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usafphantom2 · 7 months ago

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The AD-5N ‘Skyraider’ and Its Little-Known Nuclear Role in the Cold War

David Cenciotti

AD-5N

In late 1958, during heightened tensions in the Taiwan Strait, Skyraider pilots were prepped for nuclear strike missions. They spent tense hours at night, seated in their aircraft and ready for catapult launch with nuke bombs, before the mission was ultimately called off…

The Douglas A-1 Skyraider, also known as the “Spad,” was a legendary single-engine aircraft, as well as the last propeller U.S. Navy attack aircraft to disappear from the decks of the Navy’s aircraft carriers.

Renowned for its rugged design and long endurance, the Skyraider had an exceptional payload capacity: even when it carried its full internal fuel of 2,280 pounds, a 2,200-lb torpedo, two 2,000-lb bombs, 12,5 inch rockets, two 20 mm guns and 240 pounds of ammunition, the Skyraider was still under its maximum gross weight of 25,000 pounds.

Conceived during World War II, the Skyraider saw extensive service during the Korean and Vietnam Wars, excelling in close air support, search and rescue, and interdiction roles. However, its ability to carry a diverse array of munitions, including conventional bombs, rockets, and even torpedoes, made it a versatile platform.

AD-5N

Douglas AD-5N Skyraider of VA(AW)-33 Det.42 circa in 1958 (Image credit: U.S. Navy)

Among its variants, the AD-5N was a specialized version of the Skyraider, featuring a widened fuselage to accommodate a crew of four and advanced avionics for precision operations in challenging conditions.

Nuclear attack Skyraider

At the end of the 1950s, pilots of VA(AW)-33 flew AD-5N aircraft off the USS Essex, primarily training for nuclear strike missions. They specialized in low-level, long-range operations, using tech like the Bureau of Ordnance Atomic Rocket (BOAR) rocket and the Low Altitude Bombing System (LABS) bombing system.

Flying just 50 feet above water or skimming treetops on land, missions were top-secret, with each pilot assigned a unique target. Crews of three or four included electronics techs, practicing whenever budget allowed, both in the U.S. and Europe. Real missions were essentially one-way, though their rocket-powered weapon offered a slight survival edge.

The pilot’s side panel on the AD-5N aircraft. The LABS timer light can be seen on top of the panel on the right side and the NAV/LABS cross pointer instrument is also on the right side, about half way down. (Image via Stephen Miller)

Stephen Miller is a retired electrical engineer, lifelong aviator who spent some time as a Naval Aviator. After flight training, he was assigned to VA(AW)33 in Atlantic City, NJ, flying AD-5N. Here’s what he wrote to us about his time flying the low level long range nuclear weapon delivery mission with the Skyraider.

I joined the Navy right after graduating from Miami of Ohio with a BS in business and was just a few hours short of a commercial certificate at that time. After flight training, I was assigned to VA(AW)33 flying AD-5N in 1956.

In 1957-1958 various detachments consisting of four aircraft were assigned to their respective carriers and were involved in the attendant cruises from time to time. Ours was the USS ESSEX, CVA9. This was strictly during the cold war, between the Korean war and Vietnam.

Our primary mission was low level long range nuclear weapon delivery. This consisted of 50 ft over water and about 150 ft over land (treetop level). All navigation was done using pilotage/dead reckoning and was practised both here and in Europe. There were no radars at that time that could detect a low flying aircraft, due to ground clutter. Our long range cruise airspeed was 160 kts and we’d wait for the engine to sputter before switching back from an empty drop tank to the main. We typically used one or two crewmen to help with the navigation, the same guys (ET’s, Electronic Technicians) who maintained the equipment.

We also had a ground mapping radar, the APS-31, a pod-mounted wing unit.

In mid 1957 we attended a special weapons school in Norfolk VA which covered the operation of the weapon, the Bureau of Ordnance Atomic Rocket (BOAR) and the Low Altitude Bombing System (LABS). They had a working BOAR in the classroom, minus the warhead and we learned how to connect and use the test box to check it out. I was scheduled to make a test run to a simulated target with a live BOAR which had the 1000 lbs of HE (high explosive) used to detonate the nuclear core, but without the core installed. This was ultimately cancelled, but the exercise proceeded without employing the BOAR.

The delivery sequence worked as follows: The LABS contained a timer, accelerometer and a precise gyro heading reference. Just before reaching the IP (initial position for starting the final run toward the release point), the aircraft had to be at max speed (about 240 kts), full or “military” power, limited to five minutes, on heading and maintaining a stable treetop altitude, with the weapon armed.

Upon passing the IP a button on the stick was pressed and the timer would start for the 2-3 minute run. Simultaneously, the vertical nav indicator normally used for VOR/TACAN/ILS LOCALIZER was switched to provide the precise heading reference. At the same time a short panel light and headset tone were activated as well.

When the timer ran out, another short light/tone indicated the aircraft had reached the point to start the launch maneuver. The pilot would then pull and hold the trigger while pulling the nose up in a precise manner using the accelerometer. The horizontal nav indicator normally used for the ILS GLIDESLOPE would switch to this function and initially drop down; it was up to the pilot to raise the nose smoothly to bring the indicator to the center (horizontal) position. This would insure the right amount of “g’s” to produce the desired weapon trajectory upon release, which was automatic when the release attitude was reached.

The BOAR was blown away from the aircraft by the equivalent of four shotgun shells and had a pigtail attached to the airframe which would stretch out and then pull out of the back of the weapon, starting the rocket motor. This weapon had a top speed in the 400kt range and covered a distance of about 7.5 miles.

At this point the AD-5N was entering the initial entry into a loop but was too slow to make it over the top, requiring a wing over to end the maneuver, pickup speed and reverse direction. This was a modified version of a maneuver called a “half Cuban 8”, in this case known as the “idiot loop”.

For propeller driven aircraft the completion of the loop was only possible by a more capable airplane like the single seat AD6, for example. Use of a rocket powered weapon would allow the aircraft to escape the blast zone but the enormous shock wave would have unpredictable results. Some nuclear weapons were unpowered bombs, such that no escape from the blast was possible if delivered in this manner by a propeller driven aircraft. No one was expected back from these missions. Fortunately it never became necessary.

On a Mediterranean cruise during the 1957-58 period we did have a night drill to get a live BOAR ready for launch, but that’s as far as it went, at least for our squadron. At one point we were each assigned top secret targets following background checks for this purpose. These targets were planned and the charts supplied by some unknown source, at least to us, and the zig-zag routes highlighted as well. My best guess is this came from the Pentagon. They were kept in a locked safe with individual combinations. We were required to study our respective routes in our spare time and no one knew what anyone else’s target was. These were strictly visual day missions, though we would probably launch at night in time to reach the beach by daylight. We did have the advantage of radar assist, at least to pick out prominent features like lakes/rivers etc, as well as crewmen to help look for check points. The biggest problem we faced was the fact that the charts over enemy territory were known to contain errors. This only added to the difficulty of attempting to navigate using pilotage/dead reckoning at treetop level in the first place!

In late 1958 during the Quemoy/Matsu island crisis, we were in that area and a friend of mine was there as well with a Pacific fleet squadron flying AD6’s. He sat for two hours on a dark night in his aircraft, hooked up to the catapult, ready to launch with a nuke until they finally called it off. I doubt that this is widely known. That nuclear bomb was a Mark 7 unpowered device. It was a standard nuclear bomb of that time, the yield determined by the size of the nuclear core. A typical mid range core was 18-22 kilotons, about the same as the one dropped on Nagasaki.

Other Navy/Air Force squadrons flying various types of aircraft (primarily jets) had other delivery methods as well. This was our particular experience.

LTJG Miller (via Stephen Miller)

After his tour as a naval aviator Stephen spent a few years in aviation doing charter and flight instructor work flying all the usual single/multi engine aircraft, a stint with Mohawk Airlines flying Convair 240/440 aircraft and ultimately had his own business as an FBO.

I eventually left the aviation industry to pursue a degree in electrical engineering, though I continued flying part time, graduating from Umass Dartmouth in 1967. My career as an engineer subsequently encompassed working for a variety of employers in both design and management, commercial and military and for both large and small firms. My duties often included serving as company pilot as well. One such firm was an autopilot manufacturer which introduced me to that particular industry as well.

In later life I spent some time with the CAP, but now at age 90 I haven’t been current for about 20 years. Hopefully, the information I’ve submitted will be of some historical value to those interested in the Cold War period of the 1950s.

@The Aviationist.com

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catch-me-hello · 4 months ago

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Boys Planet, Episode 12 (Finale): Finally, Immortality.

The finale snuck up on me. Boys Planet is listed as having 13 episodes, but it turns out Episode 13 is commentary, and Episode 12 is the finale. I should have known, since this episode is 4 hours long. I’m ready. Let’s do this.

We open on a message from our very first Star Master, who gives us a montage of everything up until now. We started with 98 trainees who spent over 1,000 hours in rehearsals. Over the course of the show, over 131 million votes have been cast. And now it’s down to 18 finalists. We’re at Jamsil Indoor Stadium with 7,000 Star Creators in attendance. The screen shots I’m getting aren’t doing it justice. It’s breathtaking.

We jump right into the show, with the trainees performing the theme song, “Here I Am.” I think this is going to be like the Wild Idol finale, where we see performances of all the songs from the show. We’re getting amazing aerial shots and hearing the fan chants echo through the stadium. What an amazing experience for these guys. Even the ones who don’t make it to the end will be able to say they performed at Jamsil Stadium in front of thousands of screaming fans.

The trainees are being very deliberate and careful with the choreography in this opening number so they can stay pretty for the cameras. These are their final moments of screen time with the voting viewers at home, so each move is more like a pose. Their hair cannot get mussed or their makeup smudged. They have to maintain that perfect idol look.

The eliminated trainees are also here, looking a little bummed. This has to be really hard on them. This is the first show I’ve recapped where they’ve made the eliminated trainees show up for the finale to watch the amazing opportunity they lost out on. When they realize the cameras are on them, they smile and give the thumbs-up, or finger hearts, or any other sign to show us that they’re not at all dying inside and wishing they could have faked an illness to avoid having to sit through this. No Mercy wishes it were this cruel on its trainees.

The stage crew is at the top of their game, as always. We get shooting flames and indoor fireworks, which are amazing. Our finalists look really nervous. This is probably the biggest show they’ve ever played, except maybe for Hui, and it must be a little terrifying. Plus, their futures are on the line.

We cut to one-on-one interviews with the trainees, filmed in a studio before this show. This segment is called “Last Words.” We learn a bit more about them. Sung Han Bin got his barsita certification while training. Zhang Hao plays his violin while telling us about the times he wanted to give up and go back to teaching. Through all these clips, we get the sense that these trainees feel like they’re running out of time. The older they get, the smaller their chances are to debut.

I’m still not used to hearing some of these trainees speaking English. It’s my native language, but when I hear it spoken on a K-pop show, it feels foreign.

Speaking of English, we see Jay playing the drums. He’s being presented as “Rockstar Jay,” which is an interesting rebrand to do on the very last episode of the series. We also learn that Gun Wook was a debate champ in school who was always president or vice president of his class. These stories bring a relatable humanity to people striving to become immortal K-pop idols.

Back to the arena, and hey, they let the judges out of that awful room! They’re here in the arena with everyone else! I hope they’re okay and got the medical attention they needed. In the meantime, they’ve all been given mics, so they give us the first of what I’m sure will be many, many speeches about how much the trainees have improved over the past several weeks. Let’s just assume, to keep this recap from going into hundreds of pages, that all they will be talking about is how much the trainees have improved. If one of them gets caught on a hot mic saying they can’t believe how these talentless losers made it this far, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Our Star Master greets the eliminated trainees, and to my happy surprise, he singles out Wumuti and asks what he’s been up to. Wumuti thanks the Star Creators and talks about how grateful he is for the experience he had on the show, and I just love him. I hope he has an amazing K-pop career.

Now we go back to the Star Master, and I just have to bring up the weird pauses. He says one or two sentences, stares blankly at the camera for several seconds, then looks back at his notecards like he’d forgotten he was holding them, and says another couple of sentences. Occasionally during these pauses, the camera cuts to the judges or the audience, and they are all sitting there staring at the Star Master in confusion like they don’t know what he’s waiting for either. He looks like someone has a gun pointed at him just offscreen. It’s a hostage video. He’s like this for the entire show.

Just as I’m wondering if maybe someone should be calling the police, we cut to a flashback of the trainees’ last day of practice before the show, and I’ve never been so happy to cut to a flashback in my life. In this clip, the judges walk into a huge practice room to find all the trainees dressed like flowers. Then we flash back within the flashback to show the trainees making their costumes. They’re also making cakes. Because with the finale just 24 hours away, I’m sure this is the best use of their time.

Back to the original flashback, as they present the cakes to the judges while wearing their flower costumes. That’s really sweet, but you guys know how insanely complicated the “Jelly Pop” choreography is, right? Maybe go practice some more?

So after they present the cakes, they do a final rehearsal for the judges. They all do a great job, especially the “Jelly Pop” team with the difficult choreo. Then the judges choose the trainee who has shown the most improvement. It’s Park Han Bin, who receives a Boy’s Planet medallion. He is clearly moved.

The judges also hand out detailed written evaluations to all the trainees. They’re words of encouragement and congratulations on their hard work, and I get a little misty-eyed as the trainees read them.

Flashback over. We’re back to our awkward Star Master in the arena. Now it’s time to find out what the name of the final group will be. We’re told the name represents a free journey from zero to one, the brilliant beginning of the group. It is, as we already know, ZeroBaseOne, or ZB1. It’s hard to get a read on the audience reaction because they’re all either wearing COVID masks or hiding their faces behind their signs. We also don’t get to see the reactions of our 18 finalists.

Well, that felt anticlimactic. Moving on to the performance of “Jelly Pop.” It’s time to see if Seok Matthew held on to the Killing Part. We’re still getting these strange pauses from our Star Master, and the cameras keep cutting to the judges, who look bored until they realize they’re on camera. What is going on here? Everyone looks like they’re being forced to do this show against their will.

Anyway, to see if Matthew kept the Killing Part, we get another flashback. The two teams have to create promotional videos for their songs. On Team Jelly Pop, Na Kamden gets roped into dressing in drag and playing a princess. He’s a remarkably good sport. The video is cute silliness, and it looks like they had fun filming it.

Now on to the competition for the Killing Part. The team films several videos of the choreo, each with a different trainee in the Killing Part. After the Star Creators vote, the part gets reassigned to Zhang Hao. I’m not really surprised. He’s the only one whose voice stays strong and steady during the difficult dance steps. Matthew takes it well, peeling off his Killing Part sticker and putting it on Zhang Hao’s jacket.

Back to the arena. Team Jelly Pop emerges on a rising platform, dressed in demin. The audience wakes up and starts cheering. Then the song kicks in, and our trainees nail the choreo. They really worked their asses off to get this right. They look like they’re having a lot of fun, playing to the cameras and the huge arena audience.

Back to our hostage of a Star Master. He asks the judges for their opinions, they loved it, moving on. The judges are sitting with their backs to the audience, so this can’t be too exciting to watch in person. It feels like they’re filming a small television show in an enormous stadium. As much as I love Jamsil Stadium, they really should have filmed this in a smaller venue.

Now for Team Hot Summer. Sung Han Bin has the temporary Killing Part. Let’s flash back to what they’ve been up to, starting with their promotional video. Lee Jung Hyun has to put on the dress for this one. If they can even afford the dress. The team spends most of its budget eating their way through a food market. Finally, they buy the dress and wig and film the actual video, which the show makes a point of telling us has no connection to the production crew, songwriter, or lyricist. One look at this video, and I know the show was just joking, but … yeah. It’s not good.

Now for everyone to compete for the Killing Part, even though everyone is pretty sure Sung Han Bin is going to keep it. He’s been unstoppable. Still, as I watch the video auditions, my vote is for Ricky. He’s got the sexy, dangerous vibe that matches this song perfectly. Unfortunately, he makes some mistakes in his audition, so I don’t think he’ll get it. Nothing against Sung Han Bin. I just think it’s time for someone else to shine.

The votes come in. Sung Han Bin gets it. Of course he does. I like him, and I know he’ll probably make it into the final group, but it gets a bit dull watching him come out on top every single time. That’s the downside of the Jooheon Pledge.

Back to the arena for the official performance. I like this song a lot better than “Jelly Pop.” These boys do not disappoint.

Star Master says it was great, the judges say it was great. Saying it was great takes up a good six or seven minutes. Let’s move on.

Star Master says the voting is now closed. While the votes are being calculated, it’s time for another flashback. In this one, the trainees are given a surprise mission. They’re immediately suspicious, since their last surprise mission was the Little Prince musical theater project. But no, this is a chance for them to thank the Star Creators through a live broadcast online. The trainees decide to hold an online pajama party.

My initial reaction was to cringe, but it actually turns out being really fun to watch. They do funny skits, answer fan questions, and do aegyo (cute baby behavior), all while wearing pajamas.

We learn a lot about the trainees, like the fact that Gun Wook sleeps with his eyes open, which is rather unsettling. Jay gets a fan request to recreate his sexy moves from the “Over Me” performance. He happily obliges, and somehow it’s even hotter in pajamas.

The whole group performs some of the songs from the show. I’m really enjoying this segment, and it’s about to get even better. The trainees are surprised when fans from all over the world appear on the monitors in front of them and send messages of love in person.

The love pouring from the hearts of these fans is beautiful. The trainees start crying when the fans tell them to keep chasing their dreams no matter what, because their singing brings happiness to the fans.

My favorite message is from an American fan to Hui. She tells him, “I wanted to let you know that when it comes to being loved, being supported, being talented, being successful, there’s no age limit to that.”

And now I’m crying along with the trainees.

Seriously, that got me right in the feels. I’m okay now. Moving on.

Back to the arena. We get all the trainees singing a lovely ballad called “Not Alone.” I might start crying again. Can we go back to the painfully awkward Star Master, please? When the song ends, even the finalists are a bit emotional, fighting off tears as they listen to the audience cheering. They keep looking around like they can’t believe they’re standing on this stage.

Afterward, Star Master asks for a reaction from eliminated trainee and vogueing king Cha Woong Ki, and it’s good to see his smiling face again. He says he’s happy to be present as ZeroBaseOne is born, sharing this morning with his friends. It’s really sweet. Other former contestants share their love as well, even though it must be really hard for them to sit through this, watching the amazing experience they could have had. The other shows we’ve seen so far just let the eliminated trainees go home. I’d definitely prefer that.

Now we get what we’re promised is our last flashback to the days leading up to this episode. Our trainees get a sleepover in one of the big training rooms, which I’m not sure is a good thing because they’ve already been crammed together in the dorms all this time. However, this turns out to be a positive bonding session. They stay up late, talking about their first impressions of each other. There’s a great moment when Hui and Jay confess to being completely intimidated when they heard each other sing. Even though Jay won’t make it to the final group, it’s a huge show of respect when an accomplished K-popper like Hui says he’s impressed with his singing.

Everyone remembers being shocked by Kim Ji Woong’s outfit when he first appeared on the show – a buttoned blazer with no shirt underneath. This is really no big deal in the US, but apparently it’s considered very racy in Korea, same as when Park Do Ha first appeared with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. Korea is a REALLY conservative country.

We see that the boys are sleeping next to the wall where all the trainees wrote messages on before the last elimination. They tell each other they need to perform well for the sake of their friends who got eliminated. I get it. Those friends lost a chance to debut. The survivors not giving outstanding performances would be a show of disrespect for what they lost.

Speaking of which, back to the Jamsil Arena. It’s now time to name the final nine winners. And since we have two hours left, I’m guessing they’re going to drag this out as long as possible. Before we proceed, I have to say this is the most stunning visual of the entire series. Our nine winning group members will be climbing a stairway to the stars. Huge props to the team that designed and built this set.

The ninth place, the last surviving spot, will be called last. So now, we’re starting with Number Eight. It will be interesting to see how many Group G trainees make it into ZeroBaseOne, so I’ll be tracking that. After all, the show’s originally stated mission was to bring more foreigners into K-pop, and even after they stopped pitting the two groups against each other, the trainee outfits still had the Group G or Group K colors on them. They may have stopped talking about it, but those outfits are clearly stating that it’s still the point of this show.

True to the usual procedure of these finales, there are looooong periods of silence as the Star Master drags out the suspense before calling out a name. The cameras zoom in on the finalists’ faces as they try hard not to look like they’re about to pass out.

8th place is Kim Ji Woong. He’s in the K Group. Our former BL actor has been reunited with his first love, K-pop. That blazer with no shirt has paid off for him. Just like in Wild Idol, he’s asked to say a few words, and he’s gracious and humble. We see his beaming parents in the audience.

All the families of the finalists are in the audience, and it’s moving to see them crying with joy and waving banners with their finalist’s picture on them.

7th place is Kim Gyu Vin. Also in K Group. In the audience, his father is beaming. I can’t imagine what the families go through when their kid decides they want to become a trainee.

Gyu Vin was the first member of Group K to get the All Star in the first episode. He went on to be the top vote-getter on Team En Garde. Now, he’s so overwhelmed, he can barely pull himself together to speak. He needs several minutes, and he’s still crying through his speech. When thanking the Star Creators, he speaks in perfect English. “To love somebody takes a lot of time and energy. Thank you for your time and energy.”

6th place is Kim Tae Rae. Another Group K trainee. A crowd favorite, he gets the biggest cheer of the night so far. Even the judges get teary-eyed. He’s one of the best vocalists in the group of trainees.

I have been avoiding the viewer comments button on the screen because the comments usually contain spoilers and infighting. However, I did turn on the button at this point, and it’s not lost on the viewers that so far, all the winners are in Group K. The three who have won so far deserve to be there, but it’s interesting.

5th place is, finally, Park Gun Wook! I knew it was coming, but it’s so great to see. This guy has been through so much. I love how absolutely stunned he looks. Our Wild Idol trainee finally gets to debut. (Again, another member of Group K. So far, that’s four out of nine group members from South Korea.)

It’s at this point that I had to turn off the viewer comments button. Everyone seems happy about Gun Wook winning, but now they’re fighting about the finalists who haven’t been called yet and insulting each other. The internet can really suck sometimes.

4th place is Ricky! Yes! One of the ones I was betting on, and finally, our first trainee from Group G. He was born ready to debut. He’s so stunned, he has to look to his fellow trainees to make sure he heard right.

Another fan favorite. The Star Creators are losing their minds. I’ve seen so many banners with his name on them over the course of the show, I can recognize the name “Ricky” written in the Korean alphabet. I love how he recovers from the shock and regains his cool, suave confidence when giving his thank-you speech.

Interesting side note. All through the show, I’ve wondered why Ricky has a strip of tape on the side of his neck. In his acceptance speech, he tells us it’s covering a tattoo that says “role model.” He got the tattoo to remind himself to always behave like a role model. The show made him keep it covered up. Korea is a very, VERY conservative country.

3rd place is Seok Matthew. Our Canadian from Group G. He also needs a few minutes to pull himself together. When he finally does speak, he says he had started to lose confidence recently, and I’m reminded of how this show painted him as a spoiled brat in later episodes and I how fell for it.

He says the support of his fellow trainees pulled him through that tough time. He thanks his family for letting him come to South Korea, and I’m reminded again just what a scary thing it is for young foreign trainees to move to a new country by themselves in the first place.

First and second places will be announced together, because K-pop survival reality shows cannot function if they’re forced to observe numerical order. The next two names called will be candidates for the Number One spot.

They are Zhang Hao and Sung Han Bin. We already know how this will end. Sung Han Bin has kept the Number One spot since the very first ranking. And this is one more trainee from Group K and one from Group G. I guess the show is keeping its word to welcome foreigners to K-pop. Now to just get the ranking out of the way for these two.

They both express their gratitude and love for the Star Creators and wait for the final result. So after dragging it out with long pauses to the point that I want to rip the tape off Ricky’s neck and strangle the Star Master with it, we finally hear the expected result that …

Oh. My. God.

It’s not Sung Han Bin. He ranks second. The Number One spot goes to Zhang Hao.

I can’t believe it. Sung Han Bin hugs Zhang Hao, who keeps asking if he heard correctly. It’s the K-pop upset of the year. Or century. I’ve only been a K-pop fan for about ten months, so I don’t really grasp the historical significance of this event in relation to the genre as a whole BUT STILL THIS IS HUGE!

And it marks the breaking of the Jooheon Pledge. I’m sure wherever Joohoney is right now, he’s already over it.

So our top two finalists take their seats, and now it’s time to find out the 9th and final spot. I still have Keita and Park Han Bin on my betting list.

9th place goes to Han Yu Jin. This K Group finalist falls to his knees and to be helped to his feet by the remaining contestants. It really is amazing that he made it here. He had a fever in the first few episodes and had to power through.

I love seeing these trainees climb the steps to be greeted by the other group members. They look like they’re actually rising up to join the stars in the sky. It also looks like a soul rising to heaven and being greeted by family and friends who went before him. These trainees are getting a shot at immortality.

So now for the logical question. Did ZeroBaseOne go on to make good music?

Help me out, Wikipedia and YouTube.

Their first EP, Youth in the Shade, came out in July 2023 and was a huge hit. ZeroBaseOne won 10 rookie awards in their first year, including the MAMA Awards and Seoul Music Awards. Their second EP, Melting Point, was released in November 2023 and sold over two million copies in its first week of release.

They’ve had many more successes since then, but I haven’t heard any of their music, so off to YouTube I go.

30 minutes later…

I like them. I like the songs, especially the harmonies. They’re definitely leaning more toward the Pretty Boy Idol sound and image, and I get why that appeals to so many K-pop fans. It’s just that over the past few months, especially after I became a Monsta X and ATEEZ fan, I go for the edgier, Beast Idol sound and image.

But I’m happy ZeroBaseOne is doing so well, especially for Gun Wook. I clicked “subscribe” on their YouTube channel and will check in on them from time to time.

Now, we have one more essay to go. Time to work through these pins.

#kpop #recaps #survival reality shows #boys planet #zerobaseone #zb1

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joanhermann · 2 months ago

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The Role of CCNP in Multi-Cloud Networking

We live in a time where everything is connected—our phones, laptops, TVs, watches, even our refrigerators. But have you ever wondered how all this connection actually works? Behind the scenes, there are large computer networks that make this possible. Now, take it one step further and imagine companies using not just one but many cloud services—like Google Cloud, Amazon Web Services (AWS), and Microsoft Azure—all at the same time. This is called multi-cloud networking. And to manage this kind of advanced setup, skilled professionals are needed. That’s where CCNP comes in.

Let’s break this down in a very simple way so that even a school student can understand it.

What Is Multi-Cloud Networking?

Imagine you’re at a school event. You have food coming from one stall, water from another, and sweets from a third. Now, imagine someone needs to manage everything—make sure food is hot, water is cool, and sweets arrive on time. That manager is like a multi-cloud network engineer. Instead of food stalls, though, they're managing cloud services.

So, multi-cloud networking means using different cloud platforms to store data, run apps, or provide services—and making sure all these platforms work together without any confusion or delay.

So, Where Does CCNP Fit In?

CCNP, which stands for Cisco Certified Network Professional, teaches you how to build, manage, and protect networks at a professional level. If CCNA is the beginner level, CCNP is the next big step.

When we say someone has completed CCNP training, it means they’ve learned advanced networking skills—skills that are super important for multi-cloud setups. Whether it’s connecting a company’s private network to cloud services or making sure all their apps work smoothly between AWS, Azure, and Google Cloud, a CCNP-certified person can do it.

Why Is CCNP Important for Multi-Cloud?

Here are a few simple reasons why CCNP plays a big role in this new world of multi-cloud networking:

Connecting Different Platforms: Each cloud service is like a different language. CCNP helps you understand how to make them talk to each other.

Security and Safety: In multi-cloud networks, data moves in many directions. CCNP-certified professionals learn how to keep that data safe.

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#ccnp #ccnp certification #ccnp training #ccnp online training #networkrhinos

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refermegroup · 2 months ago

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thewhumpcaretaker · 11 months ago

Note

Vincent buys a really expensive horse he can’t quite ride…maybe he can sort of ride but this horse is too spirited for him, or maybe he’s never actually ridden and thinks it looks easier than it actually is. Maybe he has a really fancy competitive riding outfit that he puts on for his first ride. The horse dumps his ass and Chidi naturally has to pick him up and comfort him. Probably Chidi would want to shoot the horse right there, not because he’s an awful guy who hates animals or anything, but just because it hurt Vincent. (Vincent stops him though!) Maybe then he decides to get actual riding lessons, or hire a professional rider for the horse, or something.

Aaaaaaaa I really love this ask, thank you anon!!! I went with the idea that this horse is too spirited. Of course he’d think that he has what it takes to tame a horse like that even when he doesn’t. And I headcanon that animals are initially quite suspicious of him because he's not good at taking their feelings into account and tends to do things that leaves a bad first impression. The yak and Dog in Beyond Judgement were both that way. So an already free-spirited horse could definitely be spooked by Vincent...although I think they would form a deep bond in the end ^_^

-⚜- Pure of Heart -⚜-

TW: threatened animal death (but it doesn't happen), possible concussion

Disclaimer: I don't ride horses so this is just based on what I've been told by a family member who does ride.

Image Sources: One (screenshot) | Two (this was from Google Images but it linked to the Tumblr @b-skarsgard in general rather than the post, so I couldn't find the particular post link. You can message that link to me if you want it added!) | Three | Borders

“They call her ‘Golden Unicorn.’ That’s ‘Licorne Dorée’ for you, I believe.” The trader ran a hand along the shimmering, silky neck of his latest offering for the Marquis de Gramont. She looked truly metallic, glittering almost as much as his suit. “’Course, the horn is an accessory added by our effects artists. But she does have quite a prominent forehead, almost a vestigial horn if you use your imagination.”

The Marquis smiled, humoring him, though he was genuinely intrigued. “A cute touch. What is she really?”

“An Akhal-teke. One of the shiniest of all horse breeds, and she’s the daughter of two winning show horses. Her pedigree goes back five generations, in fact.” He handed over a certificate boasting of a long line of dressage winners on both the father and mother’s lineage. “Her sister is showing next week before Queen Elizabeth.”

He glanced up from the paper, suspicious of a deal too good to be true. “Why is this one for sale, then?”

“Well…” the trader chuckled nervously. “She lives up to her name, you see. I’m sure you’ve heard myths about the free-spirited unicorn? Won’t let anyone but the pure of heart ride her?”

Ah. So that explained the charade with the horn. Though he had to admit, it was working on him. “You’re saying she’s green-broke.”

“…That’s…about right.” So not even fully green-broke, then.

The Marquis eyed the animal, who seemed to feel his gaze. She tossed her head against the lead rope. Even beneath the trader’s familiar hand, her muscles were trembling. “I’ve broken a horse before.”

The trader sighed dramatically. “Not like this one. I’ll be honest with you, Marquis, for liability’s sake: she may be a five-year-old mare but she acts like a two-year-old intact stallion. And she’s nervous as hell. I know what she could be, with the right training – you’ve seen how gracefully she moves. But it takes a very special touch to even get into the saddle with this one.” In a silent challenge, his eyes lingered meaningfully on Vincent’s horse show awards lining the far wall of the stable. Are you that special?

Vincent knew exactly what this man was doing, but he was already too sold to care. “I’ll take her.”

-⚜-

“En êtes-vous sûr, monsieur? Il serait peut-être plus sûr de demander à l'un de vos entraîneurs de la tester d'abord. [Are you sure about this, sir? It might be safer to get one of your trainers to test ride her first.]” Chidi was tightening the chinstrap of his master’s riding helmet, inlaid with gold pinstripes under the clearcoat. He was in one of his finer outfits, with polished black boots trimmed in gold, spotless white chaps, white gloves, and a black, double-breasted coat.

“Je peux la gérer. [I can handle her.]” Chidi knew better than to say anything further, and Vincent strode confidently towards his “Licorne,” who waited in the corral, already saddled and held in place by a stable hand. It was a perfect day for riding, with the late morning sun casting sheens across her withers and a light breeze lifting her mane. She was really an elegant thing. Even as she took two hasty steps back from him, there was a dancerly quality to the motion. Vincent admired her for a long moment and finally deigned to stretch out a gloved hand to her nose in a gesture of goodwill.

If he had expected her to be instantly soothed by his presence as she had never been for anyone else (which was in fact exactly what he had expected), he was to be disappointed. She shied away again and only allowed herself to be touched when she realized she was at the end of her lead rope. But god, she was soft as silk. Up close, she was an unearthly, angelic conglomeration of velvet wrinkles, soft pink nostrils in a complexity of folds and fine eyelashes spraying as starbursts from those cold yet honeyed eyes that regarded him so suspiciously. He trailed his hand down her cheek and then her neck as he made his way to the saddle, over delicate veins and twitching muscles, enjoying the texture.

She realized how close he was getting to the saddle and flattened her ears. He mounted anyway. She stumbled forward and backward, uneasy, while he “woa-ed” for her to stop.

He couldn’t deny at this point that she disliked him, and it irritated him a little. “Pourquoi tu ne me fais pas confiance, hmm ? Ne suis-je pas « pur de cœur » ? Je ne t'ai rien fait. [Why don’t you trust me, hmm? Am I not ‘pure of heart’? I haven’t done anything to you.]” As if in answer, she snorted, but even that was done delicately. “Vos formateurs ont-ils parlé français avec vous? [Did your trainers speak French with you?]”

The stable hand answered for her. “Les papiers indiquaient qu'elle avait été formée en anglais, monsieur. [The paperwork said she was trained in English, sir.]”

“Ah, c'est ça le problème alors. Eh bien, elle saura ce que cela signifie. [Ah, that’s the problem then. Well, she’ll know what this means.]” And he clicked his tongue at her to begin walking.

She set off around the perimeter of the fence, but her eyes were wide and her ears were still down. Chidi was watching from the gate, completely tense. Vincent couldn’t understand why he was being so uptight about this. “Tu vois, Chidi? Elle m'aime bien. [You see, Chidi? She likes me.]”

He clicked again and squeezed at her sides, urging her into a trot.

That was all it took. She’d had it, and bucked. Vincent dug in stubbornly – he had indeed broken horses before, and he knew how to hang on – but she was of another sort entirely. She did a kind of sideways leap, at once violent and fluid in its motion, and he felt the sharp rush of air from his lungs as the ground knocked the wind from him. It didn’t seem possible to get air back inside his body, and only after a moment of gasping did he register intense pain in his head. Licorne, meanwhile, was making screeching, wild whinnies, and he could tell by the sound that she was running circles around the corral in search of escape.

Her commotion was matched only by Chidi. He had rushed into the corral immediately, ignoring the danger she posed, and pulled Vincent into his lap, cradling his head. “Marquis! Es-tu blessé? [Marquis! Are you hurt?]”

“…Je ne sais pas. […I don’t know.]” He felt terribly dazed. He should be protesting, but instead he found himself leaning into Chidi’s shoulder as he was lifted and carried out through the gate, the stable hand making way for them. Chidi sat him gently onto a bench and started shouting at the stable hand to get a doctor.

“Je vais bien. Je vais bien, j'ai juste besoin d'air… [I’m alright. I’m alright, I just need air…]” Oh. He seemed to be hugging Chidi rather desperately. At least the man was hugging him back, thank goodness for that.

Chidi, for his part, was fuming. The second that Vincent’s grip started to loosen, he was on his feet with his gun drawn on the horse, over the fence. She seemed to sense what that meant and reared in panic.

“NON! Ne le faites pas! [NO! Don’t!]” Vincent came between them in an instant.

“Cet animal est dangereux, monsieur. Ça t'a fait mal. Il faut qu'il meure. [This animal is dangerous, sir. It hurt you. It needs to die.]”

“Ne lui tirez pas dessus ! Elle me fera confiance, je sais qu'elle le fera… [Don’t shoot her! She’ll trust me, I know she will…]”

Chidi reluctantly lowered his gun and moved to steady Vincent instead, who had stood up much too quickly after all that. He leaned back against the fence, deflated and holding onto Chidi’s hand. “Ce n'est pas sa faute. C'est tellement frustrant… les animaux ne m'aiment jamais, Chidi. Je ne comprends pas pourquoi. [It’s not her fault. It’s just so frustrating…animals never like me, Chidi. I don’t understand why.]”

“Vos autres chevaux vous aiment très bien, monsieur. Je pense qu'il y a quelque chose qui ne va pas avec celui-ci. [Your other horses like you just fine, sir. I think there’s something wrong with this one.]”

“Non,” he said quietly. “Finalement, ils le font, mais ils mettent toujours plus de temps à me faire confiance qu'à quiconque. [Eventually they do, but they always take longer to trust me than anyone else.]” He pulled off his helmet and rubbed at his head, wondering if he had a concussion. He wished he didn’t feel so much like crying all of a sudden, all over being thrown from some stupid horse.

But Chidi was looking at something behind him.

He glanced behind him to see that Licorne Dorée had approached the fence. She was sniffing cautiously at his shoulder, as if in apology.

“Ne bouge pas, Chidi. [Don’t move, Chidi],” he whispered. “Peut-être que si nous ne lui faisons pas peur... [Maybe if we don’t scare her…]” Neither of them moved at all until, very slowly, Vincent opened his hand for her to sniff. This time, she nuzzled into it, and let Vincent start stroking the bridge of her nose. His heart absolutely melted. “Tellement adorable, regarde ça. Quel bon cheval. [So adorable, look at this. What a good horse.]”

Chidi smiled at the pair of them, finally relaxing. “Elle a dû te voir me rabaisser. [She must have seen you talk me down.]”

“Fille intelligente. Elle sait que dans ce monde, on ne peut vraiment faire confiance qu’à ceux qui sont allés jusqu’à nous sauver de la mort. [Clever girl. She knows that in this world, only those who’ve gone as far as saving us from death can truly be trusted.]” He looked at Chidi meaningfully, and saw the same knowing tenderness answering his own.

“Pensez-vous que j'ai le cœur pur, Chidi? [Do you think I am pure of heart, Chidi?]” His tone was playful, but he still felt something sorrowful nagging at him from within.

“Oui Monsieur. Pure quoi, je ne sais pas, mais je n’ai jamais rencontré quelqu’un d’aussi pur que toi. [Yes, sir. Pure what, I don’t know, but I’ve never met anyone as pure as you.]” Licorne Dorée nosed at his cheek, and if she was trying to cheer him up, it worked. He knew then that he was going to love this horse…whether he ever rode her or not.

#hopelesslydevoted #chidi x marquis de gramont #chidi jw #marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont whumpee #chidi caretaker #wickblr

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dandorime · 1 year ago

Text

In Dr. Zor's Car, in an Airplane over the Sea

When he'd first discovered it, Agent Phoenix naively thought he was in some kind of space-age training program.

Everything had happened so quickly.

Two weeks ago, he had signed and submitted the paperwork across the desk to a rather severe-looking man in a black suit and dark sunglasses.

Only ten days ago he'd been wide awake as they drilled a tiny hole into his skull and implanted a piece of equipment in his brain. Except for the first couple of shots of local anesthetic into his scalp, he hadn't felt a thing. It took less than 20 minutes, start to finish.

Seven days ago he'd had his first and only training session to use the implant and discovered, much to his awe and delight, that he now commanded the mysterious power of telekinesis. He'd likewise been warned never to use it in public, no matter how fun it might be... the enemy already knew they had this technology, and past agents had accidentally given themselves away with errant floating objects. Emphasis on "past" agents.

Yesterday he'd been assigned an office at headquarters. He'd "met" his handler, a voice with neither a face nor a name that came to him via a radio in his ear, and learned he was being sent on a mission immediately.

Certainly his first mission, to steal some evil genius's car and drive it out of a moving airplane, must have been a training exercise. It was a wild gambit, an over-the-top affair like the plot of a movie, too crazy to be anything a rational defense agency would actually ask their agents to do... but here Phoenix was, in the car, in an airplane over the sea.

His handler never mentioned a training mission. He never said the word "drill", so Phoenix played along.

He was surprised when the laser that tried to shoot him in the face left a very real burn on the headrest. The revolver he found in the back seat fired a real slug through the window when he pulled the trigger, too. Obviously these EOD guys liked to train with live fire.

Breaking the window, though... that was his first mistake. The poison gas (comically even labeled "poison gas" on the pipe delivering it to the cargo hold) started to flood into the cabin of the car, and Agent Phoenix found himself very legitimately unable to breathe.

His lungs burned, his eyes stung, his vision began to narrow. His last thoughts were confusion and panic as he realized that he was genuinely, categorically, one-hundred-percent dying.

...then he awoke in a strange room.

Agent Phoenix took a deep breath. His lungs easily filled with air: in, out. In, out. The bitter tang of the gas was gone. He felt fine now, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned off the pain, but the confusion still lingered.

Was he... dead? Really, actually dead?

He was in a blue place, as blue as the sky outside the windows of the cargo hold in which he'd only just met his fate. It wasn't the open sky, though. It was very perceptibly a small, rather square room, containing only a chair (in which he found himself sitting) and a small table. The table looked a lot like the desk in his office, actually.

There was a briefcase open on the desk before him. Bad espionage practice, Phoenix thought, starting to read the exposed contents within. He froze when he realized what he was reading.

A death certificate.

His death certificate.

Death by poison gas, it said. There was an unhelpful drawing of a human outline and arrows indicating the flow of gas into his lungs.

So he was dead, then, and whatever power of the universe decided to explain it to him had a strange sense of humor.

He looked around the room. He got up out of the chair and walked around the table. He sat back down.

How strange that nothing was happening, Phoenix thought. He'd never been religious, but if he was going to be conscious after his death, he at least expected to meet his ancestors, or some cosmic deity, or something.

"Hello?"

No answer.

Huh, he thought, maybe they weren't expecting me so soon, either.

Agent Phoenix pondered a bit about what his handler must think of him, dying less than five minutes into his first mission. Although he'd only heard the man's voice a handful of times, he had sounded pretty friendly. He hoped losing an agent so quickly didn't give the poor guy a complex...

He plucked his death certificate out of the briefcase and read it more closely. Maybe he wasn't allowed to get to the eternal judgement part until he finished the assigned reading.

At the bottom, there was a form message from the Secret Agent Group to whomever it may concern:

Our condolences to the bereaved, but Zoraxis must be stopped at all costs. This agent's death will not be in vain. We will prevail.

The agent hummed to himself. Among spies and soldiers, he was a lucky one: he didn't have any family to receive a KIA letter. Nobody would be broken up about him, nobody would struggle without him.

His only regret was not staying alive long enough to contribute to the Agency. He'd been genuinely eager to have a hand in saving the world, like they'd promised he could. All his life he'd been part of the defense complex, but the only deployments being handed out now were to bomb women and children living in jungles overseas. He didn't want to do what his country asked of him, he wanted to do good. To stop a war, like he'd believed when he was little...

Well, so much for that.

Pulling the report out of the briefcase had revealed something else tucked away in the same pocket: a long card.

It looked like an airline ticket, he thought. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, wondering why on earth the dead would need tickets for air travel.

It had his name on it. Not his intake number, not "Agent Phoenix", but his real name. It also had the logo of the EOD on it, and, confusingly, the personal mark of that evil genius whose car he had been trying to drive off an airplane: Dr. Zor.

Why would those things be together in the same place? Why would either of them be part of his (admittedly, weird) afterlife?

Most mysteriously, on the line reserved for the name of the destination airport, the word "RETRY" was printed bold in dark red ink. The characters had been pushed so heavily into the thick paper by the printing block that they felt embossed, like a fancy invitation.

Agent Phoenix ran his fingers over the letters, deep in thought.

...and, all at once, he was back in the car, in the airplane over the sea.

"What in the hell?"

"Something the matter, Agent?"

It was his handler, acting convincingly like nothing was amiss.

"I... I just-..."

Agent Phoenix twisted around in the driver's seat, dumbstruck, examining his surroundings for evidence of what he knew had just happened moments before.

The windows were intact. The poison gas was safely outside. The headrest of the seat behind him was unburnt. The revolver was still sitting on the back seat, exactly where he'd found it last time.

Everything was reset, even the time on the car's clock, to how it had been the moment he began to work towards the mission objective.

"...but how?" Phoenix quietly muttered, replaying the events of his death in his mind step-by-step.

His handler's voice in his ear gently shook him back to the present.

"Agent, are you quite alright?"

He sounded concerned.

Slowly, Phoenix pulled himself out of shock. He was starting to connect the dots. The insane premise of this mission, the strange room, the logos on his return flight ticket...

So it was all a training exercise... but not any kind of exercise he'd experienced before. This was an advanced program, far above storming plywood houses and red-team/blue-team, beyond firing blank ammo at mockup targets. The Agency must have some cutting-edge secretive technology that made the mission feel brutally real. Something with lasers and holograms, if he had to guess.

Well, damn!

"Sorry, I'm fine... I just wasn't expecting whatever the hell that was," the agent chuckled into his microphone as his heartrate gradually returned to a sensible figure.

His handler took a beat before replying.

"Whatever the hell what was, Agent?"

If they went to all the trouble to make a mission experience this realistic, of course they weren't going to reveal it to the agent being trained until it was over...

"Nevermind," Phoenix chirped, internally assuring himself he couldn't possibly have been the first agent to shoot out the window and die to the gas. He wouldn't make such a rookie mistake again.

"I'm good, let's do this."

He did, ultimately, make two more rookie mistakes. He blew himself up trying to defuse a bomb, and while trying to drive the car off the plane, he accidentally put it into reverse and backed into something explosive.

Each time, he found himself in the weird little room again. He had a good head-shaking session reading his death certificate, then popped back into existence in perfect health in the undamaged car on the plane.

His was grateful that his handler was stayed mute about his past errors. He even cracked some of the same jokes he'd made the previous rounds. Maybe it was just a recording of his handler, Phoenix mused to himself, programmed into whatever massive system is running this whole thing.

Finally, after much education, Agent Phoenix had the objective in his grasp. The cargo bay door was open, the engine was purring. He put his foot down on the gas like a drag racer.

The luxury coupe sailed out of the cargo bay into the beautiful blue sky. Just as his handler had assured him, a set of parachutes deployed from the vehicle and unfolded above him, offering a gentle ride to the ocean below. He could feel the G-forces changing as he went from freefall to paraglide.

The view was spectacular. He rolled down the windows just for fun and breathed in the clean air. The wind through his hair felt real. It even smelled real, he noted, deeply impressed.

When the car at last splashed down and inflated a raft from beneath the tires, he had a good time looking for fish in the water as the patrol boat sent to collect him closed in on his location. They'd put all kinds of his favorite ocean creatures into the scene: he saw a shark, a man-o-war, and much farther out, a whale's tail fluke breaching the water.

Whoever designed this training mission thought of absolutely everything, Phoenix marveled.

(Unfortunately I can't finish a chapter this week, but this is part of what will eventually be in it, just for fun.)

#i expect you to die #ieytd #agent phoenix #the handler #poor Phoenix doesn't understand what's happening to him yet #but at least he's having a good time

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saiilorstars · 1 year ago

Text

Ch. 33: Back to Triumph

[Story Masterlist] // [Aitana’s Masterlist]

Fandom: Criminal Minds // Pairing: Spencer Reid x OFC

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @foxesandmagic @kmc1989 @midmourn

If you’d like to be a part of Aitana’s taglist, please let me know!

Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

As it turned out, Aitana did not have allergies.

It was the ruddy flu. She was bedridden for a whole week. All she did was stay in bed and feel awful. Her body didn't have the energy to do anything else, not even feed her poor fishes or water her plants.

Penelope Garcia immediately volunteered to visit her first and with her she brought necessities. Aitana saw her bedroom surrounded by oddly colored trinkets and new kinds of plants that Penelope swore were for good luck. Her bedroom began to look more like a botanical garden more than anything else.

JJ was more level headed and brought groceries. She even brought over some cooked meals. Aitana reminded JJ that she had no stomach for anything but JJ never left the house without making sure that Aitana had something to eat, whether it was crackers or soup. Emily was a little more busy to visit Aitana as often as Penelope and JJ. She apologized profusely to Aitana because it was all due to her re-certification. The one day that all three women were able to visit together, Emily explained more thoroughly how her training was going.

"Morgan is making it difficult," she muttered. "He's being an ass, basically. He's going to make me redo everything."

"I think that's probably more the FBI than anything else," Aitana said. She laid in bed with several blankets over, half of which were gifts from Penelope. "I mean, I don't think Morgan made the training booklets, right?"

Emily playfully rolled her eyes and reluctantly agreed with her. "It's still just annoying! And it's the reason I can't visit as often too. So blame Morgan."

"And not the cases, right?" Aitana chuckled, her eyes flickering to JJ and Penelope on her other side. "I get it, you guys. Work is work and our work is even more. You do not have to worry about me right now, alright? My mom's been around and Angel helps me a lot. And besides, you've all been alternating. Penelope," she reached for the blonde's arm, giving it a gentle pat, "came two days ago. Emily," she crossed gazes with the dark haired woman, "was here yesterday. JJ's been here all morning. Morgan dropped by yesterday and Spencer came by after. Rossi says he'll come by with a plate of pasta! I even got a small text from Hotch wishing me well. So trust me, I am all too well. Spoiled, actually."

"Well we can't wait for you to come back," JJ said, "Things are a little hectic at work right now. The boys—"

"Spencer and Morgan," Penelope muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"—are annoying the hell out of all of us with their little prank war," JJ said, shaking her head. "Honestly, not even Henry gives me this much trouble."

Aitana smiled lightly. "They're still doing that?"

"Yes," went all three of the women with the same irritation.

"They don't go that high but it's still super annoying," Emily muttered. "They won't stop until someone pulls the best prank."

"Mm, and what's the wager?" Aitana curiously asked. She had vague memories of her "assistance" on their pranks the last time they were on a case together. She wasn't all that mad about it, maybe just the decent annoyed. She was no stranger to being used for petty pranks since her brothers were notorious for doing it multiple times when she was younger and didn't understand what they were doing.

"Whoever wins owes the other one a favor," explained Emily. "Everyone else be damned, I guess."

"Interesting. You know, I guess this is also partly my fault," Aitana said, "My mind was so foggy the last time I was at work. I helped them one-up each other and I didn't even know it."

"Oh, I'm sure," Penelope said disapprovingly. "And trust me, I almost pulled both their ears for it."

"Well," Aitana hummed ever-so-innocently, "If you're interested in helping me get a little payback, I'd be all for it. Now that I've got all my senses back, I'm planning on letting them know they used the wrong gal." Her words made the other three women curious but Aitana elected to hold off on what she had in mind for the time being.

~0~

Spencer wasn't even surprised anymore that his things were going missing at work. There was no mystery; he knew exactly who was behind it. The only thing is he had to go and find them which was more of a pain than anything else.

"I know Morgan has them," he said seriously while Emily just sat at her desk and shook her head. He was ransacking his own desk in search of his missing items. "He took my stapler, my pens, my stapler remover."

Emily had no intention of listening to the lame list of missing items. She looked away and happened to see JJ and Aitana walking into the bullpen. "Oh, Aitana's back!"

Spencer briefly paused his search to confirm with his own eyes. Soon as he saw Aitana, he went back to opening drawers. "Honestly, this isn't even a prank! It's downright theft!"

"Hey, look who I ran into?" JJ brought Aitana up to pair, the latter chuckling with flushed cheeks.

"Gosh, I feel so special the way I'm being welcomed," Aitana remarked. "Even security noticed."

"Welcome back." Emily got up from her seat to hug Aitana. "Don't mind Reid here, he's going through another session of Grand Theft Desk." She shot Spencer a smirk that he didn't really appreciate.

"What?" JJ asked, watching as Spencer slammed shut another of his drawers.

"Morgan took my stuff!" he cried.

JJ groaned and shook her head. "Oh boy, it's too early for this guys. Can we just — can we have one day off?"

"Yeah," Emily said with heavy emphasis as she sat back down.

"It's not a prank if you're just stealing!" Spencer continued to search through his second level drawers. "And Morgan's welcome to back down at any time!"

"Funny, we could say the same thing about you," said JJ purposely.

Aitana watched silently as Spencer went through the other lines of drawers. Finally, she made a suggestion. "Did you check the bottom right drawer?"

Spencer moved for that specific drawer when her words hit him. He stopped altogether and met Aitana's eye. She had the smallest of smiles but a knowing one at that. Slowly, Spencer reached for the drawer she said and pulled it open. He froze again.

Emily tried leaning over her desk to see what was inside. Aitana grabbed JJ's arm as the blonde went to do the same.

"Did you find it?" Aitana asked Spencer, still calmly and with a smile.

Spencer didn't say anything. Instead, he reached inside the drawer and pulled out a big plate out of it. When Emily and JJ saw what it was, they burst into laughter.

Aitana remained absolutely calm.

Stunned, Spencer put down the plate of jello on his desk. He had found his things now. They were located inside the bright green jello.

"The girls mentioned you like jello. Was green okay?" Aitana inquired like she hadn't stuffed office supplies inside a wobbly jello herself. She never thought she would have to but she wasn't upset that she got the chance to do it.

Spencer was absolutely stunned. Not even JJ's and Emily's laughter shook him out at first. And they were laughing pretty loud.

"You...you did this?" He eventually sputtered out a few minutes later.

Aitana giggled and raised a hand in the air. "Guilty as charged! I have always wanted to pull that joke but my mother would have killed me if I used her kitchen for these kinds of things so I couldn't do it when I was younger. I guess I should thank you for the amazing opportunity."

Spencer stared at her, both bewildered and utterly confused. To add onto those two feelings, a loud horn broke through the entire bullpen. It stopped JJ's and Emily's laugh and froze everyone else.

Once again, Aitana was calm. "That would be Morgan."

For a second, Spencer was genuinely afraid. And then Morgan came storming out with a bullhorn still having remnants of duct tape on the bottom.

"REID!" He was coming straight for Spencer.

Spencer's hands shot up in front of him. "It wasn't me!"

"Like hell!" Morgan couldn't come down the steps any faster.

"Actually, it wasn't him. It was me," Aitana waved her hand. "Good morning, Morgan." She smiled sweetly.

Like Spencer, Morgan froze altogether. His head turned in Aitana's direction, eyes narrowing as he decided whether or not she was being honest.

Aitana's smile widened. Her eyes flickered to JJ and Emily, both of them struggling not to laugh again. "Ta-da?" Aitana made a gesture with her arms open.

"You did it?" Morgan finally concluded she was very much guilty.

Aitana nodded. "Aha!"

"Why?"

Aitana raised an eyebrow at him, no longer playful. "Really?" She stepped forwards, putting her hands behind her back. "You're asking me why I did such a thing?"

Morgan nodded expectantly at her. He couldn't understand why she would decide to pull pranks herself.

"You," Aitana pointed at him, "took advantage of my state during a news broadcast," she said, watching Morgan lower his head immediately. "And you," she pointed at Spencer next, "used me to get back at him later. Naughty boys. I had to get back at you for that."

"Well done," JJ clapped her hands for Aitana.

"How'd you pull this?" Spencer curiously asked. He wasn't going to even argue against Aitana's statements. They were true and he should be sorry. He was.

"Oh that was easy," Aitana waved him off. "I came in yesterday night, with Hotch's permission of course."

Morgan's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Hotch let you do this?"

"Aha," Aitana nodded. "He's very tired of your little war as is everyone else."

"Yes," went both JJ and Emily together.

"I love watching the Office and the jello prank that Jim pulled was always so funny to me so I figured why not do that one for you, dear old Spencer," Aitana smiled sweetly at him. "A classic, am I right?" Before Spencer could think of an answer, because right now he had nothing to say, Aitana switched to Morgan. "And the bullhorn was something my brothers pulled on each other. That's right, you guys forgot I grew up with two brothers. I was always caught in their pranks so eventually I had to learn. Ladies and gentlemen, I think I win." Aitana did a curtsy bow for the group.

"Nu-uh," Morgan was quick to wag a finger, "You didn't win anything. You are not a part of this."

"I believe the terms were whoever pulled the best prank wins," Aitana pointed at JJ and Emily for their support. "Right?"

"Right!" Emily was happy to agree.

"Nowhere in those terms did you explicitly say that one of you had to be the winner," Aitana went on, flashing smiles at the pair of men.

"I think she won, fellas," JJ said. "Learned your lessons?"

"You didn't win," Morgan insisted. "You—"

The door to Hotch's office opened to let out a striding Penelope and Hotch. Their grim expressions cut the conversation short, but Morgan vowed it wasn't over.

~0~

"We have a child abduction in St. Louis," Penelope started the meeting urgently as the situation demanded for. "Bobby Smith, 9 years old, vanished 48 hours ago from a residential area, where his mother, Marlene Smith, claims to have dropped him off."

"Forty-eight hours and we're just learning about it now?" Morgan asked, slightly irritated. Half of the group suspected his irritation had nothing to do with the case. He kept shooting Aitana glances, clearly still holding his stance about her winning status.

Penelope didn't know what was going on so she just nodded. "Yeah. That's because mom didn't know her son was gone. She assumed that he was with the grandmother and just left him there."

"So, she's not exactly on the short list for mother of the year," remarked JJ. "What about the father?"

"Uh, he was convicted of embezzling from his workplace 2 years ago. Currently cooling his heels in state prison."

"If it's a stranger abduction, the first 24 hours are critical," Spencer said, not that they didn't already know how high the stakes were.

"This kid's already been missing twice that long," Rossi said, checking the file for the original time the mother had called it in.

"Which is why we shouldn't waste any more time," Hotch said, prompting the team to close their files. The jet was leaving almost immediately.

"Hey Hotch," Morgan called as he hurried to catch up with Hotch before he walked out of the room, "A word?"

Aitana snorted a laugh as they disappeared. "He's going to ask Hotch about the bullhorn."

"That was you?" Rossi gave her a pointed look until Aitana nodded proudly. He smiled. "Good. I was getting tired of it." On his way out, he looked directly at Spencer.

"Seriously, well done," Emily reached over to give Aitana a congratulatory pat on the arm.

"Well done with what?" asked Penelope, head turning between the women fast enough to make her dizzy.

"Aitana put an end to the prank war," JJ said, eyes glued on Spencer. Unlike Morgan, he had yet to give his opinion on the matter. "Isn't that right, Spence?"

"Um," Spencer cleared his throat, hands reaching for his file on the table, "I don't really think we should be discussing that during a child abduction."

"Mhm, you still lost," Emily said, "Women can multitask."

Spencer grabbed his things and left in a hurry. The women high fived Aitana afterwards and they began offering ideas on what Aitana could ask of the pair for winning. Penelope hated that she had missed the whole thing but after Aitana suggested to go through the camera feed, Penelope seemed more inclined to help celebrate the triumph.

~0~

"Who do you think he's talking to?" JJ whispered the question to the others while Rossi entertained some kind of conversation over the phone. It had been going on almost as soon as the jet had taken off.

"Isn't it obvious? A special friend," Emily giggled but immediately stopped when Rossi ended the conversation and turned around to see all of their collective smiling faces.

"What?" He cluelessly asked.

"Nothing…" Emily said, clearly struggling not to say more but in the end she lost. "Just somebody's got a lot of extra pep in their step this morning, that's all."

"Probably doubled up on his vitamins," remarked JJ.

"Oh, he doubled up on something," Morgan chimed in with a smirk.

"Garcia's back on," Aitana cut in suddenly, unknowingly getting a grateful look from Rossi for her timing. She was pointing to the screen where Penelope's face had come through. "Hey, did you get something on the mother?"

"Oh," Penelope's mouth pulled together in an 'O' shape, "I have so much on the mother, and try as I might, none of it is good. Marlene Smith has a history of erratic behavior, seriously clinically depressed, two suicide attempts in the last 5 years."

"Was she being treated for her depression?" asked Hotch.

"Oh, my gosh, yes. Like more pill-popping than Elvis. Yes!"

"Depression is one of the few things that can overwhelm the maternal instinct," Spencer said. "What about the grandmother?"

"I don't have anything on her yet, but don't reach for your remote. I'll be ba-a-ck!" Penelope exclaimed before the screen went pitch black.

"Two suicide attempts…" Rossi remarked with a shake of his head. "Why hasn't child services intervened?"

"Probably talked her way out of it," Emily said, "Most social service organizations are overworked and underfunded. Things slip through the cracks."

"If this boy's mother tried to commit suicide and he's from a chronically unhappy household, maybe this wasn't an abduction at all," Morgan theorized. "What if Bobby simply ran away?"

"When 9-year-olds run away, they're usually home for supper," Aitana said. She really doubted a nine year old would have the guts and the smarts to formulate a good running away plan.

"JJ, you and I will talk to the mother," Hotch started giving the instructions, "Morgan, Reid, and Serrano, go to the boy's house. Prentiss, you and Dave assess the site where the mother claims to have dropped him off."

From behind her file copy, Aitana flashed a sweet smile at Spencer and Morgan. They had yet to speak to her about the incident.

~0~

The victim's house was closed off for the time being while the mother resided at the precinct for questioning. The first thing Aitana, Spencer and Morgan noted was the clean lawn. However, although the lawn was indeed clean, it was clear that it could still use some attending to. There were patches of yellow all around. Inside, the story was almost the same. The trio lounged about in the living room taking note of the neatness of the furniture. While Morgan and Spencer wandered upstairs, Aitana took the rest of the downstairs.

She was most surprised with the kitchen's state. She only had one nephew close to her but she knew what a kitchen with children would typically look like. Every kitchen she'd been inside of where a young child lived, it was always clear of anything potentially dangerous. No knives, no open outlets, nothing sharp. Everything was up and out of reach for a child.

This kitchen was the complete opposite.

There were no safety locks on the fridge and when Aitana opened it up, it was fully stocked with everything that a child could possibly want. And in multiple pairs. Individual water, orange juice and milk bottles—everything plastic—were filed on the door. Fruits were stocked inside the drawers, along with cut up vegetables. Even the stove was accessible to the child. Aitana remembered a moment in which her nephew had been deeply reprimanded for attempting to move their stove's knob. Bobby was left at ease with the stove and the microwave. The latter was also placed on what would be his level. To top it off, Aitana found the key ring hole set up at the entrance of the kitchen. She was baffled. She would never let her nephew go in and out of the house, even if he was 9 like Bobby.

Later on, Aitana headed upstairs to see what Spencer and Morgan had found so far. It seemed like they were bickering and somehow she walked into it again.

"Hey Serrano," Morgan called as soon as she walked into the mother's bedroom, "How many pairs of shoes do you own?"

Aitana's face scrunched in confusion. "First, you don't talk to me and then you ask me that? You see how it looks, right?"

"I'm making a point here!" Morgan motioned her to answer the question. Beside him, Spencer seemed more or less puzzled as well.

Aitana rolled her eyes. "I don't know, 30?"

"What?" Spencer openly gaped at her. Aitana lifted an eyebrow at him. "Why do you have so many?"

"Because I need them?"

"You can't possibly need 30 pairs of shoes!"

"I most possibly can!"

Morgan cleared his throat, eyes on Spencer and hands gesturing in Aitana's direction.

Aitana stomped her foot on the ground. "Stop using me like that, dammit!"

"I was making a point," Morgan said as he walked out the room, leaving the other two to follow. "No woman has just 4 pairs of shoes in their closet. And the kid's bedroom is fully stocked with everything he'd need."

"She even set up a separate area so he could do his homework," Spencer said, going in full detail about the desk they'd seen in Bobby's room.

"You should see the kitchen then," Aitana said, "That thing's more organized than my entire house."

"Mom has serious financial issues, denies herself even the smallest luxury, and yet…" Morgan had listed off his fingers, "She splurges to take her son to an expensive theme park and then buys a pricey picture frame so he can remember the experience."

"No way, those things are easily $30," Aitana said out of her own experience. Her parents hardly bought those things for that reason.

"He had several," Spencer said for her benefit.

"Well then, I guess we can cross her off the suspect list," Aitana concluded. "Which makes this even harder…"

~0~

When the trio returned to the precinct, they joined JJ, Rossi and Hotch just Hotch were discussing the interview JJ conducted with the victim's mother. They, like Aitana, Spencer and Morgan, were beginning to disregard the mother as a suspect.

"The concern for her son was genuine. Her tone of voice, body language," JJ was saying, "She didn't once ask if she was in trouble, under arrest, 'where's my lawyer?' None of that." The woman behaved like a genuine concerned, scared, mother.

"That's pretty much what we found at home too," Aitana said, glancing back at Spencer and Morgan for their agreement.

Spencer was making his way up to one of their evidence boards. While they were gone, the others had added new details under the mother's name.

"Home environment points in the same direction," Morgan said, "The money's tight, but mom did whatever she could to create a nice world for her son. Whatever cash she had she spent on him. Only 4 pairs of shoes in her closet."

"And she taught her son to be self-sufficient," Aitana said, barely holding the urge to make a comment about the pairs of shoes. "The kitchen was scaled down to a 9-year-old's level so he could microwave his own meals, get food and utensils from the pantry. He even had his own little key ring so he could come and go as he pleased. That's a hell of a lot of liberties for a 9 year old if you asked me."

The others agreed.

Shortly after, Emily and Rossi returned.

"It took a while, but grandma's alibi checked out," Emily announced, "She was with two lady friends in Seneca, on the other side of the state."

"Acquaintances, relatives, teachers. So far they've all checked out," Rossi added.

"This is starting to look more and more like a stranger abduction," Morgan said what many of them were beginning to think.

"Yeah, except the area Bobby disappeared from has a decent amount of foot traffic," Rossi said, having seen the site with Emily. "If he'd put up a struggle, chances are someone would have noticed."

"My guess is Bobby knew his abductor or trusted him," Spencer then theorized, "The trip to grandma's house was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The unsub must have been staking out the mother's house, saw them leaving, and followed. The only thing I don't understand is how the unsub got into Bobby's life in the first place. Self-sufficient kids learn to trust their own judgment."

"Well at the end of the day, he's still only nine," Aitana reminded them. "He's going to fall for something." It was the inevitable and now they were dealing with it.

~ 0 ~

The next morning, the team were informed that Bobby's mother had been found murdered outside a convenience store the previous night. The team gathered in their room to go over the pictures of the new crime scene and their victim. As far as they knew, Bobby had yet to turn up dead.

"There's something strange about the body," mused Spencer as he went over a couple photographs, "She was slaughtered by someone completely out of control, yet on her wrists there are precise wounds on top of where she already cut herself, only deeper. Like he was trying to replicate her suicide attempts but then lost control."

Beside him, JJ grabbed one of the pictures in Spencer's hands. "Maybe this was never about the kid at all, but about the mother. Make her suffer for a few days by taking the child, then kill her?"

"Wouldn't that mean the unsub knew Marlene's personal history?" Aitana inquired. She stood in front of their evidence board, her eyes falling over the details they'd written about Marlene under her picture. "And that would put the unsub somewhere in the medical department?" She turned around to meet the others' gazes.

Morgan could see why she would think that automatically. It was the sensible idea. "Not just medical, it could be friends…"

"Yeah, but as far as we knew, she didn't have any friends," Aitana reminded them then asked JJ, who had conducted the interrogation with Marlene yesterday, if Marlene had said anything about friends.

"None," JJ said.

"So what about the people who walked into the house?" Spencer suggested. "Anyone who walked into the house would immediately know there were problems. That the child had to be independent for most of the day."

Morgan liked the idea and for that, he called Penelope to get further on it. "Hey, baby girl, whatever you're doing, drop it!"

"Oh, yes, and with pleasure," Penelope was sarcastic right off the bat, amusing everyone who was listening in, "Let me tell you something, sweetheart. This is a Lamborghini you are talking to. You have to drive me. You can't just leave me parked in the garage collecting dust or I will wilt."

The others nearly laughed with Penelope's tidbits. She had no idea she was on speaker.

Morgan smiled but nowhere near surprised. He long ago lost the surprise when it came to Penelope. Going along with things made it more fun anyways. "Please forgive my neglect. I need you to rev up that fine-tuned Italian engine of yours, then."

"Where do they come up with this stuff?" Aitana quietly whispered to the others while the pair continued. "I mean, is it in, like, books or something?"

"Not in any books I've read," Spencer remarked, causing a quiet round of snickers.

Their research was cut short when they got word that another child had been taken. It was clear the unsub wasn't going to lengthen gaps between abductions and kills.

Aitana and Spencer were sent to the park where the child's mother was. She was a frantic woman, a natural response given the situation, but it was making her explanations fast paced and incoherent.

"I was sitting on the bench, and he was playing right there," she flapped an arm towards the playground still filled with other children. "I looked away for two seconds."

"And you were you by yourself?" Aitana asked. Mrs. Tanner nodded quickly. "So you told the police you live in McKinley Heights but that's almost an hour away. You drove your son all the way out here just to play?" Aitana took another scan of the park for any outstanding features that would draw parents in but to her it looked like any other park.

"I was doing things, shopping" Mrs. Tanner reasoned. Spencer noted the constant tapping of her fingers against her leg as well as the other hand taking her hair every now and then.

"Mrs. Tanner, please don't take this the wrong way, but exactly what drug are you addicted to?" Spencer abruptly asked, stunning both women with him. Aitana's eyebrows raised at him, unprofessionally bemused with his directiveness. "You're displaying symptoms of withdrawal."

Mrs. Tanner dropped both her arms on her sides. "Are you crazy?"

Spencer disregarded her offended tone. "Ma'am, we saw two deals going down on the other side of the park when we arrived. You were here to buy, weren't you? That's what had you distracted."

Mrs. Tanner was outraged. She glanced at Aitana as if waiting for the female agent to come to her aid.

"He's hardly ever wrong," Aitana said. "So it's best if you just tell us the truth unless you're not interested in finding your son?"

"I can't believe that you actually think I would—"

"And yet we're still talking about this instead of what exactly happened here," Aitana continued, her expression growing flat as the mother insisted on denying things.

"Your child is missing, Ms. Tanner. Every minute, every half-minute counts," Spencer said, "You need to tell us the truth and you need to tell us now."

The mother looked between the two agents helplessly, still holding onto her story for another minute before giving in.

Half an hour later, Spencer was calling Hotch to inform them of the new pattern they were discovering. When Spencer returned to the car, he found Aitana leaning against the hood of the SUV, looking out at the park.

"What is it?" Spencer asked, presuming that he'd learned enough about her to recognize her thinking face.

"I've been watching the kids," Aitana started, eyes combing over the children using the slide again. "And the parents. They're mostly vigilant but of course they would look away for a couple minutes. It's natural."

"Right…" Spencer agreed, patiently waiting for her to reach her point. He leaned against the SUV as well.

"Maybe it's just because I have a nephew, I…" Aitana smiled lightly and glanced at him. "Do you have nephews or nieces? Little ones?"

"Neither, actually," Spencer admitted. "It was always just my mother and I."

"Oh, well, I have several in Mexico but I do have Logan here. Remember him?"

"Hard to forget," Spencer tapped the side of his head, making Aitana laugh.

"Oh right, my bad." That was stupid of her to forget. "My nephew Logan is five and even though he's pretty young, he understands the stranger-danger concept. My brother, being a detective, has drilled that into Logan. We've all taught him that he should never talk to anyone he doesn't know even when that person says they're a friend of his parents, or a friend of his auntie's and uncle and grandparents—the whole shebang."

"Right, children are more intelligent than most adults give them credit for," remarked Spencer. "Their brains are like sponges at this point in their life."

"Yes!" Aitana nodded. "So if somebody walked up to Logan with that crappy excuse that they're his parents' friends and tried to take him with them, Logan would make a fuss. At the very least, he would keep saying 'no' until someone inevitably notices. If that happened in, say, a park," Aitana gestured to the scene before them, "then somebody would have noticed a kid being fussy. Even if it was just a parent handling a fussy child, someone always looks over."

"But that didn't happen here…" Spencer said, studying the various parents still around. They were all focused, perhaps more now since the abduction, on their children.

"Yeah, because Tommy didn't make a fuss," Aitana presumed, "And if he didn't make a fuss then that meant he knew the person who took him. Trust him. That won't be your local plumber or your I.T. guy…"

"No it would not be," Spencer agreed. They were circling back to Aitana's original belief that their unsub was someone in the medical department.

"Question remains...which one makes rounds to the parks and houses?" Aitana leaned off the car and made a clear gesture that she was waiting for Spencer to give her the answer.

"Well—I don't know it on the spot," Spencer made a face, earning another small laugh from her. She shook her head at him and went around the car for the passenger's seat.

"So are you saying that with a little bit more time you would know the answer?" Aitana pulled the car door open.

Spencer made his way to the driver's side. "I mean, maybe? I don't know…?"

"Just like Morgan," Aitana said as she climbed inside. "You can't admit defeat!"

"What—that's not what I meant!" Spencer exclaimed and quickly got into the car.

"Mhm," Aitana crossed her arms. "Drive, Dr. Reid," she instructed, her tone laying down the finality of the conversation.

~ 0 ~

With what the team now had, they were confident they were ready to deliver the profile to the rest of the precinct. Hotch sent Morgan to collect the new victim's mother because, if they were right, the unsub would soon be attacking her. But it all turned into a rather sharp confusion when, only a couple hours after the profile was delivered, the second victim turned up at a random adult party.

Further down the evening, Penelope called the group back with very few findings. Even though Emily and Rossi had figured out that their unsub had to be a 911 dispatcher, they weren't able to single out the unsub.

"I'm literally going as fast as I can," Penelope huffed after Morgan asked her if she was closer. "There are literally hundreds in the great St. Louis area. Can you help me narrow this down?"

"Refine your search to males between 25 and 30 years of age. And our unsub probably has abandonment issues, so look for backgrounds that reflect that," Morgan was more than helpful, at least that was his opinion. "A history of foster care or someone who was farmed out to other relatives by his own parents."

"Can you trace individual 911 dispatchers based on calls they would have received?" Spencer thought to ask and almost shrunk in his chair when Penelope answered sharply.

"Ok, look, let me make this clear. There are a quarter of a billion 911 calls annually. That's like 10 calls every second of every day. And non-emergent calls are disposed of quickly!"

"Okay, well let's look at it this way," JJ tried her shot, shooting a small smile at Spencer in the process, "This operator would have been on duty when both calls came in from the Smith and Tanner families. And he would have been off duty at the times of the two abductions and Marlene Smith's murder."

"Oh, my God. This brings the needle in a haystack to a whole other dimension, but I will go to that dimension and I will cross-reference and I will call you back!" Penelope promptly hung up with her promise.

"I'm actually afraid to answer that call," Aitana mumbled under her breath. She pushed herself out of her seat and announced she was making a coffee run and by that, she meant right in the bullpen.

She was tired, this case was touching home for her. All she saw with these kids were her nephew and she knew that was completely unprofessional. And yet, she had the big urge to call her sister-in-law right now.

"Hey, want some help?" Morgan startled her into nearly dropping the cups in her hands.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Aitana handed him the cup that was more likely to slip out of her hand first. "Penelope call back yet?"

"She's good but she's not that fast."

"Oh, don't let her hear you say that," Aitana said, causing a laugh between them. Aitana grabbed another of the coffee cups on the table and handed it to Morgan. She would take the last one. "So, you're talking to me again? Did you finally accept that I won?"

Morgan hummed. "More like I'm putting pause on that until we're done with the case."

"Right," Aitana started the way back to the conference room, "But you do know that I won, right?"

"Uuh, no," Morgan looked at her crazily, "You did not."

"I thought my tricks were pretty classic..."

Morgan scoffed. "Classic? You nearly took my ears off!"

Aitana smirked. "A classic."

They returned to the room shortly later, letting the others hear the ending of their conversation.

"Hotch, I cannot believe you allowed this," Morgan said, shooting Hotch a mock glare.

"You and Reid were getting out of hand," Hotch said simply, eyeing a decently guilty Spencer at the end of the table. "And I made Serrano promise me that she wouldn't go overboard and disrupt colleague's work."

"She used a bullhorn on me! How is that not distracting?"

"I wasn't distracted."

Aitana barely covered her mouth before an unladylike snort slipped out. Who said Hotch couldn't be funny?

~0~

Penelope called the them back about an hour later and she was nowhere near happy. "First off, you are on restriction from my inner Lamborghini!"

"Garcia—"

"I mean it! This high-performance engine may purr like a puma on the prowl, but this time, Derek, you have seriously overheated my engines and I will require some cool-down laps upon your return, if you know what I mean by that—"

"Baby girl, you're on speaker," Morgan finally managed to break through Penelope's rampage. The others were very close to laughing.

"...I knew that," came Penelope's voice a moment later. This time, she was able to hear some chuckles on the other end. "Okay, um, so I'm calling to tell you, sir, there are eleven 911 dispatchers in the greater St. Louis area that were on duty when the calls were placed but not working during the murder and abduction. Of those 11, there's one that fits your profile—George Kelling, age 27, 1181 Clay Street, apartment 8. Sending his picture right now."

"Do you know where he is now?" Hotch inquired. Aitana and JJ hurried to collect their tablets and see the photograph that Penelope was sending their way.

"He was scheduled to work today. His supervisor said he showed up for his shift, but then he left early."

"Can you get the log of all the calls he took tonight?" Spencer walked over to the landline.

"Yeah, of course. But there are a lot."

"Skip to the last one!"

"Last one is a domestic disturbance at 788 4th Avenue, number C. Attempted sexual assault of a young girl. Kelling dispatched the police and then he took off."

"Meaning we need to hurry," Emily said to the others.

They divided into two teams, one going to the site of the last 911 incident and the other to Kelling's home. Both groups came to the same empty conclusions. They had to call in Penelope for help again.

"Hey!" JJ found Aitana in what seemed to be the unsub's bedroom. The brunette was shopping around and had been since they realized Kelling was gone. "What are you doing? Hotch has Garcia on the phone tracking other possible sites."

"That's good. I was just looking for some clues," Aitana shrugged as she turned away from a disorderly bookshelf. "With the amount of dust on this furniture, it's safe to say that Kelling hasn't been here in a while."

JJ nodded. The room did seem pretty still in place.

"But check it out," Aitana hurried towards one of the bedside tables. She picked up a portrait of Kelling with an older woman. "Parents?"

JJ hummed. "Maybe." She looked around the room again and found no other portraits except for the one Aitana held. "They're the only people important to him," she assumed.

Aitana put the portrait down and hurried out of the room with JJ. Hotch and Spencer were in the middle of a talk with Penelope outside the house.

"...Kelling entered the foster care system and I don't know why…" Penelope said in a hurried ramble.

"Oh, that must have been the picture we saw then," Aitana cut in, her eyes slightly wider. "Kelling has a photograph of an elderly woman in his bedroom. It's the only picture he has in that entire room."

"Makes sense," Penelope said, "His father abandoned the family when he was a baby. I can't figure out what happened to mom yet."

"All right, we need the address of the foster family he was placed with," Hotch instructed as he led the way back to the SUV."

"I know. He bounced around a lot. Give me a second!" Penelope exclaimed. " I'll call you back!"

"Okay, what I don't understand is why would he keep Bobby but release Timothy?" JJ started once the line was dead. "If he wants to get rid of the parent, why not kill them first and then take the child. It's so much riskier to wait."

"Unless the children are a crucial part of his killing ritual," Aitana said off-handedly.

Hotch turned to her, head tilting.

Spencer followed her idea and tried to develop it as quickly as he could. "He needs something from them before he can murder the parents."

"What could a child possibly give him?" JJ made a face.

"Their approval," Hotch concluded first.

~0~

"Deja vu all over again!" Penelope's voice rang in the SUV. "So, get this. George Kelling's mom committed suicide when he was 10! She jumped off a bridge. Before that, she attempted to kill herself multiple times, cutting her wrists. This sounds really familiar, huh?"

"Did you find the foster home address?" Hotch asked, fingers tapping along the wheel as he waited for the answer.

"The foster family lived on a farm 10 miles northwest of the city on Parkhill Road!"

The engines went on within the second.

"So what happened to the foster parents?" Aitana curiously asks from the backseat. "Kelling didn't have anything else but a picture of those people."

"The father died years ago. The mother just died last month—heart attack!"

"That must have been the trigger," JJ said, "The last person who rescued the unsub was gone. He assumed the mantle."

"And now he suddenly has a house to take these kids to," Aitana shuddered. "Childhood house gone wrong."

"Wait," Spencer leaned forwards from the back seat as well, "Garcia, you said the mother jumped off of a bridge, right?"

"Yeah," Penelope said. "Why?"

JJ recognized the look on Spencer's face. There was something not adding up for him. "What are you thinking?"

"Suicidology is an imperfect science, but it's uncommon for women to kill themselves so violently," Spencer explained, "For lack of a better word, they tend to choose more feminine ways to die. Men shoot themselves, jump off of buildings onto pavement. Women are less messy. They take pills and drown themselves."

"Oh...don't tell me…" Aitana was looking at him in full fledged horror.

~0~

Morgan, Emily and Rossi were already at the secondary location when the others arrived. Once more, they split between the front and the back of the house. As far as they knew, Kelling had at least two of his hostages in the same room.

Hotch led the way into the only room making a noise and sure enough, Kelling was inside holding a woman at gunpoint.

"Put the gun down! Drop the gun!" Hotch gave the first round of orders.

Kelling was nothing if not frantic. "You have to let me finish! Nobody else can do it. Nobody's strong enough!"

"Like you were strong with your mother?" Spencer called.

"Don't talk about her," Kelling snapped. "She was weak. She killed herself and left me alone."

"I don't think so," Hotch said, "Because she tried to kill herself before, nobody would question it. But you did it. You pushed her off the bridge. You killed her."

"No. I helped her!" Kelling made the mistake of moving and was shot along the arm. He dropped to the ground, clutching said arm.

Spencer and JJ rushed to collect him before he would get up.

"The boy's in the closet!" cried one of the hostages.

Hotch ran for the closet and pulled the door open to find Bobby trapped inside. Meanwhile, JJ and Spencer pulled Kelling up, now handcuffed behind his back.

"We'll need medics," Spencer called it in. And perhaps a mouthpiece because Kelling would be yelling for hours to come.

~0~

"How about 10 pairs of shoes? I mean, that has to be enough, right?" Spencer thought as logically as possible despite feeling the topic of shoes was more than redundant. If anything, it was Morgan's fault for bringing up the topic again. In an attempt to make fun of him again for not realizing there was something off about the lack of shoes in Meredith's closet, he told the story to Penelope which then brought on the attention of the others.

"Ten?" JJ made a face. "Ah, Spence, it's different with the ladies. We need them to match our belts, our handbags, our skirts, and the fashions change with the seasons."

"Oh, what are we talking about?" Aitana found the group coming towards the elevator. She'd gone a little ahead to use the restroom first before they left.

"Reid's still trying to guess the right number of shoes women usually have," Morgan said, swinging an arm around Spencer's shoulders and downright ignoring the mini-glare Spencer fixated on him.

"Ah, sweetie, there's no exact number," Aitana mocked a little pout, causing the rest of the women to laugh.

"Yes. Boys are so boring," Penelope groaned sarcastically, "Pants, shoes, out the door."

"Although it's not like men don't have their things," Emily remarked, "I dated a golfer once. He had 12 putters in his closet. But this conversation is reminding me I need new boots."

"They're having a sale at DeMille's on those tall-shaft kitty heels," Penelope was quick to say, "You like those. Do you want to go?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded.

"You getting all this, kid?" Morgan quietly asked Spencer while the others started making shopping plans.

"No," Spencer said with the deepest frown marking his face. Essentially, nobody had answered his question.

"I don't know what you're all smiley about," called Aitana as they began making their way towards the elevator, ""You two still owe me."

The smiles had indeed dropped from Morgan's face. "Oh, not this again!"

"Oh, this time I have backup," Aitana promised, gesturing towards Penelope, JJ and Emily.

"Save it, you didn't win!"

"But technically she did," Emily said with a pointed finger in the air.

"Yes," nodded JJ, "You two said that whoever pulled the best prank would win but you never said it had to be one of you two. Essentially, anyone else could have joined if they wanted to...and I wanted to."

Spencer's eyebrows knitted together as he went over that conversation in his head. "Technically speaking…"

"No," Morgan sharply cut him off, "Don't you start because then she'll really think that she won."

"It's just...that is what we said," Spencer said, still making a face. "And I can't really say that I ever expected to have my stapler inside jello." He knew he couldn't truly forget anything anyways but that had been completely memorable for him.

Aitana grinned. "You can thank Jim Halper for that one. So then," she clapped her hands together, "Ready to admit defeat? And perhaps apologize for using me while I was sick?" Her expression dropped flat.

"Yeah, that was very naughty of you two," Penelope wagged a finger at the two men. "Shame on you!"

"We didn't mean to do it like that," Morgan tried to explain but the way all of them were glaring didn't leave him with a lot to say. "Oh, alight. You win!"

"Thank you," Aitana mocked a curtsy, "And now that it's out of the way, we can get to the good part. You two owe me."

"What do you want?" asked Spencer curiously.

"Oh, I've been thinking about it during the case," Aitana said, glancing at the other women, "And I think I'll be doing you a favor too, Spencer."

"What?" Spencer made a face. "Me?"

"Yea, you're going to find out how many shoes a woman typically has," Aitana chuckled. "You and Morgan can come by to my house this Saturday to clean and rearrange my shoe closet."

JJ, Emily and Penelope nearly lost it on the spot.

"Of course you're all invited too," Aitana told them, "I'll give Hotch and Rossi a call."

"You are one evil woman, sprinkles," Morgan declared.

"Don't mess with me," Aitana winked. Her laughter, combined with JJ's, Emily's and Penelope's, would echo through the floors on their way out.

#ocapp #allaboutocs #ochub #criminal minds #Spencer Reid fics #Spencer Reid imagines #Spencer Reid x oc #criminal minds oc #cm fics #cm imagines #oc: aitana serrano #fic: against all odds

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bitchesgetriches · 2 years ago

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toomanyrobins2 · 1 year ago

Text

Master Brucie

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

6.30, Saturday

Dear Batman,

We started to walk to town today, but mercy! how it poured. I like winter to be winter with snow instead of rain.

Harriet’s desirable uncle called at the college this afternoon—and brought a five-pound box of chocolates. There are advantages, you see, about rooming with Harriet Kane.

Our innocent prattle appeared to amuse him and he waited for a later train in order to take tea in the study. We had an awful lot of trouble getting permission. It's hard enough entertaining fathers and grandfathers, but uncles are a step worse; and as for brothers and cousins, they are next to impossible. Harriet had to swear that he was her uncle before a notary public and then have the county clerk's certificate attached. (Don't I know a lot of law?) And even then I doubt if we could have had our tea if the Dean had chanced to see how youngish and good-looking Uncle Bruce is.

Anyway, we had it, with brown bread Swiss cheese sandwiches. He helped make them and then ate four. I told him that I had spent last summer at the Kent Farm, and we had a beautiful gossipy time about the Kents, and the horses and cows and chickens. All the horses that he used to know are dead, except Grover, who was a baby colt at the time of his last visit—and poor Grove now is so old he can just limp about the pasture.

He asked if they still kept doughnuts in a yellow crock with a blue plate over it on the bottom shelf of the pantry—and they do! He wanted to know if there was still a woodchuck's hole under the pile of rocks in the night pasture—and there is! Amasai caught a big, fat, grey one there this summer, the twenty-fifth great-grandson of the one Master Brucie caught when he was a little boy.

I called him 'Master Brucie’ to his face, but he didn't appear to be insulted. Harriet says she has never seen him so amiable; he's usually pretty unapproachable. But Harriet hasn't a bit of tact; and men, I find, require a great deal. They purr if you rub them the right way and spit if you don't. (That isn't a very elegant metaphor. I mean it figuratively.)”

We're reading Marie Bashkirtseff's journal. Isn't it amazing? Listen to this:

'Last night I was seized by a fit of despair that found utterance in moans, and that finally drove me to throw the dining-room clock into the sea.'

It makes me almost hope I'm not a genius; they must be very wearing to have about—and awfully destructive to the furniture.

Mercy! how it keeps Pouring. We shall have to swim to chapel tonight.

Yours ever,

Y/N

20th Jan.

Dear Batman,

Did you ever have a sweet baby girl who was stolen from the cradle in infancy?

Maybe I am she! If we were in a novel, that would be the denouement, wouldn't it?

It's really awfully queer not to know what one is—sort of exciting and romantic. There are such a lot of possibilities. Maybe I'm not American; lots of people aren't. I may be straight descended from the ancient Romans, or I may be a Viking's daughter, or I may be the child of a Russian exile and belong by rights in a Siberian prison, or maybe I'm a Gipsy—I think perhaps I am. I have a very wandering spirit, though I haven't as yet had much chance to develop it.

Do you know about that one scandalous blot in my career the time I ran away from the asylum because they punished me for stealing cookies? It's down in the books free for any Trustee to read. But really, what could you expect? When you put a hungry little “little nine-year girl in the pantry scouring knives, with the cookie jar at her elbow, and go off and leave her alone; and then suddenly pop in again, wouldn't you expect to find her a bit crumby? And then when you jerk her by the elbow and box her ears, and make her leave the table when the pudding comes, and tell all the other children that it's because she's a thief, wouldn't you expect her to run away?

I only ran four miles. They caught me and brought me back; and every day for a week I was tied, like a naughty puppy, to a stake in the backyard while the other children were out at recess.

Oh, dear! There's the chapel bell, and after chapel I have a committee meeting. I'm sorry because I meant to write you a very entertaining letter this time.

Auf wiedersehen

Cher Bats,

Pax tibi!

Y/N

The atmosphere in the dimly lit study grew tense as Bruce Wayne read the distressing details of Y/N's childhood in the letter she had sent him. The words on the page painted a vivid picture of a small child, vulnerable and mistreated, enduring punishments that were both harsh and degrading. The injustice of it all stirred a storm of anger within Bruce, fueling an impulse to intervene immediately.

"To be hit and shamed for something as simple as taking a cookie," Bruce muttered under his breath, his fists clenching involuntarily. The vivid imagery of Y/N, tied to a stake like an animal, ignited a fierce protective instinct within him.

Alfred, ever the calm and composed voice of reason, observed Bruce's reaction with concern. "Master Wayne, I understand the anger you're feeling. However, charging into the orphanage may not be the most prudent course of action. We must consider the consequences and think strategically. Do not forget that this was before your time as a Trustee and it is possible that such reaction is no longer the practice."

Bruce's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he continued to read the letter. The injustice described seemed unbearable, and he could feel the urgency building within him.

"Alfred, this is unacceptable. No child should be subjected to such treatment," Bruce declared, his voice edged with frustration.

Alfred stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I share your sentiments, sir. But you must remember that not all children get the privilege of such a life and storming in without a plan may do more harm than good. You should speak to the other Trustees. It's essential to approach this matter with a clear strategy to ensure a lasting change for all the children under her care."

Bruce looked up, meeting Alfred's steady gaze. The older man's wisdom and practicality began to quell the storm of anger within him. Taking a deep breath, Bruce nodded reluctantly. Bruce closed the letter, a steely determination replacing the initial rage. He knew that Alfred's guidance was invaluable, and together, they would navigate the path toward rectifying the injustices Y/N had endured as a child. He certainly would not continue to provide money to this home without some serious changes occurring.

4th February

Dear Batman,

Jimmie Gordon has sent me a Princeton banner as big as one end of the room; I am very grateful to him for remembering me, but I don't know what on earth to do with it. Barbara and Harriet won't let me hang it up; our room this year is furnished in red, and you can imagine what an effect we'd have if I added orange and black. But it's such nice, warm, thick felt, I hate to waste it. Would it be very improper to have it made into a bathrobe? My old one shrank when it was washed.

I've entirely omitted of late telling you what I am learning, but though you might not imagine it from my letters, my time is exclusively occupied with study. It's a very bewildering matter to get educated in five branches at once.”

“The test of true scholarship,' says Chemistry Professor, 'is a painstaking passion for detail.'

'Be careful not to keep your eyes glued to detail,' says History Professor. 'Stand far enough away to get a perspective of the whole.'

You can see with what nicety we have to trim our sails between chemistry and history. I like the historical method best. If I say that William the Conqueror came over in 1492, and Columbus discovered America in 1100 or 1066 or whenever it was, that's a mere detail that the Professor overlooks. It gives a feeling of security and restfulness to the history recitation, that is entirely lacking in chemistry.

Sixth-hour bell—I must go to the laboratory and look into a little matter of acids and salts and alkalis. I've burned a hole as big as a plate in the front of my chemistry apron, with hydrochloric acid. If the theory worked, I ought to be able to neutralize that hole with good strong ammonia, oughtn't I?

Examinations next week, but who's afraid?

Yours ever,

Y/N

5th March

Dear Batman,

There is a March wind blowing, and the sky is filled with heavy, black moving clouds. The crows in the pine trees are making such a clamour! It's an intoxicating, exhilarating, calling noise. You want to close your books and be off over the hills to race with the wind.

Wewent off and didn't get back to college till half-past six—half an hour late for dinner—and we went straight in without dressing, and with perfectly unimpaired appetites! Then we all cut evening chapel, the state of our boots being enough of an excuse.

I never told you about examinations. I passed everything with the utmost ease—I know the secret now, and am never going to fail again. I shan't be able to graduate with honours though, because of that beastly Latin prose and geometry Freshman year. But I don't care. Wot's the hodds so long as you're 'appy? (That's a quotation. I've been reading the English classics.)

Speaking of classics, have you ever read Hamlet? If you haven't, do it right off. It's perfectly corking. I've been hearing about Shakespeare all my life, but I had no idea he really wrote so well; I always suspected him of going largely on his reputation.

I have a beautiful play that I invented a long time ago when I first learned to read. I put myself to sleep every night by “pretending I'm the person (the most important person) in the book I'm reading at the moment.

At present I'm Ophelia—and such a sensible Ophelia! I keep Hamlet amused all the time, and pet him and scold him and make him wrap up his throat when he has a cold. I've entirely cured him of being melancholy. The King and Queen are both dead—an accident at sea; no funeral necessary—so Hamlet and I are ruling in Denmark without any bother. We have the kingdom working beautifully. He takes care of the governing, and I look after the charities. I have just founded some first-class orphan asylums. If you or any of the other Trustees would like to visit them, I shall be pleased to show you through. I think you might find a great many helpful suggestions.

I remain, sir,

Yours most graciously,

Ophelia,

Queen of Denmark.

Bruce looked over to his bookshelf where the hole where Gulliver’s Travels used to sit made him smile before pulling Hamlet off the shelf and putting his feet on his desk, trying to read it with the same level of imagination that Y/N possessed.

#toomanyrobins #batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #battison #battison imagine #dcu #dcu imagine

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