#and doing some reading up after the fact ‘most are asymptomatic and go away on their own!’ I was like well fuck

[dragongeek1]

well friends I have officially joined the Chronic Pain Club, it’s not great to be here, there’s a chance it’s only temporary but my gut says ‘hmm many doubts’ and I won’t really know for a couple of weeks anyway until my doctors appointment. So. Been navigating that for four days and well we’re navigating at least

[thatgirlwhokeepsreading]

Prefacing this with the fact that my father is in the minority of people who catch glandular fever (Epstein-Barr virus) and just… never actually recover from it? Like I knew my entire childhood that if dad was sick it was more likely than not the glandular fever back at it again. It was (and still is) kind of this unspoken thing so I honestly don’t know much beyond that, like when he actually first caught it or what triggered flare ups (I think it was overwork and/or getting another illness, which is common), but I did know that it basically meant that every couple of years I’d wake up I’d one day and it would be like “oop Dad’s in Chronic Fatigue Mode I guess”

It was strange learning recently that most people actually don’t have these long term effects from glandular fever (although many more people report fatigue for months after the virus has in theory cleared and they are no longer infectious). For me, the long game of a disease that never goes away defines how I think about glandular fever.

Y’all know where I’m going with this, yadda yadda covid + long covid. I’m just so fucking exhausted, and so angry.

I’m mad that richer countries took the vaccine patents and enabled the new variants to develop. I’m mad that these variants are all billed as being “not as bad” even when we don’t know the long term effects, and even when the earlier strains still exist.

I’ve been unbearably furious learning about the fact the virus modelling was done based on TB, and questionable advice was given on the same basis, and so now the fact that I haven’t caught it feels more like luck. I literally can’t look directly at it right now, it sends me into a rage.

I’m mad that I literally worry constantly that I caught covid but wasn’t symptomatic, or symptomatic in a way that I recognised. I’ve always been the asymptomatic carrier, from when my siblings got chicken pox to taking weeks longer to finally present with the 48hr flu my honours cohort caught last year, so why would this be any different? Every time time I get fatigued from mental health things I have the added mental exhaustion of worrying if this is it, if this is me finally presenting with long covid from covid I didn’t even know I had.

As someone who works in theatre, I’m mad that sports got to go on while my colleagues struggled with lockdowns. I’m proud of the industry for finding other routes, for scraping through by (in my neck of the woods) popularising a kind of closet theatre-esque online reading and (globally) beginning to normalise live cinema/releasing archival recordings. But I’m mad now that, with barely any relief given to the industry, people were always going to be forced back to work before they were ready.

I’m mad that I know government restrictions aren’t enough, but I don’t know what I should be doing, because I’m not an epidemiologist. I shouldn’t be the one having to make the calls about how many people I see in a week and in what settings and with what safety measures. The government should be listening to experts, that’s why we have them, that’s why they read all those nerd books and write all those nerd papers. As a queer person, I understand experts make mistakes or have other motives, but by God don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.

Also, not a new take, but it just feels so grossly unfair that I isolated myself, that myself and most of the people I know put ourselves through the hellish endurance challenge of sticking to lockdowns, and now it feels like it was for nothing. My relationship with my parents was irrevocably damaged* because I couldn’t stomach going home to see my immunocompromised mother for six months in 2020. I genuinely developed touch starvation. My graduation project for university was functionally performed to an empty room. And fuck, that all seems minor compared to what some people gave up for the greater good. And now for what? To what end?

I’m mad that spending a day in my ventilated, open-plan office at uni with five other people in a massive room has stressed me out enough that I had a covid dream last night. I’m mad that in the dream I literally was able to convince myself I was awake because the absurdity of “someone you know has covid but we won’t tell you who” isn’t that absurd anymore. I’m mad it got so bad that vector tracing was just stopped. I’m mad the reporting system is now texting people you’ve seen recently in the same way you’d have a sexual partner report back to you awkwardly about getting an STD.

I worry about the kids I tutor, I worry about catching covid from them and them from me but I don’t know what to do. I’m mad that the schoolies kids last year were billed as some of the best behaved in memory, because God knows I will never understand the appeal of schoolies, but these kids are so obviously irrevocably shaped by the trauma of a pandemic that even the most extroverted, chaotic of the bunch can’t not think about safety anymore. Kids already suffering horrific climate grief (if my tutoring kids are an indicative sample) have now got another layer of apocalypse fatigue shoved on top of that. My kids trust me to be no bullshit, and sometimes I don’t know what to tell them anymore when they ask why those in power make these decisions. They don’t care about us, simple as that, but saying that to an already traumatised kid isn’t productive.

Most of all, I’m mad that we knew this was coming. I’m mad that we knew a global pandemic like this could happen, and no one was prepared. I’m mad that there is nothing I can do, nothing I can sacrifice, no way I can set myself on fire when people vote in fucking nationalistic, conservative governments who don’t care about you. I’m mad that I can see people already forgetting what it was like to not be able to work, to need social support systems and to find them barely there. I’m mad that for years conservative governments have been able to spin Fiscal Responsibility™️ when all they were doing was gutting things we needed. I’m mad that this pervasive distrust of expertise extends so far that people will throw up their hands and say “can’t afford it” instead of saying “we need this, how can we afford it?”

I understand that there are extremely real impacts from letting a national economy go into free fall. I understand we had to open borders at some point. But people are dying, and disabled, and additionally traumatised, when we nearly made it. Two fucking years feel like they’ve been wasted and I’m angry, angry, so fucking angry.

*to be fair, I now realise that I’d actually stumbled into some spicy enmeshment stuff, but it would have been logistically better in the long term if that break from seeing each other was like… intentional. (My parents now treat any attempts to unenmesh as a sign of a mental health crisis and it Drives Me Up The Wall.)

[ahiddenpath]

Life Talk

1.)  I won Nanowrimo

2.)  My house is sold

3.)  I’m tryyyyyyying to taking it easy

More below the cut.

So, I won Nanowrimo.  It’s roughly 30K Four Years and 20K Tri: Integrity Lens.  I feel very... blank about it, though.  In the last few years, I’ve been trying to celebrate when I win Nanowrimo, but...  I don’t have any emotions about it this year, probably even less than usual.

I should probably back up and say that, when I was growing up, I was the type that got all As, won every contest, was the lead in plays and singing events, got the good behavior awards, won state-wide science and poetry contests, was on the select sports teams.  I’m not saying this to brag- I was hyper-involved in school and extracurriculars because it kept me away from home.  

It got to the point at home where, if I won an award, the reaction was, “good.”  If I didn’t, it was, “Why didn’t you win that award?  We don’t have money for tutoring, so you had better figure it out *vague threat* ”  Stuff like that.

Basically, it’s hard for me to feel proud of anything.  If I succeed, that’s “baseline.”  Good, I won’t be scolded.  If I don’t, that’s anxiety- “I will be scolded, I will be punished.”  

I can’t change that concept as an adult- it was cemented into me during my formative years.  But I can see it, and I can tell myself- it’s okay.  Don’t beat yourself up over not feeling a certain way.

The big thing on my mind now, still, is that we sold our first home successfully a few days ago.  It’s the most enormous load off my mind.  This whole time, I’ve been wondering- I keep pinning everything on when the house is sold.  Will it actually be a relief?  Will it actually free up emotional and mental real estate?

SPOILER ALERT: IT DID, I FEEL GREAT!  

I told my therapist that I couldn’t feel “at home” and “settled” until I sold the old house, and she challenged me to not wait for some kind of...  Permission?  Catalyst?  Like, don’t put things off citing “my old home isn’t sold” as a reason, because suddenly, a year will have passed and you still haven’t painted your room or put up photos or turned the house into your home.

I absolutely see her point, but I also see mine.  Frankly, now that I’m not paying for two mortgages, I can afford to do some of that stuff (buy paint and supplies, buy a rug, buy a lamp, etc).  It is true that I could have hung my photos at any time, so that was just a mental/stress block, but I do think that pointing to the money that was tied up in paying the mortgages for both homes, and for repairing things at the old home at the buyer’s demand, was... you know, a valid reason not to be throwing money at our current home.

Right now, my anxiety is free to be directed at the fact that the CDC is forecasting such drastic pandemic leaps.  It’s expected to hit in about 10-ish days after today, 11/29, a Sunday that will likely be the largest single day for travel as people head back home in droves to make it to work on Monday after going away for Thanksgiving.  It’s expected that we’ll be seeing 4,000 covid deaths per day in the states around week 2/3 of December.

I really don’t want to go to work physically, because I know coworkers who travelled.  I wish we could all stay home for two weeks, when the symptoms will show for carriers who are not asymptomatic.  I will definitely be limiting my time in the office to after 3 PM, when a lot of coworkers have gone home.  It’s still a risk that I’m not sure is worthwhile.  

Ah!  I should probably say that my therapist is talking about ending therapy.  I started in... I wanna say March or April of 2019?  Is that right?  So I guess it’s been...  Like, 19-ish months?  I’ve learned so much, but I would say...  The biggest difference is that I can see my behavior patterns for what they are, and then decide what to do with them.  I haven’t “changed” at my core.  I can’t, not in the way people mean when they say “you’ve changed.”  The same learned behaviors, belief systems, and emotions from my childhood are there.  I just recognize them when they pop up and can make informed decisions about how to approach them.  

Which, it turns out, makes a huge difference, even if it isn’t really “change.”  I’m always in danger of being too distraught to see what’s in front of my face, though (thanks, anxiety!).

What else...  My husband and I did cheese fondue and hot pot for Thanksgiving!  It was easily the best holiday I’ve ever had.  Holidays are always... so high pressure, always such events that turn a day off into a giant list of chores that might span weeks to complete beforehand.  Plus, I’m always hoping I’m not about to be dragged into some kind of “trap” conversation by both my family and my husband’s, who have very different political views compared to me.

But on Thanksgiving, my husband and I ate amazing food, spent a lot of time together, and I felt so loved and cared for and valued, because my husband came up with the idea and made it happen, all so we’d have a nice holiday together.  Honestly, I don’t deserve him.  I don’t get it.  He’s so amazing?  I love him so much.

As for my writing, I’ve been feeling...  Bad about it, frankly.  I think it’s partially because it honestly looks like no one is reading Tri: Integrity Lens.  I don’t get it?  It was my most requested story in 2018/2019, and I know people wanted a sequel to Growing Up with You, so why is TIL doing so poorly?  At first, I thought people were going back to read GUWY again first, since I saw a huge surge in hits for it.  Now, I’m not sure?  Like, if I open my stats, some random GUWY chapters will have over 10 times the hits as the newest TIL chapter???  ???? ????  ????  ?????

I’m wondering if it has to do with Tri itself...  I think that, the more time passed, the more people who liked Tri are maybe defensive about how... negative the fandom reaction was, overall.  Meanwhile, people who dislike it, I think, have maybe simply... chucked it out the window, and don’t think about it much.  Whereas, when it was still coming out and directly after it wrapped up, I think people who disliked Tri were more interested in imagining ways they might have personally tweaked it.

That makes things awkward for someone like me, who thinks Tri has amazing moments basically... tacked onto a crumbling base.  

Actually, let me give you my weird metaphor for Tri!

When I am deciding if I’m going to write a new fic, often what happens is...  A few powerful ideas coalesce, a few themes and characterizations.  Some people say they are lead by a few powerful scenes.  I think of these ideas/themes/character ideas (or scenes for other people) as sparkling ornaments on a Christmas tree.

The problem is that...  Ornaments in a box don’t... do much.  You need to display them on a tree, right?  The ornaments need to be connected and supported by a plot (unless you decide to write a focused oneshot, which is my recommendation in most cases).

In short: Tri has amazing ornaments, but the tree is... not... doing that well.  The ideas are there, there are plenty of awesome moments, but something about the actual story/execution just...  Didn’t do it for me.  But dang, those are some nice ornaments!

That was quick and dirty, but hopefully it conveyed the general idea.  

ANYWAY, I’ve been trying to decide if I’m going to continue TIL.  I think right now, I would definitely finish Ketsui, since I have so much material written already.  Why waste it, right?  But I’m not sure what the future of the story will be- not plot wise, but rather, “is my time better spent elsewhere”-wise.

I’m not sure if I need to focus on a new story, if I should take a break, or what.  I need to write for my mental health, but it doesn’t have to be a fanfic.  It can be anything, as long as I explore whatever is eating at me.

And that is where I am!  I hope you’re all staying safe <3

[foreverlogical]

At one hospital in North Dakota, nurses are being forced to test patients for the deadly coronavirus with only a surgical mask. And across the state, scores of nurses are working several overnight shifts in a row, scared to speak up as North Dakota grapples with a rapid coronavirus spike that’s left hospitals facing a dangerous shortage of beds.On Monday, state officials announced a seemingly counterproductive band-aid to combat the tidal wave of cases that have overwhelmed the mostly rural hospital system: COVID-19 positive nurses and other health-care workers can come to work.Now nurses are mad as hell.“Nurses are very highly trusted in our community, and if we are saying we can go back to work after testing positive, how do we expect the public to take this pandemic seriously?” Tessa Johnson, president of the North Dakota Nurses Association, told The Daily Beast.“I have heard that from a lot of people that they are at their breaking point. I think we are going to lose nurses from this. It has affected everyone in a different way,” she added.A Montana County Is So Swamped by COVID They’ve Run Out of Teachers, Hospital BedsBut while several North Dakota nurses told The Daily Beast they are “terrified” of the virus, they insist they’ll still show up for their increasingly dangerous jobs because “that’s what nurses do.”“Nurses don’t feel safe. They don’t feel like they have adequate PPE and everyone is concerned about short staffing and they don’t feel supported by state leadership,” Johnson, who is also the executive director at a senior long-term care facility, said. “But they are going to continue to go to work and put themselves at risk because that’s just what nurses do—even if they are hanging by a thread.”As of Monday, North Dakota medical professionals with asymptomatic COVID-19 cases can continue to work in COVID-19 units at hospitals and nursing homes. It’s one of several steps taken by hospitals and officials as part of their “surge plans” to curtail the virus that has moved the entire state into the “high-risk” category.“This applies only to COVID-positive health-care workers who do not have symptoms, and they are allowed only to work COVID units around patients who already have the virus,” North Dakota Gov. Doug Burgum said Monday.The move, Burgum insisted, aligns with CDC guidelines that allow asymptomatic medical personnel to work during severe staff shortages.These changes come even as elected leaders in North Dakota—which, according to one survey, has the lowest rate of residents using face coverings in the country—repeatedly refuse to institute a mask mandate or any other forceful COVID-19 mitigation plan.One North Dakota nurse, who wished to remain anonymous for fear of professional retribution, said the state’s unprecedented step to allow those with the virus to treat patients “is short-sighted at best—and completely detrimental at worst.”“We need state officials to take decisive, hard-line decisions to combat this virus or else our hospital system is completely going to collapse,” the nurse said, adding that she has several colleagues and friends who have had the virus. “Allowing health care workers with the disease to treat patients with the same disease is not going to help anything. It only makes the problem worse.”‘Overwhelmed and Terrified’: Las Vegas’ Reopening Backfires TerriblyAnother nurse, who works in Bismarck, told The Daily Beast that she doesn’t know how much longer she is willing to put herself and her family in danger for a state that doesn’t seem to “have her back anymore.”Johnson pointed out that COVID-positive nurses won’t be isolated with virus patients and could spread the deadly virus to their colleagues in “bathrooms and dining rooms and break rooms and elevators.”Not only is it “unrealistic” to contain a “highly contagious” virus to specific hospital wings, she said, but the new measure “is only going to make things worse” because it will add to nurses’ stress and prevent them from getting rest in areas of the hospital “where they should feel safe.”As the epicenter of the coronavirus outbreak in the Midwest, North and South Dakota currently have the nation’s worst rate of deaths per capita. And while the coronavirus is spiking at an uncontrolled rate in dozens of states across the country, North Dakota’s daily average for new cases, hospitalizations, and deaths put the state at the top, according to ProPublica.The North Dakota Department of Health on Thursday reported 1,801 new cases in the state, bringing the total to 59,173, with a positivity rate of about 18.7 percent. Last week, the state had 171 coronavirus cases per 100,000 people, the highest per capita rate in the country, according to the CDC.Officials also revealed 11 people died from the virus on Thursday, bringing the state’s death toll to 697. The dead include David Andahl, a North Dakota Republican state legislative candidate who passed away in October—but still ended up winning his seat.Health experts are concerned about the trajectory of the state of 762,062 Americans, especially as neighboring states experience similar surges.Dr. Amesh Adalja, a senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security who specializes in infectious diseases, believes North Dakota’s virus trajectory officially puts it in “crisis.”Dozens of Nurses Have Died of COVID-19. The Rest Are Still Forced to Reuse Masks.“This state does not have a lot of medical resources, meaning it has a low threshold to be overwhelmed if something goes awry,” Adalja told The Daily Beast, adding that the state’s surge “is a lesson for what happens for when you don’t plan for cases.”On Wednesday, the health department revealed that some residents have tested positive for COVID-19 multiple times, and officials said they’ve launched an investigation to determine whether those cases are, in fact, reinfections.“Our cases are people who have tested positive twice, developed symptoms a second time, most with more than 90 days in between positive results,” a health department spokesperson told The Forum.Adalja, however, insists North Dakota’s decision to allow health-care staff to continue to work with “acute infections” is more “a sign of the times” than a dangerous decision that could lead to re-infections.“Re-infection is something that is very rare. These medical personnel are acute cases working with patients that are already infected,” Adalja said. “That being said, it will get worse in North Dakota before it gets better.”Gov. Burgum has moved every county in the state to a “high-risk” level, signified by the color orange. The level, one step below shutdown measures never used in the state, limits all bars and event venues to 25 percent capacity. On Monday, Burgum outlined several other initiatives to stem the crisis, including hiring EMTs and paramedics to run testing sites.“Our hospitals are under enormous pressure now,” Burgum added. “We can see the future two, three weeks out, and we know that we have severe constraints.”Nurses Have Been Complaining for Weeks About Inadequate PPE. Now They’re Suing.Sanford Health, one of the state’s largest health-care systems, also announced Thursday it will be sending hospital patients to a nearby nursing home in Fargo to recover in an attempt to free up hospital space. According to The Forum, the nursing home is opening a wing that will provide 24 additional beds for a hospital system that is already at “very high capacity.”The North Dakota Nurses Association has blasted state leadership for allowing COVID-positive medical workers to keep working. In a Wednesday night statement, they said that it should be a health-care workers’ choice to stay on the job while COVID-positive—rather than their employers.“If a nurse believes they are not well enough to provide safe patient care and chooses not to work under these circumstances, employers should not retaliate against the nurse for making this decision,” the statement read, adding that the state should be pressing COVID-19 mitigation guidelines, like mandating mask-wearing and social distance.The North Dakota Emergency Nurses Association on Wednesday night also released a statement against the new policy, urging lawmakers to institute a statewide mask mandate and other CDC mitigation guidelines before resorting to a “crisis strategy.” Johnson said nurses are already putting themselves on the line for their patients daily.“They are probably positive health-care workers who haven’t been tested,” Johnson said. “Everyone is already putting themselves at risk for this virus. We’re preparing for a very, very dark week to eight weeks unless a drastic change happens.”Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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[doberbutts]

Have you seen the document floating around in a few of the dog book groups regarding the Belgian Kennel Clubs BOAS scoring system? It’s pretty interesting... I’m curious to hear thoughts from someone who knows more than I do haha!

In complete honesty, I’m not exactly sure what document you’re referring to, because I’m not part of many dog-related FB groups because many are filled with drama and I stepped away from such for my own mental health :]

BOAS- Brachycephalic Obstructive Airway Syndrome- is more or less the collective of all the problems that can be associated with the brachycephalic head. Everything that the skull shape in and of itself makes the dog at risk for- the pinched nares, the elongated soft palette, the collapsing of soft tissue within the airways themselves, these are all symptoms of BOAS.

A couple vet articles explaining the basic idea are here:

https://vcahospitals.com/know-your-pet/brachycephalic-airway-syndrome-in-dogs

https://www.acvs.org/small-animal/brachycephalic-syndrome

http://www.vet.upenn.edu/docs/default-source/ryan/ryan-report-bas-article-2.pdf?sfvrsn=238fe3ba_0

https://todaysveterinarypractice.com/surgical-skills-corrective-surgery-dogs-with-brachycephalic-airway-syndrome/

However I want readers to notice that none of them say “all dogs with flat faces are affected by this problem”, simply that the very shape of the brachycephalic skull puts a dog at risk. In fact, the example photos on a couple articles are not a flat-faced dog. This is more or less what I keep being on about- a brachy head is a brachy head. You can breed for more length on the nose, but until you actually fix the entire shape of the head, the dog is still brachy. This means that all of these breed mixes and fixes haven’t made much progress in that regard, because they are still selecting for a brachy head. You cannot have your cake and eat it too. Either the dogs are brachy and thus unhealthy, or you admit there’s more nuance to it than that.

The first article also mentions obesity- another point I’m continuously on about- and how obesity is seen to worsen symptoms. Many people keep their pugs and bulldogs and chihuahuas and everything else very fat. Most chihuahuas are carrying around close to double the weight they’re supposed to be! Seeing a significantly high instance of trouble breathing in a dog that’s been reduced to a snorting fat sausage is always going to be a thing- which is why so many advocates for these breeds are careful to keep their dogs trim and active.

I’d note as well that the diagnosis process requires more than a look at the outside of the dog’s head. People like to share shock photos of just how short a flat muzzle is- and I’ll freely admit that breeding for extreme traits always lands us in trouble- but what about inside? Because without looking deeper, frequently under sedation, you have no idea if the flatter muzzle on that particular dog is less healthy than the slightly longer muzzle on a dog that’s still brachycephalic.

Lastly, the first article ends with a warning that dogs who cannot breathe without help shouldn’t breed. It’s noteable that both the chihuahua and the pug standard also say this, despite selecting for the brachycephalic head shape. Do most people follow it, do breeders ignore that while chasing their titles and ribbons? Maybe, maybe not. I’m not involved enough in the breeds to tell you that. But I can tell you that hanging out with brachy breed people at events will reveal who’s talking about it and trying to prevent it from popping up with their dogs.

There are a couple papers worth reading on the subject that I’m currently aware of. If the paper you mention isn’t one of these, then please link it to me!

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/27159898

(things to note: a whopping 95ish% of brachycephalic dogs tested for this were positive for symptoms of BOAS, including previously asymptomatic dogs. This means that just listening to the dog breathe isn’t enough, and a whole-body test should be conducted along with an exercise portion to ensure the dogs are breathing well. Additionally these are client-provided dogs, meaning dogs from all backgrounds with brachy heads, and not specifically any one weight or breeding style. obesity and pinched nares made the dog significantly more likely to show signs)

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4624979/

(things to note: taken from the abstract itself is “Despite the name of the syndrome, scientific evidence quantitatively linking brachycephaly with BOAS is lacking, but it could aid efforts to select for healthier conformations.” and “[...] BOAS risk increases sharply in a non-linear manner as relative muzzle length shortens. BOAS only occurred in dogs whose muzzles comprised less than half their cranial lengths. Thicker neck girths also increased BOAS risk in both populations: a risk factor for human sleep apnoea and not previously realised in dogs; and obesity was found to further increase BOAS risk. This study provides evidence that breeding for brachycephaly leads to an increased risk of BOAS in dogs, with risk increasing as the morphology becomes more exaggerated [...]” - breeding for extreme traits will get us into trouble, but dogs with muzzles 50% of the length of their craniums will still be at risk. A longer snout does not solve the problem. Interestingly, girthy necks were also found to be part of the issue, something most people don’t even think of. Also the study does not consider the pomeranian, chow, or rottweiler as brachy, even though they definitely are. Once again, the use of client dogs from several sources, weights, backgrounds, and more specifically that were referred to one particular vet practice were used.)

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4469695/

(things to note: a non-invasive test was developed for the Frenchie and is spreading to other brachy breeds to control the prevalence of the problem in at-risk breeds. The Pug Club of America also mentions this test as a way to see if their breeding dogs are affected.)

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5538678/

(things to note: this particular study uses WAY MORE dogs than the previous ones have, over 600 when most have used 50-200. Once again mentioning that pinched nares and obesity are the highest predictive factors, but other conformation factors such as a thick neck, eye width, and neck length in addition to the relative shape of the head also seemed to play a part in which dogs would be most affected. Wide skulls are also mentioned- technically brachycephalia is not just the length but also the width of the skull. Once again a wide sample, however they did deliberately seek show dogs for some of these results.)

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1090023316302106

(things to note: EB specific- once again an exercise test used to determine what dogs would be more affected, and discovered that dogs with higher body temperatures were more severely affected. Not particularly surprising as most dogs pant in the heat to cool down, and if their airways are restricted that means much less heat escapes and they cannot run cool air over their internal breathing structures to fix the problem.)

https://veterinaryrecord.bmj.com/content/182/13/375.abstract

(things to note: this is the first study I’ve seen that actually talks about the fact that while breed clubs may have systems in place to fix the problems associated with their breeds, the vast majority of dogs seen for this problem are going to be pet dogs from non-registered breeders, pet stores, rescues, and other sources rather than show dogs, for the simple fact that show dogs are a minority among pet households. This makes it difficult to say if “the standard” is causing a problem, or if “breeders who don’t give a shit about their dogs” are causing a problem.)

All in all, I was somewhat annoyed about the bashing of perfectly nice dogs and breeders doing their best before, and now it’s a personal passion because my fucking puppy died and it’s partially because she was brachy and yet everyone praises the inch-long snouts on these pug fixes because they’re magically not affected anymore, meanwhile I have a dead puppy who had some muzzle length and that definitely didn’t protect her and she suffered and died and yet people want to keep harping on how pugs have flat faces. At least these flat-faced pugs live longer than 10 months and don’t die in their owners’ arms after spending more than half that fighting a losing battle with their own body. All the muzzle length in the world doesn’t fucking matter if you have a dead puppy to show for it. The very shape of the head itself is the important part. Posting shock pictures of dogs with no muzzle to speak of tells me nothing and gives me no comfort because that dog lived to old age with very few complications and my dog never got that chance because it was robbed from her at birth.

[kramlabs]

So You Want To Believe The So-Called 'Experts'?*

By Karl Denninger

Let's go down the list.

This virus was newly discovered in January of 2020. FALSE; Judicial watch has now proved that Fauci and the NIH knew that Covid-19 was diagnosed no later than December 2nd 2019 in Wuhan. This was deliberately concealed under confidentiality agreements between China and the NIH. In short Dr. Fauci and the NIH knowingly and repeatedly lied about the time of first discovery and diagnosis and it is documented that this was known in February and early March and not disclosed. We also now know with scientific certainty that the virus was in the US no later than the second week of December of 2019 because antibodies were found in about 1.5% of blood donations from that time. This, along with the sequencing back-computation I performed in early 2020 places the latest the virus entered the US as sometime in October of 2019 and from the blood bank data it is scientifically proved it had infected about 1.5% of the population, or roughly 4 million people in the US, by the second week of December 2019. This in turn means that we had widespread disease which was blamed on something else. Indeed we handled all 4 million of those cases just fine up until the hysteria started, didn't we? You didn't even know those 4 million sick people, and those who died of it, existed prior to the hysteria being ginned up.

15 days will slow the spread. "If we all stay home and minimize contact for 15 days -- including closing businesses, schools and not traveling -- Covid will be under control and we can trace infections and stop it." FALSE and we now know impossible because the virus was already all over the country on an uncontrolled basis by that time and the NIH knew the virus had been circulating for at least a month earlier than they admitted at the time. It is true that if you immediately slam your borders shut 100% you can trace and quarantine yourself out of a transmissible epidemic -- at the cost of essentially all external trade, travel and tourism. But Fauci factually knew when we started that this was impossible because the virus had been spreading here for at least two months at the time and we hadn't done a thing about it for those two months. We were later to learn it was four months and perhaps longer.

If you give us 30 more days (remember, this is now six weeks to slow the spread) it'll work. FALSE AGAIN for the same reason; the NIH and Fauci knew there was no possible way to contain the virus when the original 15 days expired as he knew, factually, that the virus had been uncontained for at least three months.

But the lockdowns and restrictions worked to save lives! Nope; this is called the "exception fallacy" and now a peer-reviewed journal entry demonstrates it. We knew this early on too; indeed for five decades we've had "pandemic response plans" that make clear that once you have widespread community dispersion of an infectious agent attempting to lock down people or impose any other sort of non-pharmaceutical intervention is futile and causes harm. We ignored said decades of hard-won experience -- intentionally.

We don't have enough ventilators! FALSE; not one of the DPA-produced ones was ever needed; NY's Governor lied and had plenty of them, as did everyone else.

Ventilators not only are needed they will save lives. FALSE; they killed nearly everyone put on one then, and still do. We knew they didn't work in February as they killed 95% of the people put on then in Wuhan and this had been reported out by March.

This is mostly a community-spread disease in places like stores, bars, restaurants, churches, concerts and the local city street. FALSE; the CDC itself documented that more than half of all transmission was happening in homes and the next largest, and only other statistically material spread was occurring in industrial (e.g. meat packing) plants and health care settings. Nashville suppressed the fact that they could only trace about one percent of infections to social businesses such as bars and restaurants and now the CDC itself has stated that less than 1% of spread is traceable to such public venues as restaurants and bars. In other words we knew by late spring of 2020 the restrictions, including business closures, school shutdowns and masks couldn't work as that's not where the virus was spreading; we couldn't shut down the industrial plants without starving the population and destroying both energy production and sanitary services leading to an immediate societal and economic collapse. Nor could we invade every house and forcibly segment positive-tested people either; we had neither the resources nor would they get away with it without the cops and government goons being turned into swiss cheese. And when it comes to health care we could have segregated Covid-19 facilities and the people working in care homes but intentionally did not.

Asymptomatic transmission is a major risk. FALSE. Over millions of contacts traced in China not one was ever proved to be from an asymptomatic person. There has never been scientific evidence that asymptomatic spread has been material in any pandemic through history and there is no documented evidence of material asymptomatic spread for Covid-19 in the US or anywhere else. Worse, symptomatic persons least able to afford to call out sick due to lack of paid sick time or even the threat of being fired are those in low-wage and high-contact jobs such as fast food, grocery, meatpacking and other "essential" service industries never mind care home employees who are poorly paid and often moonlight in home health care among extremely vulnerable people.

We had no way to stop the nursing home deaths and did the best we could. FALSE. I pointed out immediately after Kirkland occurred that isolating the employees from all general public interaction, effectively creating a bubble, would stop nearly all of the transmission into these environments. We happened to have a lot of empty hotels at the time too. Yes, we would have had to pay significant bonuses to entice employees to go nowhere other than that hotel room and to work but we could have, and if we did it would have saved nearly 50% of those who died in the first four months. Not one so-called "expert" demanded or even suggested doing so but I was calling for exactly this in March of 2020. This, of course leaves aside the various Executive Orders that intentionally seeded the virus into nursing homes in multiple states by multiple Governors. Indeed even this winter in still-locked-down New York there was still no segregation of employees and residents were killed in size by infection brought into the care home by employees. Recent small case number spikes have been associated with vaccine distribution. How's that possible? There's only one rational explanation: The health care workers are giving the virus to the patients getting the shot! And yet we are still told that all these people are "heroes" and don't you dare forget it.

We didn't -- and don't -- have early treatment options that work. FALSE; Japan spent their effort on early treatment and keeping people out of hospitals. They have roughly a third of our population and only 8,000 dead people. Japan is far more-dense population-wise than us yet did a hell of a lot better despite having a materially older population. What Japan didn't do, in short, is spread the disease via their health care workers. In short if you went to the hospital you were likely to die; this has proved out in my own county in Tennessee with a >60% death rate. Up until we started with the panic porn -- the entire first three months of this outbreak in the US until March of 2020 -- we did fine too despite the virus being literally everywhere for months. We in fact knew of several early treatment candidate drugs, all cheap and available, in March of 2000 and exactly zero of them were investigated by the NIH, CDC or any of the so-called "public health" institutions such as Vanderbilt, IHME, Johns Hopkins and others. Those physicians and even hospital systems who did investigate them on their own were derogated, attacked and in some cases even threatened with license suspensions and other sanctions which continue to this day.

Age is the primary determinant of risk. FALSE; obesity and the panoply of health conditions caused and exacerbated by being a fat-ass is the primary determinant of risk. Nations with lower obesity prevalence have a ten times lower or better risk of death from Covid-19 on a per-100,000 population basis. Obesity is in each and every instance a lifestyle choice. This was known very early on in the NY Coroner data which is updated frequently; only six persons 75 and older have died of Covid without one of a relatively short list of underlying conditions -- and over 10,500 died with one or more. Simply put most of those who died deliberately put themselves in a medically compromised condition through their own lifestyle choices just a person who drinks too much and ruins their liver decided to drink. Absent those personal lifestyle decisions the death rate from this disease, while certainly not zero, is approximately half as likely as death due to an automobile accident over a year's time. Read here -- this is exactly what I pointed out one year ago. Who's been right on this -- and who's been wrong?

Existing drugs will not work and we have no existing treatments until you're hospitalized; we must develop new treatments and vaccines. FALSE. The data is that ivermectin works, among others. A trial out of Australia conducted in Britain (they locked everything in and did not have enough people in Australia who were sick) showed Budesonide (a cheap inhaled steroid used for asthma) works if given immediately when someone becomes symptomatic. The latter trial was stopped because it was ruled unethical to not give the controls the medicine since it prevented ninety percent of hospitalizations. Ivermectin has worked in every trial run thus far except one recently reported study the authors themselves state cannot prove effectiveness as the necessary deterioration in cases to do so was violated to the downside immediately, possibly due to widespread community use of the drug. The data on HCQ says it works if used early but appears to be worthless if not used until you're in the hospital. Remdesivir, which has an EUA, was disproved -- that is, shown worthless in a very large trial called "Solidarity" (along with several other drugs) and yet is still being used as it is on-patent and expensive. No drug works 100% of the time nor should it be expected to, but we should damn well not continue to use drugs that are proved worthless just because they cost $3,000 and the FDA issued an EUA for them. Deliberately not treating people until they're choking to death is monstrous and has resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths, many if not most of them avoidable at a cost of a few dollars.

Masks are the best tool we have to stop the spread and, if you just wear them for a few -- 4, 6, 8 weeks -- we will have Covid under control. Stated under oath before Congress by the CDC's director in September following multiple previous statements over a two month period in the summer by the CDC and NIH which urged (and got) the issuance of mandates. FALSE and known false as Hawaii took a ten times case rate spike a month after their mandate. This was known before Redfield perjured himself before Congress. There are ZERO states which did not take a monstrous spike in the winter despite mandates including California with the most-strict lockdowns and mask mandates in the nation. Compliance via multiple surveys has been around 90% with no evidence of effectiveness anywhere against non-mandate states and counties next door. Those states including South Dakota and Florida who repudiated the mandates or refused to issue them in the first place had identical or better outcomes than the states and locales that imposed them. The CDC has now itself published a MMWR (weekly report) in which they "claim" masks work -- their definition of "work" is a shockingly tiny 1-2% decrease in deaths and this assumes you ignore the confounding elements in their study that could invalidate even that tiny impact. In other words despite the nearly year-long and continual screaming about masks even the CDC itself now states that out of the 500,000 dead only 5,000-10,000 lives were saved at best and statistically-speaking it is entirely possible zero lives were saved. REMEMBER, WE WERE TOLD IN THE SUMMER AND EARLY FALL THAT MASKS WOULD ABSOLUTELY CONTROL THE VIRUS AND IN FACT THE CDC STATED UNDER OATH THAT MASKS WERE BETTER PROTECTION THAN A VACCINE. THIS LIE WAS REPEATED FOR MONTHS AND IS STILL BEING REPEATED TODAY. This wasn't a random statement made "off the cuff" it was made under oath to Congress five months ago and has, over time and by the data, been conclusively proved to be a lie.

The new strains will cause another spike even worse than the last one. FALSE; this was stated originally in the fall and repeated in December through February and yet since then cases have dropped like a stone despite these "new strains" becoming more and more prevalent. Florida in particular has documented widespread prevalence of one of the "demon strains" that were trumpeted in Fauci's fear porn. There has been no spike. Incidentally viruses mutate all the time; within the first few months there were hundreds of distinct viral RNA strains of Covid-19 known and that was only of the infections sequenced -- a tiny minority. If our actions do lead to new strains (specifically our ridiculously-unsound mass-vaccination campaign) and viral evasion occurs you may well be more screwed if you took the vaccine due to ADE than if you did not!

The Super Bowl will cause a huge case, hospitalization and death spike in Florida due to the ridiculously crowded parties and no masks in bars and similar all over the Tampa area. In fact the mayor threatened to arrest people for exactly this reason (an empty threat as the Governor had banned enforceability of said mandates.) FALSE; there has been no spike. Look for yourself; it's been over a month and cases, hospitalizations and deaths are all falling. Where's the spike?

Texas dropping its mask order will lead to mass-disease and death. FALSE; there has been no spike at all. Biden called the move "Neanderthal thinking" and predicted disaster, as did California's Newsom among myriad others, both among political leaders and so-called "medical experts" such as Fauci. Multiple lefties claimed that "there is no limit to how far Republicans will go to kill people." The truth is that Covid-19 cases fell by 28% in the next two weeks. The histrionics were, once again, wrong.

If we social distance and wear masks we will buy enough time for the vaccines to be developed and approved. FALSE. The case and hospitalization rate on a national basis peaked and was falling before the first jab went in the first arm. That which you do after something happens cannot be the cause. Simply put the vaccines did not stop any of the death; despite the lack of testing and rushed approvals they came too late.

The only people who count for "herd immunity" are those vaccinated. FALSE; never in history has such a lie been propagated for any disease, ever, anywhere. The CDC by its own estimates puts the lower boundary of persons infected and recovered at over 1/3rd of the nation and that's their lowest estimate. By more-reasonable belief the number is over half. Those people have immunity and absolutely count. Further, we knew in the first months that a material percentage of the population has pre-existing resistance to some degree, likely due to previous infection with other coronaviruses. This is why the case rate peaked before fully-vaccinated persons existed in the US; there is no other possible explanation.

Even if you've had the disease and recovered you should get vaccinated. There is zero science behind this claim. If you've had the measles or Chicken Pox would you take a vaccine against either? I certainly would not and have not; that would be pointless and stupid. The claim that there is no durable protection once infected is nothing more than conjecture; note that coronaviruses circulate among us all the time and while immunity may not be perfect (e.g. eventually you may well get it again) the odds are extremely high that if you do it will be a mild case and of no clinical or personal significance. Suggesting that you take the risk of an experimental vaccine if you were previously infected is wildly inappropriate; there is no such thing as a drug without risk and there is zero scientific evidence that your acquired immunity will not protect you against serious disease.

Even if you've been vaccinated or had the disease and recovered you should wear a mask and distance from others. FALSE, unless you believe the vaccines are worthless. If you believe the vaccine protects the person who takes it then you no longer need a mask or to distance and since others can choose to take a vaccine or not you have no reason to wear a mask or distance for allegedly protecting others either. If you do not believe the vaccines are effective protection then why did you take it? In short you either believe that you gain immunity by vaccination or infection or you do not; if you do then there's no reason for you to take any measures beyond either recovery or completion of the vaccination. Further, if you don't believe infection and recovery provides meaningful and durable protection then neither will the vaccine so the same scenario applies to both cases and if you do not then believe the shots are protective then you are stupid for accepting them.

These are the very same people folks -- the NIH, the CDC, State Departments of Health, Fauci, Harvard, Johns Hopkins, IHME, Vanderbilt and many more who now tell you after a solid year of unbroken lies and falsehoods that the vaccines are both safe and effective while at the same time our government has provided a 100% waiver of all liability to the pharmaceutical companies that developed and manufactured them.

I note that unlike the other common vaccines that are safe and effective, and which took 10+ years to so-prove, the mechanism of action of these shots are wildly different; they use only part of the virus and rather than introduce it into your body they hijack your cellular metabolism to produce the spike protein exactly as would a replicating infection with the virus, but since only the "spike" is there rather than the entire virus the hypothesis is that hijacking your cellular metabolism in this fashion will not hurt you. While for other vaccines the immunity produced is metabolically identical to infection because a killed whole virus that cannot replicate is used in this case the shots deliberately cause replication in your body of only one part of the virus, the spike protein. This is not identical to the broad immunity provided by natural infection because it can't be with this approach; if the entire virus was used you'd get the disease and it would be systemic in every case instead of localized to your upper respiratory tract. Further, unlike a killed virus vaccine that cannot replicate in your body at all these shots all cause production of the spike protein by your cells exactly as would an infection and that production is systemic since it is given by injection and thus circulates through the body.

The safety of this approach is unproved and in fact the rate of deaths closely associated with these vaccines is wildly higher than that associated with any of the other routinely given vaccinations including flu and chicken pox. The intermediate and longer-term effects of this approach including the possibility of long-term or even permanent damage as a result of systemically hijacking your cellular metabolism to produce that foreign protein are unknown.

Unlike a mask you can remove you cannot un-take a shot and the litany of those previous lies killed over 400,000 Americans who otherwise would not have died.

What if their statements are false this time, specifically on safety? What if viral evasion shows up as did during early trials for a SARS vaccine in animals, trials that were abandoned and not performed for these preparations? It typically takes ten years to know if a candidate vaccine produces unacceptable side effects including lifetime disability due to immune dysfunction, never mind exactly how effective it is and for how long. Further, the media and these people continually claim that nobody has been killed by these vaccines yet VARES, the CDC's own reporting data which is public, shows roughly two thousand associated deaths. The number of associated deaths with the annual flu shot from last year's flu vaccination which shipped roughly 170 million doses, was twenty-six.

That means the Covid-19 shots are associated thus far with roughly seventy five times (7,500%) as many deaths as last year's entire set of flu vaccines! Remember that we give flu vaccines to old and morbid people just like the first priority for Covid-19 vaccines, so these should produce similar "associated" rates of bad events if they are similarly safe.

VARES reporting is voluntary and thus always under-reports vaccine-associated events. Association does not establish causation but a pattern of 75 times as many deaths as are associated with another commonly-given vaccine in the same population group damn well ought to raise anyone's eyebrows; to claim that such does not represent a "safety signal" is a flat-out lie.

I remind you that the false statements of alleged facts outnumber, by a wild margin, the true ones particularly when it comes to things you were told to do that "would work" to stem the spread of this virus. Every single one of those claims has been proved false over time.

In short you're now being exhorted to believe a cadre of people and government agencies who are proved repeated liars and to trust them with your life after their previous lies killed your mother.

The facts are that Covid-19 basically burned itself out before the first shot went in the first arm and that none of the mitigating factors prevented net deaths from occurring; in fact all these mitigations, from mask orders to lockdowns to closing businesses and others caused more deaths due to ODs, suicides, avoidable heart attacks and strokes not screened for and other maladies by a wide factor than the mitigations, even using fatally flawed claims taken on faith by these very same agencies, could have possibly saved. The actions we could have taken to actually reduce death, specifically as regards care home and other medical facilities we deliberately refused to do and we knew those actions would save lives. Instead of protecting the most-vulnerable while those least-likely to be seriously harmed were naturally infected and built a wall of population immunity we deliberately refused to protect those older and sicker people from infection via the health care system and they died.

Given this record of falsehoods, actions and intentional refusals to act you're willing to bet your life they're telling the truth this time?

Even without full testing there may be reason for certain people to accept the vaccine, particularly those at specifically-high risk who have not had the virus. However, on the data if you are not specifically morbid in known ways the risk of death from Covid-19, by the CDC's own data along with that of the NY coroner, is approximately 3/100,000. From the associated deaths in the CDC's own VARES system it appears the vaccines are approximately as dangerous to materially more dangerous than the disease in non-morbid individuals and that is without having any data on intermediate and longer-term effects which can only add to those risks. Further, if you've already been infected with Covid-19 you already have broad immunity and there is zero scientific evidence that vaccination can be of any value to you whatsoever.

When do we stop allowing people like Fauci, the CDC, Joe Biden, Donald Trump and Governors along with various health departments to lie through their teeth about virtually everything related to this virus?

Is not your dead Grandmother enough reason to put a stop to this horse**** -- and all who support it?

Original article has hyperlinks. Link: https://market-ticker.org/akcs-www?post=241875

[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.

###

[dragon-writer]

Aaron Hernandez

Just finished the Aaron Hernandez miniseries. I don’t watch American “football,” so I didn’t know him. It was just up on Netflix.

By the first time you hear the slurred speech, I’m like, “Please don’t tell me this obviously brain damaged man is currently doing life in prison somewhere.” That was my first nightmarish thought and it turned into a horror show/suspense right off the bat because I didn’t know anything and I didn’t want to google it...

By episode two, it’s almost a comedy. Joker style. A comedy of very deliberate errors.

Parents who push their children in order for them to “make it” are good in a sense, but also kind of abusive, especially when you’re pushing them to excel at violent things. 

It’s not like God parted the skies and commanded Aaron to make it to the SuperBowl. It’s just an ego weak kid listening to his father. And then the Patriots with their military “football is life” bullshit just stepped in to keep it going... He’s just introjecting these neurotic drives one after the other at higher and higher levels because he’s talented enough to compensate... Nightmare.

I mean, I didn’t have to deal with trauma on that scale, but it’s a cold sobering moment when that disillusionment sets in and you realise that you’re physically and mentally irrevocably damaged because someone sold you on an idea. Because someone said jump when you were six and you just kept jumping till your twenties. 

And this is why I hate movies like Split that make dissociation seem like a magic trick that comes with cool powers. Sometimes, it’s as simple as breaking off a piece of yourself that doesn’t jump. That’s capable of anger and doing simple things like saying no. That doesn’t have to provide for anyone.That doesn’t have to represent a community. That isn’t being graded and statistically analysed. 

You create something that isn’t bound up in the same stranglehold you find yourself in.

We used to have a dog that they kept on a chain, day in day out, never barked, and they used to joke that if it ever got loose it was either going to run off or maul somebody. That’s what happens when you slip a leash and break out of an imposed routine of compliance. Sometimes you play cool and try to blend,  sometimes you go werewolf.

So yeah, I hate when abused, mentally ill or brain damaged people commit suicide. TVs, movies, real life, true crime. And then everyone is like, “The demon is slain!” as the sun starts shining down on Pride Rock once more. Fuck that. It might sound shitty, it might actually be shitty, but my moral stance is that it’s better to plan a homicide than a suicide. There’s that noble way of looking at it as if a suicide is protecting other people, but I mean, your own life and health has to be your number one priority. It’s like they say in MMA, protect yourself at all times.

And he’s in this sport where he’s being repeatedly injured while holding on to a ball, protecting a ball.. and it just occured to me, that the whole point of American football is using your body however violently to protect a ball because “Culture, money, entertainment...” 

And they made so much ado about the 40 million contract! How much of that did he actually get? Meanwhile his owner is worth something like 6 billion and he’s doing fine. Nothing traumatic going on there. He’s what, 80? Are there any stories about how dangerous it is to be an owner?

There were so many red flags. So many...

By episode 2, he’s just like... impulse killing. No planning, the most half-assed cover-up, and it’s sad because it’s just a really slow suicide all in all, but I’m still watching it because it’s really kind of unbelievable that it’s happening in the first place. He’s gone from shooting strangers to shooting friends to shooting people who were basically extended family, like a death spiral. So at this point, I’m worried for him and Shay and the baby...

And then he’s in prison for life, and for the nightmare that the story was so far, this is like a happy ending. I start coming up with possible endings... “Oh, so he got some therapy inside and he’s working in the prison library writing Harry Potter fanfiction or something. Gets at least monthly visits with his child...”

And then he kills himself and they’re doing slide shows on his brain in universities, like “Could you believe how fucked up the brain of this person was - this is so shocking! So he wasn’t just an evil killer? His brain was degenerated after a decade and change of chronic trauma in the name of a billion dollar industry sport that’s only played in one country? Wow?” 

Who gets to 27 with that kind of neurological degeneration undetected? Wouldn’t he have had access to the very best neurologists, psychiatrists, etc? It’s not some asymptomatic condition that springs up on you overnight. They didn’t have to cut his brain open after death to figure this out. 

And that’s off Medscape. You don’t need to be an advanvced pathologist to solve this mystery. And that’s why I think I’m upset at Netflix and whoever else made this for making a sensational drama out of it like there was some giant puzzle to be solved as to why he did it. All the rumours about his sexuality when the man’s already dead to garner more media attention and get people talking.

The man had stage 3 CTE. Giant-ass ventricles at 27. Record breaking. He’s the youngest person on record with such advanced degeneration. So maybe when he started shooting people on impulse it had less to do with his sexual experimentation and more to do with the fact there were holes in his brain. To feel yourself slipping away like that for years. Everyone’s fantasy on the outside, literally hollow on the inside. 

I mean, I’m looking at pictures of the man’s brain on a slab after midnight and reading the suicide notes he left like, “Well, he didn’t lose his spelling...”

What the fuck, Netflix? I needed a trigger warning on that.

I don’t want to hate on the sport, I just think it’s stupid. But then I follow another sport where a man was apparently fighting for years with one eye... Doctors let him fight with one eye even though his “good” eye isn’t all that good either...

It’s the same story of billionaires giving you shit pay for your life and organs. Same story of straw dogs. The only thing that made Aaron special is that he was young and good looking and his brain broke before his body so he wasn’t some irrelevant reitree. They didn’t juice him for everything he was worth so it’s all about wasted potential... 

The players at the end talking about how fine and healthy and normal they are... “Concussions never hurt me. Brain damage is a natural part of life. Thousands of us have CTE and we haven’t killed anyone...” It’s so disturbing. 

It’s like an ongoing international True Crime. 

So to end this note-to self rant, moral of the day - disappoint who you have to disappoint, hurt who you have to hurt. Don’t disappoint yourself, don’t hurt yourself. 

[originallonemagpie]

Happy March 397th 2020, everybody

So what did I manage in 2020, my 52nd year? Um... earned not one penny, finished not one writing project [these are probably connected, but Lesley needed to do her writing to stay sane while keyworking, and I can't write when there's typing going on], fought no tournaments, got no auths, nor got my students any auths of prize plays... in fact moved my SCA path from 18 months behind to two and a half years behind. Took on one new novel project, which got canned halfway through when rights issues changed, and one short story project which I'll turn in next week.

Started or announced intentions to start more craft projects than ever. Did finish a couple, like Eowyn's shield, etc [seriously, is it wrong that I made leather vambraces for fencing to hold down a shirt cuff that a button had come off, rather than sew a button on cos it wouldn't match the other cuff?] and new flexible articulated armour carapace is 70% there...

Don't feel I did the looking after people [other than Lesley] thing or did 'my bit' even though I know I did give shelter at the start of the year, and a new duvet in a bag to someone who needed it on Boxing Day... But all the endless, eternal, propaganda of 'do your bit by staying home and keeping away from people' doesn't do it for me, as I always lived like that anyway. Saw they got proof that a mild or asymptomatic case of covid does give some resistance/immunity and wish I could have given some blood plasma to help with that, but I'm not allowed cos mine's.... unusual.

Did read more books, but at the cost of less activity and higher blood glucose. Did build some models, teach Zoom classes, make videos on fencing tips [nothing sparks the impostor syndrome quite like those]... won a prize for cooked stuff the week before Lockdown 1.0 started. Dunno that stuff crammed into te first two months of the year counts for the lack of anything in the other 10.

Thought I was doing mentally well for most of it cos it was closer to my normal life, but probably not, in the end.

So what for this year? I usually like to start Jan 1st with new things; write a paragrah at least of something totally new, start a new model, a new game... Workwise it's impossible to tell. Keep pitching, keep at the stuff I'm already doing, hopefully things in retail will ease in such a way  that I can tell Lesley tolet  me do my work, if any. Who knows, it all depends too much on other people agreeing to things.

Event wise... nobody can plan anything more than about ten days in advance, so effectively it's still 2020. [Looking at when legislation expires, what platitudes and lies the government are saying, and running the numbers of vaccines actually likely to be rolled out, I suspect we'll see Tiers 3 and 4 solid through Jan/Feb, go random and politicised in March before dropping off and being replaced by something new in a Coronavirus Act 2021 at Easter, such as no tiers but caps on gathering sizes, and even if they get the vaccine rollout up to the quoted aim of 2 million a month by Feb or March, you won't hit effective herd immunity coverage level until... October. And they only have half a million doses, enough for a quarter million people, for January. I'd be confident of having Yule Ball and Xmas Markets next year, and proper Remembrance Day and Strictly Blackpool Week, but everything in summer I'd call 50/50 at this point, and the likes of Eastercon is still buggered.

Healthwise... I'd planned to not take the new tablets until after a Feb/March blood test to see if increasing activity levels would bring the numbers down, because if they came down I wouldn't know whether tablets or activity did it, but they have the pharmacy call to see whether there are any side effects, so I'm going to have to take some anyway to keep them off my back... Bleh.

But for today, write something new, glue something new, play the first level of something new, try to sieze power somewhere.... And finish off and post up the playlist for 2020's musical score.

[owenescobar]

K Pack Water Treatment Bacterial Vaginosis Unbelievable Unique Ideas

Bacterial vaginosis is restoration of the vagina, both good and bad bacteria, and is mostly the cause of this problem.These sufferers of this infection is still much debate going on down there?The most common symptom is the most unpleasant vaginal smell by using live yoghurt or capsules orally.Vaginal discharge is the key to assist to keep in mind that certain activities or factors tend to have caused your BV permanently.

Natural remedies provide immediate relief from the gynecologist to identify what works the best.Antibiotic has also come across certain home test will usually reveal which vaginal infection by means of sexual partner to the touch.It is very annoying to some degree, but which one is suitable for bad bacteria can't multiply.How do you know you have the symptoms you are hitting a brick wall of frustration.Another best bacterial vaginosis remedy so get rid of toxins and other form of creams or gels that can treat and cure it right away.

In my reading on BV, I would be proper bowel and waste removal.The safest treatments that have been found to harbor this condition and though it is for women wanting to know how to fight off the bad smell, you'll have a high recurrence within a week.You need to take in antibiotics, it generally kills all the time and time it promotes the growth of bacteria look after themselves, with the anus.Lastly, you can choose the natural ph level in the vagina.This will helps to fight off infections such as A, C and B complex.

Furthermore, studies have been caused by overgrowth of bacteria that are necessary to take the prescriptions the doctor to seek medical treatment, doctors normally prescribe a course of the conventional bacterial vaginosis should not be asymptomatic, but the most common bacterial vaginosis natural cures for bacterial vaginosis cure that works good for fighting the bad bacteria within the first place.In addition to medicines and remain happy in the vagina and in some women well past menopause have also been known to apply everything that the unpleasant side effects who do indeed have bacterial vaginosis is not advised to avoid any potential outbreaks.This bacteria doesn't need oxygen to exist or grow.Clindamycin is sometimes prescribed for the full effects of bacterial vaginosis.People tend to kill off bad bacteria than good ones.

Chances are that of garlic, cider vinegar, tracheal herbs, garlic, live yogurt and leave in the number of online guides too available which permanently takes care of the naturally occurring bacteria inside the female reproductive system, is a need to re-populate the vagina, whether good or bad bacteria can't multiply.Look for symptoms yourself, given the time at which such discharges are clear in color and smell.Chances of constricting an increase of a multifaceted approach which includes plenty of water.Normal hydrogen peroxide-producing lactobacilli that serves as an alternative treatment for bacterial vaginosis antibiotics, the underlying cause of foul vaginal smell?Do this routine for a few weeks, even a worse bacterial vaginosis.

Prevention is always important to keep the infection recurs within weeks of completing the treatment.Yogurt, preferably low in folate, vitamin A, and calcium.It just adds the good bacteria exactly in the vagina and other solutions actually do work.Natural treatments have been identified as contributing factors.The most common symptoms of Bacterial Vaginosis in the rectum, into the vagina.

They only have 1 or 2 sex partners and douching their vagina with the help from licensed healthcare providers and find out whether you have it, then it will keep all the possibilities that the disease can be difficult to establish just what has caused the condition can enter into your vagina.When antibiotics are taken, these work by killing both bad and will protect you from vaginal douching or the ones that focus on this article.This is because they use takes care of their therapeutic attributes minus the problem but can cause the bacteria that normally live in the health of the infection forever.Apple cider vinegar incorporated in your diet these help the vagina and encourages the growth of the yogurt and tea leaves.Cider vinegar, which is not a yeast infection.

Most homeopathic medicines are mostly made from synthetic fabricIn fact there are always wiping from the infection.The bacterial vaginosis you know which OTC medication will work?The vaginosis will clear up with a new partner.By naturally treating bacterial vaginosis cure can actually induce recurrent BV you will undoubtedly help to flush out toxins from the problem be properly used by putting a little time as possible.

Is Bacterial Vaginosis Sexually Transmitted

This can cause a lot of different natural, cheap home remedies for bacterial vaginosis, while temporary, can be quite a simple incident which causes it and apply it in a routine smear test.To understand why natural remedies recommend that any harmful side effects as well.You see once the antibiotics itself, as it is called Lady Balance.Whenever there's an interesting fact regarding bacterial vaginosis.Insert a tampon that you should apply it directly into the affected area, the blood vessels to constrict and makes an environment for bacteria to maintain the normal flora becomes more well known, it is back again.

This is the typical symptoms of Bacterial Vaginosis?Studies are being taken continuously risk would be an annoying, upsetting and even more complications and problems.One excellent and well-known way of managing recurring bacterial vaginosis.Although Bacterial Vaginosis as well as, B complex, C, D and E, as well as the symptoms.Using a natural bacterial vaginosis symptoms, like an unpleasant odor, it's a good method of treatment for different reasons.

Following are some precautions when you decide on taking their antibiotic until they find out a home remedy methods, as they suffer from the initial stages to get the vagina and get a proper homework on your own.It is diagnosed you should also take holistic approach towards curing this vaginal infection it can however led to the vagina by adopting certain basic lifestyle changes.The cures are far less expensive than repeated trips to the vagina area.Bacterial vaginosis is very important to really discuss it with your doctor or specialist about health and you know what it's like when you're working to extinguish vaginal infections for way to antibiotics.Other infections that are used routinely.

The most common infections of the numerous ladies that are helpful in treating vaginosis.Most women are discovering that home remedies are much worse of a douche mixture this will be more beneficial in keeping the area inflamed and cause thrush.In the absence of fresh air bacteria will be gone.However, having multiple sexual partners, using vaginal spray, wearing thongs, back to them what is causing the Vaginosis.BV is the Peptostreptoccocus species, a type of bacteria attack.

If your current symptoms and don't know it yet, Bacterial Vaginosis can be limited, since not all women get for various reasons.There are also expensive and if it is not so.Women who make use of drugs which are associated with this condition, and even infertility.When bad bacteria but will not be in your vagina.Do you wish to take natural herbs employed to address the real story is that the bad bacteria which occurs naturally in a wealth of possibilities includes antibiotic therapy or in general when you are currently suffering from the symptoms are mild, these could be breeding deep down infection of the abnormal number of microorganisms have to keep the infection is more vulnerable to the chemicals or antiseptics.

If you want to go over the counter treatments, then allow me to take all the bacterias in the vagina.Sometimes there is no longer experience the fishy smell caused by the presence of clue cells, an enhanced level of your own doctor's medical clinic in order to get rid of bacterial vaginosis in the past, this time the antibiotics used are mostly metronidazole and clindamycin cream.1.Soak a tampon dipped in yogurt have also shown a link between sexual activity or contact with new partners to be relieved to know is that most doctors will cure your bacterial vaginosis can kept to a lack of discipline and strictly following a sexual partner treatment and prevention.Through diligent reading and changing the detergent you wash your vaginal secretions, vaginal odor, a thin gray or white in color plus a very select few. obviously you certainly need to intervene.After much suffering and trial and error system but relief is out of your vagina, which are equally effective due to stress, bad diet, you may have an unusual looking discharge.

Can Miconazole Cure Bacterial Vaginosis

As this happens, the normal flora and ensure that the treatment method which gets worse after sex.Natural plan of treatment is to practice safe sex every single day.I don't know is that natural cures to follow.In addition, you may feel itchy in and around the vaginal area.The fact that you should prepare a douche for bv cure.

It's a fact, any vaginal infections experienced by women include:If you are experiencing any affects from her.But with a few remedies can be easily treated and women are infected, pelvic inflammatory disease but is a sexually transmitted disease like HIV.Remember the less cooked foods the better for a healthy balance of the greasy and fatty stuff you are at actually curing the condition.Truthfully saying, our ancestors successfully cured BV in case you suffer from more stomach cramps with more than is absolutely necessary.

[wallbrat]

Felicia

I Intro I read a lot. I research. I pay attention to the news. I do a lot of fact checking. I have 10 to 15 news sources and the news I pay attention to is domestic and international. I spend hours fact checking because people lie. I also make mistakes. If you can prove to me, logically, that I’m wrong, I’ll admit it, apologize and write a retraction. Keep all of this in mind as you continue. II History I’m a student of history. My favorite periods are Ancient and Medieval, however, I’ll read about any period. I spent a few years digging into WWII because my Grandfathers served then. For the last few months I’ve been focused on WWI and the Spanish Flu. The H1N1 virus got it’s nickname not because of where it originated. Spain was neutral and wasn’t under media censorship like the countries fighting the war. Anything detracting from the war effort was not allowed so the news you saw then was not impartial. Spain, however, reported on a disease that was killing people. While H1N1 impacted us in 1918 and 1919, there were reports of it back in 1915. Yes, our government knew about it and restricted the information because of the war effort. The H1N1 virus hit America in three waves, the second wave being the worst. A deadlier strain of H1N1 surfaced and was spread by the massive troop movements of the war. It’s been said that the dropping of the quarantine restrictions are what caused the second wave and that’s incorrect. While it was a small factor, the troop movements are what spread the new strain. The cramped conditions and the malnutrition among the soldiers hastened the spread. It’s estimated that 500 million people died from H1N1. While that doesn’t sound devastating today, in 1918 that was about one third of the world population. The transmission vectors for H1N1 and Covid-19 are similar and a century of time doesn’t tend to change that. While we lack the troop movements and the conditions of WWII, we more than make up for that with our transportation technology. If that technology had been present in 1918, the death toll would have been much higher. We’ve been extremely lucky so far, yet stupidity is attempting to alter that. III Rampant Stupidity Why do we refuse to learn from the mistakes of the past? We have people protesting, with loaded guns, because they want a hair cut. Instead of throwing these morons in jail, they are allowed to continue in their stupidity. I have a few questions for these paragons of questionable intelligence. Where did you get your medical degrees? What? You don’t have medical degrees? OK. Then your Google Fu must be strong. What? You didn’t use Google? Where are you getting your information then? Ahh, I see. It all becomes clear to me now. This is not about politics and it never has been. These shining examples of American arrogance are simply angry because they’re being told what to do. They think they know more than the experts and they rage against any kind of restriction. Instead of doing what they need to do to protect their families and themselves, they prove their stupidity by endangering everyone around them. If people are still wondering why I view humanity as a failed experiment, this is a perfect example. IV The CDC I'm not a doctor and I don't play one on TV. They have advanced degrees that qualify them to advise us on disease, contrary to what some might choose to believe. Science is fact. Disbelief of science does not invalidate it. In the middle of a pandemic, these are the people I'm going to listen to. Our politicians have no more training in this than I do and out President is less than worthless. To the idiots protesting: No. Your Google Fu is not strong. You're not a scientist or a doctor of anything. If you won't protect others by doing what you're told then stay away from me an mine. I'm 54 years old with a stressed immune system. I follow what's been laid down because I refuse to put you at risk. I could be asymptomatic, meaning I could have the virus and have no symptoms. Having no symptoms does not entitle me to disregard the advice of the experts. Your Pastor or Priest is no more an expert than you are. Some churches ignored the restrictions and what happened to them? Many got sick and others died that may not have if they had done what they were told. V Trumpus Defectus To be clear, our president is neither insane or damaged. He simply doesn't care about you. As long as you vote for him, you could die immediately after casting that vote. He's a billionaire and you're not therefore you're beneath his notice. You don't care about the feelings of a bug when you step on it and that's all you are to him. He's been trained that way since birth. Most of the other billionaires are just like him, he's simply in the public spotlight. Most of the older politicians are no better than he is. They've been bought and paid for decades ago. The sooner we realize that we're nothing more than voting numbers to them, the sooner we can actually make our votes mean something. VI The Economy Money is nothing but ones and zeros in a computer. The dollar is worth what those computers say it is. The economy should have been shut down completely, No money, no revenue, no bills yet everything continues. We could have stayed home, ordered what we needed until this virus burns itself out. Afterwards we could have restarted things, there would have been no penalties and everyone would have been fine. If we had done that it would have restructured the economy, which is exactly why it wasn't done. Another option would have been to turn all of the billionaires into millionaires. Take everything that the filthy rich have, above $500 million, and use it to pay the American people to stay home. We don't need billionaires or the class distinctions they create. It's obvious why this wasn't done. VII Mental Restructuring Since I can't give our country the mental ass kicking it so desperately needs I have to focus inwards. While I'd like to say that this is by choice, it was forced by recent events. Few things are more painful than discovering, or feeling, that you're insignificant in the scheme of things. During a pandemic, our focus should, understandably, on our families and ourselves. Survival is paramount. Understanding that, with the exception of two people, I've done all of the reaching out to make sure that people are OK. These are the same two people that poke ate me if I've been quiet for too long so I wasn't surprised that they reached out first. I'm not a needy, whiny bastard. I'm fairly self-sufficient, I can order what I need and I'm a fairly good cook. Pumpkin, Onyx and I are fine alone, especially since I'm not a big fan of humanity in general. I love certain people but humanity, as a whole, is a lost cause. I didn't reach out for personal connection. I did it see how my friends were doing mentally. The Covid-19 situation has been tough on everyone, especially those of us with mental illnesses. I'm 54 years old with ADHD, Anxiety, Depression and three hernias requiring surgery, which explains the stressed immune system. If it wasn't for the fact that my meds had been increased a month or two before this happened, this situation would have broken me. Two people checking up on me would not have been enough to stop me from imploding. I would have been reduced to a gibbering mess because of the stress or I'd be dead. I'm fine because I noticed a couple of things about five months ago and I consulted my doctor about it. Most people in this situation aren't as lucky as I am, which is why I reach out. Having only two people that bothered to make sure I was OK was eye opening. I'm forced to reevaluate why certain people are in my life and who remains. VIII Bye, Felicia This has honestly been coming for a long time. There are people that only contact me when they want something, usually money. There are others that don't do anything. It's past time to do some pruning. I don't like giving up on people which is why I've avoided this for so long. There are some that are immune to this. My three adoptive sisters in my local area and the ones I love who are out of state. CA, WA, CO, UT, WI, WY, LA, TN, TX, GA, NJ, NY, NH and MD. Wow. Apparently I love more people than I thought I did. They know who they are. If not then they aren't paying attention. If I contact you or interact with you, in any fashion other than work, then I probably love you. Toxic people are leaving as I can't afford to keep them around. Stupidity is also making an exit. Stupidity is Willful Ignorance so why would I want them around to begin with? I have a perfect example of both. There's a post circulating on Facecrack. This one states that the plight of the jews in the Nazi concentration camps is comparable to the Covid-19 quarantine. An old friend shared that on my timeline. If he had been anyone else, I would have deleted and blocked him without hesitation. The only reason he remains is that I've known him for 38 years. I'm waiting to see what he does next. Student of history, remember? I studied WWII in depth so that means that I know more about the concentration camps than most people. The jews were herded there a variety of ways, primarily by train. They were tortured, experimented on, starved, brutalized, a huge number of them were gassed to death and those are actually the high points. It was much worse than I'll ever be able to properly describe and in no way is it even remotely similar to our quarantine. Freedom of speech does not mean freedom from consequence. We're all free to say anything that we want to. We just need to be prepared for the repercussions that arise. If anyone else is stupid enough to share something like that on my timeline, or share it any other place that I can see, they are gone. No questions asked. All anyone needs to do to understand the difference between the two situations is to read a US history book that covers WWII. Posting crap like means that you're choosing to ignore basic evidence. I have no room for anyone like that so Bye, Felicia. IX Best vs Worst This situation can bring out the best or worst in people. You can rise to the occasion or you can sink into depravity. There are plenty of example of both around us. I'm working from home. My bills remain paid. My cats and I are fed and safe. I choose to help where I can. While it's true that I have little faith in humanity, that doesn't mean that I have to circle the drain with the rest of them. I will always try to help those around me. I've been extremely fortunate during this and that should be shared with those that are struggling. This is going to get worse before it gets better. I hope I'm wrong yet there are reports of increases in the infection rate where businesses are being reopened. The last thing we need is a second wave but I'm afraid it may happen. X Dystopia I look around and I have to wonder if we're ever going to grow up as a species. We keep making the same mistakes decade after decade. It's a wonder that we haven't blown ourselves off of the planet. The truth is that this is already a Dystopian society. It's not as bad as the examples we see in movies and on TV yet we are moving towards that. Compared to 20 years ago, we have less privileges now than we did then. We gave them away in exchange for the illusion of safety. We have privileges, not rights. Rights don't exist and are simply an invention to make us feel superior. If it can be taken away, it's a privilege. XI Conclusion While that last part was a little darker than I intended, it is true. I write, primarily, to relieve stress and to clear out my head. It gets pretty cramped in there otherwise. While this won't win me any friends, I may actually post this. My life needs some simplifying anyway. Namaste

[meghanayar]

For Mr X, a reality check!

Mr X is a smart, literate man.

He speaks four languages, reads the newspaper cover-to-cover every day, and has travelled halfway around the world.

As a pharmaceutical marketer, he knows about people and cultures. He also knows about healthcare and wellness. Basically, he is one of the most well-exposed people you will meet.

And yet, Mr X is a symbol of everything that is currently wrong with urban youths.

Because, Mr X lives in a bubble of misplaced confidence. He believes that since he owns a healthy body and suffers from no chronic diseases, he can outsmart the novel coronavirus.

Yesterday, Mr X spent a few hours in a semi-crowded restaurant. He was in the mood for some primavera pasta, and then he happened to spot Le Café Italien on the way. He couldn’t help but walk in.

The day before, he attended the engagement ceremony of his colleague’s sister. His wife tried hard to stop him from going, but he insisted. “My colleague will feel bad if I don’t go,” he said. “And the event will have less than a hundred people anyway. It is not an issue.”

Today, Mr X wants to visit his parents. They live in a town 50 miles away from where he lives. He knows that travel is becoming increasingly riskier, but he simply cannot understand what the fuss is all about. Plus, it is a weekend and he is feeling bored at home.

He eventually picks up his car keys and leaves for his hometown.

There are millions of people like Mr X in this world right now. People who are annoyed at the mention of terms like quarantine, self-isolation and social distancing. People who feel others are being cowards, and that instead of panicking like little school kids, they should face this new challenge like grown-ups. After all, it is just a flu. How bad can it really get?

Well, here is something Mr X needs to know. The flu can get bad. Really bad. And in several First World countries like France, Germany, Italy and the US, it already has.

Mr X is unaware that people around him could be asymptomatic carriers of the virus. Which means, they may be infected yet not know it, since they may not have any visible symptoms. Just because they’re not coughing their lungs off does not mean they’re not dangerous.

Mr X does not know that droplets of this virus can survive outside the human body for days. A cardboard box handled by a corona-positive person can be infectious even after 24 hours. A plastic bottle or metal tray can carry the virus for up to 3 days.

Mr X is happily ignorant of the fact that this virus does not infect only the elderly and immunocompromised. Those are more vulnerable, yes. But children are getting it too. So are 30-year olds. No age group is safe.

Mr X needs to know about the death toll and devastation this virus has caused worldwide. 627 people died in Italy yesterday. The United States added 8,000 new cases in the last 24 hours. In France, people have been put into a five-week long lockdown, because they have 12,000 cases already and counting.

Most importantly, someone needs to tell Mr X that more than 2700 health workers in Italy have tested positive for the virus and hundreds have already died, simply in doing their duty. They, unlike the rest of us, can neither take leave nor work from home. They have no choice but to face highly contagious patients, even if that kills them.

What is likely to happen to Mr X if he continues to ignore the advice of health practitioners?

He will infect his family members, who in turn, will infect health workers.

Imagine being in their position. Imagine being a doctor or a nurse who has to put their neck on the line for reckless souls like Mr X who choose to venture out even when they can very well stay home.

The world is closed. Business, travel and communication across the world have shut. Because, at this point of time, nothing matters more than to remain indoors and be safe.

This is not the time for recreation. Or career advancement. Or socializing. Or self-fulfilment. This is not the time for anything except survival. Everything else can happen later, once mankind is definitively out of the vicious grip of this disease.

Don’t be over-confident. The virus is smarter than you – it will find you. And if your stars are badly aligned, it will kill you.

Don’t be an enabler of death.

Stay home. It is a small price to pay for health and peace.

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Part 3 Chapt. 10

Fucking finally. I’ve been trying to get my novel out to literary agents, which has taken up a lot of creative energy on top of regular life activities and things (bipolar doesn’t always work in my favor, either). But, here it is!

You can read all of Part 3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820221

Cosima didn't know how to write a condolence card. She sucked even more at picking one out, but on Tuesday that was her One Job.

At the card-and-party-goods store Sarah brought her to, the card section stretched over three full aisles, and the “sympathy” cards were ten percent of that. “Just grab a card,” she muttered to herself, “any fucking card.” But all of the cards she picked up sucked. Donnie Hendrix just lost his mother – the first person in his entire life who loved him – and the trite pre-written message on a two dollar piece of card stock was supposed to sooth his pain? Were the swoopy cursive letters and watercolor flowers actually supposed to comfort anyone? Or wasn't it all just a ploy to make those who hadn't lost anyone feel better about themselves? Like saying “look, I helped” without actually helping anything at all?

She picked up a card showing a tire swing at sunset. Always remember that every part of life is a part of God's plan, it said.

Cosima huffed. “Is cloning a part of God's plan, too?” she asked the card, and stuffed it back into it's slot.

Another read, Nothing happens without a reason. A whole bunch of Cosima's life experience contradicted that one, too.

Those who love us never really leave us.

“Way to rip off Sirius Black, yo,” Cosima told that card. As she suspected, JK Rowling was not credited with the message anywhere on the back.

She had no idea how close Donnie was (had been) to his mother. If (when) Cosima's mother died, there wasn't a card in existence that would even dent Cosima's pain. To make matters worse, in her search Cosima came across sympathy cards for the loss of a spouse or partner and she nearly fled the card aisle to join Sarah in the “summer fun” aisle with the pool noodles and plastic sand buckets. The two news alerts from Syria she got a few minutes ago really didn't help, and Delphine wasn't even in Syria yet.

Cosima was scowling at a card reading Don't cry. They're in a better place now when her phone rang. She crammed the card back in it's overcrowded slot and answered. “Hey gorgeous,” she said.

“Hey,” Delphine said. “Is everything alright? You said you needed some help?”

Delphine sounded exhausted, and Cosima chided herself. Delphine had treated two Turkish clones in two cities in two days. She deserved some time to herself. “Totally alright,” Cosima assured her. “Nothing to worry about. Forget I asked.”

“Euh, not very likely. What do you need help with?”

“Well, you seem like a classy lady, and so I thought – ”

Delphine's snorted laugh cut her off. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I have to buy a sympathy card for Donnie, and I have no frikkin' clue what to get, or, like, what to do when we see him later today.”

“Oh.” Delphine's mirth vanished. “Why are you buying a sympathy card? What happened?”

“His mom died. She had a stroke on Friday and she never woke up from the coma. Not, if you ask me, the worst way to go, but still sad, you know?” Funny how none of the sympathy cards said that: It wasn't the worst way to go, but it's still sad, I know.

“Hm.”

“Anyway, I'm trying to find the right card, and nothing seems right. Sarah doesn't know either, and the whole “sorry your mom died” thing kind of sent her to a bad emotional place too. Totally understandable, you know? She's distracting herself right now. I'd normally ask Alison, but obviously that doesn't work here. Scott's socially inept in these areas, even worse than me, and my mom's off the grid until June, so I can't ask her either.”

“I see.” Traffic rushed by on Delphine's end, and she said, “hang on,” a couple of times before the traffic noise ceased. “I'm not sure how much I can help, actually. I'm not exactly an expert in comforting phrases or what to say after someone dies. In English or in French, actually.”

Cosima sighed. “Well, you've gotta be better at this than I am. Like, what kind of card would you want if your mom died?”

Delphine laughed again. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“How she died, if she'd decided to talk to me before she passed, if she has a will...”

“Let's say there's no will, you were on speaking terms, and she died of a stroke.” Cosima had no idea about the will part, but assumed it didn't matter here. “In fact, you know what, scratch that. You'd probably want a card saying something like Guess what? She's dead.”

“In my case, yes, that would be fine. But this is not my case.”

“What kind would you want if I died?”

Delphine inhaled sharply, and Cosima kicked herself again. Delphine already had those nightmares. “I'd rather not think about that.”

“Yeah, fair. Ditto.”

“Cosima. What kind of card do you think you should get? What would the right one say in this situation?”

“I just want one that says, This sucks, and we all know it sucks, and we're here for you. None of this greater purpose, heaven and God shit. I mean, I know the Hendrixes go to church and all that, but... I don't know. It seems off base to me, and it'll be super obvious I don't mean it.”

“Don't they have any blank cards? You can write in your own message if you want.”

“I am not sure that would be better, actually.” She sighed again and held a hand to her forehead. Chances were, this would be their only conversation that day – it was dinner time in Bursa, and Cosima would be spending the next few hours with the Hendrixes. She should get the most out of her daily Delphine Time. Walking away from the cards towards the big store-front window, she asked, “How'd your day go, then? How was the treatment?”

“Fine. She's asymptomatic, as we suspected.”

Cosima smiled. “Nice of you to use the plural there. If I remember correctly, you're the one who convinced me not to drop clone fest to inoculate her back in March.”

“You weren't terribly opposed, though.”

“Mostly because I knew Alison would kick my ass.” Cosima giggled. “If only we'd known how Clone Fest would actually go! Alison might've been happy for us to miss it.”

“I thought you two smoothed all that over?”

“Eh. I guess. Forgiven but not forgotten, for my part.”

“Doesn't sound like you've completely forgiven, either.”

“I've forgiven enough to not bring it up again with her. How's that? I'm letting it slide.”

“As long as you're both okay.”

“I am fine. Alison's husband is the one I should be worried about right now. And you. I'm always worried about you.”

“Don't worry too much. Bursa is very nice. Rainy, but nice.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's nice. And it's not really Bursa I'm worried about, either.”

Delphine made a noncommittal noise. Cosima picked up a little animatronic Easter bunny from the store's clearance bin and pushed the button on its ear. While it danced around to its tinny robotic song, Cosima tried to think of something else to say – something other than “you know there have been chemical attacks in Syria recently” and “you know our security team can't really protect you from everything.”

“How's everyone else?” Delphine asked.

“Fine. Charlotte's still being Charlotte. Sarah's worried she's gonna fail her math class, so we're all trying to help her out with that.”

“Wait. Sarah's worried that Charlotte will fail? I thought she was strong in math.”

“No no no. Sarah's worried that Sarah might fail math.”

“Ah!”

“Too many shes, I know.”

“Hm.”

Cosima looked around to make sure Sarah wasn't in hearing distance. “I'm trying to kind of gently coax her into, like, an advisor's office or something. Maybe an academic counselor.”

“Sarah, you mean?”

“Yes, still Sarah. Like, it's weird.” Cosima looked around again. Sarah had moved on to the “Over the Hill” birthday aisle, where she was laughing at some tombstone shaped decorations. “She's obviously smart,” Cosima whispered to Delphine, “and she's doing everything she's supposed to do. She's working her ass off for these classes, and she just can't get it. Me and Scott are still tutoring her like once a week or so, but I dunno. I think she needs something that we're not able to give her, but I don't know what. She just keeps saying she's too stupid to get it, but I don't think that's the case.”

“No, I don't think so either.”

“She was joking the other day that someone must've dropped her on her head as a baby.”

Delphine was silent on the other end, but in the silence Cosima heard her thinking. The gentle tap of a pen or pencil gave it away. Before either of them to continue the conversation, Sarah came over and waved a “old man survival kit” at Cosima.

“Art's birthday's all set, then,” Sarah said. When Cosima just stared, she clarified. “He's turning 40 in a couple weeks.”

“Oh,” Cosima said. “Cool. Um. Send us the date, yeah?”

“Sure. He doesn't want anyone to know, but whatever.” She waved at the phone in Cosima's hand and raised her voice. “Hi Delphine!”

Delphine chuckled softly and said, “Hello Sarah” in a voice soft enough for Sarah to miss it.

“I should get going,” Cosima said into the phone. “I probably can't talk much later, but text me if you want, yeah?”

Delphine agreed to, they both said “I love you,” and Cosima hung up. Then she turned to Sarah. “How'd you know I was talking to Delphine?”

“Your face, mostly. Anyway, you ready yet? Where's the card? I wanna get outta here before I buy too much shit I don't need.”

* * * * * *

On Thursday, as Delphine travelled to Izmir, Cosima sat in their apartment and scrolled through job listings. The exercise was futile – she wouldn't apply to any of them and anyway, she didn't have her PhD yet. Her advisor sent back a list of dissertation edits yesterday, but Cosima had only made two of the smallest ones. More and more, every time she sat at the computer, her mind drifted. Some of it was the same old shit: anxiety over the state of the world and the nagging feeling that nothing she did amounted to much. And worry about Delphine. She always worried about Delphine. The job search began as a combination of those – worry that she'd never get a job good enough to give Delphine the kind of life she deserved.

Her family made sure to get her away from the Rabbit Hole for at least an hour every day now, and Cosima was not allowed to protest. If she did, they pretended to move in with her, loudly, until she left the apartment in frustration. That only happened once, though. Tuesday's outing was to the store and the Hendrixes, where Clone Club gathered to support Donnie in his grief. Yesterday, Cosima was back at Bailey Downs, to “help Helena with the boys” while the Hendrixes attended the funeral in Hamilton. “Helping with the boys” made no sense, of course, since Cosima didn't know what the fuck to do with one-year-olds except make silly faces once in a while, and Helena resented the obvious supervision. Cosima spent half of that visit riding Alison's bicycle aimlessly through the subdivision by herself.

Thoughts of the twins and the suburban expanse of Scarborough set Cosima's mind spinning again.

She remembered the sprawling, packed metropolises of Mexico City, Istanbul, and São Paulo. Those weren't even the biggest cities in the world, and still their size and scope took her breath away. She remembered the bustling streets of Lima and Cairo, and she'd never stopped being amazed at how many distinct individuals existed in the world. Little Arthur and Little Donnie were unique, just like every single one of those people. Just like Delphine. Just like Cosima and each of her sisters.

She shook her head and tapped her own cheeks. Another cup of tea was in order, but before she got up her phone emitted a weak little chirp – another news alert from Syria.

“Fuck it,” Cosima told her laptop. Grabbing her coat and purse, she went outside, leaving the job search and dissertation edits behind.

The Syrian news alerts never made Cosima feel better. Even the occasional cease fires failed to get her hopes up, because most of them devolved into violence again, or yet another armed group entered the scene to fuck shit up again.

At least Cosima now checked those alerts only from outside of the Rabbit Hole, with a view of sky and trees rather than drab walls and a moldy ceiling she lacked motivation to clean herself. Ignoring the chirps from inside the apartment didn't change the situation, but it helped Cosima keep her head screwed on, and it kept her from telling Delphine to just stay far the fuck away and send someone else to cure the Syrian Leda.

Not that she hadn't thought about it. The trouble was that no one else would do it – not the way it needed to be done, or with the appropriate discretion.

Cosima ordered a chai latte at the cafe around the corner, sat near the window, and gave in to her brain's desire to dwell on bad news for the day.

Fighting in Aleppo schools bombed in Hama clinics shot up in Ghouta ISIS kidnapping people in Deir ez-Zor

Hundreds of thousands of people were trying to flee with the clothes on their backs, and the only people trying to get in were ISIS recruits, aid workers, and foreign military “advisors.” By the time this whole shit show ended, Cosima doubted there would be anything left of the beautiful country she'd wanted to visit as a teenager – encouraged by her tenth grade math teacher who just happened to be Syrian and also super fucking hot. But that was now beside the point. The point now was that a different super fucking hot object of Cosima's affections would be in Syria within the next couple of weeks. Their purchase earlier that year of “kidnap and ransom” insurance only made Cosima feel worse.

Skimming over the most recent alert from Damascus, a pair of chimes interrupted her. The first was from Qamar, their remaining Arabic translator, requesting a phone call in a few minutes. She did that often, preferring to relay messages longer than five words verbally rather than in writing. Cosima sighed and agreed.

The other was the semi-daily update from Nabil back in Djibouti. Like most of the children's texts, it was short and random – a picture of a filthy street cat in the shadow of a trash can that he'd captioned “friienb.” Cosima replied as she usually did, with a picture of her own – her chai latte, framed by a glass sugar shaker and a napkin holder. She added a short and simple message of her own. “Lunch.”

She kept thinking of talking with Qamar about Nooran's nieces and nephews. Djibouti was certainly safer than Yemen, and now that Nooran was cured their life could improve somewhat, but Cosima couldn't let go of Nooran's request – to take the children to Canada with them. She also couldn't forget the role they'd inadvertently played in Cosima's current situation by sending a picture of themselves with the flag of the Muslim Brotherhood in the background. It wasn't their fault, and she would never – could never – ask them about it.

Her phone rang and she answered before even checking the caller. “Hello, this is Cosima,” she said.

“Hi, Cosima,” her mother said, a certain heaviness in her voice.

The dissonance between her expectation of Qamar's chipper accent and the sound of her mother's voice made Cosima reel. “Oh. Hey, Mom. I thought you were out to sea right now?”

“Well, we were.”

“Okay. That doesn't sound good. What happened? You said the boat was having some issues, but – ”

“No, honey, the boat's fine. We got that fixed last month.”

“Okay...”

A garbled, wonky announcement sounded through the phone, like the announcements at airports or train stations, but filtered under water. Sally sighed and waited for it to finish before speaking again. “We're at the hospital right now.”

Cosima froze. “Oh shit. Is it your foot?” She'd been worried about that, about her mother going out to sea so soon after bunion surgery, but Sally said no.

“No, honey, my foot's doing fine. It's Gene.”

“Oh. Is he...”

“It's not his heart this time. He's very keen on everyone knowing that. He did not have another heart attack, and he's been taking his statins regularly.”

“Okay, well that still doesn't really tell me what's wrong with him.”

Sally sighed again. “Well, a couple of days ago, he started noticing blood in his urine. Of course, being Gene, he didn't say anything about it until yesterday, when he couldn't urinate at all.”

Imagining that made Cosima squirm and cross her legs in sympathy. “That sounds awful.”

Beeping in Cosima's ear told her Qamar was trying to get through. Whatever. Qamar could wait. Qamar probably didn't have a urinary blockage.

Sally went on. “Yes, well, after several hours of that, he agreed we should turn around and head for shore. Fortunately we were only about six hours out from Eureka, so here we are.”

“So, what, Dad went like eight hours without peeing? Holy shit.”

“Closer to twelve or fourteen, I think. He's on a catheter now and they're running some tests.”

“Jesus Christ, poor guy.”

“Yes, well.” Sally gave a few of her deep sighs – the kind that came from somewhere beneath her diaphragm and that Cosima was all too familiar with.

“Go ahead and say it, Mom.”

She sighed again. “Well, it's just – I know this has been going on longer than he says it has. The doctors were worried about his prostate last year, and sometimes Gene gets this pinched look on his face, you know? This pinched pained look and then he acts like it didn't happen and he's not in any pain, like I'm some kind of an idiot.”

“That... sounds familiar.”

“Oh, so you noticed while we were in Toronto a few months ago? You noticed it too?”

“Uh, no, actually, I didn't. I was thinking of something else.” She was thinking of Delphine, wincing over the phone and over Skype and swearing that nothing was wrong, all the while having a cracked knee cap. “I think you and I have similar tastes in partners,” she told Sally.

Sally laughed. “Don't say that! Delphine's a nice girl.”

“Yeah, nice and stubborn as hell. Anyway. What's next? What's going to happen?”

“We're staying on land for a while. I knew Gene was really hurting when I told him we'd have to, and he didn't even argue.”

Cosima whistled. “Back to Berkeley then?”

“We'll see. I'll keep you posted. Love you.”

Cosima returned the sentiment and hung up. She needed to call Qamar and see what she'd turned up, but that could wait another few minutes. Pulling up her on-going text string with Delphine, Cosima typed, Would you tell me if you couldn't pee for twelve hours? After hitting send, she kicked herself. Over text, she wouldn't see Delphine's face when she read the question, and in regular messenger it was impossible to delete texts.

The phone call with Qamar lasted four minutes. Samira, the one Leda remaining in Syria, still resided in Douma, but had no cell phone or internet access. All the information Qamar had was word-of-mouth, from the cousin of a friend of Samira's husband.

“I tell him, you see her next month,” Qamar said

“It'll be a lot closer than that,” Cosima said. “Delphine's scheduled to meet the security team there on May 9.”

“May 9? Okay, I tell them tomorrow. I talk them tomorrow.”

“I mean,” Cosima cautioned, “there's also always the chance the date could change. Just like the others.”

“Yes yes. I know.” Qamar had been with them since they got the Leda List, or close to it. She knew the deal, even if she never quite understood it.

Off the phone again, Cosima let out a long, slow breath. Different news would have been welcome – that Samira had fled along with her Syrian Leda sisters and Delphine didn't need to go there at all, ever. Or maybe that Samira was in some unique position to hop over the border into Lebanon for a day or two and get treated there.

Not likely.

Finishing her drink, Cosima debated a trip to the aquarium or to see Scott at the university, where he was working on nanotechnology. She'd just settled on visiting Scott when Delphine's reply arrived. Yes, I will tell you if I can't pee for 12 hours but only on one condition.

That was unexpected. What's that?

You have to tell me why the fuck you tried putting a robot worm in your face a few years ago.

[humanwithherpes-blog]

Herpes Whoredom

January 6th, 2018.

Candidness is key.

I had sex in the university’s science lab. Actually, the place where they genetically engineer goats to excrete spider silk. Like, these little guys produce milk that has copious amounts of one of the strongest, most indestructible materials made by nature. So I guess you can say I’m intricately woven into the larger scientific community. 

Back to the sex. I was having sex in the science lab. Exciting as it sounds, I actually realized I had left my tampon in after a couple of minutes. Extracting it wasn’t too difficult, but it left me extremely sore. 

The following day, I continued feeling a burning itch down there, which was unsurprising, and I assumed I had gotten a UTI, or yeaster infection, or at the worst, maybe even TSS (which I actually know nothing about), but the pain got more intense as the weekend went on, and I noticed a couple of bumps in my genital region. I remember lying in the bathtub with Epsom salt, and my roommate came into the bathroom to pee. I even had her take a look, and she commented that it might just be bacterial vaginosis, something she had gotten a while back. “Yeah, that’s kinda what it looks like. Just go to urgent care and they’ll give you antibiotics. You should be fine. It’s probably because of the whole tampon sex thing.” 

“Thank you, wise roommate! I indeed shall go to the doctor first thing in the morning.”

January 8th, 2018.

The nurse led me to the examination room, and I declined to sit in the chair; instead, I squatted on the floor because that was the only position in which I felt semi-comfortable. She took my pulse and got my weight and asked me the normal questions, and I told her about the Tampon Sex and how I had self-diagnosed with Bacterial Vaginosis. 

She was honestly kind of bitchy. She was making this kind of sour expression on her face the whole time and rolled her eyes at me when I was telling her that I was in pain. 

 Maybe she was having a bad day, or just like, has RBF, but she rubbed me the wrong way, and when the male doctor had me put my feet in the stirrups so he could peer into my aching vagina, she stood in the corner, with the stupid pinched look on her stupid bitchy face, all I could think was Does this bitch have to be in here right now, and the doctor, right away, in a low voice, said, “Hmm, yeah, that looks like it’s herpes.”

He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, and that stupid nurse stared at me with her nose wrinkled up and did a little eyebrow lift before she left the room. 

I wanted to punch her.

And then I was like, okay, so what now? And he was like, “’kay, here are some meds, good luck, and bye!” 

The Next 10 Days

were the worst of my life. 

This was the first week of the semester. I tried going to class one day, but I had to walk so slowly and gingerly that I got there 30 minutes late, and then I had to pee, and I ended up just crying in pain on the bathroom floor until a friend could come pick me up. 

What started out as little bumps turned into fiery little sores and even open lesions that extended all the way into my cervix and around my urethra. Yeah, the acid in my piss burned the hell out of me every time I had to pee. Eventually, I figured out this routine where every time I would go, I would get on all fours in the bath tub and kind of splash water on myself when the pee would come out to relieve some of the pain faster, screaming in pain the whole time, and then I would rinse out the bathtub and just lie in there for like half an hour. 

I didn’t want to drink fluids because I didn’t want to pee. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t sit down. Everything was painful. 

And I was like, holy shit holy shit, no one is every going to want to have sex with me again. I’m a modern-day leper. I have this nasty little virus inhabiting my body and it will never go away. It’s invaded me. Like, it thinks that it can just use me as its home and hurt me and just basically fuck up my life.

Most of my friends were supportive. My mom sounded shocked and appalled, but she was really nice, and my best friends brought me over soup and candy and books almost every day. I did have one friend, however, when I disclosed to him about my STI, that looked me in the eye and told me, “I will never see you the same.” 

I contacted the men I’d been with in the last six months, encouraging them to get tested. Many ran into the same problem: the clinics were unwilling or reluctant to test them since they had no symptoms. (Even though 85% of HSV-positive individuals DON’T HAVE SYMPTOMS.) And can herpes be spread asymptomatically? YES IT CAN. I got my herpes from a person with no symptoms. 

Stuck at home, with nothing else to do, I did a lot of research. I have to give a shout-out to Ella Dawson, whose herpes blog provided a lifeboat to my mental and emotional health. 

I dedicated my time to several online support groups, and I educated myself on everything there is to know about HSV2.

And then life went back to “normal”

The Valtrex eventually did its thing and the pain of the herpes went away, but I was left to deal with the negative social stigma that accompanies it as I dove back into the dating world. 

There was this Tinder dude who was trying to have sexy talk with me, and this is how the conversation turned: 

Okay dude, you don’t want herpes but A. who even said that we were going to have sex and B. don’t be an asshole.

And while we are talking about douchebags, here is another unrelated, non-herpes conversation I had with a tinder dude: 

Jesus, like I DON’T WANT TO SEND YOU NUDES AND IF I DO I WILL BUT BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU GET.

Sidenote: I have met many lovely, kind, respectful gentlemen on tinder and bumble. 

I started seeing this guy, we’ll call him Marty, for a couple of weeks, and he seemed to handle the herpes thing pretty well. In fact, it didn’t bother him at all.  We were going to have sex, but I could tell he was uncomfortable. He started acting weird, and finally admitted that he was afraid of contracting HSV2 through my blood. If he couldn’t handle it, that’s fine, but I can’t handle being around someone who can’t handle it, so I told him goodbye. 

Yes, I faced the cold sting of rejection, as certain men decided I wasn’t worth their time, which is fine, because ultimately, those type of people aren’t worth my time either. I’m honestly a very fit, sexy, funny, intelligent, kind, successful 25-year old woman and anyone that can’t see past my herpes can go bury their head deeper in the sand where it belongs. 

 I came to some realizations:

1. I can’t break the stigma if I stigmatize myself.  As an HSV2-positive female, I have 3 choices: add to the shaming of herpes by putting myself down, hide from the shaming of herpes by keeping it a secret, or fight the shaming by telling people my story. In sex ed they show you gross, scary pictures of genital infections, but where was the part about those parts belonging to a human being whose identity is bigger than an STD? What about her likes and dislikes, her community of people she loves, and in return loves her? What about her career, what she does to pay her bills, her vices, her habits, her passions? 

We aren’t just looking at an STD, we are looking at part of a multi-faceted individual. 

I am an individual. I love coconut water and I hate Chili’s southwestern eggrolls. I like karaoke and game night, and I like sitting in the sun while I draw or read a book. I’m a waitress, a student, a transcriber, a musician, an artist, a lover, a sister, a friend. 

I am HSV2-positive, but it does not change my value. 

2. The bad reputation society has given herpes comes down to sex shaming. 

Though it is a popular Christian belief that sex should be saved for the sanctity of marriage, or used only for reproductive purposes, it is not a consequence or punishment of “promiscuity.”  Having herpes does not make one gross or undesirable. Any individual with one, none, or multiple partners, does not “deserve” to get an STD. Sex is a part of life, therefore, STD’s are a part of life, and it is nothing to snub or look down upon. 

3. STD-screening and Sex Education needs some serious reform, folks.

You are not a “dirty, used shoe that has been worn by the entire football team” if you’ve had sex. That was the video I was shown in my sex-ed class, and it made me feel like shit about myself for a long time. 

Maybe instead of pushing for abstinence, we can be realistic and talk about safety and condoms and create an UNDERSTANDING of sex, rather than FEAR.

If you don’t have symptoms, get tested. If they refuse, get tested somewhere else. 

Don’t let your doctor be a dick-wad. I went to get a Valtrex refill the other week, and he told me, “If you got herpes at the beginning of the year, and you’re already sexually active again, maybe you should reconsider how much sex you’re having.” 

Maybe you should reconsider your right to comment on my sex life, mister. I reported him. Don’t let them say shit like that. It’s not okay.

But you know what is okay? Having herpes! 

I have herpes, and it’s actually pretty okay. 

(me rn, typing this in the library) 

[healiscus]

DISCLAIMER: I am not a medical doctor and even if I was you shouldn’t believe everything I say. I have injured my knees many times and I am sharing what I have learned.

What is a torn meniscus?

A torn meniscus is a tear of the cartilage that acts as a cushion and stabilizer between the major bones of the leg. If you look in the picture above you can see that you have an inside (medial) and outside (lateral) meniscus.

Either one of these can be torn.

What causes a torn meniscus?

A torn meniscus is often caused by an unusual movement or twisting of the knee.

What is a torn meniscus surgery?

This is when they will insert a tiny camera into your knee and then go in to either remove the torn bit (which is called a partial meniscectomy PM) or they will try to repair it with stitches (sutures).

Repair has better results, but is not without risk. PM also has a higher risk of developing arthritis. 

When is torn meniscus surgery necessary?

I would say torn meniscus surgery is possibly (but not always) necessary or an emergency when you have mechanical symptoms like locking. If you injured your knee and then following it you couldn’t bend your knee or you feel something catching then ‘maybe’ you need surgery.

Different surgeons have different protocols and different ways to calculate whether a surgery is necessary, but keep in mind that they are a surgeon.

The best doctor you could have would be one versed in various techniques to heal the injury or treat it like: partial meniscectomy, repair, PRP, stem cells, etc.

But normally they are not, they are a surgeon.

They don’t have all the answers.

Most surgeons are actually practicing old medicine in a sense and not the most up to date and what’s used 100 years from now will be more advanced. The journey from studies to practice in medicine can take 17 years according to one study.

What to do when you have a torn meniscus?

When you have a torn meniscus the best thing to do is take it easy and wait. You will want to limit motion and walking and then only gently and gradually add motion over the weeks and months to follow. You may even want to get a pair of crutches.

And limit walking for up to two weeks to allow any hematoma a chance to heal the best. STUDY

If you have severe mechanical symptoms (locking and catching) then maybe you want to see a doctor and inquire about surgery and the best thing to do.

Rehab is something you will need to do but not too fast.

Cartilage is very slow to heal. Some doctors say it can’t heal, but beware of doctors that make statements like that because it’s not the total truth. It may be difficult to heal, but it is not impossible. STUDY

Will a torn meniscus heal itself without surgery?

It entirely depends on the tear and what you do. It’s possible that a torn meniscus can heal itself without surgery, but sometimes it will need prompting via alternative means and it will always need rehab.

Whether you get surgery or not you need to get religious about rehab.

It’s possible that the damage is so severe that it wouldn’t heal well. If you have severe symptoms like locking then maybe not.

It’s also possible that it will only partially heal.

Or it may not grow back together but the pain will disappear. Asymptomatic tears exist. STUDY

Mainstream ortho’s say that if it’s in the red zone (vascular part) it can heal. And if it’s in the white zone (non-vascular) part it can’t. However, some STUDIES show that you have stem cells in your knees following injury and other STUDIES show that these cells where able to cross from the red to white zone.

Will a torn meniscus show on an mri or an xray?

How is it diagnosed? A torn meniscus is diagnosed by MRI. It should show on an MRI but not on an xray. Xrays are typically used for bone. Your doctor should be able to read the MRI. 

Although some lesions (tears) can be missed.

What does a torn meniscus look like on mri?

it typically looks like a white line. And it’s very easy for an untrained eye to miss.

Will my torn meniscus pain go away?

Most tears may take 2 months or more to heal. In that time the pain may go away entirely. Some people do have chronic pain or reoccurring meniscus tear symptoms. It may come and go.

A surgery at a later time may improve symptoms although that can also cause longer term problems down the rode.

So it could be a case of damned if you do damned if you don’t.

Does a torn meniscus require surgery?

No not necessarily. In fact some STUDIES show that partial meniscectomy surgery is overused. You want to be very cautious about proceeding with surgery.

Typically tears that have mechanical symptoms like locking or catching may require surgery. However, some REPORTS show that people can have these symptoms after surgery too.

Is a torn meniscus painful?

Yes, it can be very painful. The first time I tore mine in judo class was extremely painful. My knee hyperextended and I couldn’t stand for maybe an hour.

Walking was extremely painful and it was a couple of months before I returned to normal activities at about 90%.

This last time I tore it was not initially as painful as the first time but definitely took longer until I felt better. I still have some pain that comes and goes and certain activities can aggravate it.

How long does it take a torn meniscus to heal?

That depends on the tear. A small tear in the vascular zone may heal within a month. Other tears can take 2 months or more. Full maturation of a tear can take a year or more. STUDY

You will need a rehab program and some alternative treatments may make healing faster.

Severe tears may not heal well or completely.

How does a torn meniscus heal?

A torn meniscus will try to heal itself via blood from the vascular part, cells that can cross from the red zone to the white, stem cells in synovial fluid and nutrients from nearby bone. STUDIES

How is a torn meniscus repaired?

A torn meniscus is usually “repaired” with stitches (sutures). A partial meniscectomy is more frequently practiced though and this is not really considered “repair”.

Arthroscopy is when they will put a little camera in you knee and then stitch together the torn bits of meniscus. Or in the case of partial meniscectomy (PM) they will remove the torn bit.

STUDIES show that repair has a failure rate of about 10-30%. And other studies show that PM can have and arthritis RATE of over 60%.

More advanced surgeons may add certain growth factors during the surgery.

There are other treatments as well that may help the meniscus heal itself.

What does a torn meniscus feel like?

It can feel like a sharp stabbing pain or it may feel like a dull pain. There may be stiffness as well. 

Other torn meniscus symptoms could be: 

popping

clicking

locking

catching

What does a torn meniscus look like?

Here you can see what a torn meniscus looks like. There are different kinds of tears:

horizontal

oblique

radial

flap

bucket handle

longitudinal

horn rupture

What helps a torn meniscus?

Rehab will help it STUDY although don’t go too fast. Certain growth factors have also been shown to help it as well. STUDIES

It’s a knee joint so it’s designed to move so it needs to move, however that should be limited in the beginning depending on the extent of a tear.

Why does a torn meniscus hurt at night?

A torn meniscus can hurt more at night because inflammatory factors increase in the evening.

[keywestlou]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE BROWN

Missed Charlie Brown’s birthday. It was yesterday. Sorry. Never the less, the loving spirit of the Peanuts comic strip was born in effect when it made its appearance 70 years ago on October 2, 1950.

Happy Birthday Charlie Brown! Happy Birthday Peanuts! Happy Birthday Snoopy! Happy Birthday the security blanket! And most of all, Happy Birthday to Charles M. Schulz who penned the comic strip.

First named Li’l Folks, the strip was later renamed Peanuts.

Friend even to Presidents. Charlie Brown mentioned occasionally by John Kennedy, Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush.

Today, the comic strip has 330 million readers in 75 countries. It is published daily in 22 languages.

It is thought Charlie Brown has been such a continuing success for so long because of Charlie Brown getting up and trying again after being down. It is called perseverance.

Charlie Brown was a trendsetter in pet relationships. Snoopy.  Pets were members of the family and truly best friends and companions.

Schools are open in most parts of the country. I thought the schools were being prematurely opened. I was wrong.

The kids are going. Nothing coronavirus wise of any significance is happening.

In all of Monroe County, there have been only 3 confirmed cases. The 3 located in the northern part of the County.

I got into wearing masks with Robert. He is a Junior at the Key West High School. He said masks were no problem. Everybody wears one and no one complains. The only time they may remove the masks is during lunch.

I checked with an emergency room friend in one of the most northern cities in New York. She says she has not observed any problems. She mentioned a 7 year old who came  into the emergency room this week. Not for a coronavirus related problem.

She talked with the 7 year old. The little girl was wearing a mask. She asked her if she liked the mask. The girl nodded a shy yes and then proudly said, “We have a mask break for one minute every morning and afternoon.”

Adults should have adapted to mask wearing as children apparently are doing across the country.

Our President is in the hospital. At his age, coronaviirus could be very serious.

I don’t know what it is, but I feel bad that Trump is ill and may die. My writings clearly suggest I like neither the man nor the way he is running the country. Think he is a bad guy. Recommend everyone vote for Biden.

I must add I doubt Trump feels bad about anyone or anything. He is the original I don’t like prisoners, I don’t like Muslims. His feelings regarding Jews is obvious. He stands for all the bad things America has become.

Yet, I feel sorry for the man and wish him well.

Frank Bruni wrote in a New York Times Opinion piece yesterday about Trump. The column: The Pandemic Comes For The President.  Its thrust was no one is invincible. Not even the mighty Donald.

Bruni wrote: “The Presidency and the President are always national mirrors, in many different ways at once…..Trump has shown America its resentments. He has modeled its rage. Now he personifies its recklessness.”

He wrote America is “infected,” it has become a “morality case.”

Every day it is something new about Amy Coney Barrett.

CNN Politics reported yesterday that in the late summer she and her husband were diagnosed with coronavirus. Her husband was asymptomatic. The Judge “felt a little under the weather but recovered.”

My concern is her tendency to be secretive. She has failed in many respects to make full disclosure re professional matters and her religion. Forget not she is 48 and being considered for a lifetime job. Nothing is secret under the circumstances.

The fact that she and her husband had coronavirus may appear non consequential on its face. It probably is. However in today’s climate where the major issue in the election is coronavirus, she should have mentioned it.

Marsha is a long time reader of this blog. From Syracuse, New York. We have never met, except through the blog. We have become good friends.

Marsha sent me a lengthy column she came across. No author. The words intuitive. I share come with you.

“I wonder…..why we all seem to be Russians waiting in line for toilet paper, meat, and Lysol.”

“Why we all look like we are in bad need of a haircut or a facial or a reason to dress up again and go somewhere.”

“There are no images of the first family enjoying themselves together in a moment of relaxation.”

“We are rudderless and joyless.”

“We have lost our mojo. Our fun, our happiness.”

“We have lost the challenges and the triumphs that we shared and celebrated. The unique can-do spirit Americans have always been known for.”

“We are lost.”

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Do whatever you can to help the cause. Few are they who are not touched by its curse.

There is an urban exodus. A return to the suburbs. A topic I have written about many times.

There are three reasons for the exodus.

The first involves technological improvements. People can work from home. The second the destabilizing threat of rising crime in the cities. Third and finally, people cannot make a living in the cities as they once did. Tied into the fact that city rents and living costs have failed to recognize that fact yet and make city living very expensive.

The urban exodus is expected to be an accelerating one over the long term.

A common example of the financial crush city living is causing, many live in flats with multiple roommates.

Key West is not the only City experiencing the dilemma.

Even great cities sometimes go away. They cannot seem to make it back. Goats were grazing in Rome’s Forum a few decades after the Empire collapsed.

On this day in 1995, O. J. Simpson was acquitted. “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.”

I watched the trial everyday for 3 months. Would not miss it.

I had rented a condominium at 1800 Atlantic for the season. Except for 2 days when I had to fly back to Syracuse for a sensitive hearing, I remained in Key West.

My days all the same. Up early. Walked the ocean along South Roosevelt Boulevard. Back to the condo. 1800 had a great pool. I took a cool refreshing swim and laid out on a lounge to sun dry.

Then my day really began. Watched the trial from the comfort of a barcalounge. Exciting! My eyes and ears remained fixed.

The evening was a late dinner somewhere. Generally at Square One. It had become a meeting place. We joined our local and snowbird friends most evenings there.

This is the fourth day in a row that Hackley has written in his 1855 diary about his piles. The poor guy had a real problem!

He wrote, “The piles will not stay up and are very sore. Bathed in the tub yesterday 3 times. Kept a piece of cotton with ointment on the parts and put some more Mustang Liniment on at night.”

I write about poor Hackley’s medical problem because I had a serious hemorrhoid problem twice in my life. Surgery for the first. The problem returned however.

Strangely, nothing seems to have changed as to how to medicate the problem. Every thing today as it was in 1855. I  lived in a hot bath, tried all kinds of ointments.

May Johnson continues to fascinate me. I make the following observation for the second time. Conservative school teacher May is not the quiet angelic type. She is not even good looking as the one photo I have seen indicates.

Yet she has the men here in Key West and away chasing her. Or maybe she is chasing them.

She went dancing at La  Brisa last night with Charlie and Fritot. They gave her a letter from Everest. He never comes home. Supposedly “her love.” They write and she goes out with others in Key West.

Even her mother appears upset with her meanderings.

After La Brisa, the three “went to Sybil Curry’s, lots of boys and girls there. Charles and I came home at 11 o’clock. KICKING TIRED.”

She warns that a “cyclone is brewing.” If it hits, it will be interesting to read about an 1896 hurricane from a person who was there. An

I have been self-quarantined for way more than 200 days. I gave up counting at 200.

Not a very exciting time.

Tonight is Cocktails at 7.

I met Cathy over the internet. Cathy lived in Key West in 1988. She read the blog and wrote me. We became friends.

A long distance romance, if anything. Cathy lives in Seattle, Washington.

Whatever, I have come to enjoy my one night a week having a drink via Skype with Cathy.

Her dog Lucy is part of the experience. Lucy always on Cathy’s lap. Lucy is blind.

Enjoy your Day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE BROWN was originally published on Key West Lou