#also i want to work in higher ed for the security and every school needs it!

[1eos]

i might become a girl in it to fund my artsy lifestyle after all

[eroticcannibal]

Common myths and misconceptions about home education

So in case anyone has somehow missed it, I have recently become a Big supporter of home education in a very lefty way, which has meant I have had to challenge a lot of views I have previously held about home education and that I know a lot of other lefties hold too. I am of the opinion that embracing home education, not as a last resort, but as the primary form of education for as many children as possible, is a vital part of achieving the required shifts in society needed to meet the goals of most leftists. So I am taking it on myself to convince you all that it is a very good thing, and also to clear up some misconceptions people have about home education that may make them feel they are unable to do it.

(A note, I am from the UK and shall be using UK terminology and specifics regarding law, policy and other such things will be from a UK perspective. I shall be using the term home education, as that is the legal term in the UK and is distinct from home schooling, which is the term for what school children have been doing during the pandemic.)

And I would also like to extend a quick thanks to Education Otherwise and the mods at Home education and your local authority for teaching me A LOT.

Have any questions about anything I’ve not covered here? Just let me know!

1. “Home education is illegal.”

- Sadly, home education is illegal or restricted to the point of inaccessibility in most of the world. From the research I have done, it seems that only the US and the UK have reasonable laws around home education (if I am using a very broad definition of reasonable, it is still not great). I do hope I can change this section soon, and I would *heavily* encourage people to campaign for the right to home educate post pandemic, perhaps cite any benefits learning at home has provided to children, perhaps???

2. “Home education is a tool used by religious fundamentalists to brainwash children!”

- This is a view many hold, and for good reason. For many of us, when we think of home education, we think of christian fundamentalists in the deep south of America, pulling their children out of school to avoid the liberal agenda. The truth is, anything can be used as a tool of indoctrination. This can happen in home education, and it can happen and has happened in schools too. In my own communities we have had instances of schools being a site of religious radicalization of children. The reality is this is far too complex and deep an issue to be solved by deeming any particular form of education as “bad”. I am not an expert on how best to deal with such issues, but I do feel that things like outreach and building a healthy community with otherwise more isolated religious groups would be a better way to address these issues.

3. “You need to have x qualification to home educate.”

- Again, a reasonable view to hold, given that state run and private education does require educators to hold certain qualifications, but in practice it quickly becomes evident the same does not necessarily have to apply with home education. Educational qualifications are very much focused on delivering an education in a classroom, which is a far cry from home education. During our home education of our child, my partner, who is a qualified SEN TA, has struggled far more than I have with educating our SEN child, despite the fact I hold no qualifications.

We live in amazing times when it comes to education. There are many things that parents and communities have to teach a child, and there are many things a child can teach to themself if given the tools to do so. You can even learn together! Their are endless resources available, books and games and documentaries, and even home education groups and private tutors if you feel that is the right fit for your child. You don’t need a piece of paper for your child to spend a day with their nose buried in a book, or to help the neighbor with his vegetable patch, or to cuddle up on the sofa while watching Planet Earth.

4. “You are required to follow the national curriculum.”

- This does vary by country (that allows home education). As a general rule, the stricter a country is about who can home educate, the stricter they are about what must be taught. In the UK, you are not required to follow the national curriculum. Education must be “efficient” and suited to the child’s “age, aptitude and ability”, and LAs do require that english and maths are covered. Other than that, you are allowed to tailor the content of education to the child and their interests. We have recently dropped geography for now and are only just picking up history again. It has also given us the freedom to focus on areas our child needs that would not be covered in mainstream education, such as anxiety management, trauma processing, self care and hygiene.

5. “Home education looks like school/is just filling out workbooks/etc”

- The thing you will always hear from experienced home educators when you begin home education is “home education doesn’t need to be school at home”. Much like you can tailor the content of the learning to the child, you can also tailor the delivery to the child. Some child need structure, timetable, instructions. Some need freedom and to bounce between topics. Some need to have an hour learning maths and only maths, some need to go dig up your garden “for science”. Some want to learn every day, some will need extended breaks.

Learning happens all the time, from the moment they wake to the moment they sleep. As an example, at home we have some workbooks, as both me and my child have ADHD and need someone to go “ok learn this” rather than us having to work out for ourselves what we need to cover for core subjects like english and maths. For the rest of most days my child is left to their own devices to binge youtube and netflix and work on their art. We try and go for a woodland walk every few days, where we have Deep Discussions about all kinds of topics, and we are also working on growing edible plants and baking cakes from around the world. We are more hands-off at the moment, due to the current bout of anxiety, but when that settles again we will get back to history themed crafts and STEM activities. Post-pandemic, we will be signing our kid up for swimming classes and “after school” clubs, and looking at sending them down to my mum for the home ed groups where she lives, like the forest school. A lot of home education outside of a pandemic is in groups and community based, or will make use of libraries and museums and other public learning opportunities. Frequently very little will happen at home.

In fact many home educators will advise new families to “deschool” for a while before jumping in to learning. This is a period where you “get school out of your system”, and just exist. Learning does not have to be intentional, you will be surprised how much you can achieve by just having fun.

6. “Home education is expensive.”

- It can be, ask my bank account. However, it is perfectly possible to deliver a quality education with little to no money. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it’s doable. Their are many online resources for free (check out oak academy), and libraries have plenty available too. Even paid resources can be very cheap if you know where to look. (psst, if your kid thrives with worksheets and powerpoints, get yourself a twinkl subscription, download everything you need for a year then cancel it.)

(This does not apply to exams. Get saving!)

7. “Home educated children are not properly socialised.”

- This is only really true during the pandemic. The rest of the time, home educated children are free to socialise whenever they want, with whoever they want, in whatever setting they choose. Socialisation while home educating is in the opinions of many of a higher quality, as they are not limited to groups of a similar age and background. Many home educating families form groups for their children to socialise together too. For ND children especially, socialising while home educated can be far less stressful and far more fulfilling than in school.

8. “Home educated children won’t get qualifications.”

- Just plain not true. Arranging qualifications can be costly and time consuming, but it is possible and regularly done. Some children may return to school or college to access exams for free, and I have heard of a handful of cases where individuals were able to secure prestigious university places without any qualifications. Home education also allows for more freedom with how exams and qualifications are approached, for example, many home educated children will pick one GCSE to focus on at a time, rather than covering numerous topics over 2 years and having exams for all of them at once like children in school will.

9. “Home education is a safeguarding risk/is used to cover up abuse/home educated children are not seen.”

- In the UK at least, home education is not considered a safeguarding risk, no matter what authorities may tell you, nor are home educated “not seen”. They still visit medical professionals, they still engage with their communities.

Now I shall add the relevant paper here should I find it again, but the idea that home education is used to cover up abuse to a statistically significant degree, or that home educated children are at more risk of abuse, is false. Home educating families do face a significantly higher risk of social services involvement than other families, but far less abuse is found in comparison to other families. It is also worth considering, when talking about social services involvement, that many families pursue home education due to failures by schools regarding a child’s vulnerabilities. In most cases, especially the Big Ones, where a home educated child is abused, the child was already known to authorities as a victim of abuse, therefore home educating did nothing to hide said abuse.

Children are also routinely abused in schools, which is another common reason for home educating.

10. “Home education has to be monitored or approved.”

- Depends on the country, I know in Japan home education is monitored by schools, however in the UK, monitoring is not lawful. Local authorities may make informal enquiries to ensure a suitable education is being facilitated (keep EVERYTHING in writing and please go straight to “home education and your local authority” group on FB for advice, you WILL need it!). In England, if your child is in mainstream education, you can deregister at will, from a special school will require LA approval. In Scotland deregistering requires LA approval. (Again, head to the aforementioned group for advice).

11. “You can’t work/get an education while home educating”

- It is hard to balance work, education and educating your child, but it is possible, people do it every day. Obviously, having at least one parent free to educate unhindered at all times is an ideal situation, but in the real world it often does not work that way. Parents may have to home educate regardless of their other commitments if a child truly needs to escape the school system. Many parents work or learn from home, and sometimes it is even possible to combine these activities with home education. Professional artists and crafters can pass down their skills while working, distance learners can invite their children to sit in on lectures. The really great thing about home education is it is flexible. Do you have a whole day of meetings? Let the kid play minecraft all day! Going to be in the office all day? Drop the kid off at the local forest school or something else they can do all day. Drop them with the grandparents to help with the gardening!

12. “Home educated are behind/achieve less than school children.”

- Their is no evidence that home education is of a lower quality than school education. Many children are home educated specifically because the school environment was detrimental to their education, and thrive with home education. Plenty of children are able to learn more simply by having 1-to-1 attention, without the distraction of an entire class. And others may well be “behind”, and are educated at home because of their specific needs that mean they will never thrive in an academic setting, so they are allowed to focus on learning skills that will allow them to live independently.

[eternalcantarella]

Entropy - Chapter 2: Horseman of The Apocalypse - Joker/Reader

Entropy

  Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 17.9k

  A/N: Medical specifics - I know the rod of asclepius is more for professional healthcare usage and caduceus is for commercial usage, but I chose to use a hybridisation of both asclepius and caduceus rods instead because its symbolism was slightly more in line with what I want to portray. Sorry for the inconsistency with practical usage! This chapter took me a while to write, and I didn't expect it to turn out this long. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! 

  Inspirations: Trafalgar Law’s speech on the new era (One Piece), Amaya & Aiko no Akatsuki's Deisaku writing - Pinky Bruiser (Deisaku fans should totally check this out), Town of Salem's Plaguebearer role.

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

He sat in the long corridor, his legs crossed. His posture was laid back, with his tablet propped up on his lap. He tried to get used to the stiff teal plastic seat, secured to the wall behind him, but it was extremely uncomfortable and he kept readjusting his position. He tried to distract himself with the forthcoming plans for the week ahead with Gotham Press Holdings, refreshing his email to check for updates from his superiors. Unfortunately, he could not find the urge to open those mails. He leaned forward in his seat, his hand instinctively searching for the familiar spot on his chin.

  The thin and bitter smell of antiseptic and cleaning products was invasive, acrid and stinging as it caused him to look away and stare at his other hand, twisting and knotting it as if doing so would hold back the unrest threatening to break within him. A man was whisked on a hospital bed right past him down the narrow corridor, and he was greeted with the disturbance of coughing, hacking and wheezing in the Emergency Department waiting room. He found the closest antibacterial hand dispenser, which was fortunately right beside him, and started working it like a gambling addict hitting up a VLT machine.

  In a disorienting ambulance ride earlier, claustrophobia had closed in on him. He stood hovering over the stretcher, trying to rationally articulate the details surrounding your predicament, trying to discard feelings of his rising worries for you. However, with every bump the ambulance made, his unease peaked higher. As expected, the paramedics had briefed him that prompt delivery to the Emergency Department should be a priority, and had administered their prehospital care procedure onto you. 

  While otherwise appearing to be asymptomatic, the fact that you lost consciousness was alarming. They had secured the airway as required, delivering high-flow oxygen by cupping a respirator mask over your face, obtaining IV access simultaneously. There was a tenseness to his muscles, his head a violent whirl of confusion, trying to organise the newly found chaos in his life. They had also administered a beta-antagonist as a nebulised treatment for bronchoconstriction, a paramedic explained to him as she spritzed short bursts of liquid spray up your nostrils. 

  And here he was, waiting. A suspense ate at him internally while he awaited the ED doctor’s examination results.

  While he was willing himself to check on instructions from Gotham Press Holdings, his hands betrayed his line of thought, and he instead found himself looking through his archived emails. His eyes glossed over the subject title.

  ‘Application for Blake Accounting Consultancy - Junior Data Analyst Applicant; Resume Included’

  He crinkled his eye, his lips stretching against his index finger resting against it. He always found himself unknowingly going back to this fateful letter, at different, random times with no real reason connecting them with each other. He didn’t like to express it, both visually and verbally, to you that he had come to care for you deeply. And he was wondering if he was regretting ever holding back and hiding his actions to show that care. With the current uncertainty, and your life at stake, it’s always easy to see in hindsight that there were many things he could do differently. He clicked onto the email he archived, going through the motions that took him back to simpler and more pleasant times. He indulged himself in the light breeze of familiarity and nostalgia. He would always have a sentimental longing and affection for the past, especially when it came to you.

  He remembered looking at your application and how absurd he thought it was at first glance. He vaguely recalled the contents of his job listing on Craigslist, having clearly stated that a bachelor’s degree in Computing or Data related fields was a prerequisite and lowest qualification one must have at the very least. Yet your highest form of education was trade school and coding bootcamps.

  This was almost ludicrous in his eyes, that he found it to be amusing. He was about to dismiss your application to sift through the others, without even looking at your resume. However he felt compelled to click on it, probably out of some sick sense of curiosity and humour, he supposed. He wanted to see what laughs or kicks he could get out of this.

  A condescending sense of jest bubbled in his chest when he started reading it. Perhaps this was just a joke applicant, he thought. Well, humour me. However, he found that the more he read into it, the more his smile started to falter. Being a data analyst requires very specific skills. You had recorded a very all-encompassing list of individual qualifications from courses painstakingly taken and they were all relevant to the job scope. Technical, analytical, math and creative skills. This was impressive for a non-uni graduate. You had also taken the initiative to contribute to opensource projects, demonstrating a fire and drive for the role. Not to mention the attention to detail and the amount of work put into organising this resume, to frame and market yourself in the best way possible. You had done a lot of research into this, evidently.

  From this, he could sense that being a data analyst was something you wanted to be strongly at this point in time. And while strongly wanting to be one is often not enough for a data analyst, you had the puzzle pieces arranged and chops to back it up. Perhaps what sealed the deal to offer you an interview over coffee was the thing that set you apart from other applicants. Other candidates wrote about what they wanted from this job. No one cares what they want. No one cares that they want to “leverage their skills working with a highly effective team”. Yours was focused solely on the employer’s benefit, rather than for personal gain. And one thing in particular had caught his eyes to show you were perhaps a best fit for the company.

  ‘To build an ethical and positive culture for the company from the ground up and inspire change in Gotham.’

  Given the current legal and political climate in Gotham, especially with the battles between parties of power going on, no one would care to write statements like this. No one even knew if they were submitting applications to companies deep within the mob, entrenched in corruption, or held hostage after having had debts to repay them. The mob had an iron grip on affairs at every nook and cranny of Gotham City. These types of statements were too fluffy, too idealistic, and often were not considered on job offers. However, things were changing. In a world where caped and masked vigilantes were jumping off roofs and Falcone was locked up in Arkham, he had hope. Politics were becoming more transparent, as candidates like Harvey Dent stepped up to the plate. And he would stop at nothing to make the most of this hope for a better Gotham. He had to believe in a better Gotham. He clenched his wrists and swallowed. He wanted to realise this idealistic vision he had. 

  “This mask for the anger I’ve been hiding… It’s not enough.”

  “Then channel that anger to something good, I dunno. Frankly speaking, it’s not that hard.”

  You two were sitting around a mahogany coffee table, with two plush sofas clad in burgundy fabric offering you two the luxury of sinking back into the comfort of its softness. However, you two were on the edge of your seats, not allowing yourselves to be lulled into its false sense of security and let your guards down. Your eyes were trained on each other, the air electrifying. You took a sip from the mug of your macchiato, eyes never leaving his as you tilted your coffee mug. You looked at him through your lashes, hiding behind a coy smile. Intrigued by your boldness, he quirked a brow in amusement. He sighed and pushed his laptop away from him on the table, finding no real need for it.

  “Charming. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you tell me why you hadn’t attempted college?” 

  This definitely did not feel like a job interview. He leaned back, arms folded, a smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was challenging you. You sure as hell weren’t one to back down.

  “Well, maybe it’s because some of us aren’t so lucky to have our parents afford our college fees, just so we can chase our dreams.”

  In a saccharine voice, you leaned forward, tilting your head, no longer smiling. Your lips showed the hints of a pout. John Blake stared at you, slightly confused for a moment. Was this a personal attack or something?

  “That’s very valiant of you. However, Miss, if I had to remind you of something,”

  He maintained his composure, leaning forward with a slight tension in his jaw, his smirk not falling.

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, darling.”

  You remained neutral, staying in the same position.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.” 

  He had been the one to poke you first, you thought, slightly indignant. You bit your lip and spoke again, treading dangerously.

  “If I had to take a guess, I would say you feel threatened by me.”

  John Blake raised his brows at you, possibly in disbelief at your brazenness. He lightly clenched through his teeth. Were you perhaps right?

  “Far from it, kid.”

  You glared at him for this obvious condescension. If you were anyone else, the blatant disrespect you showed him earlier would have immediately gotten you rejected. But the chemistry between you two was palpable, even then. His eyes looked at the laptop in front of him. His eyes avoided yours. He looked away, and nonchalantly he asked you.

  “Don’t you think it’s impossible to really foster an ethical company in Gotham? I mean, it’s a pretty corrupt city.”

  He stirred his coffee to feign apathy. This question wasn’t important to him. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, your voice raising in tone. You felt your indignancy rise. Affronted and outraged. What kind of question is this…?

  “What? Gotham is full of people ready to believe in good and compassion.”

  You had his attention now. And he stared at you, his eyes hard.

  “Hey, don’t you think that’s pretty naive of you?”

  “You can say that all you want about me. I don’t gain much from being an idealist, but I have to do the best I can.”

  Your voice softened towards the end. This was perhaps the first time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in this… “Interview”. The man in front of you shifted his weight in his chair and stood up. This prompted you to stand up as well, befuddled and just mindlessly mirroring his body language.

  Satisfied with his find, he stared down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. He stuck his hand out towards you.

  “Well then kid, I believe we have a deal.”

  Dumbfounded, you took his hand hesitantly, and he gave your hand a firm squeeze, bobbing it lightly in the process. Your jaw was slightly ajar and you were confused. After all that, you were in a state of doubt. Did you really just pass this… interview?

  “Check your email for updates.”

  He picked up his coffee, downed the rest of it and held his cup up towards you, a last gesture signifying his leave. He set it down against the table with a clink and left swiftly with his laptop. 

  You will become my weapon. My tool. You will fight for me, and in exchange, I will ensure that you realise your vision, and sate your burning desires.

  He smirked. A diamond in the rough indeed.

  He was stirred out of his daze when he heard the sound of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. It revealed a doctor dressed in blue short-sleeved scrub top and pants, with a white lab coat. She held a clipboard and wore a surgical mask. The mask could not hide the sunkenness in her eyes, fatigued from being overworked during her residency. Blake stood up immediately seeing her, desperate to know the outcome of your medical evaluation.

  “Sir, I’ll cut to the chase. She will have to remain under our observation for the next forty-eight hours, and we will periodically image her with serial chest radiographs.”

  Taking a moment to take this news in, he nodded, signalling for the doctor to continue.

  “We seek your understanding, patients may develop significant signs and symptoms for as long as thirty-six hours after exposure. We checked for burns in the nasal cavity and tested for particles.”

  She sighed and stared at her clipboard, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her tennis shoes squeaked.

  “Burning was spotted, but minimal. Her airway functions are still relatively stable. Our test results revealed in her system a complex of zinc chloride and the fear gas toxin compound found in our water supply months back.”

  “I understand. Her condition is stable enough and she will recover, right?”

  He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs that would betray her jaded features.

  “I’m afraid nothing in this world is certain, sir.”

  Her voice was somber. His brows knitted. What was that supposed to mean? Realising what she uttered out, she quickly switched her expression to mask what she just said, to a more amicable one for professionalism.

  “But of course, nothing is likely to happen to her. We have databases storing synthesised antidotes and counteragents to the compounds we found.”

  He sank, his muscles losing their tension as he deflated. At least there was some solace in this situation.

  “You can check back around the same time after two days, if you’d like. She will be placed under our care til then.��

  He nodded and took that as a sign to take his leave. He grabbed the laptops from the seats and gave himself another couple of pumps of hand sanitiser solution. He sighed and felt the tension in his forehead subside a little. You always had to cause trouble for everyone involved, didn’t you? He turned his head and looked at you through the glass panes, lying unconscious on a hospital bed. He gave a snort and didn’t slow down his pace. 

  Luckily for you, you had someone who didn’t find you to be more trouble than you were worth.

###

He found the darkness strange. In the heart of Gotham city, he had grown used to having the warm, yellow-orange glow of streetlamps outside his window, light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains and seeing them whenever he walked down the street. It felt safe. Come to think of it, it was a privilege. When he took a first drive through the Narrows, there were no such safety blankets in the form of regularly spaced streetlamps. He continued staring up at the Bat-Signal, its rays projected an emblem. 

  It was shrouded in darkness. Gotham City is a bustling, urban metropolis. The signal was alone in the night sky, not a single star there to accompany it. Light pollution makes us unable to see stars in big cities. The bat was cursed to be alone in the dark. It was the only way he could exist, anyway. After all, most sightings of him caught on tape were filmed around the Narrows.

  He combed a hand through his honey blond hair, while the balmy breeze smeared against his face. He heard footsteps. Immediately, he whipped his form around, hands affixed tightly on his hips.

  “You’re a hard man to reach.”

  He walked forward, trying to seem cordial, as much as he could be. His posture was strained, however, his neck craned forward from waiting too long. He walked forward, closer to the figure and swung one arm loose, by his side. He sized him up. This was the first time he had seen him up close, and he simply remained silent. They regarded each other for a cold moment. He couldn’t expect much from him, even a response would be too much, not without Gordon around.

  He almost blended in with the darkness. His suit mirrored the plated armour of specialised jousters, but with a much more modern and practical design. He looked rigid and reminded him of a man from medieval times, a mounted warrior with ideals of chivalry and a code of conduct befitting for a nobleman. The difference was, he did not work with the state, and was in no way a perfect courtly Christian warrior.

  I believe in Harvey Dent. People needed to believe in something, just as he believed in the Batman.

  His presence, despite being mostly subdued and shadowed, did invoke a bearing to be idolised. If he weren’t Gotham’s District Attorney or the up-and-coming choice political candidate, he might have even been star-struck and giddy-headed at the sight of him. He scoffed at this. They were of the same standing in the city of Gotham, on equal footing, and they both knew it. He could feel it in his stare.

  They waited.

  The jarring sound of the door clicking open broke the uncomfortable silence. He studied Gordon, who looked just as miffed as he did. He tried to get Gordon’s attention.

  “Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong.”

  Gordon ignored him, storming forward to switch off the Bat-Signal. This rubbed Harvey Dent the wrong way. He was a little vexed.

  “You’d asked. I could’ve taken his passport―I told you to keep me in the loop.”

  Gordon was aggravated by his unpleasant overbearing insistence on being involved in the Gotham City Police Department’s investigations. He raised his voice.

  “All that was left in the vaults were marked bills. They knew we were coming, as soon as your office got involved-”

  Gordon was motioning with his hand. He waved it around temperamentally, emotion clearly clouding his judgement and choice of words. Dent felt his blood pressure rise and he definitely would not stand for these accusations against his team. He felt a vein jutting in his neck, tensing as he matched his voice level to reach Gordon’s.

  “My office? You’re sitting there with scum like Wuertz and Ramirez and you’re talking-”

  He jammed a strained finger at the ground as he stressed his words. He paused for a moment. Realisation in a recent finding gave him the upperhand. He sneered. This was turning into a full-blown argument.

  “Oh yeah Gordon. I almost had your rookie cold on a racketeering beat.”

  He jabbed more accusatory fingers directed at Gordon. God forbid his argumentative habits from the high court show through now. This was making things a lot worse.

  “Don’t try and cloud the fact that clearly Maroni’s got people in your office, Dent.”

  Gordon’s statement was final and harsh. They stared each other down. This was going nowhere. The night breeze blew against them. The Bat was silent. Quietly, he stood and analysed whether he could really trust both of these men to solve crime in Gotham together. The wariness and doubt was palpable. What makes them think they could make him trust them, when they couldn’t even trust each other?

  Dent didn’t know how to respond to this. He went silent. He couldn’t dispute or disprove this. The Maronis’ got their reigns deep within all walks of this city.

  Gordon sighed, giving up. If they couldn’t have transparency at this point, they could forget about asking for Batman’s help. He would not accept this if they were to only hinder his goal. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They would only appear to be a joke to the man. He had to relent, for starters.

  “We couldn’t detain him. He has too much power. We can’t conclusively accuse Lau at this point, and we were denied prior warrants on him. We have no data on him aside from pure speculation.”

  Looking down, Gordon bit on his bottom lip, his facial hair caught between his lip. He tugged at his pocket with exaggerated movements, looking like a jovial dad who thrived on telling dad jokes, pulling out a scrap of notes. He skimmed through it. Harvey Dent’s hands were still on his hips, gripping at his hipbone. He turned to look at the man in the dark suit.

  The three of them stood in formation, on the rooftop of the Major Crimes Unit, circling each other. They formed the three pillars of justice in Gotham. All unyielding in their beliefs of their methods of crime fighting, and their ideals. Coming to a compromise seemed near impossible moments ago.

“We need Lau back. The Chinese won’t extradite a national under any circumstances. Not that we even have the right documents to prove his involvement with the mob.”

  Batman took this chance to respond, for the first time.

  “I have no jurisdiction. I believe I personally have enough proof to track that rat down.”

  Harvey Dent raised his brows a fraction. The gall of him to talk about legal power or authority having no control over him, right in front of the DA no less. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was boasting about operating outside the law. Even if he was a vigilante, that was a bold statement. He liked that.

  “If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

  Batman’s voice was deep and raspy. Dent did not expect his voice to be like this. The corner of his mouths tugged a bit. This was his area of expertise.

  “I’ll get him to sing.”

  Nodding for further assertion and poise in confidence, he said so knowingly. Gordon unfolded the scrap of notes handed to him by his officers. They had brute-forced their way into the systems of the recent bank heist at Gotham National Bank. Apparently, they had digital tracks of code and graphs as potential sources of evidence for this case from a foreign system. The department, however, was not specialised enough to interpret this data definitively.

  “The GCPD only recently uncovered leads to prove Lau’s dirty work in the mob, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

  This caught Harvey Dent’s attention. He signalled for him to elaborate.

  “We traced the source to be devices registered under the Blake Accounting Consultancy company.”

  Bringing a finger to his lip, Dent bit against it lightly. He pondered

  “We can do this concurrently while Batman forcefully extradites Lau. We need to do this fast, however. Set up an interrogation with this company, as soon as possible.”

  Dent and Gordon looked at each other. For once, they saw each other eye to eye. Gordon took in a deep breath, and nodded, this time with a lot less hesitation than before. The Bat looked at them, his focus flitting between the two, and pressed his lips together. Maybe there was hope in this after all.

  “We’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.”

  Gordon inclined his head, indicating the urgency of this harsh truth. Gordon gave Dent a hard stare, a direct warning to the man. A pretty-boy working high up in the office, who had never gotten his hands dirty like that in the life of a city cop. He had to know what was in store for him, and Gordon wanted to see if he really was all that serious about this, rather than being purely concerned with racking political points.

  “I knew the risk when I took this job, lieutenant.”

  Harvey Dent leaned back, seeming a tad bit offended by his warning. As if he didn’t know already. Hell, someone had even pulled a gun on him in the courtroom. In Rachel’s words, as Gotham’s DA, if you’re not getting shot at, you’re not doing your job right. He decided to let it go.

  “How are you getting back in-”

  He directed his attention back onto Batman. He vanished into thin air. Dent was at a loss for words. How dysfunctional this agreement between the three of them seemed. He dared Gordon to give him an explanation. Do I really want to know, he scoffed. Gordon cocked his head derisively, a wry smile in place.  

  “He does that.”

  Pretty crude sense of humour, even for someone flying from building to building with a cape. He relaxed his upper body, hands still on his hips. He looked at the ground. He gave an audible groan. He was going to need a cold shower after all this―This absolutely baffling and absurd confrontation. It almost seemed comical. Well, he couldn’t complain. After all, he did ask for it.

###

It had been a while since you’ve woken up from your blackout. You could only see darkness. 

  Distant static noises from the television muffled in and out through your ears. When you cracked open your eyes, they still felt raw and fluttered back shut repeatedly from your drugged up state. You had no idea where you were.

  “-according to eyewitnesses, each man wore a clown mask.”

  You gripped the bed sheets. This news was… unsettlingly familiar. You felt a mild stinging pain on top of your hand with the restricted movement. It felt like plastic taped against your hand.

  “-used grenades to intimidate the hostages into submission.”

  Suddenly everything came flooding back, the feeling of fear re-imagined. You tore your eyes which were sealed shut open. You remembered the clowns. And the clown beneath the clown mask. And the sight of a live grenade beside you. You stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed, the whirring sound of a ventilator a droning hum beside your ear. You reached up to your face and touched the plastic sterile respirator cupping over your nose and mouth.

  Oh. You were in a hospital. It took a while for you to register this.

  You looked at the television and saw Gotham Tonight News. Your thoughts immediately shifted to John Blake. He had saved your life. Your eyes desperately searched the room, darting around all corners. You only saw other patients as you were in a public ward, and in your movement you unknowingly hit a button on your hospital bed with your elbow. Distant beeping noises of machines could be heard, with the occasional coughing and hacking. The feeling of grogginess was slowly subsiding. You heard footsteps coming.

  In your silent hope, you half-expected it to be John Blake. But much to your dismay, it was a doctor. She held a clipboard and wore a mask that was tucked under her chin, and a white clinical lab coat. She offered you a warm, hospitable smile, despite the tiredness that dragged down her sunken eyes.

  “Miss, I see you have woken up. We can let you rest for a while before we discharge you, you slept for longer than we have expected.”

  Longer than they had expected? How long were you out? You needed answers. You resisted and slowly tried to sit up. You gestured towards your respirator and flailed your hand around slightly. She seemed to understand you.

  “Ah, I understand. Eager to get out?”

  She continued smiling tiredly. She dislodged the mask from behind your head and took it off your face. You felt a drastic change in pressure as you tried to adjust to the current atmosphere, taking even deeper breaths and sputtering slightly. You suddenly felt breathless. She let you take a while to get used to this before working on the tube that went up your nose and down your throat. She pulled it straight from your nose, much to your horror, and you felt the friction of it sliding against your pharynx. You could have sworn you felt blood trickling down your throat. Excruciatingly, you let out a prolonged sob the more she pulled onto it. When she was done, you panted, using the back of a hand to wipe against the saliva that dribbled around your mouth.

  She took your other hand in hers and tore off the IV access, effortlessly and with little pain around that area. You stared at her behind tearful eyes. Nurses and doctors were so amicable yet did actions like this with that much intention and precision. It was daring, courageous and you guessed it took a lot for them to not be squeamish. You licked your chapped lips and proceeded to thank her.

  You looked at the golden badge pinned on her breast pocket. It was the Caduceus symbol. The omnipotent Staff of Hermes. A staff once carried by Hermes in Greek mythology, slender and splendid, entwined by a serpent coiling around the body of the staff in a downward spiral. The wand of healing. It was beautiful, magnificent, if not a bit eerie and otherworldly. You sucked in a breath. You were lost in thought. Must we really fall prey to the deceptive trickster of Eden in order to achieve greatness? Medicine is a holy tome, the all-encompassing, for the most glorious knowledge in the world. 

  Break the rules.

  To achieve greatness, you must know the truth, and to know the truth, you must take the forbidden fruit for the knowledge of all things good and evil.

  And that means walking away from the lies you were told your whole life.

  Your eyes glazed over, starry-eyed over the dreams of a past life. You stared at the healthcare worker with eyes of green. 

  No, that dream simply isn’t possible.

  Disillusionment tore at your eyes. No, it really wasn’t.

  She returned you your set of clothes from before and you changed out of the hospital gown. You were given a brief rundown of your condition, as well as pictures and radiographs of chest scans. You had suffered minor burns down your air passages and suffered from acute zinc chloride and fear gas poisoning, but the counter-agents had already been administered. Luckily for you, the actions taken against the fear gas were swift and that prevented long-term effects from creeping into your system. You would hate to be plagued with images of that darned clown for life. Soon, you found yourself at the counter, ready to be discharged. You groaned inwardly at the hospital bills this stay would rack up. You would experience mild discomfort and difficulty breathing for a while, but it wouldn’t be anything serious. You guessed that you really did owe Blake one for this time.

  Speaking of whom, you would have expected him to at least pay you a visit this one time, seeing as it was in fact a weekend. If you hadn’t gone through that terror that previous day, you would have felt a petty disappointment in him, for you felt that you were important enough for him to do that much for you. But this time, you felt a bit worried. You chewed at your cracked lips, hoping that nothing bad had happened to him while you were out. 

  You signed the relevant documents and walked towards the entrance, ready to head out when you suddenly saw a head of familiar, clean cut chestnut hair walking towards you. He wore a navy suit with a cool-toned pink tie. You felt a warmth bubble inside of you when you smiled at him. Boy were you glad to see him, and he had made it to visit you after all. You were about to reach out to him and say something, but he stopped you in your tracks only to turn you around and walk you in the same direction as him.

  “Hey kid, glad to see you’re out and all, but we have no time right now. You’ll understand when we get there.” 

  His jaw had a greater tension to it than it did normally, and his dark features were serious and silent. He didn’t really have a smile gracing his lips, but his eyes showed a hint of relief seeing you well and recovered. You were confused by this and felt a slight dejection constricting at your chest. What was with him and wouldn’t he be happy seeing you? You furrowed your brows for a moment and avoided his gaze. He handed you your laptop he stowed hastily by thrusting it into your hands. You fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. You felt your blood boil slowly, you thought to yourself, oh no you’d better not expect me to work overtime like this. You stopped in your tracks.

  “Hey―You really think I’m going to work for you at this hour, under these circumstances? You’re out of your mind.”

  He simply continued walking, not slowing down his pace. He only turned his head behind indifferently, regarding you coldly, then returned his gaze in front of him.

  “You’re not working for me today.”

  Your jaw agape, you stared at his back that was getting smaller by the second, incredulous. You’ve had it with this caginess, he was tight-lipped. Why couldn’t he just tell you anything at all? You pulled at your hair and ran ahead to catch up with him, the heels of your pumps clacking against the hospital floor. At this, you felt a fiery burst pulsating down your throat and windpipe. You ran out of oxygen very quickly and sputtered for more, the friction of air against the burn marks up your nostrils raked mercilessly through your nerves. It was obvious you couldn’t do much physically for a while. Your footsteps slowed down, but Blake’s did not. You guys had perfect communication most of the time and today was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You pleaded again, between agonising hacks, clearly vexxed.

  “Could you... at LEAST tell me what’s going on-”

  He stopped suddenly, at the west-wing entrance of Gotham General Hospital. You caught up to him, about to lose your mind at him. You gawked, your gaze landing on the sight in front of him. Your brain stutters for a moment and your eyes seem to betray you. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You wanted to turn to Blake to confirm that you were indeed working for these people, but you couldn’t find it in you. There stood two of the most authoritative men in Gotham, hands on their hips, feet tapping impatiently. They weren’t facing each other. The vibe felt a little off. Gotham’s White Knight, Harvey Dent, and Lieutenant James Gordon. 

  “This is your Junior Data Analyst, Consultant Blake? I hope you had a speedy recovery, Miss.”

  Jim Gordon adjusted his spectacles and nodded at you, his brows frowning, a sorry expression written on his face.

  “We uh, apologise for bothering you on such short notice, but we hope you can understand.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Harvey Dent. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,”

  Harvey Dent stuck a warm hand out, smiling affably as you took it to give it a firm shake, shifting his eyes onto Blake at the last sentence. He was charming, just like the clips of him you’ve seen on television. You expected no less, but this level of charisma was unprecedented. You introduced yourself and smiled hesitantly, unsure, before you turned to look at Blake, hoping for an explanation. He looked at you and nodded reassuringly, the first time he had shown any real emotion to you this whole time. That made you feel slightly more relieved. The two men still didn’t exactly look at each other. Did they have some kind of beef with each other…?

  “We’re not going to waste your time and get to the point,”

  Gordon ushered you out of the hospital and into a cop car. This was your first time in one, and you were sure that you weren’t in it for illicit reasons, after seeing how John nodded at you earlier. It still unsettled you a little bit, you couldn’t be too sure. You had a read on the atmosphere after your initial shock subsided, and it was grim and urgent. You did not like this energy, no one says anything unnecessarily, probably to save time. It’s no wonder Blake was acting so unusually secretive, and uncommunicative. You felt bad now for blaming him. Blake and Harvey Dent sat to your left. Gordon took the front passenger’s seat.

  You looked up outside the windows. It was dark outside much like the way the cop car’s leather seats and roof were painted black. A return back into the concrete jungle was imminent.

  “We need your combined efforts in decoding whatever work you had on Gotham National Bank.”

  You loosened your grip on your laptop. At least you weren’t in trouble for anything. You tried to maintain eye contact with Jim Gordon through the rear-view mirror, his kind yet profound looking eyes looking deep into yours. You could almost feel his burdens undoing into you. He had a weight on his shoulders and immense responsibilities you could not even dream of imagining. Gordon was the open-book type of person, evidently.

  “Oh, is it the one proving Lau-”

  “Yes, Lau’s fraudulence and involvement with the mob. He’s still in Hong Kong. Your data could really help us with his case and get him to talk. We need to take out the big dogs.”

  Harvey Dent interjected. You turned your head towards him, and you saw his profile with his strong nose and golden hair. The golden boy of Gotham. Normally, you would be rather bothered by someone who cuts you off like that, but it felt different with Dent. Even you would defer to such absolute authority and apparent righteousness at a pressing time like this. From all his campaigns and court hearings, you could tell he was sincere in his pursuit of goodness in Gotham, he just overflowed with integrity and honour. He embodied that All-American charm, handsome, deep blue eyes monumental with some form of knightly honour. A heroic presence, almost like the kind Robert Redford sort of had. He shifted his cleft chin in thought, a hand to his temple, before he looked at you.

  “Can you present us a full analysis of your findings and write out a report by tonight?”

  He raised his brows a fraction, looking at you pleadingly with his blue eyes, lips stretched slightly with a gentle half-smile. 

  How could you say no when he had asked you with such sincerity? While he appeared to be brash at times, it was a quality that came with the job of being the city’s persecutor. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed.

  After all, wasn’t this a dream of yours? To serve in the movement for change in Gotham.

  This city is dying. It’s rotting.

  No, it was rich land for the seeds in the car sitting right beside you. And you had a part to play too, a golden opportunity had presented itself.

  “I already planned to expose that little rat, I didn’t need to be told.” 

  You looked away, snorting. You felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you cursed at the breathing difficulties caused by the smoke bomb. Blake eyed you from the corner of his eyes, trying to hide that twinkle, and his cheeks aching from holding down the pull of the sides. Harvey Dent paused, lightly taken aback by your statement, quirked his lips downwards in an arc, nodding his head unexpectedly.

  “Well then, the youth these days never fail to surprise me. Welcome aboard, Miss.”

  “Listen Mr. Dent, you’re still considered a spring chicken compared to those insufferable old farts we tolerate on a daily basis.”

  You smiled. Harvey Dent let out a hearty laugh within his chest at this joke you cracked. It did well to ease the tension for critical times like these. You did consider him to be part of your generation, at the forefront leading this revolution. John Blake looked over at Dent, adding onto your statement.

  “She’s right, you’re cut from the same cloth as us, you’re our peer. And you are the cream of the crop, the very best of us. Gotham is changing because of you.”

  “Well, I feel very flattered, but I’m not the only one. It’s all thanks to the Batman.”

  You grunted, a rumble through your chest, ignoring the pain. You’d agree to a certain extent, Batman was just the beginning. However, Harvey Dent was the culmination of all this. He was the hero with the face, the hero grounded in reality and tangible change. Batman can only go so far without the help of Harvey Dent.

  “This is inspiring stuff and all, but are we forgetting something? Or someone? Or an entire generation above you?”

  All of you turned your heads to Jim Gordon in the front seat. On the rear view mirror, Gordon had an expectant look on his face, his lips underneath that mustache pressed together in a thin line. The three of you in the backseat felt a light feather ticking your insides, threatening to break free at your throats. You all chuckled weakly, subdued laughter as you all darted your gazes, looking away at all absent corners of the cop car. You hid the humour in your voice with a stinging cough. Heaven forbid you all make light of the situation at a time like this.

###

You cleared your throat, feeling the lingering effects of the smoke on your system, the noise resounding off the washed out concrete brick walls, frosted white with an almost steely-blue. The small room made you feel sick and oppressed, with its air-conditioner temperature set to an isolating sixty degrees fahrenheit. You stepped back, the soft clicks of your heels hitting the concrete, non-tiled floor as you brought up a finger. It shuddered slightly, and you raised it up to point to the projector screen fabric hoisted on the wall, the shadow of your hand looming over the makeshift light projector setup the GCPD had provided, sending ripples through the fabric.

  The room felt like a prison cell, almost deliberately designed to make you feel alienated and scrutinised. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, a fluorescent lighting irradiating through the room with a cool toned jarring brightness that made you squint a little, yet not completely illuminating the dark shadowy corners of the squarish room. A grey rectangular table sat in front of you, with Harvey Dent and Lieutenant Jim Gordon sitting back cross legged in their foldable plastic chairs, while John Blake sat hunched over on the other end of the table, furiously typing out a report on his laptop. You guessed you couldn’t expect anything too fancy from the Major Crimes Unit of Gotham. You needed to push through this presentation, despite the building physical discomfort following your predicament from the day before.

  You made eye contact with Jim Gordon, with a little bit of difficulty, but you still pressed on to make your point. He had his hands clasped together, sitting between his thighs, and avoided your gaze to favour studying the data presented on the screen. Harvey Dent had a hand wrapped around one side of his cheek, and an elbow propped on the table, resting his head against it and listening intently. You had been given unreasonable demands to give impromptu presentations rather frequently at work, but definitely not within an hour of getting discharged from the hospital. Your nerves fired off a little bit and you tried your best not to let your voice betray you. You tugged your blazer tighter around your waist, blaming the cold for this action.

  “I think we have a pretty strong case here. This is all the information you need, reallyㅡto charge Lau, especially with the insights from Mr. Blake. He was a forensic accountant.”

  Gordon and Dent shared a pointed look at each other, expressions unreadable, before Gordon turned back to you to nod a gentle ‘thank you’. You took this as a sign to give them ample space for their own discussion and consolidation, and you let out a huge sigh, walking swiftly over to John Blake after being granted the permission to be dismissed. You dragged another foldable chair and scooched over to sit beside him. You leaned over to look at his laptop, then at him expectantly. He ignored this and continued looking at his screen.

  “Little nervous there, weren’t you kid?”

  You puffed your cheeks and let a stream of air out. You were punished for this motion as you felt searing pain up your larynx and flaring at your nostrils. You were about to lose your mind on him but you remembered the presence of the other two justice hounds in the room. Blake snickered inwardly. You supposed two compliments in two consecutive days was unheard of from the man. You hadn’t been silly enough to hope for that. Yesterday, what he said to you at the bank was possibly the most acknowledgement you had ever gotten from him for your worth as his partner, and you will take that to your chest and run away with it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you try giving a presentation after literally being discharged from the hospital?”

  He decided to let it go and brush this off, his smile still not withholding however. He scrolled down the document he had impressively typed out. It seemed he had been working on it while you were out. It was way too detailed to have been put together in the short amount of time you were here, while you gave the presentation. You raised your brows, he was on his A game tonight, more so than usual. Working behind the scenes, after hours. You wondered what sparked this escalation in work ethic and quality. This little rivalry between you two felt slightly more visceral.

  Covertly, you stared over at Gordon and Dent, who looked cold and calculative under the subtle hue of blue-toned lighting. They seemed to be in some kind of disagreement, brows furrowed and stubborn towards each other. Did this happen often? You chewed your lips and tapped lightly at the table. You could see Blake at the corner of your eyes rubbing his chin again. While you two were confidently secure in your abilities as analysts and consultants, working with public servants required a different form of rigour. It required a different kind of convincing. Not one that was only concerned with profits and risk-bearings, like your previous clients, but something that held ethical weight and certainty. You two had done something that could be classified as immoral, and you weren’t sure if this level of convincing was enough to gloss over that fact. Judging from John Blake’s body language, he shared the same sentiments. You took in a deep breath, despite the pain, desperately needing the extra air to catch up on your shortness of breath.

  Gordon and Dent signaled for the two of you to come over and show them the written report. You could feel your heart beating quickly, hammering against your chest. The desire to please the authorities made your senses go wild, and it would only serve as a testament to your abilities if you could help the highest forms of justice in the city in these respects. Blake took this chance to explain briefly the navigation of the report, and to bring focus to the more important details of your presentation highlighted in the report. This would allow them to utilise the information more effectively and constructively should they ever need to take this to court. This once was his area of expertise, after all. Gordon and Dent gave each other another look and they looked pleased. Well, at least they came to a consensus on something. They had their attention on you again after the mutual confirmation.

  “Astounding work you two,”

  Harvey Dent smiled politely at you. Your erratic heartbeat calmed as you felt heat radiate off your face like a hot pan. Slowly the high of authoritative validation crept within your system. His words definitely felt like honey.

  “I’m gonna need you to come with me to County tomorrow, after hours, to account for certain data and ledgers regarding Lau’s case. Could you spare me some of your time, Miss?”

  You gulped. It was extremely hard to say no to this man. You weren’t going to turn down a request like this anyway, if it meant one step closer to saving Gotham City. A little sacrifice for something you love was nothing. You nodded tentatively at first, charting a rough impression of your weekly schedule in your head. You had work the next day and it would be very hectic for you. Blake looked impassive. You couldn’t get a read on him. Harvey Dent leaned back in his chair, threw the documents on his lap back onto the table and stood up to be eye level with you.

  “Well, that would be all for today. I need to rush back, so I thank you all for your hard work.”

  After Harvey Dent promptly left the room, Gordon shifted the laptop in front of him and stood up. The room felt significantly emptier with Dent gone, he had quite the presence. You looked around the room again, eyes scanning the white brick walls, squinting as your gaze briefly landed on the bare LED light bulb. You silently waited for Gordon to collect his thoughts.

  “Consultant Blake, you're not going off the hook so easily, I’m afraid. The GCPD needs your help in tracing the mob’s money while it is being stowed away indefinitely.”

  Blake pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single nod of understanding. Gordon shifted his weight to his other foot, pondering. He cast his eyes downwards, then back onto Blake and you.

  “You know, you two enjoy fighting against crime, right? I see something very special in you youngsters. Well, I have a proposition for you... So, here’s some food for thought.”

  Gordon looked a little more intently at you two.

  “We really could use your skill sets for our ongoing and future investigations for our fight against organised crime. We-uh, don’t receive nearly as much funding as we need from the state… So our financial forensics department is not as developed as it should be.”

  He paused. You saw those worn down eyes again, beaten down by the world around him. He was an old soul, and he made no effort to mask the worry in his eyes, his forehead grazed with permanent crease lines, perhaps from constant frowning. You could see however, the silver lining behind his dark irises. The one thing not jaded, remaining pure and undiluted, was his hope in enforcing justice for Gotham City. That is where his true passion lies.

  “We don’t have enough people with the relevant technological or knowledge based capabilities. I know this is too much to ask of you… But the offer is always open―I could negotiate a permanent spot for you two on the team, if you were to change your mind in future. That is, if you want to, of course-”

  Gordon fumbled a little with his words, his hand waving about slightly. John Blake held a hand out, saving Gordon from his apparent awkwardness as he felt it unbecoming. Cops should at least have some pride. It would not do well for a lieutenant to be appealing to two private sector workers for help like this, it was almost completely undignified. Had the cops really been pressed thin to the brink? Pushed into a corner? Here, he had thought that the state of Gotham was improving immensely. Evidently, the fine balance of all powers in Gotham has been knocked over. Something was brewing. There was a storm coming. 

  You interjected.

  “We’re, uh, very flattered! Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon. We will definitely keep your words in our hearts, and keep your offer in consideration.”

  You all regarded each other for a moment, unspeaking―completely aware of the implications of all this. This whole agreement, and Gordon’s open proposal to you. John Blake stared hard, his jaws fixed in position. You sensed the energy in this room and it held an excruciating weight. You didn’t even know what you all were waiting for. You clenched your fingers at the hem of your blazer. You looked discreetly at John Blake, not really knowing what to expect. As if you didn’t want him to catch you staring.

  “It’s been nine months since the first appearance of Batman. Since Falcone’s incarceration.”

  Blake started, his voice sure and certain.

  “Did anyone actually accomplish anything?”

  His voice echoed through the room, piercing through everyone that stood. He stepped forward slightly. His gaze flitting down to the laptop in his hand.

  “All Batman did was end Falcone’s era. The Police Headquarters rounded up new forces. The mob replaced the figurehead at the top. Dent’s attempts to take down the top dogs have been, to no avail. The big-timers didn’t take any action.”

  You adjusted your collar, uncomfortable and unable to stare at him for any longer.

  “Sure, petty crimes have been reduced, one by one. Things have changed. But at the root of it all… Nothing’s been fixed.”

  He pondered wistfully.

  “It was like… everybody was just preparing for something.”

  Blake adjusted his tie.

  “...And now you’re here, Lieutenant Gordon―You and Harvey Dent. Asking us for help, knowing very well that this-”

  He waved his laptop around in his hand.

  “-data right here, was gained unscrupulously. And it’s not too far-fetched to believe you two are corroborating closely with the Bat, despite that official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.”

  John Blake tilted his chin downwards, looking up at Gordon, a purse evident on his lips. You flinched a little.

  “You are resorting to outlawed measures to fight the outlaws. And you’re telling me.”

  Gordon could not find the right words to this. He responded carefully. He would have to humble himself and swallow his pride for the sake of Gotham’s future, and he had in fact pitched you all a rather unreasonable request. He hoped to be able to earnestly appeal to the parts of your hearts, no matter how small, that cared deeply for the city of Gotham. It had to be there, he assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t have aided in the investigations as readily as you did, at the drop of a hat.

  “The mob had… squeezed us to the point of desperation, as much as I hate to admit it. I realise the first step to having a successful collusion with all parties involved is to drop the act and acknowledge this.”

   You gulped, and finally said something. At this point, the tension in the room had made you forget the slightly debilitating pain in your trachea.

  “Frankly speaking, we crossed the line first. We aren’t the only ones, and soon they’ll be hammered to the point of desperation, Lieutenant Gordon.”

  Gordon grunted, a hum low in his chest.

  “I know very well.”

  John Blake, for the first time in this confrontation, allowed a smirk to grace his lips. He looked over at you.

  “You always told me, kid…”

  His gaze on you was unnerving, and compelling.

  “...that the new era of the daring ones is coming along with an unstoppable swell. Batman is just the beginning. He... broke the gear. And we’re not going to be the only side taking up arms, fighting back.”

  He shifted his gaze back onto Gordon.

  “Expect a storm. Expect escalation. Expect a resistance like we’ve never seen before. There’s no turning back.”

  You watched as their eyes locked, their hard expressions unyielding. Gordon was obviously not new to this line of thought, but perhaps no one had been courteous enough to engage with him in discussing the implications of such. He was at a loss for words, but not caught by surprise. His deeply emotive eyes stirred, and he spoke quietly.

  “I am well aware of all this Consultant Blake. It’s not anything new to me. But I am prepared for anything and will stop at nothing. I do the best I can with what I have.”

  Blake’s eyes softened a little, but still retaining their edge, knowing fully well what all of you had gotten yourselves into. The very moment you had engaged in these investigations and accepted the request in lending your contributions, you had placed all of your lives at stake. He stuck a palm to him out of habit, always one for the conditioned nicety. 

  “We have a deal, then. We will lend you our tentative aid. ”

###

Your teeth gnawed slightly at your lips as you made your rounds around the main office room in the MCU. The administrative office had been closed long since you arrived here. You reorganised your datasets you gathered from Gotham National Bank, and printed out the required evidence for your visit to County the next day. It occurred to you, with the impromptu presentation you delivered earlier, that you needed to revise the formatting of your work before it was court-ready. You stood by the printer, listening to the squeaking of ink running across paper and the whir and buzz of the mechanism inside. 

  You exhaled, the first time this night since being discharged that you could take a brief moment of respite. You had a newfound respect for crime fighters in Gotham, if this was what their lifestyles consisted of. Gordon hadn’t even left the MCU, he resolved to return to his private workspace at the top floor of this building. Justice never sleeps, you supposed. You looked out the window, groaning then pinching the bridge of your nose. It was a special kind of blackness out there, one you would probably only see during the witching hours. You wouldn’t be able to get the rest you needed to recover properly, since you probably only had a couple hours of sleep at best before you had to wake up to head for work. Then, when you were done for the day, you would have to rush over to County, grab a bite on the go for dinner if you were lucky, and turn in late again.

  Never would you have thought that you would find yourself working on the side of justice in this way, having a direct hand in adjusting things in Gotham for good. Although, it did seem like a sort of calling to you, in a way. Things were a little bit too convenient, and pieces fell into place together too easily. It was like a feasible chemical reaction in a way that was bound to happen at any given point in time, so long as time had stretched on. You tapped your fingers against your chapped lips, deliberating for a while.

  You did always wish you had a reliable way of measuring what was guaranteed and what wasn’t. It would provide you with a greater control over your life than what you had over the past few years, one that you sought after.

  Serendipity.

  You weren’t exactly too sure if you could call it that.

  Your thoughts wandered back to your coworker and boss, John Blake. He was pretty much done for the night and didn’t have much else to wrap up on. He would wait for you at the porch of the MCU. He had been acting rather strange. Ever since you first saw him, he had been pretty cold to you. But now, it was currently walking along a fine line of coldness and slight, dare you say, hostility. You supposed that he had always been pretty insufferable to you. God, since the start, he had been pretty provocative even when you were sitting round the coffee table at that one boujee cafe. But it had, well, mostly always been in playful jest, or friendly banter. You supposed you always did feel the strife of competition with him, always needing to prove something to him.

  You groaned again, feeling a pinch behind your eyes. You had to save all this thinking for later when you weren’t exactly sleep deprived. You ran a final check through all your printouts, languidly flipping through them with an index finger. Satisfied, you tapped the width of the entire stack a couple times against the surface of the wooden table, aligning the sheets within. You slotted it in an empty file supplied by the GCPD, and headed to the entrance with the large front doors.

  Harvey Dent and Gordon sure made the impression on you, though you did have your doubts towards them. Their relationship seemed… unnatural, kind of strained. You could even describe it as seeming dysfunctional. And it was obvious to you. You couldn’t really blame them, though. With corruption levels so high in this city, you wouldn’t know who to trust either. You would love to have faith in the system, but if they were so good, they wouldn’t be turning to you and Blake.

  You stepped out into lights cast upon the porch by the warm streetlamps, lost in your thoughts.

  John Blake.

  You squinted upon the intrusion of the flaring streetlamps. You saw two streetlamps in the spot where there should only be one.

  What the hell?

  You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. You couldn’t hear anything.

  Where is he… anyway?

  You strained your eyes open again.

  The streetlamps were like a desert mirage. You saw the two balls of light separate slightly, then start to converge.

  Your hair stood on ends, from the back of your neck to the entirety of your arms. Something scraped along the inside of your ears, a high-pitched screeching that bounced within your ear canal.

  You blinked, your shoulders tensing up. You took a step forward, your breath faltering.

  Your feet wobbled slightly as you made your first descent down a step. You gripped onto your laptop and file even tighter. 

  No…

  You broke into an all out sprint, almost nose diving down the long flight of stairs, the sensation pulling at your lungs disorientating.

  Does it depress you? To know that your reality is based on comforting lies?

  Poor little girl... You think a safe space will actually help.

  You felt something black and long, emaciated fingertips reaching into your ear and scratching lightly. They were charred and felt like the bark of scorched trees. They were lanky and skinny like tree branches, about a foot long and grazed at the walls of your ear canals.

  If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.

  It was a creature of the underworld. One of the most fearsome apparitions, not from the corporal realm. Then… What was he doing here? You bristled.

  Judgement had been passed, and the final fight between good and evil awaits.

  He was the plaguebearer, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was the harbinger of the pestilence. When the time was right, he will besiege the world with pure pandemonium.

  Flesh thudded against stone tiled floors. A strangled scream tore gutturally through the streets. These sounds were incredibly muffled to you.

  He barely turned his head to give a brief, uninterested, side glance.

  And all of a sudden, all your senses returned to you in one compounding moment, everything came crashing down dramatically upon you like a surging, symphonic orchestral blare, and you were met with your fears. The scratchy fingertips stabbed and pierced into your eardrums, and a sharp, debilitating throb pounded through your head. No amount of alcohol could make you forget the sight of his gruesome face.

  Here he stood, in the corporeal world, insidious and spectral. The time had come, and his presence heralded the arrival of world’s end, the armageddon before Judgement Day.

  You were unfortunate enough to be caught, dead in the center of this maelstrom.

  You looked death in the eye, watching carefully as you anticipated his next course of action. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Ah, uninvited guests―Always a, uh, welcome surprise.”

  He slurred the last word. You tried your hardest to react, to at least do something, anything at all really would do at this moment. Ounce by ounce, he filled every space and cavity your physical being had to offer, and then those your spiritual and mental being as well, for there seemed to not be enough space for this surreal and... grotesque thing. You couldn’t breathe, it felt as if his mere presence was asphyxiating. You wanted to move, you wanted to run, you wanted to curl up into a ball, you wanted to move at least one goddamned muscle in your body.

  But you can’t.

  Sighing exaggeratedly, as if the world owed him a living, he trudged forward slowly and expectantly towards you. He put both his palms up, facing you, stretching and spacing out all his gloved fingers, perhaps in mock concession, a friendly gesture showing that he had nothing to hide. He raised his brows at you with his lips in a sulk, derisive in his condolences. All at once, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and your torso was constricted. You could barely comprehend what was happening, and he seized you by warping behind you as quickly as his stature allowed for. You bit into your lips, tears pricking at your eyes that you could allow such a thing to happen without having the guts to put up a fight. You thrashed your head around, struggling against his grasp, his leather gloved hands muffling a yelp that escaped your lips.

  He grumbled about something related to people minding their own businesses, but you were far too busy trying to pry away at his iron clasp around your figure to comprehend what he was really saying.  

  You couldn’t breathe properly. You sucked in as much air as you could through your scalded nostrils. Your lungs burned. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his face, that you could muster the courage required for this display of resistance to his restraints. Your laptop and files were left forgotten, dropped by the pavement and driven into the soil.

  “Kid, it’s fine, just relax and don’t―urgh! Don’t...don’t do anything rash.”

  You peered down as he rasped, the side of his face pressed mercilessly down into the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Your shaky pupils searched the scene in front of you. The darkness was illuminated by the mellow streetlamps. John Blake was pushed, head first into the ground with a big, pale, brown-haired man kneeling against his form, restraining his arm behind his back. He was armed. That put you slightly more on edge, and slightly more willing to comply. The wraith behind you removed his hand from your mouth, and just as you were about to let out an ear-curdling scream, you felt a cold smoothness of the point of a knife tickle you lightly at your neck, drawing circles around your pulse point gently. Stubbornly, you slackened your arms a little, but still maintained a hold on his forearms.

  Let… Let go of John.

  You saw another man a couple feet beside him, frightened out of his wits, held at gunpoint by another goon, this one wearing a clown mask. He was quivering slightly, both his arms behind his head, clad in a grey suit, a piece of paper duct-taped at its front with words scribbled sloppily―‘Please deliver to Lieutenant Gordon.’ You scrunch your nose a little, tracing your eyes up to look into his panic-stricken, beady eyes.

  “Lau?”

  You spit out in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the compromising position you were in. The phantom circled his arms around you tighter like a python, a ritual they performed before they devoured their prey. It was no use, your arms were wedged by your sides at this point. You tried one last time to fight it, but it was met with a mere chuckle.

  “I see we’re all, uh, acquainted here?”

  He gestured in sardonic formality with his fingers that weren’t latched onto the trigger. He had an incredibly erratic cadence to his voice. His intonations and inflections were completely irregular, he stressed words in a pattern that seemed completely… random. This made even the way he spoke instinctually threatening, for you didn’t know what to expect from him, a sort of jagged edge that laced his words. It granted him a heightened sense of unpredictability, and a malicious air of danger that felt even more tangible. You felt this, it was all too real.

  “You’re working with the police to sell me out, is that how it is? You would betray your own company’s affiliate.”

  Lau, with as much disdain he could gather within him in his sorry state, glared daggers at you. His hands shook more violently, unable to control the trepidation of fear and anger mixed together in a deadly concoction. The ghoulish man who held you shifted you in his grasp a little, pressing your head closer to his cheek, and you felt the stickiness of his greasepaint latch onto your hair. You cringed and recoiled, lips contorting in disgust. He swiped his tongue against the ridges along his bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t be so ah... concerned with that, if I were you. Seeing that our boy-o over here so valiantly jumped in to save your little-ol life.”

  You snarled at this implication, how dare he mock John? You clawed at his forearm, digging your nails into the velvety textile of his purple sleeve, and jerked yourself against his grasp. Roughly, he tensed his arm against your body. He shifted his lips closer to your ear, his slimy breath stroking the shell of your ear, smearing some hot waxy face paint against your cheek.

  “Ah-tatta… Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

  He growled that last bit menacingly into your ear, pushing the slender tapered point of his blade deeper into your neck, sashaying side to side ominously as he adjusted his hold on you to expertly elude his arm from your long nails. He played around with the butt of the knife, tapping it and twisting it around absentmindedly. The blade slid against the delicate skin of your throat carelessly, with varying pressure. You froze. Just because you couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. As a grim reminder of his presence, he knowingly did this, intruding all boundaries of your personal space. Your blood ran cold, frosted by the chilling metal digging into your neck, and your sight remained trained on John Blake.

  Events that happened at the bank flipped through your mind like the pages of a comic book.

  Terrorist. Master-manipulator. Criminal. What the hell are you?

  You weren’t sure if you should be more afraid of this more talkative version of the clown, or the dead silent dirt green-haired man under the frowning mask.

  If there was one thing they had in common, you couldn’t fully understand either of them.

  Your life was in the hands of a madman who treated it all like a game.

  You saw John looking straight into you, seething underneath all that pressure. You tried to seek solace in him and calm him down at the same time, trying to convey your emotions through your eyes.

  Tongue in cheek, the man behind you was clearly watching this interaction, unamused.

  “For a couple of party crashers-ah? You guys sure are bor―ing.”

  With a low rumble in his chest, he shoved you forward and seized your hands behind you, pressing the knife against the back of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips, not used to the crassness of which you were being handled.

  “Ooh, I have an idea, something real fun. It wouldn’t do to do this at our, uh, current venue however…”

  He gestured his goons towards the abandoned building in front of you.

  Catching your breath, you twisted your head to the side to look at John Blake, your eyes widening and searching his face desperately. You had no choice but to be subjected to this… sick game of his.

  “It’ll be okay, John. We’ll be okay.”

  You only managed to catch a glimpse of his jaw clenching and his hard eyes looking back at you, before the clown in the purple suit pushed you forward again. The clown smacked his lips together.

  “Make it fast, lovebirds.”

###

Your head spun feverishly. You were sleep-deprived, couldn’t breathe well, and in a… sticky situation. You were just slammed forcefully, thrown head first into a fiberboard office desk. Through a teary-eyed vision, for a moment it was pitchblack, with the dim light of the city at night filtering through the window. Then, you were blinded by the sting of office-grade LED strip lights arranged neatly on the ceilings above you. Your trachea was already burning from being forced to climb up a flight of stairs. You had just about enough. This debilitation and lightheadedness gave you a newfound strength, ironically.

  You thought back on the 9/11 attacks, and on every other occasion you felt this similar genuine terror strike up in your heart. You vaguely remember some quote, to never negotiate with terrorists, or something like that. Terrible advice really, to anyone who was actually in a terror situation where it was life or death, but to hell with it. You were at your limit for the amount of bullshit you could tolerate. Being absolutely manhandled was not in your itinerary this night. You thought back on every good thing you’ve tried to do for Gotham, sickeningly undone by thugs like these. Your hunched form felt an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing and extremely potent. And luck has it, you’re trying to stop me again.

  Your forehead was propped against the desk for support. Your hands were free, but your world was spinning too much for you to do anything with them. You bared your teeth, and you swear you could feel fangs growing where your canines were rooted.

  Violently, you hurled your voice against the desk.

  “Haven’t you done enough to us at the bank?”

  You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth, clenching your fists tightly. Your blood was hot, and you could no longer feel the coolness of the blade against your neck.

  “I’m not afraid of you terrorists. Frankly speaking, I am absolutely sick of you little bastards.”

  Venomously, you spit the excess saliva in your mouth against the desk, overwhelmed with emotion.

  You felt him tugging at your white blazer sleeves, and an excruciating force wrenched at the crown of your head by the hair, lifting your body up slightly, with it still looming over the desk. You felt a suppressed rage as you ran out of ways to express your anger in this awkward position, and you prepared to resort to launching a spit at him to resolve this compulsion.

  But the moment you were face to face with him, the hairs on the nape of your neck bristled. Trapped in your own psychosis, you were wheedled into a living nightmare tailor made for your own brain to play on your deepest fears. Two holes gouged out for eyes, and a bloodied smile carved in place of lips, all splotched onto a chalky white canvas. He looked like a corpse, and you felt the urge to puke. You felt your stomach lurch, and you clutched at your mouth to coax the acidic feeling back down your throat.

  He studied you, frowning deeply and narrowing his eyes, straining his head sideways to get a better look at you. God, when he narrowed those eyes, his sclera disappeared and they looked like the eye sockets embedded within a skull. His greasy hair frayed around framing his head stiffly, lifeless with its strands starched and stiffened together with muck, as if it were dipped in formaldehyde, its proteins coagulated rigidly like it belonged to a cadaver that had long been embalmed. They were bleached off of their natural colour and a faded wash of pallid, acid pale green remained. The fact that he smelled strongly of a queasy mixture of many different chemicals definitely did nothing to help.

  “Ah, so you are that little doctor girl back there. I remember you... Who else on earth wears a, uh, white blazer?”

  He snorted at the end, pinched at your sleeve at the same time, causing your forearm to be lifted, before he let it go. Your wrist bone landed, smacking against the table with a loud snap. The bite was sharp and pointed. You quickly grabbed your hand and held it to your chest, rubbing over it soothingly. You had no idea why you felt offended by this.

  “Glad you made it, little girl-”

  “Doctor... What? And says you! You’re-you’re dressed in a purple trench-”

  You cut him off. He regarded you with a slow lick of his lips, gliding languidly over the fringes of his scars. He gets even closer, up in your face. He stares down at you, looking directly into your very being. You try to look away, but you could only see ink black. You could even smell the greasepaint in this enclosed space. You felt the world spinning.

  “C’mere―Hey. Look at me.”

  He rasped, dragging the clipped point of the dagger against your cheek, pressing it against the corner of your lips.

  “Y'know, whenever people say they’re... not afraid of me,”

  He looked away, inflecting his voice. Then he pointed at his face with his gloved hands, gesturing at the distance between you two, etching even closer. You felt an internal score rising in pitch.

  “I do this. I get all up in their face.”

  He nodded at you. To this you sealed your eyes back together. You dared not look. The world had not stopped circling around you. He yanked your head.

  “Hey―come on…”

  Cooing, he sticks the blade in your mouth. It took all your strength in order to keep your eyes open, just to stare helplessly into back his cavernous ones. The straining notes were reaching an unbearable dissonance, tearing jarringly into your eardrums. It was excruciating. Your ears ached and bled. They reached a frequency that was no longer audible to you.

  “And guess what? They’re always silent. Like you, right now.”

  He smiled, patronisingly, with a sympathetic look on his face, shaking his head slightly.

  “People that, uh, put on a show… are spineless, more often, than no-t.”

  He patted your face gently with his leather finger tips, then rubbed loose patterns around. He had you in his trap. You were his prey, no more than a little mouse to a cold-blooded viper. He flicked his tongue rapidly out of his mouth, then retracts it. What he said wasn’t… false. You couldn’t take it any longer. The revolutions around you were excessive.  

  “Hey―Freakshow. Does it feel good intimidating someone smaller than you? Behind a mask?”

  You saw his eyeballs shift to the side with the weight of a boulder, this time jarringly wide, and you could only see the white of his eyes. He really did not look amused. He shifted his bottom lips in a restrained tick, almost like a controlled form of madness. He leaned back slightly, his grip still firm on your hair, wobbling it around slightly. His body bent a little backwards from the hips, and he dramatically gesticulated his hand holding the knife into an open palm.

  “Very well, your dashing knight in ah, shining armour has given us a great suggestion.”

  Your body was pulled towards him and he faced it towards the center of the room, with that familiar careless grace you witnessed days ago. His arm was hooked suffocatingly around your neck, and you were face to face with the setting of an abandoned office room. The only furniture was the shabby office desk before you, and floorboards were uncovered, revealing nails sticking out of the ground. The wallpaper was partially torn, a pale beige staining at the edges with a rusted brown. A few slider windows were spruced along the walls surrounding the room.

  John Blake and Lau were pushed all the way to the windows, both of them still held captive by the two goons, edging dangerously close to the borders. Lau stood on the left, and Blake on the right.

  “Let’s extend this little… game between us,”

  The grisly clown tongued along the scars on his inner cheek.

  “To our guests here with us.”

  He reached around beneath his coat, into his back pocket.

  “You deranged fuck, what you’re doing here is sick-”

  Bones cracked. A fist connected with John Blake’s skull.

  Lau just stared on agitatedly, his tongue curling against his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply, his breathing rate increasing. His hands were still behind his head.

  “Between one life or the other,”

  The clown craned his head into your line of sight, to check if you were still listening. Your chest constricted, and your breathing picked up. The pain escalated.

  “You’ll get to choose…”

  Reaching around you, he presented a gun, glinting silver. You stared at it, horrified. He cackled scratchily, the sound of his voice grating to your ears like sandpaper. From behind, he wrapped his hands around yours as gingerly as he could at first, as if he were handling a delicate little child, teaching them a valuable life skill, such as tying their shoe laces. Soon he gave up on this idea and thrust it in your hand, then unceremoniously clasped his hands tightly around yours, fumbling slightly with the butt of the gun. He made a throaty noise. His varnished gloves rubbed mercilessly against the skin on your knuckles.

  No, no, no, no....

  You squeezed your eyes, an epileptic meditation amidst the prelude of a panic attack. He hunched over, jutting a sharp chin into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. You squirmed, and felt purple walls around you constricting further as his arms enclosed around you, your heart sinking further down and squished into a box. You did not like him pushing past your personal boundaries at all.

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  Your voice was barely a crack above a whisper, croaking silently.

  He lifted his chin and pushed back down on your shoulder to get a closer look at your face, making a nasally grunt as he did so.

  “You do know what’s gonna happen to you if ya don’t play along now, don’tcha?”

  He bobbed your hand around slightly, the gleaming danger of the pistol hypnotic. You stay rooted to the spot, coercing your hands into relaxation. You were being lured into its spell, it was like a siren that serenaded, and the barrel of the gun looked like that of a deformed pipe. His arms were caged around you, you were locked in place.

  You followed the sound of the pipe.

  Your eyes were steely.

  He turned his cheek a little, nudging the side of his cheek against yours to direct your attention to the left side. More wax was smeared on your face. You felt stifled.

  “Your… corrupt boss who cares about nothing but money,”

  Your gun was still pointed to the middle of Blake and Lau. But you were bewitched to keep your gaze on Lau, and he stared at you with the same flecks of red in his eyes as he did a couple days ago at the office.

  “You know, my car is worth more than both of your entire life savings combined-”

  “Or…”

  He jerked his head slightly to the right and made another nasal sound to redirect you, along with the disgusting lick of his lips. The walls were slowly caving in.

  “Your tall, dark and handsome squeeze over here.”

  He crooned suggestively.

  “Y’know, he is pretty gallant―Maybe he wouldn’t mind sacrificing his life so that little squealing rat could live.”

  You watched John Blake as he was being jostled roughly by the brown-haired man. You didn’t know how to react, and you couldn’t find the right words to say. For some reason, that statement made you feel somehow… sorrowful. Why?

  “He… We’re not attached.”

  You silently blurted out. You felt a low rumble vibrating against your back, before the clown behind you burst into a fit of light, high-pitched giggles, incredulous. On top of his voice, even his nasal laughter sounded like a cynical, washed out clown who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, who put on a red nose and laughed derisively at childrens’ misery at their own birthday parties.

  This was something you felt the need to clarify? Right before all of your untimely deaths? Oh, how entertaining this was to him. You were beyond foolish to the clown.

  “Talk about ice cold, little girl.” 

  The clown scoffed in disbelief.

  “My brother over there, I’m so sorry. Trust me, I feel for ya-”

  He jeered, wiping a fake tear away from his eyes, letting the last waves of his laughter tide through. You frowned, puzzled and bewildered. You caught John Blake’s gaze, helplessly searching for answers from him. He tensed his jaw further, collecting his thoughts. Clearly, the clown’s antics were getting to him. You couldn’t blame him. You fared no better. He took a deep breath and calmed.

  “It’s fine, just relax. Don’t fall for his twisted mind games.”

  The clown pouted at him. He was pushed even further against the edge of the window, the brown-haired man pointing his gun underneath his chin and painstakingly shoved him further backward. His lower body was the only thing anchoring him to the floorboard. The corpse clown's hands clasped over yours tapped it impatiently a couple of times.

  “We don’t have all day, y’know.”

  He deadpanned. You inhaled slightly and closed your eyes. Your mind sifted through many memories, sharp and bright, of all your interactions with Lau. Of all the conversations you’ve had with John over Lau.

  That man is nothing but scum. He has contributed to the steady crumble of Gotham, peddling drugs, perpetuating murders, and ensuring that the mob ruled the city with an iron fist.

  It was scary how you were able to rationalise this. 

  No hard feelings Lau. An eye for an eye. That’s all it really is.

  You slowly felt anger and vengeance bubbling in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with the savagery of the beast. You sought retribution, reprisal and revenge. This… was you. And you had all the power in the world to take the law into your hands, to play your own judge. You slowly traced the line of the sight of the gun to your left. The music of the pipe resounded melodically. It’s dangerous. But it was so… incredibly sweet. You looked up from the barrel to the man its sight landed on. Your eyes were glazed over. The clown behind you hummed in assent, pleased with the results. Your fingers hooked at the trigger, hesitating.

  “Excellent choice, little girl.”

  He licked his lips. He toyed around with the gun, playing and fiddling with its hammer, flicking it and letting go absentmindedly.

  “If only it weren’t so, ah… pre-dictable.”

  He rested his fingers atop of yours. Your hands shook a little. 

  “Is it because it goes ‘according to plan’? I mean, he’s the obvious baddie over here, and all you… do-gooders. You clearly deserve to live. To bring him to justice.”

  He purred into your ear, his breath fanning you hotly. John Blake struggled further against the man holding him back. He had no hands to grip onto the frames of the window. His fall was imminent. He had to speak up now. There was no better time. Desperately, he wheezed.

  “You know kid,”

  He sputtered slightly.

  “I always told you that you were like a… like a siege engine. I’m only saying this now because it’s a matter of life or death,”

  His words were initially spat out at a fast pace, his voice was very strained from his extreme and awkward position, and his breath was laboured. Eventually, he slowed down to get his point across more clearly.

  “You’re a fine weapon. A valuable asset to my company, and your work is remarkable. I’ve always entrusted you to make the right decisions as my junior analyst… But I’ve come to realise you’re so much more. ”

  He tried to peer down at you from his obstructed view, toiling as his voice was weak from holding this position. For so long you worked so hard for him, and you barely got rewarded with words of confirmation. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked at him, they were glossy and large like a puppy dog. Your heart squeezed gut wrenchingly, for months you pined for this truth. You yearned so deeply to now what he truly thought of you and everything you’ve done for him.

  “You’re always by my… my side. It’s two of us against the world. You’re the only person I want to do this job with. You’re a bright girl, with so much flair for what you do. And that’s not the only part,”

  You felt yourself drift higher and higher, and you were now a lightweight. Drunk on his words, you’ve never heard him speak so personally about you before. It was always sparse little words of affirmation sprinkled around sparingly. He was an incredibly stingy man. He was so ungenerous with praise. It was always snarky jabs at you. He always made you feel the need to prove yourself. But he was the first one who gave you the chance to.

  “That’s not what makes you special. I want you to remember our vision-”

  He implored earnestly. 

  “Our vision… has been tainted. But that doesn’t make it any more invalid. Sometimes... we do have to get our hands dirty, for-for the greater good.”

  He breathed, in between jagged gasps. If this was what he truly thought of you...

  “I’ll trust you again. To do the right thing.”

  Intently, you listened to his words, your eyes watering slightly. You tried internalising the wealth of what he said to you. It was a lot to take in, it all happened so fast. This conversation was happening prematurely. You had no idea who was playing the pipe at this point. Where was the sound coming from…? The alluring music converged from all corners, all directing to the source of the instrument in your hand.

  The clown behind you went uncharacteristically silent. He licked his lips slowly, studying the exchange between the two of you. Siege engine, huh? What a funny word to describe you with. Siege engines were colossal battering rams, castle forged and an exalted war machine that delivered victories to the warring states for centuries. Monumental goliaths, they were the front lines, the fortress breakers, the castle crashers, leading the furious charge on battlefields when zero hour arrived. They were medieval trebuchets of acclaim, a necessity for triumph in war. As glorious as they were, they could only be as great as their role allowed them to be. At the end of the day, they were nothing but a mere pawn of war.

  You slowly looked at Lau, and he no longer looked at you with that malice from before. It was replaced by a look that was… strikingly familiar. He reminded you of the mob bank teller days prior. Pleading, frightened, like a cornered animal, desperate and fighting to survive. His gaze pierced right through to your heart. This struck a chord within you. You observed how his eyebrows knitted into the shape of a mountain, quivering lightly. His lips downturned and parted slightly. His eyes were large. The look of a man whose life flashed before his life.

  Yes, he did cause you a lot of trouble at the office. He did utterly degrade and humiliate you. He made your job hard. The moment he stepped in, he made you hate your job. No actually, that’s the understatement of the century. He made you loathe your job, detest it, abhor it. Pretty much anything to do with a severe hateful feeling you felt for this job, where you used to feel joy or any small amount of excitement, he had killed it for you. But did he really deserve to die for this?

  “I-”

  A croak filed through your dry throat. It felt like a type of flesh eating insect was festering within your insides. Starting at your heart, they feasted at the tissue down into your stomach, and they were coming up through your gullet. The moral conscience weighed inside of you like a heavy pendulum, one swing away from breaking off from its support and crashing through to your very center. You couldn’t bear the moral weight of such a decision. This was not a burden you could carry for the rest of your life.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  John Blake looked at you while he sucked in a breath, unreadable. Lau fell to his knees, a wash of relief coming over him. He continued being kicked and kneed in the face by the goon wearing a clown mask.

  “Ah... you’ve already chosen unfortunate-ly. And you’re not backing out of this one, sweetheart.”

  You flinched hearing the voice that you had forgotten was there. This stirred something within you, and you refused to give into his demands. You would rather die than make a choice like this.

  “No, I am not giving into your stupid, twisted pseudo-social experiment-”

  You twisted the gun barrel to face yourself, and for once, you heard no more music.

  “It wouldn’t even matter who I chose anyway… would it?”

  Shakily, you looked into the head of the barrel, and you felt… grief. It was cold and empty looking. For the second time that night, it felt like you were looking death in the eye. A knot twisted in your stomach. Your tears spilled over your cheeks, flowing hotly. You wept silently. You were stubborn, you would go to this extent just to prove something. Your ego knew no bounds. Your hearing blanked out for a moment, and you vaguely heard Blake shouting at you. You suddenly plunged into purgatory, existing solely on the plane between life and death. You teetered on the edge. Lau looked on from the ground, body tense and deeply perturbed. This turn of events was greeted by silence from the clown.

  The clown stared, wide eyed. His face twitched. His lips quirked into a frown. Why… would you do something like that? His eyes narrowed a fraction. He couldn’t comprehend this. It wasn’t exactly easy to render him speechless. Why on earth would you throw your life away for another’s? This he could not understand. Humans are... selfish creatures. At the core of it, they were all rotten and purely motivated by self-interest. Then… then why?  Why hadn’t he been able to predict this? This ate at him. Got under his skin. It grinded his gears. His arms wrung around you tighter. He observed the pistol pointed at your forehead. This was pathetic. Absolutely ridiculous. Confusion quickly dissipated in his chest and boiled into a seething, frothy rage. His jaw jutted forth and tensed, trembling slightly, his lips pursing together. He cackled through his nostrils, sounding a little manic. If you really wanted death, he wasn’t going to just give it to you, no. Ah, ah, ah… I’m not letting you get your satisfaction out of this. He couldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

  “Well then, little girl. You can’t be a… a sore loser and quit playing our game now.”

  His lilt sounded crazed. He gripped your hands tighter, you felt the leather skirting against your skin.

  “I suppose-ah, I’ll have to finish your job for you.”

  He spat, his words practically dripping with pure spite and malice. He wrenched your wrist to aim the gun away from you. Alarmed, your senses were heightened and you let out a sharp bark. At a speed you’ve never seen yourself move at before, you bent forward and locked your jaw around his fingers, chomping down forcefully. Your teeth sunk into his leather glove, and clamped down straight into his last finger. Squawking, he was caught off-guard. You heaved your foot and aimed a kick at his crotch. He let out a muffled noise of pain, and you tried your damndest to take advantage of this and get out of this situation.

  You struggled in his grasp, elbowing around at the sides, hoping to worm your way out of it. Unfortunately, he was unrelenting. Your hands were still on the gun, your fingers idling at the trigger. He doubled over, sickling an arm around your neck and gripped tightly onto the pistol, a finger slotted between the gun hammer and the rear sight, pulling it back. While he was in his position bent over, he was looming over you, laughing slightly. You were choking, beyond freaked out at this point, not exactly getting the reaction you wanted from him, and now you were completely unsure as to what he would do. The feeling of confinement was too much and you were at your breaking point.

  “Y’know, forget being a siege engine,”

  He grabbed your jaw, forcefully burrowing his fingers into your cheek.

  “I think she’s more of a, uh, pinky bruiser.”

  He tore your head upwards, and latched his hands back onto yours. He yanked at them, and aimed the gun at Lau. Ready, aim... He fastened his index fingers around yours. You widen your eyes, panicked with alarm bells shrilling through your head. Fire!

  “No!”

  He pulled at the trigger. You jerked your arms violently to the left, frantic. Recoiling, you were sent careening further back into the clown. The sound of the gun shot pierced through the air like a firecracker. You saw the goon with the mask fallen to the ground, his denim jeans getting soaked through with a fresh, gurgling red dampness around his thigh.

  Before anything else could be registered in your mind, the brown-haired man on the right side of the room displaced John Blake’s leg, and grabbed his lower torso, flinging him over the ledge of the window sill. You tried to lunge forward, demented and crazed, you were quickly becoming hysterical.

  “Ohmygod John-”

  Completely out of control, a scream tore through with your whole body like a shard of glass, you took no notice of the pain in your lungs as you were rapidly turning unhinged. The man who flipped John over like he was a light, airy pancake, faced you and you heard the click of a gun.

  You saw the sight of a gun cocked in your direction. You felt tears well up in your eyes at this very fraction of time.

  Bang!

  You screwed your eyes shut, expecting the most intense agony you would ever feel in your life. But the pain never came. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you saw the goon drop unconscious like a fly zapped through an electric swatter, most likely dead.

  “Did I tell you to shoot her…”

  The clown behind you muttered to himself, the smell of gunpowder burning your nostrils and you saw streaks of smoke smouldering and rising from the gun barrel in his hands. You tensed your shoulders, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. You mouthed something soundlessly, but words could not form. What are you doing-

  The crackle of wood being busted through splintered at your ears, the noise tearing through the room sickeningly. You didn’t even have time to decide whether you should feel relieved or not.

  “Drop the weapon, now!”

  Lieutenant Gordon came bursting through with a team of policemen, their pistols aiming at every figure present in the room. He looked at you and the clown, and kept his gun trained in your direction. He dared not edge closer, in case you got harmed.

  The clown, with his hold still vice-like on you, stumbled backwards pulling you along ungracefully. He still kept you imprisoned under his reign for one final moment in time. You were at his mercy.

  “Drop it now!”

  A pair of lips pressed intimately into your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

  “You know pinky bruiser, you were a lot of fun today. Sorry for, uh, calling you a party pooper.”

  He rasped. A chuckle rumbled lowly in his chest.

  “I think... you and I both know―Fate wouldn’t have it if this was our last time together.”

  He murmured and you were about to pass out from this lightheadedness and claustrophobia. You were constricted for far too long. You were way past your breaking point. A huge force tipped you backwards. You grabbed onto the ledge of the window sills, your veins popping from exerting such a strong force on your arms. 

  All of a sudden, the clown’s hold on you was relinquished.

  Your lungs overflowed with air, and your body was dramatically jerked forward, pain flooding your systems as you dry-heaved. Gordon hurried over by your side, extending a tender hand to rest on your arm. Realisation dawned upon you, and you swiftly spun around, bending over the ledge, looking out the window. You craned your neck as far down as you could see, hunting down and examining the perimeter.

  Gone.

  Gordon was pulling you back, preventing you from falling out the window. He was trying to talk some sense into you, but quickly gave up when he realised your current, panicked state of mind. Your strength was fading, and you allowed Gordon to reel you back into safety. Why didn’t you just… kill me? You thumped, falling to your knees, grabbing your hands to your head, sobbing and whimpering your sorrows away. You finally allowed all the pent up emotions to crash, not that you could control it now, anyway. It felt like a mallet crashing through from behind your eyes and nose, the twinging sensation unbearable as you wailed. It should have been me, goddamn it.

  Gordon knelt down, sighing and furrowing his brows in sympathy. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed his mouth. He felt useless in this situation, clearly unable to help clear your head of any type of trauma that resulted from this unfortunate event. He was aware of this. He hated feeling this powerless, he hated not being able to help. He had perhaps felt this way his entire career, with a town like Gotham so rotten, the GCPD was basically made a mockery at this point.

  Lau was about to be taken by the other cops back into custody. He ambled past you, and looked over you and your pathetic form. For once, his expression was not one of scorn. It wasn’t one of anything really, he just looked a shell of the person he was just moments ago. You were pushing it if you said he looked like he felt bad for you, and that he held a thankful expression at the same time. You weren’t sure if you believed him to be capable of that.

  You were escorted out the abandoned office building, swaying and staggering around. You went to pick up the devices strewn all over the soil, with some help from Gordon. When you saw a glowing cop car with shattered windows and John Blake being supported by two cops, relieving pressure off his shoulders, you quickly rubbed at your tear stained face and hobbled over as quick as you could, relief pumping through your chest as you were hopeful that he survived the fall.

  The paramedics were on their way, and from the looks of it, John had a mildly serious shoulder injury and got extremely lucky. He had fallen from a height of 1 story from the ground, but as luck would have it, his fall was broken by the cop car stationed coincidentally below the window. He also fell on his side, which allowed for the best chance of survival and led to the least immobilising injuries.

  You couldn’t help yourself and gave John a quick hug and squeezed him lightly, after hearing him speak about what you were to him, and after experiencing the fright and grief of losing him. You were met with an involuntary wince. That probably felt soul-crushing to him, taking into account that he just fell out of a building. The ambulance finally arrived and they proceeded to bring down a stretcher. You were glad it was over. But something told you this was not the last of the clown you’d see. You thought, I mean… he practically promised you that you’d be seeing him again soon enough.

  “I’ll be fine. Just go get some rest.”

  He assured you, idling around, not really wanting to leave. He tried prolonging his stay with you before they eventually persuaded him to get onto the stretcher.

  “Heh. This time you’re the one sending me off.”

  You smiled, wanting to follow but he refused. You weren’t really sure why he wouldn’t allow that, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. He quickly convinced you that it was too late and you had your own injuries to recover from, not wanting to disrupt the healing process. You were doubtful, but you shrugged away this nagging feeling and tried to take his word for it, mustering a final warm smile on your wary face. Your eyelids were starting to droop. You bid him farewell for the time being and watched as he was whisked away. 

  You hated to admit it, but your mind was still plagued by that sadistic clown. Your mind raced with questions, and you wanted answers. What did he mean by his parting speech?

  You were disturbed from your thoughts as Gordon offered to send you home, but you couldn’t reject his sincere offer. You didn’t want to disappoint him any further. As much as you didn’t like to leech off his kindness, it was the least you could do to repay him with the validation of being able to do something right. You sat in the front seat of the car, preparing to be saddled with desultory conversations on the ride home. However, you realised perhaps things would be different with Lieutenant Gordon. He had a type of heartfelt presence within, and was incredibly perceptive. You rested assured in your car seat. Yeah, he was different.

  You heard the revving of the engine after Gordon slammed his front door shut. You stared out the window. The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. The thought of the clown flashed through your mind once again. You closed your eyes, dispelling the cursed imagery. The blast of the air conditioner was adjusted to a pleasant breeze brushing lightly against your neck. Gordon placed his hand on the gear and recalibrated it. He breathed in, turned his head and landed his gaze uncomfortably on you.

  “So, you uh, from this town?”

  You felt something pleasant blossoming inside of you, being humoured by this awkward attempt at starting a conversation from Gordon. You chuckled lightly. You appreciated the effort.

  “Yes, yes I am. What about you?”

  You looked back and smiled politely. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated the vehicle.

  “Well, no. I moved here some decades ago with my wife…”

  You guessed it would do well to get to know more about your partners in crime fighting. You hummed, patiently listening. 

  Yeah, this wasn’t too bad, you supposed.

  Now, if only you could stop yourself from feeling like passing out in the front seat. 

  That would be great.

###

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 7 seconds

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Words: 3,964

Logan cracks his knuckles, his elbows propped on the arms of a chair near the middle of the presentation room. Across the table from him, Joy doodles absently in the margins of her notebook. Logan is pretty sure that if Cassidy weren’t there to subtly turn the page for her, the flowers and floating eyes would crawl off the pages and etch themselves into the surface of the table. Director Gazebo paces at the head of the room, smacking a remote against his palm and muttering under his breath. It’s been something like five minutes since he last successfully switched slides, and all delusions of focus and interest have completely melted away. Even Miss Katie-Lee, who was helping hand out papers and fill in pieces of information for the director, is playing something on her phone with vague disinterest. Logan wonders whether she might just fall asleep right where she stands.

Logan, on the other hand, absolutely cannot force himself to look disinterested in anything the director does, ever. Not with that meeting from a couple weeks ago still weighing on his mind. Instead, he does his best to look like he’s taking detailed notes in his pocket notebook, glancing around the room as if deep in thought. He takes careful stock every few seconds of the impossibly high number of important people in here. The absolutely quintessential ‘who’s who’ of this branch—Joy and Miss Katie-Lee, of course, but also Mx. Oatmeal, Cassidy and her independent focus advisor, the directors of the individual satellite branches floating nearby, those inexplicable people in nice suits that follow Director Gazebo everywhere, even the notoriously good-looking folks that are always sweeping in and out of Miss Katie-Lee’s office. Oh, and who could forget Roman?

Logan could.

Logan would love to do that, in fact.

He’s taken multiple steps to prove to the director just how much he wants this, despite how wrong it feels to be slacking off to improve—talking about non-work things with Cassidy and Alex, getting to know the fifth floor interns (even though they aren’t technically on the fifth floor anymore), helping those same interns with their work and genuinely enjoying it rather than it being revision out of obligation, even trying to be more open with Virgil about what’s going on inside his head. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of that last one yet, but it’s not like the director ever sees him do it—or not do it, as the case usually tends to be. He tries, though. They both do.

The biggest risk—talking to Roman—is one he really isn’t looking forward to. He hasn’t even tried yet, actually. Probably explains why Roman is in the far back corner of the room, whispering with Alex.

Logan isn’t doing very well at pretending to be taking notes, in case that wasn’t obvious.

Finally, the remote in the director’s hand buzzes to life, shuffling the presentation to the last slide. Miss Katie-Lee moves next to him and peers over his shoulder, pointing at one of the buttons and nodding. A sigh of relief (or maybe it’s annoyance—Logan isn’t great at gauging that sort of thing) ripples through the room when the slideshow cycles back to the top, displaying a picture of a rocket preparing to launch.

The director gives Miss Katie-Lee a smile and nod before turning to address the room. “What craft was this?”

Logan doesn’t bother raising his hand, merely calling out the name in unison with the rest of the room. “Vanguard TV3.”

“And on what historic date did this craft fail two seconds after launch?”

“December sixth, nineteen fifty-seven.” It’s more of an automatic response on Logan’s part than a concentrated effort to access the trivia from its overflowing file tucked away in a secure corner of his mind. The director nods his approval and moves on to the next slide, and Logan is pretty sure the better part of his room-sweeping gaze centers on him. He sits up straighter.

“Good start, folks. Now, back to basics—roughly how long would it take for a spacecraft to reach the moon?” Wow, really back to basics. He wasn’t kidding.

“Three days.” Even Logan has to admit, it does sound just the slightest bit creepy, everyone answering in monotonous unison like this.

The director clicks over to the next slide, which proudly declares the words ‘speed round’ in times new roman. The font yanks Logan’s thoughts toward Roman without his consent, and he again thinks about how unjustly cold he’s been to the guy lately. Hardly a word between them, aside from the usual obligatory greetings. Maybe that ought to be his next risk, resolving that whole situation. Certainly one of the more unnerving ideas he’s entertained.

“Alright, everyone, speed round time. How many miles to the moon?”

“240,000.”

“In kilometers?”

The briefest of pauses. “386,400.”

“Largest crew aboard a spacecraft to date?”

“Eight.”

“Why do we want to minimize travel time for human astronauts?”

“Space has harmful radiation.” Okay, so that one wasn’t quite so perfectly in unison, and various other answers tried to break through, but the general idea does manage to echo around the room.

“Of the nearly two hundred planet-orbiting moons in our solar system, in which place is our moon with regards to size?”

“Fifth largest.”

“Latin word for its highlands?”

“Maria.”

“Meaning?”

“Seas.”

“How many nations have landed on the moon?”

“Three.” The word five also bounces around, but Logan is in the former party.

“Okay, who did it first?”

“The United States.” This, too, has a second answer making a valiant effort—Neil Armstrong, obviously. Again, Logan is in the former group.

“When?”

This one, interestingly enough, prompts two very distinct answers. One sizeable group, to which Logan is party, gives the predictable answer of July twentieth, nineteen sixty-nine, but one (much smaller) group says something incredibly different.

“Wow, I didn’t realize this very important meeting was just gonna be a history lesson.”

Not a valid nor correct answer, in case that wasn’t clear.

Logan, along with pretty much every other superior in the room, swivels in his seat to stare at Roman, who still leans against the wall at the far back of the room. Beside him, Alex looks like they’re doing everything they can to feign not having heard him.

Roman shrugs and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head toward the director. “It’s a valid question. Nobody in this room’s an idiot, we all passed our college courses, gen eds and otherwise, we all took the entrance exams, we’ve all done the work to get here. Not to step out of line or anything, but this is all grade school stuff. Seems kinda dumb to be quizzing us on stuff anyone with a working internet connection could figure out.”

Logan debates whether this would be a good time to work on one of those risks he’s been dealing with by striding to the back of the room and smacking Roman across the face. The director stiffens, but Logan can’t tell whether it’s agitation or impressed satisfaction.

“Does anyone else agree with Roman’s perspective?”

There’s a few quiet mumbles and the odd cough or sniffle, but no one speaks up. Logan flinches when the director’s eyes land on him, but again, there’s something behind those eyes he can’t trace. When the director doesn’t look away, the idea of screaming crosses Logan’s mind. Risk. Risk. You are not special simply for doing your job. You need to go above and beyond if you want to achieve the dream you claim you have, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.

Logan clears his throat and raises his hand, and honest to god, the room falls silent. Even Joy’s scribbling pen halts. The director nods at him to speak, at the same moment that Logan finds his heart standing at the edge of a bottomless pit. It jumps over.

“He makes a good point.” The director lifts his chin, but says nothing. “We already know all of this information, given how easily we can answer it on a dime, and you’ve gathered up most of the higher profile people in this branch, not to mention the ones around it. It seems counterintuitive to waste their time with the basics when they could be working toward something more concrete, rather than an eighth grade science test review.” Logan literally bites his tongue when he closes his mouth, belatedly realizing he just told the literal head of his career that his meeting is a waste of Logan’s time. Too big of a risk, perhaps, but there’s certainly no taking it back now. He also belatedly realizes his arm is still in the air, so he yanks it down with his other hand.

There’s a beat of silence, where not even Joy dares look at Logan. Logan swallows and turns his eyes toward the ground, feeling Roman’s gaze burning daggers into his back. Does this count toward resolving the little spat he never bothered explaining to Roman? Hell, Roman might not even know Logan was mad—for all he’s been told, Logan just decided out of nowhere to start talking to the interns. Logan should’ve just kept with the mediocrity, should’ve stayed within arm’s reach of his safety net, should’ve learned to grit his teeth and bear it while Roman prattled on, completely oblivious to how much better he was than Logan.

“Roman and Logan,” the director finally says. “You two stay. Everyone else, you’re excused.”

The remaining people cannot possibly get out of the room fast enough. It’s concentrated chaos as they scramble to gather their respective belongings and rush the door, a bunch of space enthusiasts who would probably rather be on literal Neptune right now than in this room. Come to think of it, Neptune doesn’t sound too bad to Logan, either. He sinks back into his chair and wills himself to be smaller, wills Roman to ignore him and just stay—

Roman takes the seat directly beside Logan. “Thanks for the assist,” he says under his breath, elbowing Logan gently. Logan smiles weakly at his own fists, clenched tightly in his lap, and wonders if this is the last time these hands will be employed by NASA. Wondering if this is finally it, if the director has had enough of Logan’s pathetic attempts to take risks, has finally decided to do away with Logan entirely, to let him fade into obscurity as some guy who coded a coffee delivery app with a gimmicky name.

Director Gazebo stares long and hard at the both of them, and probably has been for a while now—not that Logan would know the difference, having only just looked up from his hands. There’s something behind the mask of calm in the director’s face, just like there always is, and just like always, it’s something Logan can’t quite comprehend, something he isn’t sure he wants to comprehend. When he opens his mouth, Logan’s heart finally finds itself at the bottom of that bottomless pit.

“Are either of you aware of how long it would take mankind to reach Neptune?”

An unexpected starting point, to be sure, but at least it’s something Logan is prepared for. “It took Voyager 2 about twelve years in the eighties.”

“Voyager 2 was unmanned,” Roman adds. “None of that extra weight for people or provisions, so that probably maybe definitely influenced that time.”

“Why?” Logan asks. It’s always been one of his favorite questions, to tell the truth. He wonders whether the director feels the same. Then he wonders whether the director realizes he means ‘why ask about Neptune,’ not ‘why would weight influence travel time.’ Then he wonders whether the director knows he wonders this.

“As only Voyager 2 has managed to make it that far—and beyond, in fact—there is still a good deal of things we’ve yet to learn from Neptune, like why it has such high winds, or why its magnetic field is offset, not to mention that there’s been another Great Dark Spot since the one in eighty-nine.” Okay, so at least it was clear what Logan was asking.

“I’m still not totally clear on why this matters,” Roman admits. Logan sighs quietly, relieved that someone in this room had the nerve to voice the general fears floating lazily through the air. “I mean, it’s got nothing to do with the moon, which is supposedly why you called the meeting, right?”

“It’s got everything to do with the moon,” the director corrects. He steps away from the projection screen and begins pacing the room, waving his hands about like frantic hummingbirds to emphasize his points—provided he actually makes any. “The moon is the closest celestial body to our planet, so everything with a greater distance than that can be expanded upon based on its relative distance and size compared to the moon. If we learned to walk with the moon, we can run with Mars, and we could fly with Neptune.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Logan says, feeling like it’s been a little too long since he’s spoken up. Regardless, his words seem to roll off the director’s hunched shoulders as he continues pacing, unperturbed.

“Twelve years is a long time, not to mention the additional weight for the food and crew, and the emotional and mental tolls on the passengers and their families, as it would be a minimum twenty-five year round trip—that’s a quarter of what a layman considers his life span. But if we could cut that down, shave off a few years from either end, move from here to there as if we were taking but a single step…” The director trails off with his hands frozen in front of his face, fingers not quite touching, so stiff they almost tremble. “Imagine how much we could gain from that. Just—just imagine it.”

“Do you mean in terms of Einstein’s and Rosen’s theory of general relativity?” Logan’s voice is laced with disbelief. Einstein-Rosen bridges, wormholes, whatever you want to call them, it’s all theoretical, and all just the slightest bit terrifying. Two mouths at either end of an imaginary throat, from point A to point B in moments, microscopic and unstable. Just imagine it? Sure, just imagine the likelihood of the wormhole destabilising under the effect of exotic matters and spitting out the passengers to who knows where.

Logan, if you couldn’t tell, is not particularly fond of the idea of wormholes, much less black holes. His concerns are usually (to his relief) unfounded, since whoever is crazy enough to look for wormholes hasn’t been successful in their endeavours. Not yet.

“But that’s only assuming you actually can fold the space,” Roman protests, yanking Logan out of his own mind. Apparently they didn’t care to wait for Logan to process the absurdity of it all before continuing the conversation.

“But who says we can’t? ” Director Gazebo shoots back.

“Who said anything about we?” Roman’s voice is incredulous and maybe, just maybe, a little bit excited. Good excited or bad excited, though, Logan has no idea.

“Well, me, just now, for one.” The director starts pacing again, ticking off numbers on his fingers as he goes. “Katie-Lee also vouched for the idea, as well as some of the directors at the floater branches—most of them report to Kennedy, anyway, so I’m sitting pretty high and dry here, and they all went for the idea. Logan, any valuable input here?”

Logan blinks, not prepared to be included. Not yet. “I, um, no?” Then he wonders whether the director heard ‘I, um, no,’ or ‘I, um, know.’

“Well, you can hardly fault me for asking. I mean, after that presentation you gave, not to mention the increasing quality of your work lately, I assumed you’d be desperate to make your case for this mission.”

“What mission?”

Roman shoots Logan a look, and Logan wonders just how long he was tuned out of the conversation. Too long, apparently.

“Why, Mission Neptune, of course.” At that, Logan is viscerally reminded of the conductor from that time Virgil forced him to watch The Polar Express. The director, at least, doesn’t seem put off in the slightest by Logan’s mental absence. He whips out a pen and scrawls something on his forearm, mumbling under his breath, “We really need to come up with a better name for that.”

“I—you’re planning a mission to Neptune?” It’s not even worth it for Logan to try to keep the shock out of his voice.

Roman, miracle of miracles, recovers much quicker than Logan. Probably because he’s been paying attention. “Okay, cool, but why did you still say we? Why did you only keep me and Logan behind?”

“Logan and me,” Logan murmurs. At least if his basic conversational skills continue to fail him, he’ll always have ironclad grammar to fall back on. On which to fall back, whatever.

“You want to go into space, do you not?”

“Absolutely.” In sharp contrast with Logan’s immediacy and certainty is Roman’s loud silence. Logan gives him a quizzical look.

“I’m not saying I don’t,” Roman finally huffs, “but I’m not saying I do, either. There’s way too many things that could go wrong for this to be a spur of the moment hell yes type response, y’know?”

Logan tries very hard (by which he means a normal amount) not to look smug as the director stares at Roman in shock. So much for a guy who’s great because he broadens his horizons. As soon as the prideful thought crosses Logan’s mind, he shakes his head to get rid of it—tearing down his friend won’t do anything for his own career, much less his own humanity. Another, much scarier thought crosses Logan’s mind next: He just internally referred to Roman as his friend.

Logan really ought to start paying better attention when conversations are happening around him between very smart people who don’t think to wait for him to catch up.

“Just keep an eye on your inboxes, alright?” The director stops pacing at the door and tugs it open, gesturing for the two to take their leave.

“Give us a minute,” Roman says, remaining firmly in his seat. The director purses his lips and wrinkles his nose, but he does go, leaving the room blissfully empty in the absence of his commanding presence.

Roman turns to Logan and cocks his head to the side. “Alright, my dude, I’ve known you for basically a lifetime now.”

“Five years, max.”

“Same difference. Anyway, I’ve known you a while, yeah? So I know what your face looks like when you’re zoning out, ’cause you’ve got way too much going on up in that head of yours. How much do I need to fill you in on, so you aren’t totally out of your depth when Gazebo brings it up again?”

“A basic rundown would be stellar. I heard that he’s aiming for Neptune, and he’s trying to employ some Wrinkle in Time mechanics to do it. We haven’t even spotted a wormhole yet, Roman. Those things are so small, too, what is he thinking?”

“Probably that he should’ve had Katie-Lee give that promotion to someone who knows how to listen.” Roman laughs as he ducks to avoid Logan swatting at his head. “Hey, hey, this is neutral territory! Anyway, he said he was stuck on the moon stuff with his presentation ’cause he doesn’t want to go talking to the whole building and company and all about it, but he thinks he found a way to straight up manufacture a wormhole, and he wants to test that with an outwardly routine trip to the moon. Manufacture his demon wormhole or whatever, and if it works, great, and if not, well, it’s just the moon, so we won’t be too far, anyway. Doesn’t really add up that he’d call it Mission Neptune if he’s trying to hide it, but whatever.”

“And he told us this why?”

“Because I’m such a motor mouth that most people have learned to just tune me out by now, or assume I’m spouting total nonsense. You, on the other hand, he knows you’ve got your whole deal with that lifelong dream of getting off the planet or whatever, so obviously you wouldn’t go spreading the details, not at the risk of someone else taking your spot on the ship.”

“He told you all that?”

“Context clues. I’m very smart.”

Logan blows a puff of air through his nose and stares at his hands again, picturing them at the helm of a literal console in a literal rocketship on its way to literal Neptune. “Be pretty hard to cover up supplies for a mission to Neptune when you want it to look like a routine trip to the moon.”

“Why else would he hint at sending follow-up emails? Not to mention, if the wormhole situation shortens the trip, we wouldn’t need much more than a normal moon mission, anyway.” Roman scoots his chair closer and pushes his face right up into Logan’s. “You’re really off your game today, y’know that? Is it ’cause you suddenly decided to start talking to me again?”

“Something like that.” Logan checks his watch, weighing the merits of continuing to talk here versus returning to their desks. If nothing else, the director hasn’t returned to yell at them yet, so that’s something. Logan inhales a couple seconds longer than he needs to, blows it all out in one big breath, and explains to Roman the situation regarding his new risk-taking self. He even adds how, all along, Roman has been the true superior, much as it shreds Logan’s heart to say it. At least now Roman has proof that he’s as good as he thinks he is. What use is pride if left uncorroborated, right?

“Okay, well that’s dumb, so we’re not gonna talk about that nonsense garbage ever again,” Roman says, shaking his head. “I mean, really? Me better than you? Obviously I’m just socializing, and that definitely shows in the few papers where I’ve actually tried. He probably just wanted to push you over the edge so you would be more involved and engaged, more likely to help with his whole Neptune shebang.”

“That’s a good mission name,” Logan mumbles. He expertly ignores everything else Roman said. “Neptune Shebang.”

“No, it really isn’t. Do you even want to do it?”

“I mean, obviously I do, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever , but there’s still…” Logan lets his voice trail off, picturing Virgil’s face. Picturing Virgil sat on the couch in front of the television, watching Logan blast off the planet in a storm of fire and gasoline, leaving Virgil over two billion miles behind him, in the plain old Earth dust. “I don’t know. I used to know, but I think what I knew changed somewhere along the way.”

“Makes sense.” Roman pushes his hands against his knees and bounces to his feet, then crooks his elbow to the side. Logan accepts the gesture, rising with Roman’s assistance and following him to the door. “I mean, it’s not like you have to know if you’re going right this second. You don’t even know if you’ll get chosen for it. Maybe they switch around the requirements or knock down the capacity or something, and they just bump you out of the running because you’re needed on Earth or they’re afraid you have the measles or something. Hell, they could deny the mission request altogether. Whatever happens, you definitely don’t have to make any major decisions about it just yet.”

Logan nods to himself as the door clicks shut behind them. Eventually, he very well have to make that choice. But not yet.

[dvandom]

Ranking the jobs in academia

This is from the perspective of someone who’s gotten the short end of the stick several times in physics job searches, but these categories are broad enough that they apply fairly well across disciplines.  There’s certainly sublevels within each, but generally speaking if you can reliably get a job at one tier, you could get one at any lower tier as well.  The “overqualified” disqualifier may make a school reluctant to hire a second-tier-competitive person for fourth-tier, but my experience has been that when the job market tightens up at the top tier, second tier administrators leap at the chance to hire their leftovers.  They may even reshuffle things to raise the quality of a position if they think they can snag a Big Deal candidate.  (It also worked to my benefit once, where I applied for a sixth tier job and after the interview they bumped it up to fifth.)

Top tier: You will have graduate students working for you, and if you wish, you can get away with only ever teaching graduate students and maybe senior-level courses in your discipline.  

Second tier: You will be able to teach majors in your discipline, and likely have some opportunities for research as well.  Maybe there’s no grad program, or maybe you won’t be directly involved with it, but you can spend at least some of your time dealing teaching classes that are solely taken by people who want to be there.

Third tier: The school may have majors in your discipline, but you’re being hired solely to teach introductory “I don’t wanna be here” classes.  What lifts this above the fourth tier is the possibility of being promoted from within to teach the better stuff.  And while research may not be an option here, neither is it required.

Fourth tier: No opportunities now or in the future to teach above the introductory level.  Usually found at two-year colleges, but some smaller 4-year schools won’t have a full slate of majors, instead trusting to transfer programs.  But at least you have a regular gig and might even have a chance at tenure.  You might be able to get promoted in terms of pay and authority, but if there’s no research opportunities and no upper division courses offered, there’s not really an “up” to go to.

Fifth tier: Visiting Assistant Professor.  These are found at almost every level of school, and can allow for some surprisingly high-level teaching, since you’re usually filling in for someone else’s regular load on a temporary basis.  The pay is so-so, and there’s no real security since the job is explicitly for a one or maybe two year term (either sabbatical replacement, or “retired/quit on short notice, will be advertising for a permanent position next year” cases).  The only thing that keeps this from being the bottom tier is that in SOME cases your odds of getting a permanent position at the same school might be better.  (I wasn’t able to flip either of my VAPs into a long term gig, different reasons in each case.)  But since changing jobs often means changing cities or even states in higher ed, the gypsy faculty lifestyle can be rough, especially since a lot of VAP jobs no longer pay moving expenses.

Bottom tier: Adjunct and part-time at any higher tier.  These are often semester-to-semester positions, without even the certainty of a one year gig.  It might not even offer a full time teaching load, meaning no or vastly reduced benefits.  Little authority, sometimes teaching alongside graduate student TAs as equals (Ironically, the worst adjunct jobs are often at the same schools as the Top Tier jobs).  Being hired to teach an upper division course part time has some benefits over the usual adjunct role, but it usually pays pretty badly.  Adjunct positions tend to be bad in every discipline, probably the least horrible in STEM.  Once in a while I’ve run across a technically adjunct position that was really more like a fourth tier job, because while required to advertise the position as adjunct, the school really didn’t want to have to run job searches every semester.

Note that while “Instructor” is generally considered the lowest rung of full time long term faculty, an Instructor position is not necessarily worse than a tenure-track one.  It depends on what the professional opportunities are, some Instructor gigs are better than Assistant Professor positions, because the school is a more desirable place to teach and there’s more variety in what you can do.

So...if you’re thinking of going into the exciting world of college teaching at some point, you need to figure out what tier you’re competitive in.  Top tier generally requires the ability to bring in outside funding, or a strong record of publication, or something else that will help the school make money or prestige on your name.  But keep an eye on the job market, because tight times will shuffle everyone downwards, and you might find that the positions you fit best are all filling up with people from higher tiers.  You’ll always get a few overqualified candidates in anything you apply to, “safety schools” aren’t just for students.  But what usually happens there when the job market is healthy is that the school makes an offer to the higher tier candidate, gets declined, and then hires someone who’s actually hoping to teach there.

(In my case, despite getting a PhD from a pretty well-regarded program, I came out without a strong “get research money” background in a less flashy field of study, so I considered myself solidly second tier.  But the job market started to tank in my broad field shortly after I graduated, so I’ve been pretty consistently beaten out for second tier jobs by people who really should have been getting jobs at the lower end of the top tier.  My optimism caused me to not apply for a lot of jobs I could have gotten, and I spent several years bouncing around VAPs and unemployment before settling in at a community college.  It’s a nice enough place, but I do miss the challenge of teaching upper division material.)

[society-sports]

My Privileges

1.       I don’t have to worry about getting deported every time I am stopped by a member of law enforcement or security.

2.       I don’t have to fill out extra forms or worry about being denied a driver’s license or passport.

3.       I am able to walk around stores by myself or with friends and not be watched by security or law enforcement.

4.       I never had to worry about being picked on or singled out during any of my schooling.

5.    ��  I never have to worry about someone understanding me because of the language that I speak.

6.       I am able to practice the religion of my choosing without being targeted or judged for my beliefs.

7.       When I was being taught history in middle and high school, I was able to learn about my peoples past and not forced to learn about someone else’s.

8.       If I do lose my temper in a public place, people aren’t scared of what I will do to those around me.

9.       I am free to listen to whatever music and watch whatever movies that I want and not be judged if it isn’t created by people of a different race.

10.   If there is a new product that I want, I am able to buy it when I want to.

11.   When I am out at a “nice” restaurant, people don’t think I am out of place.

12.   If I want to change my diet to a healthy diet, I am able to go to the grocery store and buy healthy food.

13.   If I get sick, I am able to go to the hospital or doctor’s office without worrying about how much it will cost.

14.   I have never had to worry about where I am going to sleep or worried about being too hot or too cold when I sleep.

15.   Whenever I have moved, it is because my family or myself wanted to move and I took my time while looking for a place that is comfortable and safe.

16.   I never had to worry about walking around my neighborhood at night or leaving my car parked outside at night.

17.   I never worried about having clean clothes.  In fact, I was able to keep up with trends in fashion and always had clothes and shoes in my size.

18.   I have never had to worry about being able to get into a building or getting upstairs in a building.

19.   I am able to engage in activities in my leisure time purely for fun.

20.   I have never been paid less because of my race or the color of my skin.

21.   My level of intelligence has never been assumed based on my skin color.

 I always knew that I had it better off than other people, but while I was growing up that only meant that my family had more money.  All of the privileges that I had went unnoticed for quite some time.  Now that I look back, I was able to focus on my school since I didn’t have to work to help my family pay for necessities.  I was always able to just focus on the things that I needed to and never had other worries.  I also was able to get jobs that I wanted because of my race, and never had to worry about discrimination.  All of these privileges were present my entire life, and I became accustomed to them, so they just became part of my day to day life.  Looking back on my days in middle and high school, I had it much easier than other students, so I was able to succeed in school and have less pressures on me while going through school.  

If I didn’t have those privileges, then I would have had more stress and more responsibilities regarding my family.  I wouldn’t have gotten the grades that I did because I would have been working jobs in order to make money to support myself or help out my family.  I also would have gotten in more trouble than I did as my actions were often seen as “just a phase”.  If I had wanted to go to college without the privileges, I had then I would have had to save up money to pay for all the expenses because I wouldn’t have been given the scholarships and aid that I received.

While I do have all of these privileges, I still face some discrimination due to my intersectional identity. I went to a high school that had a majority of white students, I was one of the few Hispanic students there, so there were times that I felt out of place even though the other students never pointed it out or singled me out.  Most of the marginalization that I experienced was purely in my mind and was not pushed onto me.  

  Sources:

McIntosh, Peggy. 2008. "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack." in The Meaning of Difference: American Constructions of Race, Sex and Gender, Social Class, Sexual Orientation, and Disability, edited by Karen Elaine Rosenblum and Toni-Michelle Travis. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill Higher Education, c2008. 5th Ed.

[jessheaver]

AN OT’S ROLE FOR A SUSTAINABLE FUTURE

“The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do” – Steve Jobs (Klavina, 2019)

I have always been someone who wanted to make an impact on the world by making positive changes in lives of the people who cross my path. The United Nations Assembly created 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDG’s) which were developed to address the needs of the present without compromising the ability for future generations to meet their very own needs (Wagman et al., 2020). These development goals aim to end poverty, promote prosperity and equality as well as protect the planet and its people. The SDGs were created to be utilised as a ‘blueprint’ by all countries to work towards a better and more sustainable future. Wagman et al. (2020) identified we as occupational therapists can provide valuable and important contributions to sustainable development as many aspects of unsustainability are directly related to human occupation, this a focal point for OT. He further identified that we have direct knowledge about human occupations and occupation adaptations that can be made. Out of the 17 SDG’s, I am going to further discuss 5 with direct experiences related to the communities that I have worked in and the role that we can play in the steps to achieving these goals.

“Poverty is the worst form of violence “– Mahatma Gandhi.

The first SDG is the goal for “No poverty” which aims to end poverty in all forms. Poverty and its effects have been directly identified in the community that I am currently working in, as well as around our South African country. There is an increased amount of unemployment around working age community members, with some selling drugs, stealing or homelessness which is commonly seen with an individual walking down the road with everything they own strapped to their backs in search of their next meal from the nearest dustbin and their next shelter for the upcoming cold night. We may not be able to completely combat and end poverty, but I believe that we play an important role in promoting steps and changes to aid in breaking these barriers. We may have the capacity to develop self-run programmes such as the Women Empowerment Project at Mariannridge that can be run to bring in a source of income to families, we may do vocational skills training to aid in job seeking opportunities and we may give information and work closely with the social workers to advocate for grants to those who qualify.

“The war against hunger is truly mankind’s war of liberation” – John F. Kennedy

The second SDG that I chose to present is “Zero Hunger” which aims to end hunger in all forms, achieve food security with improved nutrition whilst promoting sustainable agriculture. Food insecurity is a devasting reality that we see daily within South African communities. Severe Malnutrition (SAM) is a prevalent reality seen in our communities amongst children which effects their growth and development. I once treated a 6-month-old baby who had been brought in by his mother who had fed him sugar water as a source of food as she couldn’t afford anything else. Often, we directly point it at neglect, but this mother loved her child with her whole heart and was trying anything to ensure he was fed with whatever she had and could afford. We as occupational therapists may not be able to combat hunger by providing food parcels and supplying food, but we look at sustainable long-term solutions such as developing a garden within homes or in communities to allow individuals to be able to sustainably grow affordable and nutritious vegetables from their own homes for their families or as a source of income. Another role could be educating and bringing awareness to nutritional related illnesses/conditions with alternate cheaper, nutritious food recipes with common and affordable ingredients seen within almost every household.

“It is health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver” – Mahatma Gandhi

The third SDG is “Good health and well-being” to ensure healthy lives and promote well-being for all ages. It’s important to remember the WHO (1948) definition of health which states that health is “a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity”. Within the communities, we can address physical, mental, and social factors that are hindering an individual’s successful engagement in meaningful everyday activities with home visits or individual sessions as well as a role in health promotion and disease/illness prevention for communities within the clinics. We may use remediation and/or compensation approaches with adaptation and organization of daily activities to prevent dysfunction, promote healthy lifestyle and recovery. Preventative and promotive approaches may be facilitated through educational health promotion talks and awareness raising about healthy lifestyle choices, healthcare service availability and prevalent conditions at the clinics such as HIV/AIDS, maternal mental illness etc. to aid in early detection and intervention or prevention, this to maintain health and well-being.

“Ensuring quality higher education is one of the most important things we can do as future generations” – Ron Lewis

The fourth SDG is the goal for “Quality education” which ensures inclusive and equitable quality education and promotion of lifelong learning opportunities. I have particularly noticed a lack of attendance to schools with an increased number of dropout rates within the community I have been working in. A clinic staff member reinforced the issues of adolescents not furthering their studies and instead remaining at home and engaging in poor lifestyle choices including the use and trading of drugs and alcohol. We as occupational therapists play a role in life skills development and encouraging and advocating for attendance of schools with the opportunities and benefits of furthering studies to aid in greater success in the future. We may develop vocational skills training workshops within communities to provide community members with the learning opportunity to learn new skills. We may provide information about courses with bursaries and funding to raise awareness on the opportunities to furthering individuals’ studies.

“Gender equality is a human fight, not a female fight” – Frieda Pinto.

The last SDG is “Gender equality” which aims at achieving gender equality for all with empowering of women and girls. This is an extremely prevalent issues that is seen within all communities. Women of our communities face extremely sad realities of patriarchy, sexism, exploitation, and oppression contributing to devasting lived experiences and realities (Sharma, 2019). I have noticed within the clinics of the community that children are brought in by women figures as they are seen as nurturers and home makers with a lack of power over men who are the breadwinners and the head of families. Occupational therapists play an important role in working with men and women to educate and advocate for women’s right for equality. We may provide opportunities for growth and development through the development of programmes that empower women with emphasise on normalising and promoting maternal mental health within our communities.

We may not be able to solely achieve these goals, but we have an important and valuable role to play in breaking the barriers and achieving the steps needed to work towards these Sustainable Development Goals (SDG’s). It is also important for us as OTs to remember what our scope of practice is, we often, I know because I have done it myself, take on too much and make promises to please and help others but we need to be realistic with what we can address and cope with. However, we definitively, along with others, play a role in promoting sustainable development to meet the needs of our people today with an occupation based approach, without comprising the needs for future generations. Together we can achieve the World.

References:

· Constitution of the World Health Organization. In: World Health Organization: Basic documents. 45th ed. Geneva: World Health Organization; 2005

· Eccles, R., & Karbassi, L. (2018). The Right Way to Support the Sustainable Development Goals. Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://sloanreview.mit.edu/article/the-right-way-to-support-the-uns-sustainable-development-goals/

· Gender Equality must become a Lived Reality. Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://sdgs.scout.org/project/gender-equality-must-become-lived-reality]

· Klavina, M. (2019). The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do. - Steve Jobs. Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://medium.com/@mathiasklavina/the-ones-who-are-crazy-enough-to-think-they-can-change-the-world-are-the-ones-who-do-a020b6c307aa

· Mahatma Gandhi’s Greatest Quotes. Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://www.businessblogshub.com/2012/10/mahatma-gandhis-greatest-quotes/

· Poverty: ‘The Worst Form Of Violence’. (2015). Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://www.yankton.net/opinion/editorials/article_77b96a12-34cd-11e5-a79a-ef7a9f3f5ec2.html

· Ron Lewis Quotes. Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/ron_lewis_337487

· Sheffe, S. (2011). CLIENT-CENTEREDNESS, POWER AND POSTCOLONIAL FEMINISM: How occupational therapists can become leaders in mental health. Retrieved from https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/bitstream/1807/67368/1/S.%20Sheffe%20-%20Power,%20PostColonialism,%20and%20OT.pdf

· The 17 Sustainable Development Goals of the United Nations. (2015). Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://developers.google.com/community/dsc-solution-challenge/UN-goals

· “The war against hunger is truly mankind’s war of liberation.” – John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States. Retrieved 17 August 2021, from https://www.mzalendo.com/blog/2019/03/19/the-war-against-hunger-is-truly-mankinds-war-of-liberation-john-f-kennedy-35th-president-of-the-united-states/

· Wagman, P., Johansson, A., Jansson, I., Lygnegård, F., Edström, E., Björklund Carlstedt, A., ... & Fristedt, S. (2020). Making sustainability in occupational therapy visible by relating to the Agenda 2030 goals–A case description of a Swedish university. World Federation of Occupational Therapists Bulletin, 76(1), 7-14. https://doi.org/10.1080/14473828.2020.1718266

[kingofthenorth49]

the world as we thought we know it

Ed. Note -- As I wrote this blog this morning, yet another Ontario family is moving into my neighbourhood, escaping the clutches of a tyrannical woke Ontario (their words, not mine) for the peace of the east coast. I’m pretty sure when this all shakes out this town is going to be radically changed for years to come, but here’s to hoping. - Jim

I know, ya’ll think my tinfoil hat is on too tight these days. Maybe it is, and maybe that’s not a bad thing, but at this point does it even matter, we are watching a train wreck of epic proportions and no one seems to care. It’s like the words from Trooper’s Santa Maria, “But nobody moved, from where they were laying, cause nobody really cared”. I guess Netflix and Chill means more than I had thought.

I was watching (listening) to Scott Adams last evening as I do every few nights and for those who don’t know Scott, He’s the guy who draws Dilbert, and hosts a daily vlog (or whatever the kids are calling them these days) which I enjoy, as there are few left leaning types I can really listen too, and he’s one of the best. We don’t often agree, but the past few nights he and I have been in lockstep on a few things, and that’s very rare but interesting when it happens. Last night however it was something he said about midway through his podcast that really caught my attention. He started out by saying that as you get pulled “behind the curtain” (a showbiz reference I guess) you get to see/learn things that most of the world doesn’t, as if the elites really do run the world (hint: they do) and he teased the crowd by saying something to the effect that he learned something this week that’s bigger than any news story, something so large it would shift people’s minds completely. He went on to say that he couldn’t say what it was because they’d come after him, but that people should question more of what they see and hear. He framed it in the context that people would not even believe the truth if they heard it.

I agree 100%. I believe the average person on this planet now is so afraid, confused, and polarized that they don’t know which way is up, hell just the fact that the world rolled over so quickly makes me sad, but it wasn’t unexpected. We are weak, soft, entitled humans.

As much as you want to deny it, we are in the world’s largest Psyops experiment right now. Governments are pushing the boundaries of human endurance, and we are beginning to turn on one another, whether it’s for not wearing a government mandated facial shaming device when outside your home, or if your neighbours son, fresh home from out-of-province school is out on the patio on his tablet chatting with his best girl when he’s suppose to be self isolating in the basement chained to the wall and fed with a stick.

Disclaimer: Yes, it’s a particularly bad flu. Yes, people will die from it. Yes we should be cautious and prevent catastrophe.

Speaking of being cautious, what is up with the average person beating down their neighbours in the rush to get an experimental unapproved chemical concoction thrust into their arms? WTF dude?

I’ll never understand that mentality. Yes, vaccines save lives and can stop the spread of viruses. Yes vaccines form part of any strategy to manage a pandemic, but it’s just one part. The idea that people are lining up 9 months after a vaccine is started into development for a “new” coronavirus and calling for a mandate to compel every human to take this vaccine is absurd.

It’s madness.

First of all, the concoction they are jabbing into your arms at 0.5 mg/dose isn’t even technically a vaccine. The CDC states a vaccine is “a product that stimulates a Peron’s immune system to produce immunity to a specific disease. It also defines Immunity as part of the vaccination process to say you can be exposed to the disease without becoming infected.

The current “vaccines” do neither. You can still become sick, and you can still spread it, there are several examples from Washington State, Florida, and Pennsylvania right now where fully vaccinated individuals now have the Coronavirus.

So why get the jab if you can still get it (albeit not be as sick) but you can still spread it? Why are we on a full out campaign war on “getting the jab” followed closely by “vaccination passports”.

It’s about control. It’s about gaining your compliance when told to do something. It’s about stripping your freedoms away all the while you feel like you don’t need them anyway.

I posted a video on social media yesterday of a Pastor of a Calgary church on Good Friday telling a bunch of Calgary police to leave the property and not come back without a warrant. He was very passionate in his calls for them to leave, and believe me when I say that video made me feel great despite the insults he was hurling at my brother’s and sister’s who were sent there to bring justice to the community.

Watch the video, it does a heart good.

Why? Because we have something called the Bill of Rights, and despite the fact it’s “granted” by our “government” it’s the only thing that holds this country together under one set of guiding principles, and despite some doctors proclamation of doom and gloom, people have the right to practice religion, they have freedom of speech, and security of the person and property. Our forefathers fought and died for those rights and we should be a bit more like the Pastor in preserving them. He’s a Polish pastor, who knows what happens when a government is allowed to run unchecked and what happens to the population when it does, and he wasn’t having any of it.

But the more telling story isn’t his fire and brimstone sermon aimed at the poor police (I bet his Good Friday sermon was off the charts!), it was what the police did next.

They left. As Monty Python would sing with a minstrel or two, “They turned their tails and ran they did, they turned their tails and ran and hid). Sorry, but the police don’t just leave when a crime has been committed, or they feel a crime will be committed by the parties in question. He literally shouted them away. Why did they leave?

Likely for a couple reasons. One, they didn’t want to be there in the first place. They were following orders or were dispatched to the church because some politician or Karen felt there were too many people practicing their religion on the holiest of days in the church. Two, they knew there were no grounds to be there because of the recent court ruling that freed the other Alberta pastor who was jailed for holding religious services, remember him? In Canada we jail religious leaders.

Say that again real slow. In Canada, we jail human beings who bring comfort and relief to those who need it in the name of a higher power under a constitutionally protected provision of religious freedoms. Or at least we used to. Now we are no better than the backwater republics we shamed as the former leader of the free world.

So if they knew the courts were not going to support them, why bother? That’s a great question.

I’m not even a religious person, we had Chinese (am I allowed to say that?) food for supper Easter Sunday, but I will fight for your right to practice yours just as hard as I’ll fight against any government mandating forced vaccinations or passports against freedoms.

Over a year ago we were told it was 15-days to “bend the curve” to get back to the “new normal” and such and now look at us a year later at the hands of a government run amok led by over-jealous reality tv stars who haven’t the first clue how to govern and couldn’t stick a hot poker in a snow bank to save their lives.

Folks we are rolling over at an alarming rate and accepting the removal of our rights and freedoms under suspicious circumstances, and you can “tin foil hat” me all day long, I don’t care. Things don’t add up, there’s too many red flags flying and yet as a society we simply want to turn to those “in charge” and say “Please sir, may I have some more”.

They say you won’t miss it until it’s gone and I firmly believe this to be true, especially when it comes to things like mobility rights. Imagine now if they do require vaccinations before you can travel, work, shop etc., (especially ones that provide no protection to others and only minimize your symptoms). We haven’t even talked about those who’ve died, or those who have had their lives changed forever from the initial side effects of the vaccines.

Yes, I said initial. What will happen a year from now as the COV-SARS-19 virus continues to produce hundreds of variants a day (despite what they want you to focus on like some B.1.1.3 etc.) and you come to find out in that rush to get jabs in the arms that the vaccination of the older population first drives the virus into the younger people who then start getting sicker than they originally did because the virus is morphing to stay alive. That’s right, things like Antibody Dependant Enhancement[1] can occur when you start messing with the human bodies abilities to fight off disease naturally as it has for hundreds of thousands of years.

All I’d ask is for you to do your research and have informed consent before you get the jab, and don’t shame others’ who chose not to for their own personal reasons. Like me. I won’t be getting the jab because there’s no compelling reason for me to do so at this time. I’m relatively  healthy (Yes, I’m obese so I fall into that risk category) but I have no real heath issues aside from the extra weight I carry around, and I know how to protect myself from the virus, so I’m choosing not to get vaccinated. I. Or people like me, shouldn’t be shamed because our beliefs are different from yours, and the solution doesn’t solve the problem, you only think it does because that’s what you are being told. \

Make your own decision and live with it. If I get the COVID and get sick enough (4% of my age category) to be hospitalized, so be it. I’ll take my chances on that versus being forced to have a chemical injected into my body that will do Gawd knows what to my immune system or any other system for that matter.

The other thing that just baffles me is how people actually believe the flu was eradicated this year. Sorry, are you serious? Do you think every single person in Canada was so diligent at washing their hands that we had no flu season this year?

I should have been a real estate salesperson in Florida selling swampland to tourists. Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea for the next phase.

Anyway, wash your hands, stay socially distant, stay home if you’re sick, and wear a government mandated facial shaming device so you can conform and not be publically humiliated by Karen at Costco as you go to give your Easter offerings to the commerce Gods when you aren’t allowed to go to church to pray to whatever God the constitutions protects your right to bow to.

Get it yet?

Jim Out.

[1] Informed consent disclosure to vaccine trial subjects of risk of COVID-19 vaccines worsening clinical disease, Timothy Cardoza, Ronald Veazey

[multipleservicelisting]

Underselling the Vaccine

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Good morning. We explain why the vaccine news is better than you may think.

Early in the pandemic, many health experts — in the U.S. and around the world — decided that the public could not be trusted to hear the truth about masks. Instead, the experts spread a misleading message, discouraging the use of masks.

Their motivation was mostly good. It sprung from a concern that people would rush to buy high-grade medical masks, leaving too few for doctors and nurses. The experts were also unsure how much ordinary masks would help.

But the message was still a mistake.

It confused people. (If masks weren’t effective, why did doctors and nurses need them?) It delayed the widespread use of masks (even though there was good reason to believe they could help). And it damaged the credibility of public health experts.

“When people feel as though they may not be getting the full truth from the authorities, snake-oil sellers and price gougers have an easier time,” the sociologist Zeynep Tufekci wrote early last year.

Now a version of the mask story is repeating itself — this time involving the vaccines. Once again, the experts don’t seem to trust the public to hear the full truth.

This issue is important and complex enough that I’m going to make today’s newsletter a bit longer than usual. If you still have questions, don’t hesitate to email me at themorning@nytimes.com.

‘Ridiculously encouraging’

Right now, public discussion of the vaccines is full of warnings about their limitations: They’re not 100 percent effective. Even vaccinated people may be able to spread the virus. And people shouldn’t change their behavior once they get their shots.

These warnings have a basis in truth, just as it’s true that masks are imperfect. But the sum total of the warnings is misleading, as I heard from multiple doctors and epidemiologists last week.

“It’s driving me a little bit crazy,” Dr. Ashish Jha, dean of the Brown School of Public Health, told me.

“We’re underselling the vaccine,” Dr. Aaron Richterman, an infectious-disease specialist at the University of Pennsylvania, said.

“It’s going to save your life — that’s where the emphasis has to be right now,” Dr. Peter Hotez of the Baylor College of Medicine said.

The Moderna and Pfizer vaccines are “essentially 100 percent effective against serious disease,” Dr. Paul Offit, the director of the Vaccine Education Center at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, said. “It’s ridiculously encouraging.”

The details

Here’s my best attempt at summarizing what we know:

The Moderna and Pfizer vaccines — the only two approved in the U.S. — are among the best vaccines ever created, with effectiveness rates of about 95 percent after two doses. That’s on par with the vaccines for chickenpox and measles. And a vaccine doesn’t even need to be so effective to reduce cases sharply and crush a pandemic.

If anything, the 95 percent number understates the effectiveness, because it counts anyone who came down with a mild case of Covid-19 as a failure. But turning Covid into a typical flu — as the vaccines evidently did for most of the remaining 5 percent — is actually a success. Of the 32,000 people who received the Moderna or Pfizer vaccine in a research trial, do you want to guess how many contracted a severe Covid case? One.

Although no rigorous study has yet analyzed whether vaccinated people can spread the virus, it would be surprising if they did. “If there is an example of a vaccine in widespread clinical use that has this selective effect — prevents disease but not infection — I can’t think of one!” Dr. Paul Sax of Harvard has written in The New England Journal of Medicine. (And, no, exclamation points are not common in medical journals.) On Twitter, Dr. Monica Gandhi of the University of California, San Francisco, argued: “Please be assured that YOU ARE SAFE after vaccine from what matters — disease and spreading.”

The risks for vaccinated people are still not zero, because almost nothing in the real world is zero risk. A tiny percentage of people may have allergic reactions. And I’ll be eager to see what the studies on post-vaccination spread eventually show. But the evidence so far suggests that the vaccines are akin to a cure.

Offit told me we should be greeting them with the same enthusiasm that greeted the polio vaccine: “It should be this rallying cry.”

The costs of negativity

Why are many experts conveying a more negative message?

Again, their motivations are mostly good. As academic researchers, they are instinctively cautious, prone to emphasizing any uncertainty. Many may also be nervous that vaccinated people will stop wearing masks and social distancing, which in turn could cause unvaccinated people to stop as well. If that happens, deaths would soar even higher.

But the best way to persuade people to behave safely usually involves telling them the truth. “Not being completely open because you want to achieve some sort of behavioral public health goal — people will see through that eventually,” Richterman said. The current approach also feeds anti-vaccine skepticism and conspiracy theories.

After asking Richterman and others what a better public message might sound like, I was left thinking about something like this:

We should immediately be more aggressive about mask-wearing and social distancing because of the new virus variants. We should vaccinate people as rapidly as possible — which will require approving other Covid vaccines when the data justifies it.

People who have received both of their vaccine shots, and have waited until they take effect, will be able to do things that unvaccinated people cannot — like having meals together and hugging their grandchildren. But until the pandemic is defeated, all Americans should wear masks in public, help unvaccinated people stay safe and contribute to a shared national project of saving every possible life.

THE LATEST NEWS

The Transition

President-elect Joe Biden picked two Obama-era regulators to oversee key financial agencies: Gary Gensler to lead the Securities and Exchange Commission, and Rohit Chopra as the head of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau.

Here’s Biden’s response to aides who use overly academic or elitist language: “Pick up your phone, call your mother, read her what you just told me,” he likes to say. “If she understands, we can keep talking.”

President Trump’s allies have collected tens of thousands of dollars from people seeking pardons.

Capitol Riot Fallout

From Opinion: Today is Martin Luther King’s Birthday. In a video Op-Ed, Martin Luther King III remembers his father’s economic message.

Media Equation: Fox settled a lawsuit over its lies about a murdered young man, but the network insisted that the settlement had to stay secret until after the 2020 election.

Lives Lived: Phil Spector was a pioneering producer who shaped the sound of pop music in the 1960s but who spent the end of his life in prison after murdering Lana Clarkson at his home in 2003. He has died, from complications from Covid-19, at 81.

Why sea shanties are suddenly viral

On TikTok in December, Nathan Evans, a 26-year-old Scottish postal worker and musician, shared a black-and-white video of himself singing a sea shanty — a traditional sailor’s work song — called “Soon May the Wellerman Come.” In the ensuing weeks, Sea Shanty TikTok was born.

Professional musicians, people driving in cars and even a Kermit the Frog puppet shared videos of themselves singing along. There were electro remixes. Some people began covering other songs, like “All Star” by Smash Mouth, in a sea-shanty style.

While the genre may seem like a strange one to go viral, the songs are relatively easy to learn. They also lend themselves well to collaboration, which TikTok’s functions encourage. An original goal of the sea shanty was to foster community, as sailors worked long hours aboard a ship.

“They are unifying, survivalist songs, designed to transform a huge group of people into one collective body, all working together to keep the ship afloat,” Kathryn VanArendonk writes in Vulture. And they’re especially fitting for a time when people are desperate for connection.

PLAY, WATCH, EAT

What to Cook

Spanakopita, the classic Greek spinach and feta pie, inspired this baked pasta.

What to Watch

“MLK/FBI,” directed by Sam Pollard, draws on long-secret documents to chronicle the F.B.I.’s harassment of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

What to Listen to

Hear new tracks from Flo Milli, Lana Del Rey and more — including a song that holds the single-day streaming record on Spotify.

    Multiple Service Listing for Business Owners | Tools to Grow Your Local Business

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[dagwolf]

This switching “word gap” for “opportunity gap” in the New Republic article going around is some gimmicky bullshit. Let me explain. (I’m typing while caring for Mira, so the post is going to be bullet-pointy. I apologize. I can’t write a longer piece these days.)

If we’re going to address class, let’s address it in context. Classrooms are not merely in schools; classrooms are in communities. Furthermore, in capitalism, the social organizing force is the market. So, classrooms and schools are “in” the market.

Policing is a major problem in schools. Whether, it’s the high school i went to decades ago or the high school across the street from our flat, the police are a problematic presence. In wealthier neighborhoods, the police are buddies. While in poor neighborhoods, the police are wardens. We get the bedrock in white supremacist capitalism secured by cops. (Let’s not forget the military is present as well. jrotc and recruiters.) I don’t want to imply I disagree with one response going around. I don’t. But I’m going to use a word from that response in a moment.

The biggest problem with public schools is money. There is none in any school outside of traditionally wealthy neighborhoods. And often those schools have money only because a good portion of the schools’ students’ parents are wealthy and live in expensive houses. We do as little as possible to properly and fairly fund schools. And it’s especially lacking in black and poor immigrant communities. Also, classes are too big. Also, regulations get in the way of the work teachers and students are tasked to complete. The education reform movement that liberals insist on trying to find ways to appreciate has created all sorts of problems. Teachers and students are blamed for every failure of public ed, in spite of being the two groups that left alone and given appropriate resources are capable of building useful and productive classroom spaces. Government and Corporations have no business messing with the production of classroom. For some reason, it’s suggested that resources for schools are limited. Limited supplies and limited food and limited space: all of which is bullshit.

So. it’s very easy to use the word “control” and claim, hey rich kids are afforded freedom while poor kids receive enforced control. After all, it’s true. We surveil students in the poor communities more than we do in the rich communities. And we surveil them differently. But the claim is a kind of generalization that isolates school from the rest of society. School becomes a prison, for example. White people like to refer to students as slaves and the teachers as masters. The structures and metaphors don’t really hold up very well. For, life outside school is just as important to success in classroom spaces as life inside school. Class analysis needs to be holistic. Schools aren’t isolatos. 

Moreover, people forget that schooling is a form of control. When we address the possibilities of education liberating us, we’re jumping into capitalist mythology about opportunity and boot straps and nobility. We’re jumping into aristocratic virtue-ethics. And to be honest, many of us out here are academics and we have long submitted to our various disciplines for various reasons. For fuck sakes, people have so many excuses for their guarding tradition in spite of themselves. So, there’s a simplicity being imposed on the topic and I’m intolerant of the simplicity.

As a teacher, I hate how the social critique of public schools and public education often ends up reproducing or relying on the shitty idealism capitalist culture produces for and imposes on schools, students, and teachers. You can’t throw resources at our schools in poor communities and make them work better. The issues we consider problems would persist. Each and every one of them. The opportunity gap is not going to go away and is not the result of public education.

We want to solve education problems, we insure each school is funded as needed, we abolish grading, we reduce class size by at least half, we abolish teaching certification (higher ed enrichment program that turns education into a branch of the service industry), and we make sure students and teachers can afford (to live well enough) to do the necessary work it takes to produce a useful social space we call a classroom.

Liberals comment on the opportunity gap and ignore class struggle. They throw money at it. Opportunity becomes about future careers, transforming students into future employees. If public education is ever going to work as it should, we have to decouple the schools from the workforce. And I don’t see how we do that without an anti-capitalist critical pedagogy.

[rickhorrow]

Rise of the Machines: A Look At The Disruption Leading During The Pause In Live Events

By Tanner Simkins @tannersimkins

When we look back at this period without sports what will we have learned? Is it the rise of engagement of gaming and esports, or the realization that fans really want a second screen integration? How will mobile play a bigger role, and can media companies now actually sell an experience that is not the traditional?

One first adopter and disruptor is Jay Sharman, co-founder of TeamWorks Media In Chicago. TeamWorks has used the time to expand the footprint of its popular English language daily baseball show La Vida Baseball, increase its scope of engagement with The Big 10 Network and add a number of content offerings, from a podcast with digital industry leaders to a popular Twitter show on “The Last dance” to a newly launched Spanish language baseball program, the only one offered to native Spanish speakers about a game they love.

We thought it would be good to ask Sharman about disruption, change and who he is following as we get closer to the resumption of play.

Teamworks Media has proactively pushed some great new offerings like the one on The Last Dance, how and why has it come about?

It was clear to us that The Last Dance, was going to be attention-grabbing and dominate the sports conversation on social media, based on the dearth of quality sports content. Tom Smithburg, a co-owner of TeamWorks Media has a truly unique perspective, since he was the official 90s-era Chicago Bulls gatekeeper (media relations manager) for Jordan, Scottie, Dennis and Phil. His first-person, behind the scenes daily access during this era combined with our want to be innovative as a company made the idea of a weekly social media show, Backstage at The Last Dance a no-brainer. We also wanted to show the marketplace this is the new normal, innovation at the drop of a dime, and a need to serve people with unique content, despite production limitations. Great storytelling trumps aesthetic.

Without games how is La Vida Baseball, another property that you are running doing?

Remarkably well. The company literally means “The Baseball Life” and we look it La Vida Baseball as a culture and lifestyle brand, mostly about stories off the field. We had 25 MLB guests on our live shows in April and shared everything from at home workouts with Nelson Cruz, to video game playing with several Latino stars. Like any passion brand, there is no off-season and despite no live games, in this case, there is a shared experience component to COVID-19 that brings fans even closer to players. La Vida Baseball is that facilitator for Latino baseball fans.

How has the "Being Guillen" piece of LaVida Baseball worked?

Being Guillén may be the most underrated content in sports right now. The weekly show (Fridays, 1pm et on La Vida Baseball social media) features former World Series Champion manager, Ozzie Guillén Sr., and his three sons – Ozzie Jr., Ozney, and Oney tackling any and all issues in baseball and beyond. It feels like you’re an uninvited guest sitting at a family dinner where the debates get heated and you’re borderline uncomfortable wondering if you should excuse yourself from the table. The show has not missed a beat during the quarantine (it’s based in the Chicago area) since the family gathers from their home. This show deserves a national television slot and that’s something we’re working hard to secure.

Baseball is part of Latino culture, but yet your new offering on LaVida is one of the few Spanish language shows in the digital space. Why is that?

Great brands listen to their audience. When we launched La Vida Baseball, we had the resources to only choose one language, because multi-language shows are not a function of auto-translate. Our target audience, the U.S. Latino baseball fan, consumes sports content primarily in English (66% according to 2018 Pew Research). Yet, as we’ve experimented and engaged our fans, it’s clear there is a want for Spanish-only content as well. We’ll continue to listen, test and evolve to satisfy our fans.

Explain the strategy in the shift to almost all video; how has the audience grown?

La Vida Baseball’s recent partnership with Minute Media was a key factor in that decision. Our goal with La Vida Baseball is to fill the lifestyle baseball niche for Latino baseball fans by Latino fans and candidly, we poured tremendous resources in to the written word, but the economics didn’t make sense. When Minute Media came calling, it forced us to ask the tough business questions about written word content. And, Minute Media’s video-first ecosystem plays to one of our core strengths – high volume, high quality video content. Part of it was economics and part of it is the video consumer economy we’ve become. I wish more people in general read, vs watched video content, and at some point, we hope to connect those dots, but this just makes sense for our brand right now. The audience continues to grow, but we’re too early in our partnership to have concrete numbers from our Minute Media partnership. We concern ourselves less with total audience numbers – it’s not about scale for scale’s sake – it’s about the engagement level of fans and the strength of the community we’re building. I always say, I’d rather have 1 million diehard, run through the wall for your brand fans than 20 million followers who do nothing.

What are some of the lessons being learned by smart digital marketers during this time?

Speed. Calculated risks. Realizing the pandemic will be the moment digital content finally got its due. I’ve talked to many media executives who (finally) admit, despite talking about digital content as an asset, it was still a distant second to television revenue. With no live sports, that mentality has changed. C-suite folks are realizing with the uncertainty surrounding the live, in person fan experience, really understanding the digital fan journey and experience is a must. It’s hard to believe this conversation is really just happening now, but the money for live sports just seemed to make a lot of executives pretty cushy.

I’m disappointed at how poor the sports media world has responded during this crisis. You look at some winners like the IRL and how their early risk net them incredible gains with a deal with FOX Sports and how upstarts like the Drone Racing League have created incredible new opportunities during this time. Turner Sports took a chance and went big with their “The Match” ( Tiger/Peyton Manning vs Phil Mickelson/Tom Brady) live event and it sold out in a matter of days. ESPN moved up The Last Dance and it became the most successful non-Live sports event in their company history.

Who has been able to grow in the space that you are following?

Esports and fitness are obviously crushing it. The go-to solution for sports leagues and media companies has been “insert video game + sports stars in a competition”. Twitch, as a platform, has likely gotten more of a bounce than any one else. I also think, while a bit abstract, the video podcast or live streaming shows are going to give a boon to some homegrown talent. Media companies once thumbed their noses at production aesthetic (think: multimillion dollar sports studio sets) and now, you realize just how valuable engaging content is, when you see them shooting out of their basements. It’s a great time for those that follow the fundamentals of building and engaging communities as opposed to just spewing highlights. I give a hat tip to Jeff Volk, who created a brand new brand – Sports Hiatus, within a week of the quarantine – and it’s become a go-to for people like me seeking content innovation in this environment.

The Big Ten Network is also a client; how are they adapting without college sports on the landscape?

We’re lucky to have both the Big Ten Network AND Big Ten Conference as clients. Clearly, there are a number of pressing issues in collegiate sports that extend far beyond competition, including the fundamentals of higher ed and what the college experience will be like. That being said, we’ve been inspired being able to shine a light on the amazing stories of alumni, faculty and students who are doing game-changing things that will address the virus as well as many of the social and emotional issues surrounding it. The Big Ten made a nice splash by introducing their mental health initiative geared towards ensuring every single student-athlete has their mental well being at the top of schools’ priority lists. The focus on purpose is authentic and real. I commend Commissioner Kevin Warren for this timely move.

Some have said this pause in society right now will help accelerate changes that were coming in areas like media and content creation? Do you agree, and how so?

No doubt. The costs of content acquisition (think camera crews, travel, etc…) are going to be challenging for a considerable time. As mentioned, there have to be CFOs asking “remind me why we’re building $10M studios when we just did fine with Webex and a light kit from home?” I believe this is going to democratize talent even more and open up new communities that tap in to unmet niches. I also think it will accelerate gambling initiatives, which I’m not a fan of, but the race for additional revenue streams will accelerate this. That being said, as evidenced by The Last Dance, there will be a continued appreciation for exquisitely produced original content. It’s all about tapping in to the emotional vein that creates a reaction. I do believe media companies will be paying much more attention to the at home, game-watching experience as a necessary hedge against fan attendance.

When your partners look to you, or when you speak to colleagues, what advice do you offer about the business not just now, but what will you be able to say as we head to the other side of this?

Fail fast. I fear way too many people are trying to make a move when things feel right as opposed to trying new things. So what if they don’t work? At no other point can I remember will you credit for trying. I tell people those that think they can weather this storm in hopes that things get back to “normal” will lose, because the great companies are innovating as you retreat. The exciting part of all of this is that no one truly knows what the future holds, so talk to your consumers, listen, engage and adapt.

[clonerightsagenda]

This was last minute but I'm a grad student so I was mostly drafting from life anyway. You can tell I was losing steam by the end though. All the library details are from my uni library, although I have never seen any dead Union soldiers, or any other ghosts for that matter. The creepy grad cages are my favorite part of giving tours.

 tuesjade prompt: school

The third floor of the library is so quiet every keystroke echoes. Last time you heard someone walking through, it was the security guard on their hourly late night round. You picked this spot for its isolation.

The door leading out into the central stacks creaks open, and you listen for the student's footsteps passing by. Instead, the curtain between your carrel and the stacks twitches back, and you squint out to see Jade waving at you from the other side of the grating. "I like your shower curtain."

"You would. School mascots are just anthro with a veneer of plausible deniability.”

You don't mention that the curtain is on your side of the door, which means she's pulled it backward (and tied it up with businesslike lashwork) with Space powers instead of with her hands. There's no one else in here, and the security cameras can't pick up that level of fine detail.

"Don't science students have their own library?" you ask. Wait shit, it sounds like you're trying to get rid of her. Which you're not, exactly, although if you wanted company you'd be doing research in your apartment. Still, when it comes to people it's safe to be rude to, even after all these years Jade Harley doesn't make your list.

If she takes offense, she doesn't say so. "They do, but a few of my theoretical readings have mentioned Foucault, and I think I've gone as long as I can pretending I know who that is."

"Yeah, you'll get random Foucault encounters in unexpected disciplines. If it's not him it's Derrida popping out of the tall grass of the lit review. Philosophers were never meant to escape."

"You would know." She glances at the shelves nearby. This section is materials so old they're still in Dewey instead of Library of Congress - another reason you preferred the spot. No one needs this stuff. "How many libraries do all your programs fit into?"

"A couple, but this is the best one." You've got a pretty good setup here, if you say so yourself. Books stacked up on the makeshift shelving unit, your own modem wired into the wall to make up for the library's spotty wifi, and a mini microwave tucked under your feet. Home away from home. "None of the others let you rent carrels."

"Is that what they're called? They look more like spooky library jail cells."

"Some undergrads passed through a few hours ago while I was typing and I heard one whisper, ‘I think there's a graduate student in there.’ They screamed and ran when I sneezed."

She giggles. "They thought you were a ghoooost."

"If anywhere on campus were haunted, this would be it." The third floor stacks are perpetually poorly lit. Thanks to later additions to a library building only Escher could love, the arched windows on the far wall open to nothing but brick. In Roxy's words, "it’s where you go to get some serious ass studying done or to share a hip flask with a Civil War ghost.”

"Actually, I asked Aradia, and she said it's clean. The chancellor's house, on the other hand, definitely registers as harboring some kind of otherworldly presence. We haven't determined whether it's the chancellor yet."

"Take a look at some of the desks and tell me this place isn't possessed by demonic energies." Graffiti springs up faster than the staff can afford to replace furniture, and when the wooden desks are too choked with pen doodles and carved Greek letters, people move to the walls. If they're not sharing their phone numbers, they're swapping insults with rival frats. You take anthropological interest in this detritus, although one time you'd tried to decipher a Sharpie scribble, made out "We fucked here ;)", and speedily left the seat.

"Rose says the building appeals to your Gothic sensibilities."

"If she compares me to Lord Byron, tell her those are fighting words."

Jade peers in, and you make a halfhearted effort to push the clutter of Monster cans and energy bar wrappers out of her line of sight. "How long have you been in there?"

You stretch your legs as far as they can go, which isn’t far. "I can still feel my feet, and if I have circulation that means it's been under ten hours."

She purses her lips. "Dirk..."

You gesture toward your open PDF files. Several are still waiting for you to review their footnotes. "This dissertation isn't going to write itself."

"It won't write itself if you're dead either."

"Overwork is neither Heroic nor Just."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm confident on a philosophical basis."

She shakes her head. "I know I'm up a little late too. I had a night class on campus, and then I had a bunch of grading to do… You know how I lose track of time when I'm working sometimes." When you'd all lived together, both of you would get lost in projects and miss meals, only noticing the time when someone showed up to drag you out of your room. Jade had started setting timers for herself. She recommended the habit, but you hated having a buzzer interrupt your thoughts. Things take the time they take.

"I've heard rumors about your grading." You may not have a vibrant social network, but you keep your ear to the ground on social media. There's a waiting list for section 4 of Physics 1000. If you weren't long past gen ed credit requirements, you'd take it yourself. "Everyone thinks you'll be a soft touch."

You couldn’t teach. It still takes effort for you to spit out “Good job” to a friend. Your brain, conditioned by years of self-criticism, jumps over congratulations to what’s next and what they could do better. If a three-year-old presented you with their fingerpainting, your first reaction would probably be to tell them to wash their hands. No one deserves to be subjected to that. Isn’t Dave living proof?

“They have to learn,” Jade says. She doesn’t love it when people can’t keep up either, but she, unlike you, has historically been able to slow down and let them catch up without beating the lesson into them. "I let anyone who wants come into office hours. We'll walk through the concepts together and then they can resubmit. It's not my fault if they don't want to try. But anyway, I don't make a habit of all-nighters.” There she goes, picking the thread of the conversation back up again. She’s always been good at that, no matter how much people try to dodge. “They're not good for you. So how about once I finish looking up whoever this very important French guy is, I take you home?"

"Isn't that out of your way?"

She snaps her fingers. "The teleportation express runs 24/7 and omnidirectionally."

"Shit, I should have asked you for a ride here. On the shuttle I got stuck between some guy dumping his date over the phone and an octogenarian professor who might've died while we were in traffic."

"Ask me any time. I'm glad I ran into you tonight though, and not just to rescue you from dying in the depths of Web of Science. Jane wanted me to pass on that your resolution for the graduate assembly got voted down."

"Another one for the garbage, huh?" You click out of the open PDFs and drag them into your 'To process' folder. As much as you’ll never admit it, your blood pressure drops along with the number of tabs open. "I've given them the opportunity to be relevant on this campus, but if they want to keep kissing the administration's ass, that's their business."

"It's hard to challenge the people giving you funding. I'm writing grant applications for the lab this semester, believe me, I know."

Money. That’s an aspect of civilization you hadn’t missed growing up in its waterlogged ruins. For an institution allegedly devoted to higher knowledge, this place is obsessed with it.

"Speaking of which,” Jade continues, “Jane also said if you try anything else the board might pass a new resolution to stop letting you submit resolutions."

You snap your laptop shut. "This is homophobia."

She snorts. "I won't be long, I just need to track down a selected works book. Then I'll come back and we can get out of here."

" I can't be held responsible for any losses to scholarship." You stand up and stretch. Something in your back pops, and your head swims. Ok, maybe you've been sitting here too long.

"I'll take the blame from the academy. Just get tidied up while you're waiting." She looks critically at your collection of Monster cans. "You can recycle those, you know."

By the time Jade gets back with a thick-spined book on philosophy, you’re out of your carrel and have brushed most of the crumbs off yourself. The recyclables have been scooped up and dumped into your backpack’s outer pocket. It’ll be a sticky mess later. “Are you ready to go?” she asks

“Sure.” It’s not even one, which makes this the earliest you’ve gotten home all week. You’re struck by an impulse to yawn and almost crack your jaw resisting it. For fuck’s sake, it’s only November. You’re not allowed to get tired until March at the earliest.

Everything flashes green, and before you have time to rub your eyes, you’re standing outside your front door. Part of you expects to walk through together, but you don’t all live under the same roof anymore. Growing older changes things, even for gods.

“You’re coming to the group dinner next weekend, right?” she asks.

You dig in your pocket for your key. There must be some sort of interdimensional portal in there, it’s fucking ridiculous. Roxy probably knows about eldritch creatures that eat housekeys, that’s got to be within the Void’s purview. “It’s at Jane’s place this time, right?”

“It was the last time I checked.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Then I’ll see you later. Have a good night!” She waves and vanishes before you have time to reply. So instead you turn around, stick the key in the lock, and step inside.

 (Dirk would be one of those zombified PhD candidates who you can find obsessively scrolling through 50-year-old dissertations on microfilm at 3 am. He IS the library ghost. He doesn't attend any committee meetings because he's overscheduled but he does send proxies with detailed questions/comments/concerns for every agenda item. If they knew what he looked like, the other committee members would probably kill him on sight.)

[awellboiledicicle]

So, weird dream

I had a dream that I got lost on the way home from somewhere and met someone who needed a ride home and i gave her one because it was raining and the road was washing out. She was shivering, so at one of the stop signs, even with the heat turned up and i was warm, i gave her my coat and my coffee because she was shaking. She thanked me and cried. I gave her my bandanna and she said thanks again.So i drive her out to this really remote house and the road looked like it was washing out to the point of a mudslide but she thanked me so much and when i asked if she needed an umbrella too because there was still a walk to the door she cried more and hugged me, and told me she was actually a magical being. Her hug was really damn cold and she didn’t specify what she was till she let go.

She wasn’t like a fairy or anything, which i asked because that was something that made me nervous-- i’m jewish not stupid, but i had been helpful so eh-- and she’d said no, just made of magic. 

But she’d appearantly been trying to get a ride home from town all night and not a single person had given her one, even though it was raining cats and dogs and Niagara falls. She explained she’d been showing up at intervals along the whole 200 mile stretch of highway and no one pulled over, offered her a coat or umbrella or anything. I was the first-- even if i had been really freaking twitchy because hitchhikers aren’t my thing. Honestly the only reason i’d done it is because it looked like she was going to get caught in a mudslide and die, and i couldn’t let that happen. 

And she was so happy with me, that she was going to give me a gift.  Now, in the dream and out i wasn’t sure if G-d had given our people a line about interacting with magical entities and/or if they fell under ‘shit G-d made that we just kinda had to roll with’ so i was just kinda listening politely. 

Thing was, she gave me a list of choices of what does your heart desire type things and, see, i’ve seen these movies. I have read those books. I know the asshole genie and mystical rules lawyer. The choices were:

More wealth than your wildest dreams, wealth beyond counting by any being in this world or the next as repayment for your selfless kindness paid upon total strangers, as you will use it well

The love and devotion and acceptance of all you see fit, as none should look upon someone as kind and generous as you with anything but love and joy in their heart

Immortality so that the fear you cast aside when you came to my aid will never darken your mind again, as someone as gentle and giving as you deserves the assurance of never coming to harm or the shadow of death darkening your travels

Now if you don’t know me, I have always been what you would call not a person to know what to do with these choices. And also not purposely rude. But somehow my response was like, along the lines of like “I don’t wanna live forever bc no. Mind control sounds like a shit move.” She looked amused i caught that. “and i don’t.. i don’t really need that much money, ma’am. Like $20 for fuel if you really feel like you need to pay me back or something, but i don’t really think its needed.” “C’mon, i’m trying to repay you! Besides, what kinda human doesn’t want unlimited money!” I just blinked at her.  “Do you know how fast the government would be on my ass. What would the taxes even be on a bank account of infinity. Is there interest. Do i open my wallet and money just flies out like a bazooka. Does it count as income and if so would i write in ‘paid from magical force’ and how do you file that. Is it just there.” She just kinda got blank faced and stared at me. “You’re thinking about this a lot aren’t you?” “Well, what would i even do with it anyway? I have a house. I have a car. Even if i upgraded my wifi or gaming things or something, ok. Buy shiny things? Ok still... lots of money. Pay off everyone in the country or the world’s student loan debt? Housing loans? Credit card bills? Outstanding debts? Donate to charities in such large amounts they don’t know what to do with it? Pay for people’s citizenship papers and tuition and housing?” “Well, yeah those are--” “No, you know why? Because the government would be on mine and everyone’s ass immediately wondering where all this money came from and why they didn’t have it wrapped tightly around their dick calling them daddy. I’d do it if it were possible, but it needs to be done in smaller amounts than infinity.” “That’s fair.” She sat back in the seat and crossed her arms. “I can’t not give you something though! Pick one.” “Ok, but we’re rewording it.”

Cut to like 6 months later

I was living in New Mexico and had this GIGANTIC mega store-bakery-housing complex-craft market thing that was staffed by over 400,000 people who had immigrated to the United states and i had over 5,000 lawyers constantly fighting the government and we had secure escorts for our workers and their families. Because I employed the people who were in the process of immigrating and those who had, and part of the benefits package that you got for learning a trade at my company was we would pay for healthcare/dental/maternity/paternity/100 sick days and the health care thing expanded to your family and if you wanted to bring your extended family to the US we had a program that you could pay into from you $19/h starting salary to help cover the cost of us helping get the process started. 

I and Vera [magic lady] had started this company and she continually was amazed that my reaction to negotiating down to 20 million dollars a day into my bank account was to do this and then set up various foundations and businesses that domino-ed to pay off college debts and send people to college. To buy homes sitting empty, fix them up and fill them with homeless families. To pay for medical treatments that are being denied to people that were unable to afford them. To feed the hungry and renovate homeless shelters and soup kitchens. To renovate and improve schools in inner city areas and make sure theres not mold and leaky pipes collapsing roofs. I recall there was a part where i rolled hard at local and national legislation on sex work because a law had come down to make it even more criminalized and for a while while the law was in effect, we handed out free condoms, dental dams, birth control, prep, and opened pharmacies in the stores with a nondisclosure polocy that got us in trouble and we poured a lot of money into a legal “fuck you” at the government till the law was repealed.  Every week the 20 million gets taken down to 0, and the profits from the businesses are distributed to all the workers and if the profits are too large for the higher ups, while the lower parts shrink, they get redistributed because the workers need to have money to live. 

Vera kept making noises because the most i’d do is use my pay to buy Judaica and occasionally rocks, and the workers would bring me food and then i’d bake way too many muffins in return. 

I was just patently against letting myself be greedy, partially because it was against my personal morals and beliefs and partially because people fucking needed jobs. 

Also, let me explain how it pissed off Dromled Prump.

Because Drombled Prump was really pissed off that my store continued to function when he talked shit, because he talked shit and his friends talked shit because we were basically paying to have a safe place that would fight immigration from being illegal fucking dicks to legal citizens and people who are literally doing what they need to do. Or who are here, working, and don’t need your shit today gringo, either buy a chair or fuck off. But appearantly what pissed him off more, is that we had better food than the shit he had at his places. And he’d been told this. So he showed up one day, presidential like, to make it all shameful on us that we were such a hovel that we couldn’t make it presentable for him.

AKA he was going to show up unexpected, somehow, with a whole motorcade. 

Well, that’s fine Draino, because we had a magic lady in a sleeveless flannel, cargo-shorts, and 0% amount of fucks about your plans. Also me. Only one of us can clean the whole store with a snap, and the other has an amazing ability to soak their voice in ‘shit eating grin’. 

So, he showed up we pretended to be civil and he wanted free samples from everything. EVERYTHING.  The man ate bread for about 4 hours. Then complained it was dry. So the restaurant brought him some food and he complained it wasn’t “authentic Mexican” because there wasn’t refried beans. The Restaurant was Peruvian.  I made him the beans. With 4 drops of dawn dish soap. Not enough to taste or make him sick, but it’ll make sure he does some thinkin’ later.

He insisted they were the best beans ever and pissed himself in the parking lot because there was a snake. In the south. 

Vera wanted to turn him into a pig but she commented he was already there.

That part woke me up.

[mediumextraordinaire-blog]

What I choose to pursue

Spring has sprung and with the arrival of green grass, green leaves, warmer air, bluer skies, singing birds, daffodils and seedlings popping up in gardens all over so arrives the overload of all things money.   ​ Yes, it is spring and rather than focusing on the beauty of nature, we are being inundated with the reminder that not only is grass green, but so is money. Billboards with huge pictures of money pouring out of windows, reminding us to update our air conditioning, borrow money for home improvements, grow money with higher interest CD's, plant seeds of money today and watch them grow all summer.   Commercials telling us to save money at the local Home Depot or Lowes for all of our weekend warrior projects.   Money, money, money...how to earn it, how to grow it, how to cultivate it, how to keep it, how to love it, how to have more of it, how to whatever you can imagine, there is a way to do it. Life runs on money, especially, it would appear,  in spring.   I love spring. Well, maybe not the May flies and allergies, but the rest, yeah, I love it all. I love the renewal of energy that comes with spring. The simpleness of spring and the hope it grows for a new season. Tiny sprouts getting ready to grow into food for us.   Whether it be edible, nourishing food or food for thought, Spring sprouts bring us nourishment after a long winter rest.   We are awakened and ready to grow and boy does commercialism know it.   We've been programmed to always think about money, but never more than in spring.   Every day I open up an email offering me a new way to think about money, to learn about money, to allow money to flow to me, or to give away my money in order to bring more money to me. Every time I turn on the tv there is a commercial, a new report, a guru, a something to guide me into the dark, the scary and complex world of money.   The world in which I must need help in because so many are offering to help me in it.   The world where green grass means nothing unless it is growing money somewhere and where leaves aren't the only things that grow on trees. Oh, Yes, Money. Great and Wonderful MONEY. All these reminders, these classes, these commercials, these teachers who so graciously remind me how worthless, how uninspired, how useless, boring, simple and small I am without enough money.  How absolutely insignificant my life is without abundances of money and in just a few easy steps for the easy payment of only... or by shopping at the right store and investing in the right bank and listening to the new guru I too can be fulfilled by having money. I'm calling bullshit on this.   BULLSHIT! Money Sells.  Money sells faster with the insinuation of fear and I'm not buying into it. No amount of money will fulfill me or enhance my life unless I understand what is of value and what is not.   Yes, money is indeed very helpful in today's society and money does tend to make the world go round money is necessary for basic survival.  I like being able to pay my mortgage, drive a car, be warm in the winter, eat,  but for fuck's sake, can we stop being intimidated by money?   Could we just enjoy the little flowers that are smiling at us when we smile at them without wondering how much money it will cost to enjoy them?   Can we enjoy the symphony of the birds during the day and the owls at night without fearing if we are wasting our time enjoying rather than working? Could we stop looking at our bank accounts and start looking at the hiking path that will lead us to the most beautiful of waterfalls and see the riches that Mother Nature offers us free of charge? Is it possible to enjoy all that we have and enjoy earning money pursuing what we love without the constant fear of never having enough or never having what the other guy has? Can't we have it all without having all of it? Dear God, what do we have to do to catch a break?   For one, we have to understand that money is not what propels us. Money is what holds us back.   Money, no fear of the lack of money, keeps us from exploring life"s boundaries. The boundaries that our souls are here to explore and break.   Think about this for a moment.   Think of the word MONEY.   Five letters when put together in this pattern elicit incredibly complex emotions in our egotistical, human mind. This five letter word has the potential to raise us or ruin us, but very rarely will it balance us, and balance is exactly what we need when it comes to money. I grew up in small town, USA, the grand-daughter of a highly respected businessman who resided on the main street of small town, USA.   My grandfather was a good man who worked very hard for his respect and his money and I was graced with financial blessings because of this. I was also a motherless daughter. At 7 years old my mother died leaving behind my 10-year-old sister and two-week old baby brother. Money doesn't buy back the dead.   My girlfriend, a very beautiful and successful singer lost her brother a few years back to cancer. He left behind 2 young children who will forever be without their father. Parents who will be forever without their son. Money doesn't buy back the dead.   My best friend lost her dad at an age when she was just starting her own family.  Her father won't be attending her children's weddings, nor did he attend their graduations, birthdays, holidays and other significant life events. Money doesn't buy back the dead. I could go on and on, listing every friend I have who has lost a child, a father, mother, brother or sister, but I don't need to because you have lost them as well.   Money can't buy them back no matter how much money we have.   Love and loss aren't dictated by money. Nor should our lives.   Our lives should be lived and memories built in the pursuit of happiness, not the pursuit of money.   Money does play a part in our lives, but never should it be so important that it consumes us and clogs us from simple joys and basic blessings, which are of course never basic at all. I type these words not as someone who has risen above the fear of money, but as someone who is guilty of falling prey to it almost on a daily basis and is lucky enough to have caught a few tidbits of wisdom here and there and nip the fear in the ass when it rears its ugly face. I caught myself last night when talking to my adventurous daughter, Paige, who packed a few bags last year and headed to CA in pursuit of her happiness.   I fell right into the "you should be a nurse" conversation.   You know, the "you need money, it is safe, it is respectable, it is secure" conversation that great mom's do when they think their babies need protection because somehow money and security go hand and hand. I caught myself quickly last night and for that I am grateful. Wisdom speaks very softly but does indeed speak loud enough to those who are willing to listen.   Wisdom tells us that money is indeed a wonderful energy to surround yourself around without getting lost in its allure. Money offers us opportunities to grow, to expand and experience. It offers all things material for ourselves and our loved ones. It offers us tomorrows adventures if we are smart enough to live for only the magic of today. Money is an invaluable asset and I don't discount the necessity of it, but I also will never pursue it so much that it ruins my Spring. Typically the more money we have, the more we can spend, grow, share, explore, expand and play and in that way, money does make the world go round.  Money in of itself holds no value, but how it is used, what it is used for and how it is managed is of value.  The energy of money, like all energy is movement.  Money must be used in order for it to be of value, but what is of value is what I pursue. Money can't buy me abundance. I can't plant money seeds and get money bushes.   I can't call money on a Monday night and talk to it about football.   I can't hold money on a cold night and I sure as hell can't feel its warmth from a tender hug or a passionate kiss. I can't hold it tight to me and nurture it as I did my children.   Money doesn't text me out of the blue and asks "Are you smiling today?" like my friend, Steve, who I haven't seen in twenty plus years does every few weeks since he saw me falling down the rabbit hole during the elections. Money doesn't read my blogs and offer me thoughtful insights like my friend, Chris, who also isn't a daily confidant but an old high school friend. Money doesn't message me with some calming words of advice after he notices I may be heading into the crazy zone after the election of 45 in the way my old friend Ed did, who again I haven't seen since high school and currently lives in VA. Money can't give me A- blood like my best friend Stacey can.   Money also can't get stupid silly drunk with me like Stacey can either! There is something to say about old money, but it doesn't hold a candle to old friends.   Money is an energetic vibration that will rise with us when we pursue that in which we rise to.   Maybe because I am a child without a mother I can see differently the pursuit of happiness or maybe because being without money doesn't frighten me as much as being without people does, but for whatever reason, I would rather pursue the joy of wealth rather than the pursuit of money. Happy Spring, everyone.  Enjoy the abundance it has to offer. “Money is a guarantee that we may have what we want in the future. Though we need nothing at the moment it insures the possibility of satisfying a new desire when it arises.” --Aristotle “If we command our wealth, we shall be rich and free. If our wealth commands us, we are poor indeed.” —Edmund Burke

[archizsolutions-blog]

CRM in Higher Education: The Secret Guide

Topics covered in this blog Make sure everyone on your team knows the difference between an ERP (SIS), a CRM and an ERM Help your team understand that developers, sellers and implementers are not the same Learn the distinction between a "platform" CRM and a "homegrown" CRM Learn to be skeptical of Educause, University Business, and other higher ed technology publications Due diligence matters because some vendors stretch the truth Helpful audit suggestions CRM vendors' websites won't actually tell you about their CRMs Demos: see as many as you can Think about your frontline employees first, not your bossEmail is important, but it's not the reason to get a CRM You will not use everything in a CRM, so don't pretend you will Reporting and analytics deserve more attention No one falls in love with their CRM Have an exit strategy Realize that a CRM is a commitment to annual updates Decide early if you will host the solution on your campus servers Make vendors jump your security hurdles before you invest your time Think strategically about how much you're willing to pay Make sure you don't make the price the end-all, be-all of your RFP Everything is negotiable, so make sure you have a good negotiator on stand by Be skeptical of "yes" and other easy answers

About half of all CRM implementations fail in the private sector, and the percentage in higher education can't be much better despite taking six to twelve times longer to implement.

After all, if you're secret shopping institutions, you know some of us are clearly mismanaging the processes managed inside our CRM for Education . We send emails that aren't personalized. We build forms that ask for data we don't use in our communications. We make prospective students (prospies) jump through hoops.

That right there is the very definition of CRM failure: the creation of processes that do not improve the customer experience.

Over a period of months, I blogged about our university's experience implementing the CRM (Connect) and the associated Archiz CRM application (ApplyYourself). I wrote about the things that failed and the things that went well, because that's what I wanted more than anything else during my own research process: someone to tell me how CRM was different in higher education--because it definitely is.

Slowly, those blogs turned into this series: CRM Software for Higher Education: The Secret Guide. This guide has been read tens of thousands of times already, and everyone from community colleges to some of the top ten universities in the world have used it to get a better understanding of higher education CRMs.

The original posts are nearly two years old, and I'm currently in the process of reorganizing and expanding the guide to be more helpful, so if you notice weird things and strange layouts ... that's why.

Introduction

This first blog in The Secret Guide is all about getting comfortable with CRM terms, concepts, and vendors, and the guide gives you some helpful hints about the kinds of information you will and won't find in your  CRM Software for Higher Education research process.

This isn't a short read, so make sure you've got some coffee nearby.

CRM terms and vendors you need to know

Your pre-RFP communications audit

Hints for setting up your CRM demos

Advice for being realistic about your CRM needs

Your exit strategy: a CRM isn't forever

Things to consider as you get ready for your RFP

Step 1: Get familiar with CRM terms and vendors

If people aren't clear on the distinctions, you will spend large portions of several meetings explaining/discussing/arguing about functionality. An ERP is "enterprise resource planning" software, although in practice it tends to be about "enterprise" and less about "resource planning." In higher ed, the ERP is usually the student information system (SIS). ERP software can perform some minimal communications functions, but they're primitive at best. Banner, Oracle, PeopleSoft and SAP are all examples of ERPs commonly used in higher ed. An ERP is all about managing relational data.

A CRM Software is a "customer relationship management" tool, although in higher ed we tend to say "constituent" or "client" instead of "customer." It is not about managing relational data. It is about managing communications, relationships, and reporting processes for external audiences. In higher ed, CRMs tend to serve one of three primary audiences: prospective students, current students, or alumni and donors. Athletics units, career service units, and international admissions sometimes have their own CRMs, too.

An ERM is "enterprise relationship management" or "extended relationship management" software. It pretty much combines functions of an ERP and a CRM (and a few other systems to boot) into a huge tool that can span multiple campuses and the entire student lifecycle (prospect to alumni). It's typically used alongside an ERP/SIS.

The following table grossly summarizes and over-generalizes the distinctions between ERP and CRM systems, but the table helps explain how people will use and interact with the various technologies on your campus. I am fairly confident I adapted this from a website somewhere, but for the life of me I cannot find the original source. To that kind soul: you're awesome, and I apologize for my failure to cite.

 U of Admissions Marketing offers you the best and most complete list of higher CRM vendors currently available for free. (The folks at Gartner research have a for-pay list that's probably much larger.) The list is updated every six months or so, and it includes vendors' historical product names as well as their location if they are based outside the United States.

 Vendors can be consultants. Or offshoots of larger companies. Or a company that takes someone else's product and develops it for higher ed. Or maybe they just help you set your CRM up the way a website company helps you build a website before handing it over to you for the next few years.

 Your job is to head to the list of higher CRM  vendors and figure out which is which. (Pro tip: the list does some of this for you.)

 Note that corporate names and product names often overlap or are used interchangeably. For example, some people say "Archiz CRM" (the company name) to refer to "Connect" and/or "Radius" (the two CRMs that Archiz CRM now maintains).

 The higher Education CRM industry began to consolidate in the 2000s, which made it harder for higher ed professionals to identify vendors and their software, and it's gotten muddier as new companies have created new CRM solutions in the early 2010s.

 Why does any of this matter? Good question, and the answer is crucial to the next five years of your life: vendors tend to have very, very different pricing models and corporate philosophies as well as widely disparate approaches to customer service and sales.

Many CRMs are homegrown. This means that a vendor hired developers and designers to build the product from scratch.

Many CRMs are not homegrown, which means the vendor saw a CRM platform that businesses were already using and thought it would work well for higher education if it was tweaked or updated. Common platforms for higher Education CRMs include Salesforce, Microsoft Dynamics, and Oracle CRM.

Vendors will not clearly disclose their "homegrown" or "platform" status in your RFP responses unless you explicitly ask for that information. (You should explicitly ask for it if you're uncertain.) My personal preference is for homegrown solutions designed especially for higher ed, but we didn't prioritize that in our own RFP scoring, so we were able to see solutions from quite a few resellers and third-party implementers, and many of them scored very well.

Platform and homegrown solutions each have strengths and weaknesses (the biggest is that platform CRMs tend to give you more options but that homegrown CRM solutions tend to offer you better focus), and your choice should make sense for your institution.

So you'll start your research into higher Education CRMs, and you'll start to think that Educause, University Business, EdSurge, or any of many other great higher ed media publishers will provide you with consumer reports of higher Education CRMs.

 Wrong.

 The publications and websites are great venues to meet other IT or technology focused professionals, and they're great ways to explore tech issues affecting higher education. The listservs they offer can be especially helpful. Unfortunately, they are not helpful CRM product review tools. Instead you'll find articles with conclusions like "Combined with a school’s retention program, CRM is a powerful tool to keep students on target for success."

 No kidding.

 Most of the time, the information you find online about the CRM purchase and implementation process is out-of-date, inaccurate, or not particularly in-depth. Hopefully this blog series will change that.

 If you're seeking advice about a particular product, the best solution is to contact current clients who use that specific CRM.

Our original team was blessed with several detail focused people who really liked to scour product manuals and spec sheets. We also had several excessively curious people who really liked to watch product demos and call current clients. We even had one person who seemed to know absolutely every admissions director on the West Coast.

 Why was this good? In our reading and in our conversations, we learned that the information you receive from vendors and their RFP responses is often only loosely correlated to what you get in the actual CRM product. Pricing models, sales management software functionality, and customer service are often not-as-advertised. Also, some people give really good product demos for really bad products.

 Quality is always relative and based on your needs, but remember an important statistical truth: half of all vendors are below the median quality for your needs. You need to be able to identify and exclude them from your selection process.

Step 2: Audit and document everything

You should perform communication, workflow, and process audits of your current communications strategy before you start your RFP or get too deep into research. As you do this, you should look for gaps, missed opportunities, and unnecessary redundancies. You'll need this information for your requirements in the RFP, and it might even let you fix some problems without a CRM.

In addition, this is some of the first information that vendors will request as part of your implementation, so you might as well get organized early.

Collect digital copies of all your emails, letters, and print pieces.

Identify whether each communication you send is transactional (it shares information about completed orders, submitted forms, or missing documents) or promotional (it encourages someone to take a very particular action like apply for admission, visit campus, or attend an event). If you're really sophisticated, you might want to break your promotional communications into "nurture" and "call to action" categories.

Identify the behavior or deadline that triggers each communication you send.

Create a Visio diagram of your communications flow.

Create a Visio diagram of how an application moves through your admissions office.

Create a list of all the questions you ask students on your forms and applications.

If you already have a CRM, this is probably information you have available with minimal work (comparatively). In that case, make sure you review everything and understand how you'll export it out of the system if your new CRM vendor asks for it.

 You should probably do an audit every year or two even if you're not seeking a new CRM.

Step 3: Demo. A lot. And then demo some more.

CRM vendors are decidedly unhelpful when it comes to providing rich, detailed Education CRM information online. Here are examples of information you usually can't find: screenshots, video introductions, online tutorials, PDF walkthroughs, feature and price comparisons, lists of features in development, examples of required implementation documents, and more.

We learned more from YouTube videos and phone calls with other schools than we did from any vendor's actual website.

Another example: the responses to our RFP were usually 70-80 pages when they were returned, yet the online data sheets and product overviews for CRMs are usually two pages.

How much crucial information is lost online? Probably most of it.

Even after you visit company websites, you don't know what you don't know, so you should see demos before you begin the RFP process. You're going to live in your CRM for several years, and it will become someone's full-time job, so taking the time to do this correctly has an ROI of something approaching infinity.

 Each of your demos should last 90 to 120 minutes. There is no way to see any substantial portion of a CRM in less time. If you can, try to get demos that are longer.

 Better yet, see if you can access a demo environment so you can spend several days with the software, perhaps even showing it off to other partners on campus. You may also want to take a road trip and visit a client who is already using the CRM in question.

 You can demo CRMs online, so your cost for this phase is measured simply in terms of time.

 During your demo phase, if a vendor is unwilling to give you significant time to explore the system, that's a warning sign. And for the love of all that is holy: a boring demo is not a reason to dislike a CRM. You'll totally pigeonhole yourself if you value presentation style and flair ahead of software functionality and flexibility. For example, one of the vendors flubbed its presentation during our RFP process. That doesn't mean the vendor had a bad product. It simply means they had a bad presentation.

Step 4: Get real about your needs

If you demo a lot of CRM products, you're going to see some pretty amazing things that clients are doing.

 You are not those clients. Start thinking about what you actually want to accomplish with your CRM acquisition.

The benefits of a CRM should accrue to your future students and your frontline employees. While executives need to support a CRM implementation for widespread and successful adoption, you can't purchase a CRM for executives.

 You purchase a CRM for the people who interact with students and processes on a daily basis. Any CRM that interests you should interest you because it makes students' lives and front-line employees' jobs easier.

 Besides: the number of times your boss or a senior executive will use the CRM is pretty much equal to the number of times you'll receive a raise without asking.

Scheduled communications (a.k.a. marketing automation), particularly emails, are generally the catalyst for institutions to seek information about CRM solutions, and students still prefer email communications over many other types of outreach.

 But if you're considering a CRM simply to send more email, then you're considering a CRM for the wrong reasons. You'll still get benefits, but a CRM is best when it provides solutions for better customer service and when it makes it easier for your frontline staff to do their jobs. If all you truly need to make your class or keep your students informed is an email tool, get MailChimp or Constant Contact or the standalone email service from higher ed vendor FireEngineRed.

 And I'll say it now (and several times later in the series): the email tools in higher Education CRM are abysmal, even in the "best of show" category. Higher ed institutions should demand more from vendors, and email tools should be a focal point in your CRM research.

Unless you actually have money to implement your CRM with a large team of dedicated content creators and analysts, you will not be able to maximize all the features offered in any higher Education CRM.

 I think the analytics rule should apply: $1 dollar into the tool, $9 into the analysis and creation of strategies and techniques.

 Since your budget probably isn't built that way, you need to decide what matters and make those functions the most important parts of your research and your RFP. For example, our institution assigned no points to several CRM components (e.g. the "chat" feature, which is common in CRMs, or the "portal" feature, which is also very common) in our RFP scoring because we simply don't have the human resources to support them properly.

 But just because we decided we couldn't use a CRM component to its full capability didn't mean we ignored it. We still listed it on the RFP because we still needed to know what functionality was available. We just weighted that component at 0 percent of the final score. This had only a mild impact on CRM scoring, but it was a pretty clear signal to vendors about the tools and strategies we were going to prioritize and implement.

 It was also a signal to our vendors that we weren't overestimating our own abilities (which we still did anyway, it turns out) or that we were willing to pay for tools we didn't need.

This is a general complaint I have with CRM vendors inside and outside of higher ed, but most seem to think that reporting and analytics integration is secondary. Nope. Reporting is a primary function.

 Accurate and timely reporting is what moves an institution from enrollment management to strategic enrollment management. The fact that vendors don't always understand this is evident most clearly when you ask about things like data snapshotting, granular territory management, or Google Analytics integration for email campaign tracking. The first and second are at the core of what we do, and the third is something every email service provides out of the box. Higher Education CRMs don't always have solutions to either.

 For advanced users, you will probably have to move your data into reporting environments to get the most value for the CRM data, so understanding data validation, migration, and transformation processes will be key.

 I personally prefer to move CRM data into R, SPSS, or Tableau for enrollment analytics. Your mileage will vary, however.

Step 5: Be practical

A CRM is a marriage of convenience: you need it, you probably can't be competitive without it, yet it will undoubtedly fail to mold itself to your existing processes.

 It doesn't matter which CRM you own: in every conversation I've had with professionals at other institutions, people said their CRM didn't do everything they wanted it to do. A few CRMs--and it's not nice to name names--got ripped apart by some of their clients. (If you really want the gory details, you can usually find bad press online.) You should probably spend some time with the people who don't like their CRMs and discover what they dislike.

 That said, people love to tell you how much they dislike their CRM. Then they switch to a new CRM and tell you how big a mistake they made.

 It's like complaining about the DMV: everybody seems to do it even though the DMV works well enough. (I actually enjoyed my last DMV experience. It involved cookies.)

 CRMs (like application tools) come and go in waves, especially among the Ivies. But having secret shopped several hundred institutions (including all of the Ivies), a different Best CRM Software doesn't mean better communications.

Higher Education CRM contracts are generally for a few years (most seem to be written for three to five years with the option to extend for an additional one to three years), and at the end of your contract you should be prepared to go back out to RFP. Why? Because five years is an eternity in the software businesses. Going out to RFP isn't a sign of dissatisfaction with your vendor. It's a sign you're a good manager of software solutions and a good steward of your campus's resources.

You will spend a minimum of one week every year (or its equivalent) updating emails, applications, and forms. This is the only thing you will do during this week. This is non-optional and nontrivial work.

 It's actually kind of hellish, to be honest.

 Be prepared for it, and realize that it means the loss of a week's productivity for up to three or four of your team members, mostly on the communications side and the operations/IT side.

Step 6: Get ready for the RFP

This is less of a preference as a it is a face-the-facts analysis. I prefer off-site, Software as a Service (SaaS) models for CRM (the industry has pretty much gone this way entirely), but other professionals may not. For example, the University of Washington decided to build and host its own admissions CRM for its three campuses. Several CRM companies were actually started by institutions, in fact.

 The decision largely comes down to IT staffing and expertise levels. If you have a tech unit that can provide you the support required, then hosting on your campus is stellar, but if your IT unit already has a hard time maintaining updates and providing customizations, then SaaS is the way to go.

 For what it's worth, if you build a CRM on your campus, it will probably become a private company in 5-10 years.

Our institution has developed a security-driven reputation, which is a polite way of saying we make vendors jump through hoops. Lots of them. If you have software security requirements, they should be part of your RFP, and they should be the absolute first requirement.

 Find those requirements ASAP, and make sure they're in the RFP.

 Moreover, your data security folks should complete their review of RFPs before you do. If you wait to review security until the end, there's a good chance your RFP may be derailed by a late security analysis. It has happened before, it will happen again. So it has been foretold.

Because our first RFP failed, we had the chance to see vendors rebid what was essentially the exact same RFP with the exact same requirements. The biggest swing in price for a four-year contract from a single vendor was over $125,000. Crazy.

 If you feel like you're getting fleeced, you probably are.

 So set a price/budget and stick to it. You'll save your time (which is good) and you'll save vendors' time (which is also good).

Before writing our own RFP, we looked at CRM RFPs from over two dozen universities . In the end we decided to weigh the cost at 15 percent of the total RFP response. This was one of the lower percentages we'd seen, but even at this low percentage, two things happened that made our jobs harder.

 One: vendors bid with different licensing and hosting models, and it made it nearly impossible to compare apples to apples. It was more like comparing apples to potatoes to road apples to that one sock you finally found in the dryer. We even had very explicit hosting and licensing criteria spelled out, and many vendors entirely ignored it.

 Two: if you privilege cost at the expense of other variables, cost will ultimately determine rank. Because the spread between systems is generally $20,000 to $80,000 per year, discount solutions will rise to the top of your scoring. This isn't bad--we saw a lot of amazing CRM systems that were priced tens of thousands of dollars less than competing systems--but it also meant that some less-than-stellar CRMs inched their way into the top of the scoring.

We had a fantastic business liaison at our university who worked with our state's legal counsel and helped us rewrite our standard boilerplate contract language for Software-as-a-Service (SaaS) models, but Archiz CRM was also very willing to hear our concerns and find creative solutions. It took time, but they made us feel good.

 Good vendors will do that.

 And always ask for tickets to the vendor conference.

"Yes" is a pretty terrible answer to a question on your RFP. On the other hand, "Yes, and here are examples, screenshots and clearly defined exceptions with possible workarounds" is exactly what you want to see. Vendors who provide the latter type of answer probably have better customer service, too.

 Make sure you're prepared to challenge vendors on answers where they provide very limited information.