONE PERSON who saw the attack, but she makes it sound like an atrocity… These reporters act like they care about the Syrian people, but their lies are costing lives. (Emphasis mine)

2. Confuse the Reader Without Outright Lying (Fisk)

The horrors jihadists inflict upon civilians have been documented every time a town is liberated, including Douma. Fisk’s article touches on this matter, sprinkling seedlings of truth. He alludes to the miles of “wretched prisoner-groined tunnels” (i.e. civilian slaves), a Jaish al-Islam execution, and “jihadis . . . living in other’s people’s homes” (i.e. forcing civilians to be homeless), yet he avoids explaining that there are no moderate rebels. Sharp, on the other hand, explains it in black and white on Facebook (boldface mine):

What I can’t figure out is why journalists report about Syria the way they do — — it’s a stunningly beautiful country, with some of the kindest, warmest people I’ve ever met. The Syria they talk about in the news, and the Syria I’m visiting now are not the same place AT ALL. The people here are THRILLED the government has recaptured areas from the rebels: under rebel control, they had no jobs, no food, no power or water or medicine. They feared for their lives every day. EVERY person I’ve talked to (this is not an exaggeration, I have yet to meet someone who disagrees) says they are so relieved to be living under Assad, and that life is finally going back to normal now that he is in charge.

I simply don’t understand why other journalists would say differently. I have talked to Syrians from all over the country, not just one place, and they unanimously hated the rebels, and love President Assad. And these aren’t people who are fearful of speaking against the president, you can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voice. They laugh when I tell them Western media says they hate Assad, and love the rebels. They ask me, “then why would we live here? We are free to do what we want, why wouldn’t we just go live in rebel held areas if we like them so much?” It’s a great question.

I don’t have all the answers, and I’m genuinely baffled at the VAST difference between the Syria on TV, and the Syria I’m seeing with my own eyes.

For seven years “they unanimously hated the terrorists” and “feared for their lives every day.” Fisk, however, keeps this pivotal detail cryptic, writing,

The story of Douma is . . . not just a story of gas — or no gas, as the case may be. It’s about thousands of people who did not opt for evacuation from Douma on buses that left last week, alongside the gunmen with whom they had to live like troglodytes for months in order to survive.

For readers unfamiliar with the word troglodyte, that sentence means nothing. Again, Fisk talks over our heads.

Recent civilian testimonies expose barbaric terrorist war crimes in Ghouta. People are eager to tell their story, and one of Sharp’s hospital interviewees goes off-topic to say the terrorists starved his family for seven years. Surely Fisk was told these horrors, but he plays it safe, stressing there are two stories in war. His assignment is simply to investigate a gas attack, not expose war propaganda. Notwithstanding, the outcome of his ambiguity is a confused reader — not an informed one. In juxtaposition to this, we see Sharp blowing the lid off the entire war psy-op. When Fisk visited the abandoned offices of the White Helmets — whose tweets alerted the world of the event — he found a gas mask and dirty military camouflage uniforms. He thought:

Planted, I asked myself? I doubt it. . . . Of course we must hear their side of the story, but it will not happen here . . . [because] every member of the White Helmets in Douma . . abandoned their main headquarters and chose to take the . . . government-organised and Russian-protected buses to the rebel province of Idlib with the armed groups when the final truce was agreed.

This point will fly past readers only familiar with White Helmets’ Hollywood image. A terrorist mecca, Idlib’s no ordinary travel destination. The US–funded White Helmets are a propaganda construct who rescue only terrorists, participate in beheadings, stage fake rescues, and are allied with Al-Nusra Front. The reason Fisk doubts that the gas mask and military apparel were planted is surely because he‘s aware of their terrorist activities. But once again, he doesn’t spell that out.

3. Make Sweeping Unsubstantiated Claims (Fisk)

Fisk probably believes what he says — but does not source his sweeping “ruthless dictatorship” claim. (He cannot.) But because he writes in an authoritative tone (see #8 below), we’re supposed to trust this party line. Nevertheless, regardless of the deficits, kudos for his report on the gas attack matter and his masterful free-flowing prose that brings the streets of Douma to life for the reader.

4. Lie Brazenly Straight to the Camera (Starring Louise Callaghan, Sky News)

Sky News reporter Louise Callaghan reports on her visit to northern Syria refugee camps — without presenting interview footage. She claims that “individually corroborating” testimonies of Douma “survivors” all witnessed the gas attack, experienced symptoms, and said the missile attack was “good” but wouldn’t deter Assad. No clarification is provided as to whether they’re pro-rebel or pro-Assad. This is because MSM pretends all Syrians hate Assad. She claims that she met a girl from the hospital video, that the White Helmets help people all over Syria and are not Al-Qaeda, and that Assad used gas many times.

Given MSM’s long history of lying us into war, when they stay perfectly on a war agenda script like this, you can be sure they’re lying. Because she broadcasts from Mosul, one cannot be sure she even went to Syria. It’s really unlikely everyone interviewed said the exact same thing. Without video proof, we should assume she made it up, especially because it contradicts video testimonies in Douma. Plus she says provable lies about the White Helmets and Assad, so she has zero credibility.

There’s no evidence Assad gassed his people. Ever. She doesn’t discuss Assad’s popularity nor the US-supplied terrorists’ penchant for gassing people. In fact, here’s a compilation of reports refuting hers, suggesting it was a false flag staged by her pals, the White Helmets. “This isn’t just bad journalism, it should be criminal,” Sharp tweeted. “I wish she had to live with the people she was lying about.”

One final clue that she’s lying is her body language: the rolling of eyes, blinking, smug grin and deadpan gaze hint of a trained liar. Those contrast with Sharp’s sincere expressions and steadfast eyes.

5. Act Like an Expert While Forecasting a Long War. Be Sure to Make it Sound Complicated. (Starring Callaghan)

Pushing the war psy-op envelope, twenty-something Callaghan acts like a seasoned foreign policy expert, declaring “The war’s far from over” because of the complicated web of warring factions — as if only experts could figure it out. This plants the idea of never-ending war in the public’s consciousness — just what the war profiteers ordered. In truth, the situation is not so complicated. Here’s how simple it is: It’s not an organic civil war. Assad, Russia, and the Syrian Arab Army are the good guys with mass popular support. There are various “rebel” factions, but no moderate rebels. As my friend John McCarthy points out, “War would stop immediately if outside forces stopped supplying the “rebels, most of whom are not even from Syria.”

6. Insinuate That Everything Fits Your Narrative (Starring Arwa Damon, CNN)

In our next video, CNN correspondent Arwa Damon reports from a refugee camp in northern Syria. This video got a lot of laughs because she debunks herself by sniffing and touching objects allegedly contaminated with chemical weapons — without donning gloves or mask. Her highly edited video features clips of interviews with her voice-over translation muting most of the original dialog.

Damon reports that they all witnessed the gas attack, and some were poisoned. Really? A bedridden woman, she translates, was leaving the hospital when the sick arrived — a “horrific” scene! Woah, that doesn’t jibe with Sharp’s and Fisk’s hospital testimonials. Damon implies — without saying it outright — that the husband died in the alleged gas attack — a perfect example of how to insinuate that everything fits official narratives. Damon doesn’t say the smelly items were contaminated in the attack, but she implies it by reacting to a sniff test — “definitely . . . stings,” she says. With the camera close up on a smiling child, she states:

This new camp is inhabited with those who survived the siege of Douma. Its relentless months-long bombing that drove families underground so that something as simple as feeling the sun on their skin was a luxury.

Her scolding tone is code for blaming Assad and his Army. Damon summarizes in the same chiding tone:

The limited US-French-UK strikes may have sent a message to the Syrian regime about chemical weapons, but not the rest of its arsenal. For those who have endured the unimaginable, it’s little more than a move on a gruesome chessboard.

This insinuates that Assad and the Arab Army are responsible for the “unimaginable” and it implies locals share this viewpoint — which is not supported at all by Sharp’s news coverage (nor other independent journalists, for that matter).

One-man act

7. Edit Craftily (Damon)

Damon’s big budget film crew production honestly cannot compete with Sharp’s one-man act. His interviews are not highly edited nor dubbed like hers — nothing is hidden. His 3rd party interpreter translates in real time on camera. No one should ever, ever trust CNN dubbed translations because CNN was literally caught reading scripts on air in the Bana Alabed Syria psy-op. An elderly woman in this video hardly utters a word on camera, but quite oddly, Damon translates an entire paragraph, saying “her country has caused her too much pain.” Hmm . . . did the woman really say “HER country”? Unlikely, considering that people in Sharp’s videos know the score.

Of four adults Damon interviews, we don’t see the faces of two. Why did the man in this picture refuse to be identified? There can be a reasonable explanation (or he could be a terrorist), but it seems there was a dearth of willing participants in this large camp. Could it be because few conformed to her agenda? Sharp’s videos, in contrast, feature many people unabashed to speak on camera. With tape rolling, he randomly approaches and interacts with many people — not the case on CNN where the settings and props (doll, clothes in wash basin, face mask, pot on boy’s head, infant on hospital bed) look pre-planned. Furthermore, her interviews are cut, so we don’t know if she asked leading questions. Compared to Sharp’s impromptu videos, hers look rehearsed — props and all. Truth does not need editing nor staging.

Did CNN provide the t-shirts, face mask or sunglasses as props?

8. Speak in an Authoritative Tone In Lieu of Providing Proof (Co-starring Callaghan & Damon)

Caitlin Johnstone points out that “Saying something [repeatedly] in an authoritative tone [is] now [treated as] the same thing as providing proof.” These Sky News and CNN segments lack video proof. Yet because they speak in authoritative tones, viewers are meant to believe that none of the refugees denounced the “rebels” and western governments like other Syrians do, and that they all witnessed the gas attack. Johnstone recommends, “Never, ever, ever let them push the burden of proof upon you” (at 18:00). As chance would have it, Sharp provided video proof that refutes these MSM claims.

9. Lie by Omission (Starring Frederik Pleitgen, CNN)

CNN senior international correspondent Fredeik Pleitgen reported from Damascus April 7, providing the first details of the attack for which Assad was accused (link is here). The week prior, Pleitgen had visited eastern Ghouta with a group including Vanessa Beeley, who tweeted:

Why no mention of #EasternGhouta terrorist chemical weapons lab u visited wth me on 6th March? Why no mention of 3,500* plus civilian prisoners of Jaish Al Islam held in “repentance” prisons? Who gains fm this alleged CW use?

Pleitgen lies by omitting these critical parts of the puzzle — which would turn the narrative completely on its head because Jaish al Islam had the motive, means, and proximity to captives. On the other hand, Sharp leaves no gaps in his reporting. The way to know they’re lying by omission is to follow credible media sources. Here’s a list of independent Syria experts to follow (plus Tim Anderson). (*Note: Jaish al-Islam lied about the hostage count. Only 200 survived, with thousands dead or sold to Idlib.)

Hold MSM Accountable & Spread the Word

This is not normal. It is not healthy for well-educated journalists to warmonger for a paycheck and fame. To recap, here’s a list of nine psy-op ploys used to manufacture consent for war.

MSM has literally turned into a Hollywood production, and puts on this charade because they can get away with it. We need to call them out, hold their feet to the fire, and show our friends how to spot these psy-ops. Quite demonstrably, Sharp models what real journalism looks like, in graphic relief to MSM. This drastic dichotomy proves how fake MSM is and how dumb they think we are. As John McCarthy points out, “. . . honestly and humanly, [Sharp] is giving a voice to the People of Syria.” Sharp has arrived back in the USA and is posting more “Mr. Smith Goes to Syria” footage from his journey. In an interview, Sharp offers strong advice as follows:

Don’t trust the media. There is so much that goes on that you don’t see reported. I work in the media. I was at Douma. I saw what I saw, and then I saw what the other news outlets reported, and it wasn’t at all the same thing. . . . Traveling around Syria, there’s so much to that country that people don’t see in the media. The people there are friendly and outgoing, and all they want is to live a normal life. They are trying so hard . . . to just have a normal life. . . . In spite of everything, Syrians love America.

The good news is that — gas, or no gas — this chapter has helped blow the cover off MSM’s wiles. That’s why MSM is doing damage control with a giant smear campaign targeting their indie media competition. We need to push back, hold them accountable, and expose their tricks. People’s lives depend on it. Maybe even our own. Let’s follow, support, and promote these independent Syria-expert journalists and get the word out about Syria. Peace.

Net News Global

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Emergencies Ministry members work at the site of a Malaysia Airlines Boeing 777 plane crash, July 17, 2014

Official Statement From Russian Defense Ministry On Malaysia Boeing 777: Only E.U. Overthrown Kiev ~ Controlled Buk-M1 Missiles In Donetsk Region.

MOSCOW, July 17 (RIA Novosti) – A Ukrainian army battalion of Buk air defense systems was deployed near the city of Donetsk a day before the crash of a Malaysian passenger plane on Thursday, making the downing of the aircraft by one of the missiles highly probable, an expert source said.

“According to reconnaissance data, a Ukrainian army battalion of Buk air defense systems was deployed near Donetsk on Wednesday morning,” the source said. The source added that armed militia fighting Kiev-led forces in eastern Ukraine does not have Buk systems, which are capable of shooting down aircraft flying at altitudes up to 25 kilometers (82,000 feet).

Nine E.U. Countries Block NWO Economic Sanctions Against Russia

President Kennedy Rejected CIA Airliner False Flag Attacks On Americans!

Ukraine Crisis Is About E.U.’s Agenda 21: What Comes Around In The U.S. Goes Around In The Ukraine!

Next Phase Of Rothschild’s Megalomaniac Global NWO Financial Crisis About To Get Started: Its Also Time To Turn Off His Water & Power!

Emergencies Ministry members work at the site of a Malaysia Airlines Boeing 777 plane crash, July 17, 2014

Vladimir Putin Stopped Rothschild In 2006!

Memorial 1801: First War With The United States By Islam ~ Remembering Those Who Were Enslaved & Killed.

Earlier the same day, adviser to the Ukrainian Interior Minister wrote on his Facebook page that a Buk surface-to-air missile system was indeed used to down the plane, but insisted that the self-defense forces had done that.

According to various reports, a Malaysia Airlines Boeing-777 flying from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur crashed near the city of Donetsk in eastern Ukraine Thursday. There were 280 passengers and 15 crew members on board.

Malaysia Airlines confirmed that it had lost contact with its plane when it was above the Ukrainian airspace.

“Malaysia Airlines has lost contact of MH17 from Amsterdam. The last known position was over Ukrainian airspace. More details to follow,” the company said on Twitter. Witnesses from the town of Torez in the Donetsk Region told RIA Novosti that plane wreckage and dead bodies have been located in the area.

RIA NOVOSTI

News breaking that “someone” shot down a Commercial Malaysian Air 777 over the Ukraine killing over 300 people has rocked the markets at a very significant moment. My first thought…Is this just another false flag event?

I know it is cynical and there will be images of distraught family members blasted over the airwaves very soon but how can we believe what we are told by the mainstream media when time and time again…they have lied to us?

Many things are pointing this being just another hoax including the following:

Malaysian Air involved AGAIN after their “lost plane” false flag event a few months back.

The markets were looking for an excuse to hit the collapse button

Gold and Silver have been rumored to be “allowed” to run up very soon.

European banks are in deep, deep trouble and need an excuse.

Ukrainian gov’t came out immediately after the news hit with a story that they know that the Russians shot the plane down.

Obama and the EU have just laid new sanctions on Russia and are looking for support from the world.

All of the above leans me towards the conclusion that this is just another false flag event in a long, long string of many that our controllers have pulled off. Let me be clear…this is just my hunch and it usually takes a few weeks/months before all the “conspiracy facts” come out proving the motives and methods behind the occurrence. We are living in dangerous times so look at everything with a skeptical eye.

May the Road you choose be the Right Road.

Bix Weir www.RoadtoRoota.com

ORCHESTRATED ATTACKS UPON PLANES

“picking a fight”

COPA Coalition On Political Assassinations

Our Rights and Freedoms have been taken from us! Our sons are sent to die in someone else’s battles! Our taxes are disguised tribute to a foreign power! Our government is under foreign control! Laws written for the public good are not enforced! while NON-laws are enforced, with criminal penalties! UNDER A FOREIGN JURISDICTION!

COPA

NWO Plane Crash False Flag Conspiracies

The Central Intelligence Agency was created by the Rothschilds, not to discover facts of importance to national security, but to manufacture and disseminate ideologies and disinformation which serve Rothschild interests, and to create evidence to support that ideology, such as by planting Soviet weapons caches, or coercing newspapers into covering up damaging information, or even manufacture stories to support the Rothschild banking cabal.

U.S. Corporate CIA Is The Biggest Threat To U.S. Citizens Safety!

Edward Snowden’s Exposed Lies: Turf War ~ CIA Militant Psyops vs NSA Intelligence Gathering!

Malaysia Airliner MH370

Ukraine Crisis Is About E.U.’s Agenda 21: What Comes Around In The U.S. Goes Around In The Ukraine!

Operation Northwoods was a series of false-flag proposals that originated in 1962 within the United States government, and which the Kennedy administration rejected.

The proposals called for the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), or other operatives, to commit acts of terrorism in U.S. cities and elsewhere.

These acts of terrorism were to be blamed on Cuba in order to create public support for a war against that nation, which had recently become communist under Fidel Castro.

One part of Operation Northwoods was to “develop a Communist Cuban terror campaign in the Miami area, in other Florida cities and even in Washington.”

JFK was the last genuine president they had, he was going to eliminate any possibility of a war in Vietnam,

which would be detrimental to multinational corporations;

he was going to abolish the federal reserve and the CIA.

Kennedy Murdered

The President Who Killed Rothschild Banking Schemes : Roosevelt And The Presidents Murdered By Rothschild ~ Lincoln, Garfield, & Kennedy!

The VietNam War was created by the CIA. Ho Chi Mhin had been a US ally during World War II.

After the War, the French attempted to retake VietNam, but Ho Chi Mhin forced them out. The Red Chinese invaded VietNam from the north, but Ho Chi Mhin forced them out too. This threatened Rothschild interests in the development of Red China. The return of Ho Chi Mhin to south VietNam also threatened a sweet deal the CIA had with Diem for heroin, which the CIA smuggled into the U.S. at enormous profit.

The CIA planted weapons caches and spread the fiction that Ho Chi Mhin was a Red. Bobby Kennedy got wise to the scam, and shared his suspicions with Robert, who then refused to send arms. The CIA plotted to have him assassinated, so they could install a Rothschild patsy, Lyndon Johnson, in his place, who subsequently pulled us into a full-scale war, after promising not to.

President John Kennedy’s Brother: Robert Kennedy Assassinated.

When Robert Kennedy ran for president, they had him killed too, so he couldn’t straighten things out.

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Eight US troops die after sampling Afghanistan’s deadliest crop.

American Troops Are Protecting Afghan Opium. U.S. …

In “The Case of the Schizo Strategy,” Oversight Police Officers Joe Thursday and Terry Transparency attempt to reveal the reasoning behind President Obama’s ambivalent call for the deployment of 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan while simultaneously revealing America’s withdrawal date from the Afghan theater.

“pResident Obama’s Afghanistan strategy belies a White House at war with itself over its commitment to the mission and a desire by some to withdraw our troops at any cost,” said Rep. Darrell Issa. “Questions about who has influenced the confusing strategy outlined by the President are very real and must be further explored.”

Deadlier In Mexico Than Afghanistan: Obama Sends More Troops To Afghanistan & Ignores Mexican U.S. Border.

The DEA was set up partly to protect the CIA drug monopoly, partly because drugs have a way of jogging people’s minds, facilitating paradigm shifts, waking them up to what is going on around them. Some, like marijuana and LSD, are very good at this. I think it was Jerry Rubin who once called marijuana a “truth serum”.

DEA funds have even been used to turn a trail in VietNam, where drugs were once carried on mule back, into a major superhighway, so drugs can now be carried out by truckload.

HSBC Helped Rothschild CIA Mossad Terrorists, Soros Mexican Drug

Rothschild An MI5/6 Cronie & Sons: Implicated With George Soros In Some Of The Filthiest Drugs-For-Weapons Operations.

Destabilizing The United States Using False Flag Terrorism: NWO’s Scheme To Turn Capitalism’s Open Market Into A Cronie Capitalist Closed Market For The Banks!

The DEA has also repeatedly undermined efforts of their own agents, frequently endangering them, to protect sources of cocaine in Colombia and Bolivia, and to protect the biggest dealer around, their boss, the CIA.

Castro’s Henchman ~ Che Guevara

OPERATION NORTHWOODS

Plot to Terrorize US Cities & Blame Cuba

In his new exposé of the National Security Agency entitled Body of Secrets, author James Bamford highlights a set of proposals on Cuba by the Joint Chiefs of Staff codenamed OPERATION NORTHWOODS.

This document, titled “Justification for U.S. Military Intervention in Cuba” was provided by the JCS to Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara on March 13, 1962, as the key component of Northwoods.

Written in response to a request from the Chief of the Cuba Project, Col. Edward Lansdale, the Top Secret memorandum describes U.S. plans to covertly engineer various pretexts that would justify a U.S. invasion of Cuba.

These proposals – part of a secret anti-Castro program known as Operation Mongoose – included staging the assassinations of Cubans living in the United States, developing a fake “Communist Cuban terror campaign in the Miami area, in other Florida cities and even in Washington,” including “sink[ing] a boatload of Cuban refugees (real or simulated),” faking a Cuban airforce attack on a civilian jetliner, and concocting a “Remember the Maine” incident by blowing up a U.S. ship in Cuban waters and then blaming the incident on Cuban sabotage.

Citizens Revolt Upon Communist Fear Monger Che Guevara

Che Guevara Executioner Of 14,000 & The Useful Idiots Who Romanticize Him.

AIG Banks Gave $100 Million Of America’s Bailout Money: To Islam Head-cutting Sharia Groups & Che Guevara Cronies.

Bamford himself writes that Operation Northwoods,

“may be the most corrupt plan ever created by the U.S. government.”

Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, Justification for US Military Intervention in Cuba [includes cover memoranda], March 13, 1962, TOP SECRET, 15 pp.

Operation Northwoods was a series of false-flag proposals that originated in 1962 within the United States government, and which the Kennedy administration rejected.

The proposals called for the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), or other operatives, to commit acts of terrorism in U.S. cities and elsewhere.

These acts of terrorism were to be blamed on Cuba in order to create public support for a war against that nation, which had recently become communist under Fidel Castro.

One part of Operation Northwoods was to “develop a Communist Cuban terror campaign in the Miami area, in other Florida cities and even in Washington.”

Paul Revere Whistleblower

Whistleblower

Operation Northwoods proposals included hijackings and bombings followed by the introduction of phony evidence that would implicate the Cuban government. It stated:

“The desired resultant from the execution of this plan would be to place the United States in the apparent position of suffering defensible grievances from a rash and irresponsible government of Cuba and to develop an international image of a Cuban threat to peace in the Western Hemisphere.”

Chairman Joint Chief Of Staff Justification Signature

Rothschild and CIA Publications Attack “Constitution-worshipers”

Several other proposals were included within Operation Northwoods, including real or simulated actions against various U.S. military and civilian targets. The plan was drafted by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, signed by Chairman Lyman Lemnitzer and sent to the Secretary of Defense.

Although part of the U.S. government’s Cuban Project anti-communist initiative, Operation Northwoods was never officially accepted; it was authorized by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, but then rejected by President John F. Kennedy.

According to currently released documentation, none of the operations became active under the auspices of the Operation Northwoods proposals.

False Flags

Heads Up: Rothschild Bankers Who Screwed Everyone In Ireland Are Finally On Trial: Ireland Joins Iceland, Egypt, Russia, Hungary, China, & Iran

Origins and public release:

The main proposal was presented in a document entitled “Justification for US Military Intervention in Cuba (TS)”, a top secret collection of draft memoranda written by the Department of Defense (DoD) and the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS).[1] The document was presented by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara on 13 March 1962 as a preliminary submission for planning purposes. The Joint Chiefs of Staff recommended that both the covert and overt aspects of any such operation be assigned to them.

US Airways, Rothschild, CIA & 911 – Pilots For 9/11

Re-Investigation Of 9/11 Campaign Gains World Momentum: Italy Supreme Court Submits U.S. 9/11 Crimes Against Humanity To International Criminal Tribunal!

The previously secret document was originally made public on 18 November 1997, by the John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Review Board, a U.S. federal agency overseeing the release of government records related to John F. Kennedy’s assassination. A total 1521 pages of once-secret military records covering 1962 to 1964 were concomitantly declassified by said Review Board.

“Appendix to Enclosure A” and “Annex to Appendix to Enclosure A” of the Northwoods document were first published online by the National Security Archive on 6 November 1998 in a joint venture with CNN as part of CNN’s 1998 Cold War television documentary series—specifically, as a documentation supplement to “Episode 10: Cuba,” which aired on 29 November 1998. “Annex to Appendix to Enclosure A” is the section of the document which contains the proposals to stage terrorist attacks.

The Northwoods document was published online in a more complete form (i.e., including cover memoranda) by the National Security Archive on 30 April 2001.

Number One Killer Of Mankind Can Be Traced To Rothschild’s NWO Democide: Death By Banker’s Usurped Government!

The Collapse Of The Kissinger Rothschild 1971 NWO Petrodollar: Their End Game Plan Is Here!

Content:

In response to a request for pretexts for military intervention by the Chief of Operations of the Cuba Project, Brig. Gen. Edward Lansdale, the document listed methods, and outlined plans, that the authors believed would garner public and international support for U.S. military intervention in Cuba. According to Jacob Hornberger:

The plan called for U.S. personnel to disguise themselves as agents of the Cuban government and to engage in terrorist attacks on the U.S. base at Guantanamo Bay. It also called for terrorist attacks within the United States that would be conducted by pro-U.S. forces disguising themselves as Cuban agents.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Operation Northwoods involved the proposed hijacking of an American passenger plane. The JCS proposed that a real plane containing American passengers would be hijacked by friendly forces disguised as Cuban agents. The plane would drop down off the radar screen and be replaced by a pilotless aircraft, which would crash, purportedly killing all the passengers. Under the plan, the real passenger plane would be secretly flown back to the United States.

The remains of a fertilizer plant burn after an explosion at the plant in the town of West, near Waco, Texas early April 18, 2013. The deadly explosion ripped through the fertilizer plant late on Wednesday, killing 14 people, injuring more than 100, leveling dozens of homes and damaging other buildings including a school and nursing home, authorities said.

Waco Texas Fertilizer Company Hit By Drone/Laser Strike After Lawsuit Filed Against Monsanto!

More specifically, the Northwoods plan called for the following:

Since it would seem desirable to use legitimate provocation as the basis for US military intervention in Cuba a cover and deception plan, to include requisite preliminary actions such as has been developed in response to Task 33 c, could be executed as an initial effort to provoke Cuban reactions. Harassment plus deceptive actions to convince the Cubans of imminent invasion would be emphasized. Our military posture throughout execution of the plan will allow a rapid change from exercise to intervention if Cuban response justifies.

A series of well coordinated incidents will be planned to take place in and around Guantanamo to give genuine appearance of being done by hostile Cuban forces. a. Incidents to establish a credible attack (not in chronological order): 1.Start rumors (many). Use clandestine radio.

Land friendly Cubans in uniform “over-the-fence” to stage attack on base.

Capture Cuban (friendly) saboteurs inside the base.

2013 Missile Strike On Waco, Texas

Start riots near the base main gate (friendly Cubans).

Blow up ammunition inside the base; start fires.

Burn aircraft on air base (sabotage).

Lob mortar shells from outside of base into base. Some damage to installations.

Capture assault teams approaching from the sea or vicinity of Guantanamo City.

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10.

Capture militia group which storms the base.

11.

Sabotage ship in harbor; large fires—napthalene.

12.

Sink ship near harbor entrance. Conduct funerals for mock-victims (may be in lieu of (11).

U.S. Corporate CIA Is The Biggest Threat To U.S. Citizens Safety: Fomenting Nation State Takeover Through Misinformation Campaigns, Murders, Assassinations, & Greed ~ Absconding America’s Money To Carry Out The Evils For The International Banking Controller’s Scheme Known As NWO.

United States would respond by executing offensive operations to secure water and power supplies, destroying artillery and mortar emplacements which threaten the base. c. Commence large scale United States military operations.

“Remember the Maine” incident could be arranged in several forms: We could blow up a US ship in Guantanamo Bay and blame Cuba. b. We could blow up a drone (unmanned) vessel anywhere in the Cuban waters.

We could arrange to cause such incident in the vicinity of Havana or Santiago as a spectacular result of Cuban attack from the air or sea, or both. The presence of Cuban planes or ships merely investigating the intent of the vessel could be fairly compelling evidence that the ship was taken under attack.

The nearness to Havana or Santiago would add credibility especially to those people that might have heard the blast or have seen the fire. The US could follow up with an air/sea rescue operation covered by US fighters to “evacuate” remaining members of the non-existent crew. Casualty lists in US newspapers would cause a helpful wave of national indignation.

We could develop a Communist Cuban terror campaign in the Miami area, in other Florida cities and even in Washington. The terror campaign could be pointed at refugees seeking haven in the United States.

We could sink a boatload of Cubans en route to Florida (real or simulated). We could foster attempts on lives of Cuban refugees in the United States even to the extent of wounding in instances to be widely publicized.

Exploding a few plastic bombs in carefully chosen spots, the arrest of Cuban agents and the release of prepared documents substantiating Cuban involvement, also would be helpful in projecting the idea of an irresponsible government.

“Cuban-based, Castro-supported” filibuster could be simulated against a neighboring Caribbean nation (in the vein of the 14 June invasion of the Dominican Republic).

AIG Officials Sporting Che Guevara And Celebrating Their Multi-Million Dollar Bonus Checks – Bailouts Are Nice Eh?

Bailouts Were Illegal: AFLC Attorneys To Argue Before Federal Appellate Court That AIG Bailout Was Unconstitutional.

2013 Hezbollah Establishes Base In Cuba: Must Read For Every U.S. Military Soldier ~ The Growing Plight At Home For U.S. Citizens!

We know that Castro is backing subversive efforts clandestinely against Haiti, Dominican Republic, Guatemala, and Nicaragua at present and possible others. These efforts can be magnified and additional ones contrived for exposure.

For example, advantage can be taken of the sensitivity of the Dominican Air Force to intrusions within their national air space.

Benghazi False Flag By Hillary & Feinstein’s CIA.

Dianne Feinstein’s Intelligence Committee CIA: Attempts Overthrow Of Ecuador.

Dianne Feinstein’s Intelligence Committee CIA: Attempts Overthrow Of Bolivia For New World Order Banker’s Scheme

“Cuban” B-26 or C-46 type aircraft could make cane-burning raids at night. Soviet Bloc incendiaries could be found. This could be coupled with “Cuban” messages to the Communist underground in the Dominican Republic and “Cuban” shipments of arm which would be found, or intercepted, on the beach.

Use of MIG type aircraft by US pilots could provide additional provocation. Harassment of civil air, attacks on surface shipping and destruction of US military drone aircraft by MIG type planes would be useful as complementary actions.

An F-86 properly painted would convince air passengers that they saw a Cuban MIG, especially if the pilot of the transport were to announce such fact. The primary drawback to this suggestion appears to be the security risk inherent in obtaining or modifying an aircraft.

Mig 15

However, reasonable copies of the MIG could be produced from US resources in about three months.

Hijacking attempts against civil air and surface craft should appear to continue as harassing measures condoned by the government of Cuba. Concurrently, genuine defections of Cuban civil and military air and surface craft should be encouraged.

It is possible to create an incident which will demonstrate convincingly that a Cuban aircraft has attacked and shot down a chartered civil airliner en route from the United States to Jamaica, Guatemala, Panama or Venezuela. The destination would be chosen only to cause the flight plan route to cross Cuba.

The passengers could be a group of college students off on a holiday or any grouping of persons with a common interest to support chartering a non-scheduled flight. a. An aircraft at Eglin AFB would be painted and numbered as an exact duplicate for a civil registered aircraft belonging to a CIA proprietary organization in the Miami area.

At a designated time the duplicate would be substituted for the actual civil aircraft and would be loaded with the selected passengers, all boarded under carefully prepared aliases. The actual registered aircraft would be converted to a drone.

Another Dead U.S. ISIS False Flag Attack: Non Stop NWO Propaganda To Start WWIII To Hide Their Loot. Oh By The Way, Kuwait To Sell Oil In Bitcoins.

Take off times of the drone aircraft and the actual aircraft will be scheduled to allow a rendezvous south of Florida. From the rendezvous point the passenger-carrying aircraft will descend to minimum altitude and go directly into an auxiliary field at Eglin AFB where arrangements will have been made to evacuate the passengers and return the aircraft to its original status.

The drone aircraft meanwhile will continue to fly the filed flight plan. When over Cuba the drone will begin transmitting on the international distress frequency a “MAY DAY” message stating he is under attack by Cuban MIG aircraft. The transmission will be interrupted by destruction of the aircraft which will be triggered by radio signal.

This will allow ICAO radio stations in the Western Hemisphere to tell the US what has happened to the aircraft instead of the US trying to “sell” the incident.

It is possible to create an incident which will make it appear that Communist Cuban MIGs have destroyed a USAF aircraft over international waters in an unprovoked attack. Approximately 4 or 5 F-101 aircraft will be dispatched in trail from Homestead AFB, Florida, to the vicinity of Cuba. Their mission will be to reverse course and simulate fakir aircraft for an air defense exercise in southern Florida.

These aircraft would conduct variations of these flights at frequent Intervals. Crews would be briefed to remain at least 12 miles off the Cuban coast; however, they would be required to carry live ammunition in the event that hostile actions were taken by the Cuban MIGs. On one such flight, a pre-briefed pilot would fly tail-end Charley at considerable interval between aircraft. While near the Cuban Island this pilot would broadcast that he had been jumped by MIGs and was going down.

No other calls would be made. The pilot would then fly directly west at extremely low altitude and land at a secure base, an Eglin auxiliary. The aircraft would be met by the proper people, quickly stored and given a new tail number. The pilot who had performed the mission under an alias, would resume his proper identity and return to his normal place of business. The pilot and aircraft would then have disappeared. c.

At precisely the same time that the aircraft was presumably shot down, a submarine or small surface craft would disburse F-101 parts, parachute, etc., at approximately 15 to 20 miles off the Cuban coast and depart. The pilots returning to Homestead would have a true story as far as they knew. Search ships and aircraft could be dispatched and parts of aircraft found.

James Bamford wrote on Northwoods:

Operation Northwoods, which had the written approval of the Chairman and every member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, called for:

innocent people to be shot on American streets;

for boats carrying refugees fleeing Cuba to be sunk on the high seas;

for a wave of violent terrorism to be launched in Washington, D.C., Miami, and elsewhere.

People would be framed for bombings they did not commit;

planes would be hijacked.

Using phony evidence, all of it would be blamed on Castro, thus giving Lemnitzer and his cabal the excuse, as well as the public and international backing, they needed to launch their war.

Cuba

Related Operation Mongoose proposals:

In addition to Operation Northwoods, under the Operation Mongoose program the U.S. Department of Defense had a number of similar proposals to be taken against the Cuban regime of Fidel Castro.

Twelve of these proposals come from a 2 February 1962 memorandum entitled “Possible Actions to Provoke, Harass or Disrupt Cuba,” written by Brig. Gen. William H. Craig and submitted to Brig. Gen. Edward Lansdale, the commander of the Operation Mongoose project.

The memorandum outlines Operation Bingo, a plan to; “create an incident which has the appearance of an attack on U.S. facilities (GMO) in Cuba, thus providing an excuse for use of U.S. military might to overthrow the current government of Cuba.”

It also includes Operation Dirty Trick, a plot to blame Castro if the 1962 Mercury manned space flight carrying John Glenn crashed, saying: “The objective is to provide irrevocable proof that, should the MERCURY manned orbit flight fail, the fault lies with the Communists et al. Cuba [sic].” It continues,

“This to be accomplished by manufacturing various pieces of evidence which would prove electronic interference on the part of the Cubans.”

Even after General Lemnitzer lost his job as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Joint Chiefs of Staff still planned false-flag pretext operations at least into 1963. A different U.S. Department of Defense policy paper created in 1963 discussed a plan to make it appear that Cuba had attacked a member of the Organization of American States (OAS) so that the United States could retaliate.

The U.S. Department of Defense document says of one of the scenarios, “A contrived ‘Cuban’ attack on an OAS member could be set up, and the attacked state could be urged to take measures of self-defense and request assistance from the U.S. and OAS.”

The plan expressed confidence that by this action,

“the U.S. could almost certainly obtain the necessary two-thirds support among OAS members for collective action against Cuba.”

Included in the nations the Joint Chiefs suggested as targets for covert attacks were Jamaica and Trinidad-Tobago. Since both were members of the British Commonwealth, the Joint Chiefs hoped that by secretly attacking them and then falsely blaming Cuba, the United States could incite the people of the United Kingdom into supporting a war against Castro.

As the U.S. Department of Defense report noted:

Any of the contrived situations described above are inherently, extremely risky in our democratic system in which security can be maintained, after the fact, with very great difficulty. If the decision should be made to set up a contrived situation it should be one in which participation by U.S. personnel is limited only to the most highly trusted covert personnel. This suggests the infeasibility of the use of military units for any aspect of the contrived situation.”

The U.S. Department of Defense report even suggested covertly paying a person in the Castro government to attack the United States:

“The only area remaining for consideration then would be to bribe one of Castro’s subordinate commanders to initiate an attack on [the U.S. Navy base at] Guantanamo.”

Last Free President Of The United States: President John F. Kennedy and daughter Caroline, 2 in Hyannisport, MA 5/23/60

President John F Kennedy’s NAWAPA 1964 For The American People ~ Not Corporate Greed: WATER!

Barack Obama’s War On America’s Fresh Water Supply

Reaction:

The continuing push against the Cuban government by internal elements of the U.S. military and intelligence communities (the failed Bay of Pigs Invasion, the Cuban Project, etc.) had already prompted President John F. Kennedy to attempt to rein in burgeoning hardline anti-Communist sentiment that was intent on proactive, aggressive action against communist movements around the globe.

Vietnam is embracing the 21st century with vigour. From the commercial maze of Ho Chi Minh City to the pristine beaches of Da Nang, the once-beleaguered country is putting its troubled past to one side.

After the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy had fired CIA director Allen W. Dulles, Deputy Director Charles P. Cabell, and Deputy Director Richard Bissell, and turned his attention towards Vietnam.

Kennedy had also stripped the CIA of responsibility for paramilitary operations like the Bay of Pigs and turned them over to the U.S. Department of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, which, as Commander in Chief, Kennedy could more directly control.

Personally, Kennedy expressed outrage to many of his associates about the CIA’s growing influence on civilians and government inside America and his attempt to curtail the CIA’s extensive Cold War and paramilitary operations was a direct expression of this concern.

Kennedy personally rejected the Northwoods proposal, and it would now be the Joint Chiefs’ turn to incur his displeasure. A JCS/Pentagon document (Ed Lansdale memo) dated 16 March 1962 titled MEETING WITH THE PRESIDENT, 16 MARCH 1962 reads:

“General Lemnitzer commented that the military had contingency plans for US intervention. Also it had plans for creating plausible pretexts to use force, with the pretext either attacks on US aircraft or a Cuban action in Latin America for which we could retaliate.

The President said bluntly that we were not discussing the use of military force, that General Lemnitzer might find the U.S so engaged in Berlin or elsewhere that he couldn’t use the contemplated 4 divisions in Cuba.”

The proposal was sent for approval to the Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara, but was not implemented.

(Some fifty years later when asked about the plot by journalist David Talbot, Robert McNamara drew a blank.

“I have absolutely zero recollection of it. But I sure as hell would have rejected it,” McNamara said, adding, “I really can’t believe that anyone was proposing such provocative acts in Miami. How stupid!”

President Kennedy was putting a stop to the Vietnam War & The Rothschild Federal Reserve: pResident Johnson continued the Vietnam war for the International bankers and continued the Rothschild Federal Reserve.

Following presentation of the Northwoods plan, Kennedy removed Lemnitzer as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, although he became Supreme Allied Commander of NATO in January 1963.

NWO Lyndon Johnson Rothschild Czar

American armed forces leaders began to perceive Kennedy as going soft on Cuba, and the President became increasingly unpopular with the military, a rift that came to a head during Kennedy’s disagreements with the service chiefs over the Cuban Missile Crisis.

On 3 August 2001, the National Assembly of People’s Power of Cuba (the main legislative body of the Republic of Cuba) issued a statement referring to Operation Northwoods and Operation Mongoose wherein it condemned such U.S. government plans.

Here is the coin caste by the Rothschild Zionists way back before Israel was a State. It acknowledges Rothschild as King of Israel. Interesting the lengths of deception one who endeavors into because of greed!

MEET JACOB ROTHSCHILD

Fractional Reserve Banking (by Rothschild Zionist Central Banksters) is a predatory income distribution scheme to enhance the wealth of the 1%. Fair alternatives exist.

9/11 was a Bush / Cheney, Rothschild Zionist inside job

The same group of scum Zionists that amassed great fortunes from exploiting WW1, WWII and all other other wars since are still basically in power and are behind the creation of ‘Barack Obama’.

Connect the dots: Looted WWII Japanese treasure, Breakup of the Soviet Union / illegal bond scheme and the 9/11 WTC gold and securities heist, & the Rothschilds.

Economic booms and busts artificially created by Rothschild Zionist Central Banksters. World Wide Housing Crisis

The Rothschilds and the Vatican Bank (Institute for Religious Works)

Empire of the City Vatican, City of London, Washington DC

Rothschild fund Islamaphobia as part of master plan after breakup of Soviet Union Cold War was ended.

Original Rothschild wealth originated in financing mercenaries of the German / British aristocracy to fight against American revolutionaries.

The Mormon Church, Romney, Rothschilds and Bain Capital. Mormons were originally part of Freemasons.

Rothschilds foment and continue to finance both sides of wars for the last 250 years. see Erlanger,Belmont, Civil War and China 2012

Rothschild Czar Lyndon Johnson

Here’s a list of the relentless lies about the liberal’s extreme racist history

“I’ll Have Those Niggers Voting Democrat For The Next 200 Years!”

Rothschild pResident Czar Lyndon Johnson.

$Trillions in Dead Sea minerals stolen from Palestinians by Rothschild companies

First Jewish settlements in Palestine financed by Rothchilds, 1855

Blackstone Group (Rothschild company), parent corporation of one of three lease-holders for WTC 7

Cold War with USSR was a highly profitable, Rothschild-bankster hoax and the “The Red Symphony“

WTC steel went to Rothschild Zionist connected scrap yards. (evidence removal)

9-11 Judge Hellerstein is Connected to Rothschild-Funded Mossad security firm ICTS ..

Rothschild Zionist Crown family of Chicago switched support from Obama to Romney.

Iran attack is about its Central Bank and Rothschild monopoly of nuclear fuel.

AMEC, a Rothschild connected company did WTC / Pentagon rubble cleanup (evidence removal)

Obama is a Rothschild Zionist controlled President, and seeKhodorkovsky

Systems Planning Corp, Dov Zakheim, WTC 9/11 remote controlled aircraft, Rothschild connection

2012 election voting machines Rothschild connections.

Enron scandal and NM Rothschild employee Lord Please be directed to NewsFollow on Enron board. … Qatar, Turkmenistan, natural gas, corruption.

COREXIT is a product of Nalco Holding Company which is owned by The Blackstone Group, Jacob Rothschild is on International Advisory Board

Victor Rothschild and J. Robert Oppenheimer ring leaders in Britain’s biggest communist spy scandal. Nukes

Use Global Warming as means to further NWO agenda

NATO, Rothschild’s Army

chart

$Trillions in Offshore Accounts

Link Rothschild to Auchi to Khashoggi to Obama to BCCI.

Global Technology Partners, LLC is “an exclusive affiliate ofRothschild North America

Japanese WWII looted treasure, Breakup of Soviet Union, Barrick Gold and 9/11 links (Project Hammer)

Soros / Rothschild connections

Rothschilds / Warburgs / IG Farben created Hitler, Banksterscreated Israel at the expense of the Palestinians.

CO2 Cap & Trade schemes, Al Gore, Maurice Strong, Obama.

Bolshevik Revolution financed by Zionists. Marx, Trotsky and Lenin all changed their Jewish names. see Victor Rothschild

Rothschild Zionists had complete control over the security and access to the WTC prior to 9/11.

Connect the dots: Apollo Management, Huntsman (Romney),Hexion, Obama, China stealth technology

Rothschild Front Organizations and the Empire of the City

Zionists in Obama administration and Romney Zionist advisors

Rothschilds and ‘WWIII‘ China/Russia and Bo Xilai ‘color revolution.

Capcom, involvement in BCCI, Rothschild at the core of BCCI

Tony Blair controlled by Zionists to invade Iraq.

U.S. Kuwait Fast & Furious In Progress: 20,000 U.S. M-16s Stolen from Unguarded Warehouse in Kuwait

Link Rothchild to Madoff scandal through Jacob Ezra Merkin’sfather. Link GM bailout to Jacob Ezra Merkin. and also to 9/11Judge Hellerstein

Zionists created Soviet concentration camps

Rio Tinto, Hutchison Whampoa.

Bible revisions financed by Rothschilds

Rothschilds funded Mao Tse Tung

London School of Jewish Studies (LSJS) and London School of Economics are links to Rothschild / Dov Zakheim (9/11 mastermind) relationship.

Martin Frost The ‘Rothschild Connection’: in the invasion of Iraq

Illuminati=CFR, Bilderberg, Committee of 300 etc.

How Goldman Sachs Took Over the World

Secrets of the Federal Reserve by Eustace Mullins

Eric Cantor, Rothschild controlled Republican leader of the House of Representatives.

1970 Middle East Oil Crisis & the Rothschilds

Lazard and the auto industry

9/11 Judge Hellerstein is an orthodox Jew, a clear conflict of interest given Israel evidence ties to 9/11.

Canada, Bronfman, Desmarais, Barrick Gold, links to Rothschild

Nixon hated Zionists and so they removed him from office.

Vatican Banking Scandal Institute for Religious Works

Saud, House of Saud (Wahhabi) is Jewish, Rothschild agents

IMF Planned riots

BlackRock

Link Barrick Gold / Enron / Rothschild

BCCI scandal and the Rothschilds, Dr. Alfred Hartman

Rothschild and ‘The Weather Channel’.

Jewish Billionaires

A path from Obama to Rothschild includes Valerie Jarrett, Chicago Tribune, Hollinger International, Telegraph.UK

2014

The ultimate victory for the Rothschilds would be a war between China/Russia vs. The US where Rothchild companies supply both sides with weapons and materials, then declaring a ‘new world order’ as a solution to the mess they created through debt abuse; all consistent with the history of the last 250 years.

Very sad; they are very sick people.