#captain mazurek

[theloverofdragons]

Aspar and Tomix

Down below, the Void Core pulsated, glowing black and purple, a beam of purple light streaming out the top. High above, Aspar stood at the broken edge of the Temple of Óter, soul hand outstretched over the Void Core, straining to synchronise as he grit his teeth (he had teeth! Finally he was human! He knew the soulthreads he had taken from Tomix would come in handy, and look at him now!). "Just a little… Just a little more!"

His synchronisation would have to wait for a while, however, as an oh-so-familiar voice roared "ASPAR!"

Turning his head to the side, Aspar's expression remained decidedly neutral as he took in the sight of Tomix standing there in a ready position, glowing blue and with an adorable helmet indicating he had synchronised with another Elemental Spirit.

For a long time the Soulweaver and the one he thought was his best friend in the world stared at each other in silence, tension thick, before it was broken by Aspar.

"Long time no see."

Tomix's expression was unchanged, and he said nothing.

"Did you figure it out by yourself, or did Lust tell you about me?" Aspar turned his attention back to the Void Core. "I suppose it doesn't matter. We're here, after all. So, what happens now?"

Tomix closed his eyes but still remained silent.

Aspar's eyebrow twitched in irritation and he snapped his head back to the side look at Tomix. "Why aren't you answering me? I'm sure we have a lot to talk about." A cruel smirk spread across his face. "I see you have another SoulAlly. Who's the poor fellow? How are the hands? By the way, do you see something different about me?"

Silence.

"Anything?"

Still no reaction.

"I'm human! Just like you! I don't need you anymore!" Aspar's smirk promptly died as Tomix still wouldn't answer and he bared his teeth in frustration, turning his body to fully face him. "SAY SOMETHING!"

When Tomix finally spoke, it was very quiet. "Did you enjoy…"

"Huh?"

"Did you enjoy the time we spent together? Was our friendship... real... to you?"

Aspar scoffed. "Why does it matter?"

A flicker of hurt and anger washed over Tomix's face. "It matters to me. I want... I need closure! Answer me! Was our friendship real?!"

It was Aspar's turn to remain quiet as he turned his head to the side before looking back at Tomix. "I was never your friend. I never even said that. You needed someone to comfort you after you were exiled, and I needed someone weak I could manipulate. That was all." His eyes very briefly flicked to the ground and back up again. "That was all..."

Tomix bowed his head and closed his eyes, not wanting to admit how much that hurt him, even after everything Asp…Envy had done. "I see. Before I banish you, tell me why... Why are you doing this?"

Aspar gave a mocking laugh. "Before you banish me? You can't, you know why. I think you figured it out by now; you are a smart boy after all."

Tomix frowned. "I am going to banish you."

"So either you didn't figure it out, or... oh." Aspar's eyebrows rose. "Oh. Interesting. You really are going to stop me... no matter what. Do your 'friends' know?"

Tomix's expression tightened imperceptibly.

"Well, I'm not going to argue with you. Just remember it doesn't go both ways," Aspar's smirk returned. "I can kill you without dying myself!"

In a flash of green and black and blue and white, the two of them charged at each other, spikes and beams of ice arching around the room, the sounds of the fight echoing throughout the building.

After a particularly powerful Soul Beam attack from Tomix, Aspar, staggered back, growling in frustration before charging forwards again. "I don't have time for this!"

And thus the fight continued until the two of them were forced to step back again, both panting heavily.

Tomix's eyes were wide and he was frowning in concentration. "I don't…don't care how long it will take... I will banish you!"

Despite his own chest rising and falling heavily, Aspar maintained his smirk. "Don't throw your life away…so easily."

Tomix's eyes narrowed and he was about to retaliate before a voice called out from behind him "TOMIX!" Turning his head, he saw the Hero running towards them, their dragon flying beside them. As they reached him, however, there was a flash of purple light and the building shook, sending the two of them staggering to stay on their feet.

"Wha-?"

Aspar bared his teeth in a grin. "Finally! The core has accepted me! I'm synchronized! I can manipul-"

"Not so fast!" the Hero interrupted, causing Aspar to glower at them.

Tomix closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Hero…"

The Hero nudged him with a mischievous grin, causing his own expression to soften and a small smile to form. "You thought you could leave me behind and have all of the fun for yourself?"

"BE QUIET!" Aspar snarled. "Void creatures, attack them!"

Tomix and the Hero merely blinked at him as nothing happened, causing Aspar to grasp his head with his hands in frustration. "Argh! No, no, no! I'm so close!"

The Hero's grin widened. "What did you do to him Tomix? He's throwing a fit!"

Despite having returned to a look of focus, Tomix's lips very briefly quirked up in a smile. "I have to do this now, Hero; it's my only chance to banish Aspar!"

The Hero placed their hand on his shoulder. "You mean our only chance."

Tomix's smile returned. "Let's go!"

Aspar lowered his hand with a growl, baring his teeth as he rose to meet the charge of the two friends. Once again, the sounds of fighting echoed throughout the building, and despite his best efforts and most powerful attacks, Aspar was no match for the combined forces of Tomix and the Hero, his spirit form thrust out of his human body as it disintegrated into green soulthreads behind him and he fell to his knees.

"No! NOOOO!"

"Your 'human' shell is no more Aspar! You can't hide now!" Tomix outstretched his hand to begin the incantation. "BANISHM-"

"Hero!" Aspar interrupted, looking up with his teeth gritted.

The Hero raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Are you going to let him banish me?!"

"I don't see why I wouldn't."

Aspar hissed, turning his attention to Tomix. "So you did not tell them!"

"Tell me what?"

Tomix's eyes had gone wide. "It isn't important right now! BANI-"

"IF HE BANISHES ME, HE'LL DIE!"

It felt like time stood still, the Hero's heart dropping as they exhaled shakily, taking in the sight of Tomix stood eerily still over the still kneeling Aspar, hand outstretched to banish him, but surely that wouldn't… Aspar was lying…right?"

"Wha…"

"You wouldn't let that happen, would you?" Aspar yelled a little manically. "Huh? Would you?!"

"…Tomix?" the Hero asked quietly, silently begging him to say it wasn't true, but when he looked down and didn't answer…

"He died, thirteen years ago!" Aspar crowed, every word thudding into the Hero as Tomix remained silent. "On the night when he released me and the others! But I brought him back! That's right! I did!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I only found out about it recently. I didn't want to worry any of you..." Tomix replied hollowly before frowning in determination. "Besides, I've made up my mind! I came here prepared for this!"

"But you could have at least let us know!" the Hero implored, trying to clamp down on the hurt of Tomix not telling them and the panic that he would... "You are not alone!"

"Exactly," Izaac's voice broke in from behind them, the Hero and Tomix turning to see that he, Riadne, Yashta and Captain Mazurek had finally joined them in the chamber.

"We've made it!" Mazurek announced.

Riadne frowned at Tomix. "You should not alienate yourself!"

"I am not alienating myself," Tomix protested, lowering his eyes. "I didn't want to drag you all into this... It would've been easier if you'd all just stayed on the ship and let me deal with this alone..."

Mazurek placed her hands on her hips. "Ye still don't get 'tis!"

With everyone's attention away from him, no one noticed Aspar reach behind him, grit his teeth when nothing happened, before an evil smirk spread over his face as he raised his hand towards Riadne, until it was too late.

"Why can't you un-" Riadne's sentence was interrupted as her head snapped back, eyes turning green and rolling back in her head as she was lifted up into the air, back arching as a horrific scream came from her throat.

"Riadne!" Tomix cried out, reaching his hand towards her as behind him, Aspar yelled out "SYNCHRONISATION!" with a smirk, lunging forwards to sink into Tomix's back, the Soulweaver letting out a grunt of surprise as he did so.

The Hero's head whipped round at the sound, looking at him stand there with his head raised and his hands in his coat pocket. "What happened?! Tomix?"

A smirk spread across Tomix's face and he opened his eyes to reveal that they had turned black with glowing green pupils, the helmet having faded, his soul hands and nose scar now glowing black and green instead of white and blue. "Tomix has left the library!"

"No!"

"Whatever you're doing to Riadne, stop it!" Izaac yelled, desperation colouring his tone.

AsparTomix shrugged. "Oh she's of no use to me anymore."

With a flick of his wrist, Riadne was brought back down to the ground to land in Izaac's lap, and he smiled down at her as her eyes flickered open, now back to their regular purple. "It's alright. You're safe now."

AsparTomix had made his way back to the edge, hand once again stretched over the Void Core with green and black soul energy pouring from it, and the Hero whirled to face him.

"Stop what you are doing right now!"

AsparTomix gave a mocking laugh. "Or what, Hero? You're going to stop me? You can't! By hurting me, you're going to hurt Tomix. And if you want to kill me... Tomix will die too, hah! Isn't that clever! I should have synchronised with him a long time ago; it'd have saved me a lot of trouble."

"Please… leave him alone…" the Hero begged quietly. "Haven't you already caused enough suffering? Please…"

"Hero, there is no use in trying to reason with him," Yashta intoned solemnly. "This is not Tomix anymore."

"The papa bear is right!" AsparTomix sneered. "There is nothing you can do!"

"I…" the Hero closed their eyes and bowed their head, their dragon and Pandora (who had not wanted to materialise and risk causing a catastrophe with the core) sending waves of strength through their respective bonds, before steeling themself and opening their eyes again. "I'm sorry Tomix. I'm so sorry."

AsparTomix was still focused on trying to manipulate the core as the Hero charged, taking the blows with a grunt, and occasionally retaliating with an attack of his own. For their part, the Hero did their best to focus on the necessity of defeating him, and trying to push down the guilt and pain of having to attack the body of one of their dearest friends, until finally they landed the decisive blow, causing AsparTomix to snarl in pain and anger as his corrupted arms shattered, once again forcing him to his knees as the Hero took a moment to wipe a tear away before settling back into a ready stance.

"Gaah, stop!" AsparTomix yelled, glaring up at the Hero. "He is your friend, why are you hurting him?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO HIM?!"

"He had only one reason to come here. He wanted to destroy you," the Hero replied quietly. "And as much as it pains me, I'm going to see to it. I'm going to banish you… So he can be at peace…"

AsparTomix hissed through his teeth, talking more to himself than the gathered Void Ship crew as he closed his eyes in concentration. "I just need a little more time. Just a little more… Full synchro… full synchro…"

"We can't let him fully synchronise!" Izaac warned. "I don't know if we could get Tomix back if he does…"

The two circular beams of yellow light flashed from Pandora's cube and the spirit herself appeared before them. "I know what to do. Aspar came from my soul, so I can be where he is."

"I trust you, Pandora," the Hero nodded at their SoulAlly. "Good luck."

Pandora gave a sad smile back at them before vanishing again, this time not to the Plane of Elemental Spirits but into Tomix's soul.

****

Inside, Tomix's soul was being held together by green soulthreads, only the purple torso and head left intact as Aspar stood in front of it with a snarl, punching where the heart would be, a hole appearing that widened with each punch. "Full synchro! FULL SYNCHRO! Stop resisting meeee! STOP DEFYING ME! I just wanted to be humaaaan! You took it away from meee! If I can't be a human, just let me throw the core off balance, so that everyone can die and become a spirit…" He paused his punches to hunch his shoulders, a tear rolling down his cheek. "…So that everyone can be my frieeeend…"

"Enough."

Eyes widening at a voice he hadn't heard in hundreds of years, Aspar whirled round to find Pandora hovering before him, her expression firm yet sad. "M-mother? You're…"

"Here? I'm the Hero's SoulAlly. I created you and so I can go to where you are," Pandora's expression tightened. "Dead? Stop acting like you don't know. You killed me Aspar."

"No, I didn't!" Aspar protested. "You were just fine, even after I…"

Pandora held her hand up to stop him. "Please, stop trying to justify your actions." Her shoulders hunched and she closed her eyes. "You are evil, selfish, manipulative, rotten and unlikable…" Her eyes opened again, tears shining in them. "That is all my fault though. I should never have created you…" Gripping Aspar's shoulders, she pulled him close to her in a tight hug. "…But still, you are my son, and I love you. I love you so much. Too much."

Aspar's eyes widened slightly. "Mother, I…" A flash of blue light interrupted him and he looked down to see his legs encased in ice as Pandora moved back, Aegis coming into view behind her, charm outstretched. "Huh? What? I can't move! Release me!"

"Tomix," Aegis floated close to the soul of his weaver, still keeping his charm pointed in the direction of Aspar. "I can't hold him much longer. I'm sorry, but there is only one thing you can do…"

"Thank you both of you," Pandora's voice shook, reaching out as if to hug them but drawing her hands back, knowing there wasn't enough time. "Thank you for being such good friends…"

****

Back outside, Tomix staggered to his feet as Pandora appeared back next to the Hero, who stepped forwards in concern. "Tomix? Is... is that you?"

Tomix's eyes opened to reveal that they were back to gold. "…Yes."

"Is Aspar...?"

"Hero," Tomix interrupted gently. "This is a goodbye."

The Hero gasped. "What?"

Behind them, the Void Crew also reacted in shock with cries of "No!" "What do you mean?" "Huh?"

"Please, everyone, don't make this harder for me," Tomix lowered his head. "Aspar is trapped inside of my soul. If I sever this connection, I'll die anyway, and Aspar will be free. I have to die with him."

"Please no…" the Hero begged.

Tomix took a deep breath to steel himself. "So… this is a goodbye. I'm not good with goodbyes, so I will make this short. Yashta."

The Atealan's expression softened as Tomix continued. "From now on, you will only have one 'master'. Please take good care of them. They mean the world to me."

Next he turned to the captain, who had placed her hand on her heart. "Mazurek. Maz. It was a pleasure to sail under your command. Forget about me, about your worries, and explore vast seas. The vast oceans of the world."

"Izaac. Riadne," Tomix closed his eyes before looking up with a watery smile. "I'm happy for you. Really. You... you would have been miserable with me, I'm... I'm not really boyfriend material. I have known Izaac for a long time and he's been a great friend to me. He'll be wonderful for you." His smile became warmer. "And I'm sure he'll be a great father."

Izaac's eyes widened in surprise as Riadne returned the smile with one of her own, even as tears flowed from her eyes.

And now the hardest one of all.

"Hero… Ah… I don't know what to say," Tomix's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Keep on helping people, just like you have helped me thousands of times. You are an inspiration. A true hero."

"Tomix…" the Hero stepped forward slightly, hands flexing as if they want to reach out.

Despite the tears beginning to spill over, Tomix managed a smile. "I just want to say…"

The Hero's voice was smaller than anyone had ever heard it. "…don't go…"

"I'll miss you."

Riadne opened her mouth in a silent scream, Izaac's eyes widened as he had to take a step back, Mazurek raised her hand to her mouth and a lone tear rolled down Yashta's cheek. Pandora hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, unable to watch but feeling the Hero's heart break…

…as Tomix falls.

****

Disclaimer: DragonFable is owned by Artix Entertainment. Dialogue taken from ‘The Last Chapter: Aspar’ and ‘The Last Chapter: Tomix’.

Also on AO3 and FFN

[tomixslefttoe]

Mazurek: Are you sure you’ll manage all on your own? Being a captain is not easy.

Tomix: Sure! Everything is going perfect. No one is causing us any trouble here.

The Hero: Tomix? I tried to make a salad but the fridge caught on fire, Vaal won’t stop screaming and Izaac is crying.

Tomix: See? Everything is perfect.

[pop-culture-diary]

... i Salomon nie naleje czyli recenzja polskiej realizacji

"We Will Rock You" Teatr Muzyczny Roma

Reżyseria: Wojciech Kępczyński

Przekład: Michał Wojnarowski

II reżyser, reżyseria projekcji: Sebastian Gonciarz

Współpraca reżyserska: Ewa Konstancja Bułhak

Kierownictwo muzyczne, dyrygent: Jakub Lubowicz

Scenografia: Mariusz Napierała

Kostiumy: Dorota Kołodyńska

Choreografia, asystent reżysera: Agnieszka Brańska

Projekty fryzur: Jaga Hupało

Reżyseria światła: Marc Heinz

Występują: Maciej Dybowski, Wojciech Kurcjusz, Janek Traczyk, Natalia Piotrowska-Paciorek, Maria Tyszkiewicz, Weronika Stawska, Izabela Bujniewicz, Małgorzata Chruściel, Katarzyna Walczak, Janusz Kruciński, Łukasz Mazurek, Łukasz Zagrobelny, Natalia Krakowiak, Ula Milewska, Kamil Franczak, Wiktor Korzeniowski, Tomasz Steciuk, Maria Juźwin, Katarzyna Kanabus, Klaudia Buczniewska, Patrycja Mizerska, Krzysztof Dzwoniarski, Wiktor Korzeniowski, Paweł Mielewczyk, Michał Piprowski, Andrzej Skorupa, Małgorzata Kampa, Natalia Smagacka, Krzysztof Bartłomiejczyk, Robert Kampa, Natalia Brysiuk, Dominika Dąbkowska, Julia Ławrenowa, Joanna Sikorska-Nowakowska, Sara Sobieraj, Michał Adam Góral, Piotr Jeznach, Łukasz Józefowicz (od 18 stycznia 2024), Jan Madej (dance captain), Kacper Mucha, Jakub Piotrowicz, Aleksandra Krajewska, Ewelina Kruk, Mateusz Sobczak, Rafał Wiewióra, Artur Gierczak, Michał Olesiński, Maciej Kopczyński, Jakub Kujawa, Michał Olesiński

Tekst pisany na podstawie spektaklu z 4 kwietnia 2024

Kiedy Teatr Muzyczny Roma ogłosił, że jego kolejną dużą premierą będzie brytyjski musical „We Will Rock You” wykorzystujący muzykę legendarnego zespołu Queen, do kasy ustawiły się monstrualne wręcz kolejki. Teraz, niecały rok po premierze większość fanów już zobaczyła musical i w tygodniu sala świeci pustkami. Nie będę się rozwodzić nad materiałem źródłowym spektaklu, wystarczająco pastwiłam się nad nim w poprzednim poście (do którego lektury zachęcam). Dość powiedzieć, że nie jestem fanką ani piosenek, ani libretta, a już na pewno nie tego jak je połączono i na polską realizację wybrałam się wyłącznie z sentymentu do Teatru Roma i szacunku do aktorów zaangażowanych w ten spektakl. 

Ale dla porządku przypomnimy: „We Will Rock You” opowiada historię Galileo Figaro (Maciej Dybowski), który razem ze Scaramouche (Natalia Piotrowska-Paciorek) i sprzeciwia się rządzącej światem bezdusznej korporacji pod przywództwem złowieszczej Killer Queen (Małgorzata Chruściel) i podejmuje walkę o prawo do wolnej myśli i tworzenia prawdziwej sztuki, za broń mając jedynie głosy w głowie i muzykę sprzed lat. 

Maciej Dybowski dwoi się i troi by wyciągnąć cokolwiek z tak źle napisanej postaci jak Galileo Figaro. Stara się przekazać zarówno młody wiek bohatera, jak i jego gniew na to jak urządzony jest świat, w którym przyszło mu żyć. W jego wykonaniu przeboje takie jak „I Want To Break Free” czy tytułowe „We Will Rock You” aż kipią od energii i potęgi. Świetnie też radzi sobie z choreografią.  

Natalia Piotrowska-Paciorek bez problemu dostępuje mu kroku, choć akurat 4 kwietnia chyba trochę oszczędzała gardło. Jej Scaramouche to jednocześnie silna, niezależna postać, która nie da sobie w kaszę dmuchać, ale i młodziutka dziewczyna, która najbardziej na świecie chce znaleźć kogoś kto ją zrozumie i pokocha. 

Kamil Franczak jako Brit zachwyca charyzmą i pewnością siebie, nie mówiąc już o fenomenalnym głosie. Bardzo chętnie zobaczyłabym go w lepszej roli, bo tu niestety nie ma zbyt wiele do zagrania. Partneruje mu Ula Mielewska jako Oz, która wzbudza multum emocji świetnym wykonaniem „No One But You”, piosenkę o tych, którzy odeszli przedwcześnie.  

Tomasz Steciuk perfekcyjnie wciela się w Buddy’ego, przywódcę buntowników, znawcę minionych czasów, a także obleśnego erotomana, który nikomu nie przepuści i jest źródłem sporej części żartów o podtekście seksualnym. Jego tęskne „These Are the Days of Our Lives” to druga najbardziej emocjonalna piosenka w spektaklu. 

Janusz Kruciński gra pomagiera Killer Queen, Khashoggiego jako płaszczącego się pochlebcę, wiecznie zabiegającego o względy swojej szefowej. Niestety, jego interpretacja, choć sensowna, sprawia, że wszystkie zarzuty (chociażby o pozerstwo) jakie w pewnym momencie stawia mu Killer Queen są po prostu bezpodstawne.  

To powiedziawszy, to właśnie niedościgniona Małgorzata Chruściel rządzi niepodzielnie całą sceną. Nie dość, że powala mocnym głosem, to jeszcze roztacza dookoła siebie drapieżną, władczą aurę. Jej „Kind of Magic” czy „Another One Bites the Dust” to definitywnie najlepiej zaśpiewane i najmocniejsze utwory w całym spektaklu. 

Co do technicznych aspektów “We Will Rock You”, to jestem pod dużym wrażeniem tego jak Agnieszka Brańska zadbała, by choreografia odzwierciedlała sposób myślenia postaci. Żołnierze Killer Queen czy kontrolowani przez nią szeregowi obywatele wykonują jednakowe ruchy, w przejawie braku indywidualizmu. Zupełnie inaczej wyglądają sceny zbiorowe buntowników, spośród których każdy ma coś innego do pokazania. 

Z choreografią świetnie współgrają kostiumy Doroty Kołodyńskiej, szczególnie gdy długie stroje żołnierzy wirują w tańcu. Imponująco prezentuje się płaszcz Khashoggiego, a pośród buntowników każdy odznacza się swoją własną paletą kolorów i stylem. Warto im się przyjrzeć, bo ich ubrania kryją liczne nawiązania do słynnych artystów. Killer Queen ma oczywiście najbardziej widowiskowe stylizacje, a nigdy nie pojawia się dwa razy w tym samym. Zdecydowano się też na nawiązanie do Barbie, zarówno różowym kolorem noszonym przez zwykłych obywateli, którzy perfekcyjnie udają plastikowe lalki, aż po włosy. Za fryzury z resztą odpowiada Jaga Hupało, a jej praca prezentuje się naprawdę widowiskowo, szczególnie w przypadku Killer Queen czy Khashoggiego.  

Jeśli chodzi o scenografię, to jest ona znacznie bardziej rozbudowana niż w poprzednich musicalach Romy: mamy ogromne rusztowanie ciągnące się przez całą scenę, podziemną bazę buntowników, czy ruchome schody, z których wykonywanych jest kilka piosenek. To powiedziawszy główną rolę wciąż grają ogromne ekrany multimedialne i wyświetlane na nich wizualizacje.  

Dzięki nim spektakl może przenieść widzów w nieskończone ilości miejsc, ale na pewnym etapie trzeba zadać sobie pytanie, czy to nie przerost formy nad treścią. Efekty specjalne na pewno pomagają oddać atmosferę świata przyszłości i orwellowskiego wielkiego brata, który wszędzie obserwuje głównych bohaterów. Dzięki nim dostajemy też hologram Freddiego Mercury’ego na samym początku spektaklu, który bardzo dobrze tworzy atmosferę jeszcze zanim na scenie pojawi się pierwszy aktor. Ta wizualizacja i dudniąca muzyka grana przez pełną orkiestrę roztacza po całym teatrze magię Queen. 

Co to tłumaczenia, to przekładając piosenki legendarnego zespołu Michał Wojnarowski porwał się na świętość. Z pewnością zdawał sobie sprawę, że niektórzy nie zaakceptują jego wersji, choćby jak najlepszej. Z drugiej strony, tłumaczenie pozwoliło choć trochę ukryć to jak źle utwory pasują do kontekstu. I z zasady wypadły bardzo dobrze, z kilkoma naprawdę godnymi podziwu frazami, które może i brzmią nietypowo, ale idealnie oddają sens oryginału3. Gorzej prezentują się dialogi. Nie będę oceniać poziomu humoru, wspomnę tylko, że ilość nawiązań do piosenek czy to angielskich czy polskich po jakimś czasie zaczyna przytłaczać, a długi żart o tym by używać polskiego, a nie języków obcych, szybko nuży. Mam też nadzieję, że komentarze polityczne są co jakiś czas zmieniane.  

Podsumowując, „We Will Rock You” w Teatrze Muzycznym Roma to świetnie przygotowana realizacja londyńskiego hitu, prezentująca naprawdę światowy poziom i mogąca się pochwalić świetnymi wokalistami. Więc jeśli jesteście fanami grających w tym spektaklu aktorów albo lubicie muzykę Queen i chcecie posłuchać jej na żywo, w języku polskim, śmiało wybierzcie się do Romy. Ale jeśli wymagacie od spektaklu interesujących bohaterów czy spójnej fabuły, odpuście sobie „We Will Rock You”. Inaczej czeka was rozczarowanie.  

Ale to tylko moja opinia, a ja nie jestem obiektywna. 

[alavaariana]

Definition of: Story, tales, science fiction.

-A story is an organized series of events that can be created by imagination or true. -Tales are stories that are invented and difficult to believe. -Science fiction is a genre that narrates creatively real or imaginary technology and science as part of the plot.

I woke up on a sunny Sunday. The huge window allowed me to see the marvelous sight of my everyday life clearly, the roads full of random cars and pedestrians. Before I went to have yogurt for breakfast, I wanted to check my messages, I got surprised because the moment I picked it up, it started vibrating like crazy. There were a lot of messages related to a problem with water contamination. Subsequently, I got a call from my closest friend Uriel.

The whole world has run out of water. He told me the second I picked up the call. 

I was speechless, it sounded like a story of fiction.

—’’What is happening?’’, I asked him.

—’’Turn on the television and put the news on’’, he answered me.

I ran into the living room and turned on my television. 

The news was talking about a huge organization boat. About 10 boats all around the world have spilled a high pollutant substance in all the seas. Then they said it was a malfunction, misunderstood by the captains of all the boats. In addition, the water scarcity reached a certain limit where the drinking water ended up being fully contaminated and no longer usable too. 

—’’Hey, I'm going to your place’’, Keith said. 

Once he arrived, he explained me everything, additionally he mentioned that the people start going crazy on the streets, 

—’’Nonetheless I think I found a way to avoid this. I saw something weird on the way’’, he said.

We went to an alleyway in which I assume it was a portal.

Besides our fear, we held our hands, and without thinking twice we ran into that unusual rectangle. And again, I thought that maybe this portal will be the path of our solution.

We felt dizzy, but we realized that we ended up in the year 2024.

We showed up at the company, where we met a worker, Millie. Incredibly, she believed us, because she knew that the company was hiding vital information about some imperfections on the boats' structures. And we told her that as far as we know the world is going to collapse in 2028, so we must stop those boats. 

—’’I will help you then’’, she said.

It took us a year or two, when finally, we caused the company to go bankrupt.

We felt relieved and like superheroes, we have just saved the world. Even though we were going to miss our new friend we said goodbye. We came back home, and we were so happy the water was safe and clean.

In order to create this image I used a website called hotpot in which I gave instructions and details.

References

Tale. (2023). https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/tale

Mazurek, D. (2022). What is science fiction? The elements that define Sci-Fi. En Dictionary.com. https://www.dictionary.com/e/what-is-science-fiction-sci-fi/

Story. (2023). https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/story

[eclissy]

HHD Prompt Collection - Mazurek

A couple of months ago, I asked followers on twitter to send me AE NPCs they’d like to see me write drabbles about - the theme being those NPCs giving the Hero/Player character chocolate.

Forgot to post them here too, but better late than never! 

On a calm night, when the starry sky was mirrored by the still sea, Captain Mazurek heard footsteps. They were heading to the deck.

Good timing. She would have knocked on their door if they weren’t already up.

With two steaming cups of hot, spiced cocoa in hand, Maz tracked the Hero down.

They had spread a blanket out by the ship’s wheel. Siting cross legged with their baby dragon dozing on their lap, the hero gazed at the twinkling night.

“The stars sparkle well-nigh as much as ye do.” Maz whistled, startling them. With a teasing smile, she nudged the Hero over for a spot on their blanket.

Gratefully accepting the hot drink, their eyes widened in surprise as they sipped.

“I like t’ keep a few peppers homegrown from Osprey. Thar’s more than jus’ coconuts ‘n blades in the sand,” She clinked their tin mugs together. “Keeps ye warm on a chilly night.”

The comment led to questions about where Maz grew up, and what the Hero did before they met.

As rough as their beginnings were, the poor landlubber had a soft heart.

The Captain took off her coat and draped it over both of their shoulders. Though the Hero was apprehensive at firs, they saw that Maz was encouraging them to lean closer. Nestling their head on her shoulder, they held her hand when she snaked it around their waist.

“My!” Maz laughed, delighted by how forward they were being that night. She squeezed their hand back and asked “Wha’ if ye took a vacation aft yer business across the sea? We could sail t’ this wee island I know. It ain’t bigger than half a farm plot wit’ naught goin’ on. But isn’t that somethin’ we needs every now ‘n then?”

She described how the Hero could show off their fishing skills to her, and maybe how good they’d look with a tan. Mazurek was no slouch roughing it with just the skin on her back either. That’s a true dashing sight to see, a real treat for the eyes.

It was such a dream of an idea that the Hero slowly dozed off. They drifted far away to that tiny island, where nothing in Lore could hurt them.

“Come back when yer business’ all done won’t ye?” I’ll be waitin’.” Mazurek whispered to them, running her fingers through their hair.

[tinymixtapes]

RIP: Robert Barry, Chicago jazz drummer for Sun Ra, Rob Mazurek, Ken Vandermark

From the Chicago Reader (via Avant Music News): Barry graduated from DuSable High School, where he studied under the storied Captain Walter Dyett, and in the early 1950s he became one of the most important members of Sun Ra’s Arkestra, cutting numerous records with the band—including classics such as We Travel the Space Ways, Nubians of Plutonia, and Sun Song—before it left Chicago in 1961 and he stayed behind. […] http://j.mp/2tJFyvt

[valorousowlart]

For @icestar0 From THIS MEME 

Tomix with A1 Emoji, Pirate and if you want to do a palette, 9!

And I even have backstory to this AU! 

Tired of how things have become in Tkaanie, a certain family who’s history has shaped the nation sets out to uncover the mastermind and sew chaos as a distraction! The hero is swept up in the swashbuckling world of Piracy after a chance encounter with Mazurek the Up-and-coming captain of The Autumn Wind, and her sometimes-lover, Tomix Danao, Captain of The Eye of Envidia! Tom is running from the law, his past and the expectations of his family as his brother tirelessly works as a Civil servant, Tom renounces his family and starts the necessary distractions to allow Danyel the time and cover he needs to find that puppetmaster guiding their nation to certain doom! Only with the Hero’s help can he save his nation and the world! 

[ewatsonia]

10 Days of Heroshipping: Hero/Hero

[claps hands together] Happy first day of 10 Days of Heroshipping! For the prompt of Hero/Hero I’ve got some Alexa/Mazurek~ Premise is borrowed from Talk Like a Pirate Day 2015 but things go a little...differently ;) Enjoy!

Alexa covered her mouth, but couldn’t hold back a snicker as she admired Mazurek’s handywork. The ink scribbled beards, mustaches eye-patches on the unconscious ninjas were just too funny for her not to laugh. They’d be getting out of there quick, she was sure, but she wished she could see the look on their faces when saw the damage.

Alexa had always attempted to remain kind of neutral on the whole pirates vs ninjas rivalry but Maz was a good friend. She’d gotten closer to her than anyone over on the ninja side so there was admittedly some bias as of late.

Mazurek put her hands on her hips, a very pleased with herself smirk on her face. She let out a hearty chuckle. “Ye be a good First Mate Alexa.”

Alexa shrugged. She didn’t think much of that, she’d found some stuff and helped kick a little ninja ass. Nothing big. “Hey, friends help other friends out. I’m sure plenty of others would’ve done it for you.”

“Yer the one that helped me though luv.” Mazurek pointed out, she tucked away the ink pen in one of her pockets. “Ever think of bein’ a Captain?”

“Uhh, not really no.” Alexa wouldn’t fancy herself an amazing leader, she could organize a group people if she had to, but being any sort of authority figure was...intimidating. There was also the tiny detail that she was completely terrified of being on open sea.

“I think ye’d make a good one.” Mazurek turned to face her, and Alexa swore she saw sparkles in the woman’s pink eyes. “And I be needin’ one for the newest ship in me fleet.”

Alexa gripped a longer strand of her bangs and twisted it in her hand. She was flattered that Mazurek thought so but... “That’s...uh that’s super nice of you Maz but erm. I can’t accept. I’d be a terrible captain.”

Mazurek laughed good naturedly and clapped Alexa on the back so hard that she lurched forward. A pirate’s life had given her some strong muscle. Though, Alexa had certainly...taken notice of that before. “Lass, ye gotta have more confidence in yerself!”

She wasn’t wrong but Alexa’s frighteningly low self image wasn’t the issue for once. It was embarrassing, honestly but she should explain. She slid her hand down her face, the cool metal of her spiritloom contrasting with her warm face.

“Maz, I can’t swim. I’m terrified of water. Putting me charge of ship is a disaster waiting to happen.”  Red rushed Alexa’s face as soon as the words left her mouth. Hero of Lore, terrified of the sea. What a laugh that’ll be for a pirate.

Mazurek rose an eyebrow, but she didn’t laugh. There was another, less harsh pat on Alexa’s back. “No need ta’ look so ashamed luv, the sea’s a force to be reckoned with.”

There was a sheepish, relieved smile on Alexa’s face. Thank the Avatars.

“Still leaves th’ matter of yer reward for helping out though.” Maz put a finger to her lips, contemplating this. Going by the smile that graced her features, she had an idea. Alexa put up a hand.

“I don’t help people for a reward, Maz. I’m uh...not exactly hurting for money or anything.”

“Don’t worry yerself none about that. I be having...somethin’ else in mind.” Both of Mazurek’s brows went up this time and there was mischievous little twinkle in her eyes. She also got noticeably closer to Alexa’s personal space. Alexa squinted suspiciously at her.

“Maz...what do you mean-”

Alexa was interrupted by the answer to that question. That being, Maz taking her chin between her finger and thumb, and pulling her over to plant a kiss on her lips. She’d grabbed Alexa fairly aggressively, but the kiss itself was deep yet soft. Alexa let her eyes shut as Mazurek’s hand wandered up to run through her hair. She exhaled contentedly, someone’s fingers in her hair was one of Alexa’s favorite sensations.

When they parted. Alexa was a completely flushed, stammering, mess. She was definitely blushing harder than she had revealing she couldn’t swim. “I..that…”

“Got ye a bit starry-eyed, eh?” Mazerek asked, a coy grin on her face. She chuckled, not expecting an answer from Alexa. “Been wantin’ ta do that for a while now, I have ta say.”

“I...really?”

“Aye, yer a gorgeous lookin’ woman and the Hero o’ Lore ta’ boot,’course ye caught my eye.”

“Uhm. Thank you.” Alexa didn’t know what else to say. Her dating life wasn’t exactly thriving, especially since her stint in the ice so she couldn’t say she was used to compliments like that. Mazurek chuckled again.

“My, if I knew ye got this flustered when someone kissed ye I woulda done it a lot sooner.”

[amganabcc-blog]

Dita Versus The World

Monday, November 26

My 10th birthday is in a week, and everyone's acting weird. Like it's some kind of horror movie or a funeral or something.

#

Dita hated it when her dad did this to her.

“But I'm supposed to see the doctor, Kos—mom said I had an appointment at 4, and that you'd—”

“Well, the plans changed,” Kos enunciated loudly, making sure she understood his words were final. “You don't need to see no gov'ment doctor, anyway—it's just that pre-10 bullshit they started forcing on us a few years back... Your sister didn't have a doctor, and she did fine when her time came. Just the damn bigwigs sticking their noses into everything...” Her dad's voice turned into a grumble, blending with the whining thrum of the car's engine as they drove down the highway.

But Isabel doesn't think it's right, was what Dita wanted to say. But the last time she mentioned her imaginary friend to Kos, he slapped her so hard she saw bright fairies dancing around her head. Good thing spanking your kids ain't illegal, he'd often say.

Instead she stared out the passenger side window at the bleak landscape of abandoned housing and run-down businesses. Kos had taken her on many outings these past few years, and she was beginning to recognize certain landmarks. They seemed to be heading to the other side of the county.

“Where are we going?” Dita spoke softly, afraid to look at Kos.

He remained silent for a few seconds, and curiosity forced Dita to cast a sidelong glance. A devilish grin and a twinkle in Kos's eyes forced her to turn and question him with her face.

“I got a surprise for you—think of it as uh early birthday present.”

Dita narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She didn't like surprises.

They continued driving down the nearly empty highway in silence, paralleling the raised track of the old light-rail train, unused for many years. The setting sun revealed just how old the omnipresent billboards were: dirty, tattered ads with public safety warnings about washing one's hands or wearing a mask around infected people. Dita was too young to remember the global pandemic named GP1—that happened even before the Swarm arrived—but evidence of its effects were hard to miss. Even for a girl with an invisible friend.

When they finally turned off the highway the first thing she saw was a church. What in the world are we doing here? Torn placards and other litter sullied the bushes in front of the austere building, the signs of a recent protest, and Dita realized it was a Church of the Swarm. She furrowed her brow, and knew without a doubt that Kos wouldn't be taking her to what he called The Temple of the Devil Bugs. She had never been to one, and didn't really understand what the Swarm was, but she imagined a colony of bees buzzing in the rafters of the church and stinging the worshippers below into a religious frenzy.

Halfway down the street, Kos turned left into a charging station, and then it started to make sense. His Jeep was an older model, a hybrid that required both electricity and biofuel, so he pulled up next to the pump.

“How is this a surprise?” she grumped as he turned off the engine. “It's not like I haven't been to a charging station before.”

Kos's expression was a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Don't get mouthy, girl—this one's got a carwash.” He turned and got out to fill up his Jeep, shutting his door behind him and leaving Dita alone with her confusion.

“What's the big deal about getting your car washed?” she asked invisible Isabel, then peered into the charging station's convenience store. She couldn't see the store clerk, but she knew there must be one inside. Probably sitting behind the cash register, which was blocked from her view by a display filled with boxes of ammunition.

Her dad returned to the car and started it, grinning but not saying a word. He brought his Jeep around to the front of a building that at first Dita thought was a garage, then drove up to the entrance and waited for the clerk. Mechanical arms lurked in the shadows holding ropey constructions of various colors, while a grooved track in the pavement ensured no vehicle could escape the course laid out for it. Dita drew her feet up onto the seat and hugged her knees to her chest.

Kos rolled down his window and told the pudgy, dark-haired man who approached that he'd like the Super Eco-Deluxo Wash. After verifying Kos's receipt, the clerk turned to a small console next to the carwash entrance, put a key into a lock and pushed a button. Kos's Jeep lurched forward, and Dita couldn't stop a squeal from escaping her throat.

“Kos!”

Her dad laughed, rolling up his window as the Jeep was pulled into the dark chamber. Soapy jets of water hit the windshield with an exhilarating splash and Dita's eyes grew large.

“Oh, yeah! I forgot about these things! You took me once, when I was little, I remember now! I was scared of the big floppy tennacles...” Dita giggled as the mechanical arms extended their spongy mops onto Kos's Jeep and flopped around as they'd done before.

As the car made its creeping journey through the sudsy contraption, Dita's delight was spoiled as she sensed the mood turn sour. She glanced at Kos's face, long and serious, and wished immediately that she hadn't. It seemed to spark his next words.

“You know what you need to do. And don't gimme any mouth about it—you won't have to do this stuff for too much longer. I got one more grand plan in mind, and then that's it. But I'm gonna tell you something—call it my pre-10 counseling... You're gonna figure it out as you get older, so you might as well know now.”

Loud jets of water rinsed the car for a second time, before more soapy rollers. Dita groaned at the thought of another of Kos's grand plans.

“There're times in life when you gotta do things you don't like. Times when you might have to do quote-in-quote bad things—even kill—just to get by.”

Dita's brows cast shadows on her eyes.

“Don't look at me like that, now, you know I said it before—and with your birthday coming up and all—” Kos pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.

“All I'm saying's if you wanna survive in this world, sometimes killing's necessary. You'd best wrap your head around that, Edyta Mazurek.”

Dita breathed through her nose, wrinkled her chin, and made duck lips in response.

Fading sunlight glistening on the windshield signaled the end of the carwash. Kos took the wheel and drove out to a parking spot alongside the convenience store, turned off the ignition and glanced once more at his daughter. He didn't need to say a word. He got out and raised the hood of his Jeep, then nodded to her and headed to the store entrance. She climbed out of the car and skipped up to him as he pulled open the glass door.

A picture of an astronaut and his rocket hung on a column, a lost hero, the only image in the store that wasn't advertising. As they approached the man standing behind the counter, Dita noticed the cash register was a Barion model six-eight-eight.

“Easy cheesy pineapple queasy,” she singsonged, raising a curious glance from the clerk.

Kos smiled at the man and held his hands open before him. “Sorry to bother you, bud, but do ya think you could gimme a hand? I'm not sure, but I think there's something going on with my Jeep, and I need someone who can rev the engine while I tinker with it, and the girl, well... It'll only take a minute or two of your time.”

Kos glanced around at the empty store while Dita peered over the countertop at the racks stuffed full of magazines with brown paper covers and titles like Vintage Gals and Bathing Suit Beauties. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself from taking a peek.

The clerk smiled and conceded that he could spare a minute or two, then came out from behind the counter. Dita strolled over to the comic book rack near the candy and pretended to be interested in Flying Wombat issue number two hundred and eleven while Kos and the meek man went out to look at his Jeep. She waited thirty seconds, then reached into her coat pocket and pulled out several thin, metal rods.

Later, back on the highway traveling in the opposite direction, Kos looked straight ahead at the road and asked, “See anything you like at the store?”

“Yes,” she sighed, familiar with the routine. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Placing the money on the seat between them, she spoke clearly, ignoring Isabel's protests: “The nice man gave me an early birthday present.”

Kos grinned. “That's my girl.”

#

Tuesday, November 27

Mom's even worse than normal. She saw someone I don't know, and got scared. She didn't like him, that's for sure. I've never seen her this sad.

#

Dita sat at the big table and drew fantastical creatures while her six-year-old brother, Leshek, played with toy cars on the floor with the other young kids. A sixteen-year-old girl sat cross-legged among them, tasked with watching the children while Sister Margie made phone calls in the nearby office about the upcoming St. Andrew's Day festivities.

Today, Dita drew a fire-breathing unicorn with tiny fairy wings. She decided to name him Bazzle.

Two pictures of Jesus Christ hung on the wall, one of his radiant, unblemished face, and the other of Jesus bleeding on his cross. Dita always imagined that Jesus's cross was his rocketship, just like Captain O's.

“Baka Jo!” Leshek exclaimed. He rushed up to his grandmother as she entered the church's daycare room and wrapped his arms around her wide hips.

“Ah, it's good to see you, Leshek, and you, Dita—” She extended her hand to the young girl, and Dita couldn't resist. Abandoning her drawing, she jumped up and ran to hug her grandma. “If only I could see you every day of the week...” She spoke with a Serbian accent, despite having arrived in the US as a young woman—before the current traveling restrictions were enforced. “How was your day, little Leshek—did you have fun with your toys?”

Dita's slow-witted brother smiled up at his grandma and blathered, “I was got, I got pick by da elefan guy to race da cars!”

“Awww, such a sweet boy. And you, Dita—” Baka Jo's face grew solemn all at once. “Tell me, what trouble did you get into today—and don't lie to me, devojka!”

Dita made her face as long as she could and looked off to one side, causing Leshek to giggle at her goofy expression. Baka Jo laughed as well, and caressed the young girl's cheek before turning and leading the children out of the room.

“Come, your mother is waiting for us.”

She insisted they call her Baka Jo—like the American Joe, despite the fact that her name, Jovana, was pronounced Yovana. Dita's dad never seemed to get along with her, using the Polish Baba Jovana instead of Baka Jo. She never had a smile for him, but she showered her grandchildren with affection.

Kos is a dick, her older sister, Lidia, had once explained to her. He thinks being Polish is better than being a Serb.

Kos hadn't yet told Dita the details of his upcoming grand plan, but she knew it was just a matter of time.

When they entered the sanctuary, the primary and largest room in St. Andrew's Catholic Church, Dita spotted her mother at once. She sat in her usual place among the pews, five rows back on the righthand side. She turned frequently and seemed to be agitated as she waited for her mother and children to reach her. Her dark eyes wore worry lines like unwanted plumage.

Baka Jo knew it as well: something was up. “What's the matter, Nadanje—you act like a whirlybird,” she joked while Dita and Leshek found their spots on the pew. Lidia wasn't here, but that wasn't surprising; she hadn't come to evening mass with her family for a couple of years. And Kos had declared himself to be agnostic, which Dita figured meant he didn't have to believe in anything.

“It's the bishop,” her mother hissed, drawing Baka Jo closer. “He's here—Bishop Stanczak, he's here for Saint Andrew's Day.”

Dita didn't recognize the name, but it was clear that Baka Jo did. She looked sternly at Nada in silence, then placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Give it no thought, Nadanje. What is he to you? He is nothing. He's part of a story that's over—I tell you, don't give it another thought.”

Her mother had no response, but Dita didn't think she would listen to Baka Jo's advice. During the evening service Nada sat, kneeled, stood, and sang at all of the appropriate places, but she was clearly distracted, glancing over and over again at the man in the funny hat who sat behind Father Frank. As the congregants stood and sang a hymn, Nada turned and scanned the pews, taking stock of the two or three dozen worshippers. She knew most of them by name, but at one point her head stopped and her mouth slowly dropped open.

“No.” Her lips mouthed the word but no sound came out. Dita's heart raced as she watched terror increase the size of her mother's eyes. Nada turned to Baka Jo and said something, then grabbed Leshek by the arm and dragged him away.

Baka Jo shook her head and instructed Dita to follow after her mother and brother. Stopping at the end of the pew and ignoring the stares of her fellow worshippers, Dita knelt and crossed herself, then ran down the aisle toward the church's exit.

“He's here!” her mother whispered as Baka Jo met up with her outside. “The bishop's son—in the church!”

Dita's grandmother tried to calm her daughter, instructing Dita and Leshek to walk ahead of them so she and Nada could talk.

That was the first time, at least in Dita's memory, that her mother had ever walked out of church before the end of service. She wanted to talk to Isabel about it, but her desire to eavesdrop on her mother and grandmother's conversation was greater.

The only thing she heard before her grandma had to split off and follow a different path home was something about prison, and then her mother uttering these words:

“I just wish he was dead.”

#

Wednesday, November 28

Baka Jo once said there's a 'first' for everything, and you should never be afraid of it. I don't think she's ever lied to me.

I had a 'first' today: I thought I was going to be sent to jail.

#

Leshek could be the most confusing—and irritating—brother in all of God's brown earth. Dita sometimes wondered if he even was her brother.

“Buh-buh-but he said I wasn't reeeal!” he blubbered nonsense between sobs.

“Who said? Your little friend in kiddiegarten?”

Dita could see that her mother was trying to react to Leshek's whining with patience, but she didn't have much in her. Her right arm crossed over her body as if she was hugging herself during their walk home from school. A cloth grocery bag hung heavily from her left hand. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, blacker than normal, and she seemed to be staring at something far away under the sidewalk.

“No!” Leshek was outraged. “Sandy Claws!” Then more wailing.

Meanwhile, Dita was trying to get Nada's attention for herself, trying to have a normal conversation like normal people do. She didn't get to spend as much time with her as she wanted due to her mom's work schedule at the hospital, and Dita was eager to recount her day at school.

“My favorite part was when we learned more about lines and angles, about how two points form a line and how a cute angle is smaller than an ob—attuse one—oh wait, or... did I learn it the other way around? Oh, shut up, Lesh! You're mixing me up.”

“Buh he wasn't real! Where will the presents go-o-o-o-o?!”

As they passed the neighborhood mini-mart, Leshek saw flashing red and green lights had been draped around the windows, and this really set him off. Not only did his wailing grow louder, but he dropped to the ground and began to kick the air.

“I don't want I want da Sandy Claws to be real!” he nearly shrieked.

At the same time, a group of teenagers were teasing a blond-haired kid in the alley next to the mini-mart. Dita heard them accuse the boy, who must've been eleven or twelve, of being a bed-wetter. With tears streaming down his face he cried out, “I do not wet my bed!” Rapid convulsions shook his small body at once. His eyes bugged out and face contorted, his arms went spastic and elastic for a few seconds until the seizure ceased. The other kids howled in laughter, pointing at and imitating their victim.

“Swarm'll get ya if ya lie!” one of them taunted.

Dita tried to ignore them too. “We also learned about a new statue they built downtown, a memorial for the victims of GP1. Did you know more people died because of GP1 than any other flu or virus in all of history?” She was amazed by this fact.

Her mother, however, had finally had enough. Yanking Leshek up from the ground by his arm, she first directed her vitriol at the rowdy boys in the alley.

“You there, you brats—stop picking on him! You're gonna shorten his life! Go and find something better to fill your time with. And you—” turning to Leshek, dragging him along next to her as she continued on the path home. “Lech Mazurek, what in God's name do you think you're doing? You're a kindergartner now—you're not a baby anymore! Why are you acting like one? There's no need to cry about what that boy said to you—tell him people are allowed to believe whatever they want to believe, there's no law against that, and if you want to believe in Santa Claus, that's none of his business!”

Shocked by her mother's anger, Dita stood rooted to the spot in front of the mini-mart for a few seconds before catching up. She heard one of the bullies mutter, “Whatev, he's still a baby bed-wetter,” while the blond-haired boy ran away.

Her mom looked worn-out, like she could use a ten-day nap, as Kos would say. Dita hoped the rest of the walk home would be more peaceful, but Nada had one more thing to get off her chest.

“And yes, Dita, I did know. Your brother Raymund, born three years before you, died as an infant because of GP1.”

Dita saw again the melancholy in her mom's eyes, and ached to dispel it.

I just wish he was dead.

That was definitely something she'd never heard her mom say before. Who was this man she was talking about, and what had he done? She was determined to talk with her sister about it; she knew that if she asked her mom directly she'd get nothing but a stern look and a Never you mind about that, you should be worrying about bluh and bluh and bluh...

“Don't forget about the fundraiser this weekend, Edyta,” her mom spoke hollowly as they turned the last corner onto their street. “You'll have a lot of responsibilities at the church on Saturday.”

“I know, mom, you don't have to constantly remind me.” Her mom was more forgetful than Dita was.

Instead of reacting to Dita's exasperated response, Nada stopped and nearly caused Leshek to trip over his feet. Dita looked up to where her mother stared, and her heart started to gallop.

A policeman.

The officer stood alongside his car in front of the fourplex where they lived, watching Nada as they approached.

“Dita, take your brother inside and let me speak to the policeman—go on now, get started on your homework, you hear me?”

Dita didn't want to take her brother inside, but she nodded anyway, then took her mother's keys and Leshek's hand. After unlocking the bottom unit on the north side of the building, she let her brother in, then lingered by the doorway.

“Missus Mazurek, we have reason to believe your daughter may've been involved in a burglary at a charging station in West County.” His words emblazoned themselves across Dita's mind. We have reason to believe your daughter was involved in a burglary. “May I ask how old she is?”

Dita couldn't hear how her mother responded, but she thought she might have heard the word birthday.

“I see.” The officer, a handsome man with blond hair, blue eyes and an athletic build, glanced over at the front door, slightly ajar.

“I belieeeeve in Sandy Claaaws! I belieeeeeve!” Leshek's irritating voice obscured some of what the policeman said next. Dita tried to hush her brother, but he was twirling around the living room like an alien spaceship, oblivious to her pleas.

“...new law... ...year-olds—especially the last... ...lenience. Just make sure it...

“I believe I am Sandy Claws!'

“Shut it, spaznozzle!”

“Ha ha!” Leshek was tickled by funny words. “Shpanish Noodle! Dita said I'm a Shpanish Noo! Ha ha! Nooda nooda nooda nooda!”

When Nada came into the house, shutting the door behind her before the policeman had even gotten into his car, she didn't look at Dita. Instead she brought her bag of groceries into the kitchen and set them on the counter with a sigh.

“Settle down, twirlybird, settle down! Go play with your crayons while I get dinner ready.”

But Leshek didn't want to settle down. Distressed by learning that Santa Claus wasn't real, he was desperately seeking ways to make it right again. “I'm a Noodle Claws!” He spun himself dizzy and fell on the floor giggling after that one.

Dita retreated to the kitchen table and started another drawing, trying to ignore her little brother. When Lidia came home from school, Leshek was still spinning around the living room, but at least he was doing it quietly. Lidia retreated to the bedroom the three siblings shared and slammed the door.

Typical.

Leshek sat on the floor for a full twenty minutes, piecing together tracks for his racecars, but the lure of the whirling spaceship eventually pulled him into motion. He didn't get far, crashing into his mother just as she was about to transfer a box of macaroni to a boiling pot of water.

Ssscrasssh!

Noodles everywhere.

“Noodle Claws!” He seemed so pleased with himself.

Just then, Kos walked in through the front door, and the mood grew chill. Leshek trotted over to the kitchen table next to Dita and pretended that he'd been drawing the entire time. With the air sucked out of her chance to shriek at her youngest child, Nada scooped up the spilled noodles into a bowl and picked through them for dirt.

“I won't let you spoil dinner for all of us,” she muttered, barely acknowledging her husband's entrance. Kos solemnly took off his shoes and sat in his easy chair, as he did every day before dinner.

A mischievous urge prompted Dita to comment on her mom's cooking. “It's already spoiled if you're using that ento-meat stuff, it's gross—”

“You mind your tongue, little girl,” Kos's gruff voice cut her off. “We can't afford fancy hamburgers and steak, you know.”

“Is that what you tell her to get her to steal for you?” Nada's voice was as tense as violin strings.

Kos's eyes turned black, but her mother wasn't through.

“A cop came by today—waiting for me outside our house when I got home. Yeah, that's right,” she nodded when Kos flinched at her words. “The police. He said they had video of Dita busting into a cash register—our Dita! Is this how you're raising our little girl, Kosmy? Raising her to think that stealing's okay as long as you don't get caught? You're just setting her up to be punished after she turns ten—is this how you're gonna raise Leshek? To be nothing more than a thief?”

Kos remained uncannily detached throughout Nada's fury, right up to when she mentioned Leshek. It was clear to everyone in their family that Kos didn't care for their youngest child, and the twist of his lip, the tension in his left nostril, both signaled his disgust at the thought of raising the boy. Thief or not.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Kosmy Mazurek,” Nada pressed on, her cheeks aflame with indignation. “To take advantage of your children in such a way.”

“Dita!” Kos barked, jumping up from his chair. Dita stiffened, but didn't look up from her drawing. “Take out the trash, then make a peanut butter sandwich for you and your brother. It's time for—”

Dita could already hear her mom groaning in protest.

“—your mom and I to have our playtime.”

“No, Kosmy, please—I'm so tired, and the kids need a proper—”

“You heard me! Dita!”

Leshek scrambled off to the kids' bedroom as fast as he could, while Dita slammed her pencil on the tabletop and stomped off to retrieve the trash.

She hated it when her dad did this. It made no sense.

It made her sick.

She brought the kitchen trash to the can they kept outside near the house, and said goodnight to the giant oak at the end of their block. For a mere second, she was tempted to walk down the street and keep walking, never turn back, and never have to see Kosmy or Leshek or anyone ever again. The thought was flushed away at once, however. Her family was awful. But the world was too terrifying for a nearly-ten-year-old girl on her own.

As she reached for the doorknob to go back inside, she heard Nada's muffled protests turn to sobbing and moaning, and Dita knew that Kos had already begun. For the next hour or more, Dita's parents would stay locked up in their bedroom, as they had many times before. She knew that her dad would stuff something into her mom's mouth, gagging her and garbling her pleas for mercy. She'd hear what sounded like slapping, sometimes punching or kicking. Cutting into her heart like an ax blow, Dita would hear each of her mother's muted groans, each time her dad gibed at Nada for forgetting their safe word.

Sometimes her family made her want to die.

“At least I have you, Isabel,” Dita whispered to the cold sky before going back into the house.

#

Thursday, November 29

We learned about Captain O in school today. His name was Yuriy, but people called him George. He left Earth eight years ago, before the Swarm came, on a mission to Mars, but he never made it. Something happened to his ship. Some people think he's still alive, out there in space, and that he's going to come back and save Earth or something. But wouldn't he be a human popsicle by now? I think space is pretty cold.

We also played some ancient game called square dancing. I wanted to keep doing it all day and all night, so I wouldn't have to come home, but everyone else thought it was stupid.

At daycare I learned about St. Andrew and his saltire. A saltire is a cross in the shape of an x instead of t. Andrew was a follower of Jesus Christ, but some people didn't like what he was doing, so they decided to crucify him. He said he wasn't good enough to be crucified on the same kind of cross as Jesus, so they put him on a saltire.

I think that's silly. If you have to die, why does the shape of the cross matter? Death is death. The point of life is to avoid it as long as possible.

#

Kos was at it again. He'd spent three hours the previous night torturing Nada, but that wasn't enough it seemed. Muffled moans and cruel taunts filled their home; the kids did their best to ignore them. Leshek listened to his radio and hummed to himself, but that wasn't enough for Dita. She hated Kos more than anything during playtime.

She decided she'd go find Lidia. Opening the front door as quietly as possible, she snuck out and climbed the stairs to the landing pad and entryway to the upper unit. No one lived there, although a woman lived in the upper unit on the south side of their fourplex. She was probably in her living room surrounded by her many cats.

Dita went to the end of the balcony and climbed up a ladder to the roof. Crouching down as she ascended the shingled slope, she found her sister sitting in shadows, her back pressed against the brick chimney. Lifting her head at the noise of Dita scrambling up the roof, Lidia frowned then put her head back on her knees as she hugged her legs.

Dita sat next to her sister, and Lidia grudgingly shared the wool blanket she'd draped over herself. In one hand she held a small bottle, unopened and containing a brown liquid. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Dita looked at her favorite tree at the end of the block, the enormous oak that was as wide as a house. That tree awed her, made her sure that life was worth living. It changed with the seasons, and it had an entire society of animals and insects that lived in, on, under, and around it. It was its own world.

“We missed the meteors,” Lidia spoke quietly, worn out from the cold. Her pale skin looked almost blue in the dim light from the streetlamps. “Meteor swarms that come around every year in November, but I learned about them too late.”

Dita imagined a flock of winged rocks swooping and buzzing past Earth in a strange outer-space migration.

“Like the Swarm?”

Lidia scowled. “No, stupid, the Swarm's always here.”

“What's in the bottle?” Dita asked after another few moments had passed.

“Bourbon.” Lidia lifted her head again and looked directly at Dita's face for the first time tonight. “It's a kind of alcohol.”

“But that's for adults, isn't it? Why do you have it?”

“It's not illegal anymore for kids to drink alcohol... but I haven't tried it.” The way she phrased her words it seemed as if she had more to stay, but nothing came out.

“How come?” Dita prompted.

Lidia's head sank back to her knees. “I'm scared.”

Dita didn't understand that, but she let it pass. “Well, why do people drink that stuff in the first place? Doesn't it taste terrible?”

Lidia raised her head again, but not to respond to Dita's questions. Leshek's head had just popped up over the edge of the roof. His eyes asked if he would be allowed to climb up and join his sisters. Dita sighed.

Before their brother reached them, Lidia looked at Dita and something in her sister's eyes made Dita's heart race: they were cold and hard, like their dad's.

“You'd better do it soon, before it starts counting against you. If you don't, it'll be up to Leshek, but that'll be years from now. I don't think mom'll survive that long.”

Dita had no idea what her sister was saying. The words bounced off her head like inert pine cones, but the tone of her sister's voice terrified her. Shaken, she welcomed Leshek's arrival and hugged her brother close to her while they sat on the roof.

#

Friday, November 30

I might get arrested before my 10th birthday. Kos finally told me about his grand plan.

#

Looking down at two men on the ground, convulsing as if they'd been shocked by live wires, Kos spat. “Damn bugs. Come on, let's get outta here.”

They left the gun range after witnessing an argument turn into fisticuffs. Normally Kos had Dita practice with a small rifle, since that's what kids were taught, but today he had her use a small semi-automatic handgun.

You never know when you'll need to protect yourself from a thug or a rapist, he'd said. The handgun's your best bet.

It turned out she was just as good a shot with a handgun as she was with a rifle. Shooting a gun felt natural to her. Still, she was annoyed at her dad for taking her to the range. Today was St. Andrew's Day, and there was a special mass at church tonight. Dita would much rather be with her mom and Baka Jo in church than at the firing range.

Back in the Jeep, Kos didn't start the engine right away. Instead, he lit one of his hand-rolled cigarettes and lowered his window just enough to let the smoke out. Dita wrinkled her nose: she detested the smell of burning tobacco. He took a few drags and breathed deeply for a moment before he spoke, saying something that Dita knew she wouldn't want to hear.

“The world's uh effed-up place, Dita. People do some crazy shit just to get by... and some people do crazy shit just for the hell of it—just to get off on it.”

Like you? Feeling nauseous from a mix of smoke, adrenalin and bile, Dita shot her eyes over at Kos, not daring to utter her thought. He ignored her anyway, looked out his window and kept speaking. She turned away and stared out the passenger side window at the brick wall of the gun range building, graffitied with the phrase OBEY THE SWARM.

“About six or seven years ago, when it all started... when it was worse than it is now, when people started losing their shit and killing themselves, and killing each other... Someone hurt your mom, hurt her real bad. He did something to your mom that—” Something seemed to catch in his throat, so he cleared it, swallowed, and paused for a moment before resuming.

“He polluted her,” he said more loudly, anger rising in his face. “And cuz of who he was, the son of a god-damn priest, he got off light.”

Kos turned to Dita and made sure she was looking at him.

“There ain't no way he's paid for the damage he's done. If I could get away with it... I'd make sure justice was done.”

Dita didn't dare utter a word. She understood exactly what Kos was telling her.

“Tomorrow at the fundraiser,” he continued. “You'll be busy helping Sister Margie with the bake sale and kid stuff, right?”

Dita nodded once.

“You'll have your jacket with you, right?”

Dita nodded twice.

“Well, just be sure you don't forget it, you know, back in the back office or whatever, cuz... Well, I wouldn't want you to be without your jacket, cuz I guess I'd have to bring you back later and see if we could get it... right?”

#

Saturday, December 1

#

You'd better do it soon.

I'd make sure justice was done.

I just wish he was dead.

The voices of her family haunted Dita as she and Nada took the county bus to the Lake Park cemetery. Somewhere deep inside she understood what they were all saying to her, but she was reluctant to examine their words too closely. Reluctant, or perhaps, repulsed by what she might find. It was all too much for her young soul.

She wanted to talk with her mom about it, but at the same time she didn't. Nada was the most frustrating person in the world to talk to. She could try to discuss it with Isabel, but that'd become unsatisfying as she grew older. She'd never actually seen Isabel, but ever since she could remember she simply knew Isabel existed. There were times when she thought she could hear her imaginary friend, as a high-pitched ringing noise, which is how she got her name: Is a bell?

The electric bus sped away from them quietly, as if it'd never been there, and Dita glanced up at her mother's face. Clutching some flowers she'd picked earlier this morning, Nada eyed something ahead with suspicion, but Dita couldn't tell what it was. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to pose one of the many questions burning in her mind.

“Why was Uncle Miki buried here instead of at Saint Andrew's with Raymund and grampa and gramma Mazurek?”

Nada turned with anger in her eyes and scowled, but didn't reply. After a moment she sighed, then walked up to a wooden booth near the cemetery's entrance. While she signed her name on an open book that'd been placed on a pedestal, a woman approached holding a stack of folded paper. At first glance, her hair appeared neat, but it was really just a jumble of quarrelsome curls.

“Hi, my name's Beverly,” the woman spoke with a slight lisp, holding one of her pamphlets out to Nada. “Have you considered joining the Church of the Swarm?”

Nada looked up, confused and irritated, and refused the pamphlet by waving her hands in front of her.

“We're the first religion based on rational thought and proven science,” Beverly offered, but Nada took Dita's hand and walked away from the woman.

When they reached the wall where the ashes of her brother were interred, Nada touched the plaque which bore his name: Mihailo Damjanović. Placing her sorry bouquet in a tin vase attached to the wall next to the plaque, she spoke softly to her daughter.

 “Your uncle Miki was a good man, Dita. Caring... generous... kind. He liked to play golf... and paint watercolors. You remind me of him sometimes—he was so stubborn. He never let anyone tell him what to do... or how to be. He had a hard time when he was younger, but he figured it out. He was ... happy.”

Tears began to well up in Nada's eyes as she touched the wisps of hair around Dita's forehead.

“Then, when everything changed... when the Swarm... it was hard on people like your uncle. He'd always been Catholic, but he... he did things. Sinful things. It was too much for him to bear.”

Nada watched Dita as her words sunk in, then bent closer and placed her hands on Dita's shoulders.

“Now listen to me, Dita: your birthday's coming up, and you're going to be asked to make a choice. You'll have some time, but I want you to think carefully about everything you've learned from—and about—the Church before you do. No matter what you decide, I want you to know that I'll always love you. Okay?”

Dita smiled and nodded. Her mother rarely said those words to her.

“One more thing.” Her eyes grew dark. “I know Kos has something brewing, either today or tomorrow. I won't ask you to resist, because I know what he's like, but I just want you to remember one thing: be true to yourself, Edyta Mazurek. In your heart, you know the difference between right and wrong.”

Dita's pulse quickened. She wasn't sure if her mother was right.

#

Dita spent most of Saturday afternoon at St. Andrew's Church. She and some of the other children helped Sister Margie and Father Frank with their annual St. Andrew's Day fundraiser, where they sold food and hand-made crafts to help fund the daycare and other charitable work. Long tables draped with white sheets filled the entryway near the baptistery, as well as the chancel, the raised area where the priests conducted the services. Half the tables were covered with plates of paczki, poppy-seed cake, and other baked goods, while the rest were adorned with holiday-themed wreaths, wall hangings, statues and dozens of hand-crafted items donated by members of the community.

“But I want da Sandy Claws!”

Dita could hear her younger brother screeching all the way on the other side of the nave. She spotted her mother and Baka Jo nearby, engrossed in a conversation with the woman who'd made forty dozen pierogi for the sale, then saw Kos and Leshek near the wooden Santa Claus statues.

“Why can I have da Sandee Claaaaaaws!” His demands turned to sobbing, and Dita knew that he'd pushed it too far. Kos slapped the six-year-old boy hard, knocking him to the ground, then dragged him away from the sparkling red and white figurines and away from the eyes of onlookers. Dita abandoned her table and ran across the church's sanctuary to a wide hallway that led to the administrative offices in the back. Kos had already removed his belt and was yanking Leshek's pants down as he made the young boy bend over.

“Kos!” she pleaded, but her dad ignored her. Folding his belt in half, he flogged Leshek's buttocks five times fast, eliciting squeals of pain. Stopping, he looked up at Dita with a sneer on his face, then all at once his face changed. His sneer vanished, his eyes grew wide, and he seemed to be looking at something past Dita. She turned and saw a man walking away, a tall man who was somehow familiar, though she couldn't get a good look at his face.

“Go find your mom,” Kos barked to Leshek as the boy buttoned his pants and sniffled. Her dad turned his gaze upon Dita. “You're coming with me.”

“But, Kos, I gotta—”

He took her by the hand and dragged her with him toward the front entrance of the church, the way the man had walked. He released her as they exited the church and put his hand into his jacket pocket while they walked around the building.

When no one was nearby, Kos pulled out a small gun and handed it to Dita.

“Hold it in your sweatshirt for a bit—it's too heavy with my keys and everything.”

Dita breathed through her nose, but she didn't have the nerve to defy him. She took the gun and slid it into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, holding onto it so it wouldn't bounce around as she walked. As they followed the man toward the building that housed the offices and guest quarters, Kos spoke in a low voice.

“That's Simon Stanczak. He raped your mom seven years ago. Hurt her so bad she was in the hospital for almost a week.”

Dita had learned what rape was from Lidia, who'd said it was the worst thing a man could ever do to a woman. Worse than death.

Simon Stanczak didn't seem to notice Dita and Kos as he entered the building. When the door closed behind him, a strange thought came to Dita. Seven years ago? Leshek is almost seven years old.

“I would understand it,” Kos continued. “If you wanted to hurt that man, you know, in retribution. I wouldn't condone it, but I'd understand it.” He was using his official voice, the precise enunciation and conditional sentences that indicated he was trying to say something else to her. “If you walked in there, knocked on his door, and shot him in the face—I don't think anyone would be surprised.”

Dita's eyes grew wide. Her heart galloped like a frightened horse.

“I can't—wouldn't ever want to see you do such a thing, you know—I couldn't lie to the police about anything...”

He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to do something, and then she realized: she needed to go in alone. She glared at him, then walked up to the building's entrance and opened the door.

She knew exactly where the guest quarters were, having spent many of her afternoons in the church's daycare which was housed in the same building. She could probably guess which one had been assigned to the bishop's son: colorful panels of stained glass next to the entry doors showed which rooms were currently lit or unlit, and only one glowed with bluish light. Dita blinked rapidly, cleared her mind and took a deep breath. Her heart still raced, but she felt as if she was on a path laid out for her, and she didn't know how to stop.

She knocked on the door, timidly at first, but ending with three loud raps. The gun felt cold and lifeless in her hand as she withdrew it from her sweatshirt pocket, making sure to load the chamber.

Footsteps approached the door, and Dita's vision went black around the edges.

As Simon Stanczak opened the door his face paled with shock. Dita held the gun as if she knew exactly what she was doing and aimed for his heart. The man's eyes were wide, his hands presented palms forward, as he sputtered. “Wh-wh-whoa, little girl, what are you doing with that? Put that down before you hurt someone.”

Dita tried to focus all her pent-up rage and use it to drill through his quivering, fat face with her eyes, but his expression softened.

“You're her baby girl, aren't you?” Something about the familiarity of his tone made Dita's heart grow black. “Listen, I'm sorry, I'm real sorry for what I did—I didn't mean, I didn't—”

“I'm not a baby.” Dita's hands trembled. She grew perplexed by the realization that she wasn't going to squeeze the trigger. That wasn't for her to do. That decision belonged to someone else.

#

For most of dinner that night, Kos fumed at her, but didn't say a word. Dita did her best to avoid his gaze. The uncomfortable silence was punctuated by occasional and inappropriately mirthful outbursts from Baka Jo.

“And those wreaths! Best I've ever seen, hands down. The Bruskis really outdid themselves this year,” she proclaimed.

“What happened to your jacket, Dita?” Her father's gruff voice startled her. “I noticed you didn't have it when you got home.”

Nada eyed Kos with some suspicion. Dita didn't look up, instead speared a potato pierogi with her fork and stuffed it past her teeth. With her mouth full, she mumbled, “I yeft it at da furff.”

Kos chewed on that for a moment. “I need some tobacco. I'll take you to the store with me and we can stop at the church and see if anyone's still there.”

Dita didn't say a word. Both Leshek and Lidia kept their eyes on their plates, as they did most nights.

“Why not wait until morning?” Baka Jo's voice was cheerfully mystified. “You'll be there again for morning mass, won't you?”

“What if something happens before then—a fire, or something, you never know. You don't want your granddaughter to be without her jacket, do you Baba Jovana?” Kos sneered.

Baka Jo shrugged, wrinkled her nose and smiled at Dita, then served herself more green beans.

In the car ride to the church, Kos asked Dita what she'd done with the gun after she ran from Simon Stanczak.

“I threw it in the bushes behind the church.”

She stared straight ahead as she replied, ignoring the tiny bells in her ears, and Kos said no more.

#

It was dark when they got to the church. Kos said he'd wait outside while Dita went around back to see if anyone was there to let her into the administrative office. She knew there wouldn't be this late at night, but he needed to say it aloud.

“Go on in and see if you can find your jacket—and if you see the cash they collected from all the sales today, don't you touch it now.” He winked. “I'll go see if I can find that gun.”

Dita screwed up her lips, then did what her dad's unsaid words told her to do. It was easy getting into the administrative offices—she had done it before with her tools—but the hard part was walking down the hallway. There were no windows on this side of the building, hidden from the streetlamps and autumn moonlight of the world outside. Once she got more than ten feet in, the light coming through the glass entrance doors grew dim and useless. Shadows crowded the corners and Dita nearly froze with fear, reacting to every little noise.

Her galloping heart forced her to press on.

“I know this is wrong, Isabel,” she whispered as she crept toward Sister Margie's office. “But I don't think I have any other choice.”

Once inside, she felt her way to the nun's desk and dared to turn on the small lamp that was clamped to one side. The money wasn't even hidden. A box sat open on top of the nun's paperwork. What was probably over a couple thousand dollars in cash lay within Dita's reach. She wasn't surprised: she knew from experience that people had become too relaxed about security, lulled by how little crime there was these days. She stared at the money and listened to every noise, the buzzing, clicking, breezing sounds of a large building at night. Minuscule sounds made large by fear and darkness.

The frantic rhythm of her heart was the loudest thing here: blood booming in her ears. She opened the top drawer and saw a familiar set of keys, and knew that her next decision was the most important of her life so far.

She looked again at the box of money: a messy pile of ashen bills in small denominations. Dita saw in that cash a whole year's worth of food for her family, or new clothes, or maybe even a car for Nada. It had been so easy before, when she'd stolen from charge stations or GovMed clinics or corner mini-marts. She wasn't taking much—their businesses wouldn't fall apart because of Dita's nimble fingers. But taking from the daycare, from the church's outreach programs and charities: that felt vastly different. People Dita liked had spent their own time and resources to help raise that money for the church.

“Lidia's right. Kos is a dick.”

Dita reached down and grabbed the keys, knowing they'd be faster than her lock-pick skills, then rushed to the men's restroom before she changed her mind. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of going into a space that was reserved exclusively for men, then barged in. Squinting her eyes in the bright, motion-activated light of the bathroom, she found the key to the supply closet and unlocked the door. At the back of the small room she pressed her ear against another door, this one leading to the restroom for the guests of the church, and listened.

Nothing but her galloping pulse. She put the key into the lock and turned it, dreading the inevitable click. Pushing the door open, she could see at once that the restroom was unlit. The motion detector must've been facing the other way. Enough light shone in from the staff restroom for her to spot the tall garbage can near the sinks.

Dita removed the lid from the trash can and reached into the mass of damp, crumpled paper. She had to tilt the plastic container to reach further down, then she felt it. The cold steel was unmistakable. She lifted the gun out of the rubbish and stared at it, spellbound by the instrument of death in her hand, speaking in hushed tones to Isabel, her constant friend.

“I wonder if this has ever killed anyone?”

“Dita! What the fuck are you doing?!”

The angry whisper startled Dita, but she didn't lose her grip on the gun. Instead, she swung around with her finger on the trigger and faced Kos, pointing the weapon at his heart.

“What the—you lied to me!” His voice was growing louder now, his anger overriding caution. “Gimme that thing—”

“Stop!” Dita nearly shouted. “Stop right there—I've got something to say to you!”

His face in shadows, Dita thought she saw a sparkle in Kos's eye as he laughed. “What's this? Is little Dita stomping her feet and demanding the world pay attention to her? Waaa, waaaa, listen to meeee! Ha! You better give that up right now, little girl, and get used to being a nothin! Cuz that's what you are, a nothin, just like the rest of us. Anything you get in life, you get because uh me, you hear that? Now, gimme that gun before I beat ya silly.”

“No!” She snarled as best as she could. She'd never stood up to Kos before, not like this, and she thought her heart might explode from all the blood pumping through it. But she didn't falter.

“You have to make a promise!” Dita looked as serious as she could, wanting to convey the importance of her words, but Kos only raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Listen to me!” Her voice was almost a screech, her pitch heightened by frustration and dread. “You have to stop hurting us—especially mom! No more playtime, okay. Now promise!”

Dita shook the handgun at her dad, stood straight and tried to appear as if she wouldn't back down this time.

But her dad came at her fast.

Kos hunched over and rushed Dita, snarling like an underfed junkyard dog. Fumbling to gain control of the gun, he knocked it out of her hand and shoved her hard. She landed on the plastic garbage can, causing it to tip over as she slid to the ground.

Kos was hovering over her before she could scramble away. He first grabbed her by the hair and broke her nose with a quick punch: bones fracturing bones, then an immediate flow of blood.

Dita's memory of the next few seconds were of bright fairies and drowning.

Barely able to determine which direction to flee, she attempted to stumble out of the men's restroom, but Kos yanked her by the hood of her sweatshirt and swung her back toward the supply closet door. She slid across the bathroom floor and struck her left shoulder and head on the wall, pain shooting down her neck, blood everywhere.

Kos was saying something to her, but she couldn't really hear his words. She was too distracted by screaming pain and the familiar black object that lay right in front of her. As she lifted the gun and pointed it for a second time that night at her dad, Kos was unbuckling and removing his leather belt, fire burning at the bottom of the black pits where his eyes should've been.

Dita sat on the bathroom floor with her back to the wall and braced herself for the recoil. Isabel's peal of condemnation rang in her ears, but she ignored it.

“You think by killing me you can change the world?” Kos punctuated his question with a snap of his belt across his hand. “Wake up, stupid girl! Nothing's gonna change! We're already in hell—haven't ya figured it out yet?”

“You're wrong, Kos, it doesn't have to be that way!”

“Stupid bitch—you're just like your mom used to be, you know that? You think there's room in this world for good things, for a better world. A better world—ha! There's only this one, ya idiot, controlled by the almighty Swarm, and there's not a fucking thing you can do—”

Isabel screamed louder than she ever had before, but it wasn't enough.

#

Sunday, December 2

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm afraid. I think Isabel is my pilot.

#

“Missus Mazurek, hello. My name is Doctor Diaz. I wanted to first tell you how sorry I am for your loss, I can't imagine what you must be going through right now.”

Silence prompted the doctor to continue speaking.

“I know this must be a hard time, and if there was any way to delay this visit, I would. But as part of the Swarm Act signed by President Parimoo, it's required by law that all US citizens must receive at least one pre-10 counseling session before their tenth birthday.”

The doctor had a soft voice, with a lilt at the ends of words that sounded foreign. She was a pretty woman with dark hair and eyes, her eyes unadorned and her hair pulled back tight.

“A house call is required if the scheduled appointments are not met—it should only take twenty or thirty minutes at most, and you may be present for the entire interview.”

Dita's eyebrows rose at that last word, yet her focus didn't stray from the blank piece of paper on the kitchen table. Her pencil stood erect in her right hand, the tip touching the white surface. She hadn't been able to draw a thing. The small fracture in her nose was throbbing with pain, dulled by the medicine she'd been given. She had hoped for a cast or a patch to cover her black eye at least, but she'd been disappointed.

“She's been poked and prodded by doctors and detectives all night long—she only just woke up from a nap, and she's probably still in shock. Can't this wait until tomorrow?” Nada's voice was weak. Dita was surprised she spoke at all, considering how widthdrawn she'd been for the past fifteen hours.

“I'm afraid not, Missus Mazurek. I am sorry, but I'll try to be quick. May I?”

Nada reluctantly stepped aside and allowed Dr. Diaz to enter her home. Baka Jo, sitting nearby on the couch, frowned at the woman, then took Lidia and Leshek with her into the kids' bedroom.

The attractive woman stepped up to the kitchen table and set her briefcase down. Pulling a chair out, she smiled at Dita and said, “Hi—it's Edyta, right? I'm Doctor Diaz. May I sit with you for a moment or two?”

The doctor didn't wait for Dita's permission.

“I know you must be exhausted. I'll keep this as simple as I can. I don't know how much you've been told about the Swarm, but it's my job to make sure you're prepared for what's about to happen to you.”

Dita put the pencil down on the blank paper and glanced over at Dr. Diaz. The pain medicine made her mind fuzzy, and when her heart raced, it felt like it was sliding on slick ice.

“Can I ask you to tell me your full name, please?”

Dita blinked. “Edyta Aniela Mazurek. But everyone calls me Dita.”

“Good, okay, Dita. Now tell me your date of birth?”

Dita told her, then added, “Lidia says I'm a Sagittarius.”

“Good—that's right, you are. I'm a Sagittarius too. Now, I just need to do a short examination—listen to your heart, and such.”

Dr. Diaz pressed her stethoscope to various places on Dita's body, inspected her eyes, ears, and mouth, and wrote notes on her pad of paper. When she was done with her exam, the doctor put her pad back into her briefcase and folded her hands on her lap.

“Well, as I said, I don't know how much you may've been told about the Swarm, but there are things you'll need to know as you start the next year of your life. You'll learn more about the origins of the Swarm in school, as you grow older, if you haven't already from your friends or family. But here's what I can tell you.

“The Swarm is a network of self-sufficient, aerial nanobots—I know that's quite a mouthful, Dita, but what that means is they're a bunch of tiny computers, so tiny they could be flying all around us right now and we'd never see them. And like all computers, they have a program, a purpose. Do you know the purpose of the Swarm?”

Dita heard the question, but it prompted no reaction from her. She knew the Swarm was responsible for shocking people when they lied, but when she was younger she'd been told they were angels. More recently she'd begun to question the idea of angry cherubs and wonder if they were bugs after all, more akin to tiny, vengeful insects. Like electrified fireflies.

A hive of micro-robots was a concept that made Dita's mind explode with questions and implications. Who made them? And why?

“They impose morals. What those morals are, exactly, is determined by a person's chosen belief system. I'm sorry if this is all a little confusing right now, but it will make sense, I promise.”

Dita had learned about morals at Sunday school. She wasn't confused; things were beginning to make more sense than the doctor understood.

“Each one of us, starting at the age of ten, is assigned one bot from the Swarm cloud—we call it the pilot. It stays with us for the rest of our lives, and for the first seven weeks it guides us with a gentle ringing in our ears as we navigate our new relationship.”

“Ten? Do kids who're younger than ten ever get a pilot?” Dita asked, unsure which response she wanted.

“No, I haven't read of any cases where a pilot was assigned before age ten—they are quite precise. Why do you ask, Dita—have you been hearing a chiming noise?”

“No, I was just wondering,” Dita answered reflexively, then realized her lie a split second before she heard the familiar ringing.

It was in her nature to lie. How in God's brown earth am I going to survive without lying?

Isabel?

Dr. Diaz nodded, and seemed to accept Dita's response. “So the pilot guides us, helps us to understand the rules. For everyone, religious and non-religious people alike, there are four general laws that are imposed upon us. These are laws that are basic to all of humanity—do not lie, do not cheat, do not steal, and do not kill. We all agree that those four things are bad, right?”

Dita turned away at the word kill, and for a moment she thought her vision might go black, but the pain meds had slowed her heart enough. She breathed deeply and focused her attention on the softly lilting tone of Dr. Diaz.

“Plus, if you believe in God, as millions of Americans do, and adhere to a recognized church's beliefs and codes of conduct, those codes will also be imposed upon you by the Swarm. For instance in the Catholic tradition, divorce is a sin, and will get you punished. And that's what they do, Dita—they punish. The Swarm monitors our behavior, and punishes us when we're bad. The punishment is light at first—loud ringing bells, then small electric shocks. But it will get worse, and the more often you're punished, no matter how small the crime, the greater the punishments will be. On your fifteenth birthday, if you haven't yet publicly declared your religious status, the Swarm will assume that you are agnostic, and continue judging you solely against the Four Laws. But if you've chosen to follow a set of religious beliefs, you'll be bound to obey them. Countless thousands of people have lost their lives testing the limits of the Swarm. And this is the important thing, Dita: the Swarm will not hesitate to kill, especially those who break the fourth law—those who murder.”

Dita's eyes burned. Anger and resentment that had built up over the past five or six years of her small life overflowed from her heart and into her bloodstream. She trembled as Kos's face flashed before her eyes with the crack of gunshot. His death gaze was as vivid and tangible as the air in her lungs.

“Fortunately, these laws do have some leeway. You'll learn more as you grow older, but here's one example to get you thinking. The fourth law, do not kill, is more precisely stated do no harm. If one of your friends punches you in the arm, he or she will be punished. But if a surgeon has to cut you open in order to save your life, or a dentist has to drill into your teeth, they won't be punished for that. Not if they're doing their job in a professional setting. And there are countless other exceptions and special situations that you'll learn as you experience them. But don't worry, it's all commonsense stuff, and for the first fifty days, you don't have to think about getting shocked—you'll just hear a faint ringing noise when you've broken one of the rules.

“Do you understand, Dita?”

A nauseating river of thoughts and emotions flowed through her foggy head. Fear of the future, of the following day. Horror at the idea of having her every action scrutinized by a robot. Unquenched rage at her father for using her to commit sins, for making her a murderer. Spite against the doctor for pointing it out.

And gall, coating everything else like a bitter syrup.

She began to wonder if she was wrong to believe that death is death. Maybe what kind of cross propped you up as you died was important after all. Dita knew she didn't want to die like Kos had.

But the Swarm? She would figure it out. Maybe even figure out a way to stop it. No one should have to go through what I've been through.

“What does it matter?” She spoke softly, so only the doctor could hear. “We all die. You just gotta make sure you go the way you want to.”

She picked up her pencil and began a drawing of Captain O's rocketship.

By Christopher Charles.

[attredd]

NEW YORK -- On a quiet night in March, a mob leader was executed in New York City for the first time since 1985. The body of Francesco Cali, a reputed boss of the Gambino crime family, lay crumpled outside his Staten Island home, pierced by at least six bullets.Hours later, two soldiers in the Gambino family talked on the phone. One of them, Vincent Fiore, said he had just read a "short article" about the "news," according to prosecutors.No tears were shed for their fallen leader. The murder was "a good thing," Fiore, 57, said on the call. The vacuum at the top meant that Andrew Campos, described by authorities as the Gambino captain who ran Fiore's crew, was poised to gain more power.Cali's death was just the beginning of surprises to come for the Gambino family.Last week, federal prosecutors in Brooklyn charged Fiore and 11 others in a sprawling racketeering scheme linked to the Gambinos, once the country's preeminent organized crime dynasty. The charges stemmed from a yearslong investigation involving wiretapped calls, physical surveillance and even listening devices installed inside an office where mob associates worked.As part of the case, the government released a court filing that offered an extremely rare glimpse at the reactions inside a Mafia family to the murder of their boss -- a curious mix of mourning and jockeying for power. The case showed that life in the mob can be just as petty as life in a corporate cubicle."Mob guys are the biggest gossips in the world," said James J. Hunt, the former head of the Drug Enforcement Administration's office in New York. "You think they're tough guys, but they're all looking out for themselves. The only way they get promoted is by a guy dying or going to jail."While Fiore initially plotted how Cali's death would help him and his faction, he adopted a different tone when calling his own ex-wife a few days later, prosecutors said. He warmly referred to Cali as "Frankie" and seemed to mourn the boss as a man who "was loved." He speculated about the killer's motive, saying he had watched the surveillance tape from Cali's home that captured the murder.Vincent Fiore appeared ambitious, court documents showed, eager to reveal his connections to other gangs and organized crime families. About two weeks after Cali's death, Fiore bragged in another wiretapped conversation about how he could take revenge on students who had hit his son at school, a government filing said.Fiore talked first about sending his daughter to beat the students up.But he also had other options, he said on the call. His ex-wife's father was a Latin King, her nephews were Bloods, and her cousin was a member of the Ching-a-Lings, the South Bronx motorcycle gang.Vincent Fiore and the other defendants have each pleaded not guilty to the charges. A lawyer for Fiore did not respond to a request for comment.Despite decades of declining influence in New York City, the Gambino family, led by the notoriously flashy John J. Gotti in the 1980s, is still raking in millions of dollars, according to the government. Prosecutors said they had evidence that the family had maintained its long-standing coziness with the construction industry, infiltrating high-end Manhattan properties.The indictments accused Gambino associates of bribing a real estate executive to skim hundreds of thousands of dollars from New York City construction projects, including the XI, a luxury building with two twisting towers being built along the High Line park in West Chelsea.At the height of their power in the 1980s and early 1990s, the Gambinos and other organized crime families had a stranglehold on New York City construction, through their control of construction unions and the concrete business.Some of the defendants charged last week operated a carpentry company called CWC Contracting Corp., which prosecutors said paid kickbacks to real estate developers in exchange for contracts.Despite the scramble after Cali's death in March, the Gambino crime family continued to thrive through fraud, bribery and extortion, investigators said.The wiretaps quoted in court papers hinted at the crime family's capacity for violence. One of the defendants was recorded in April claiming that he had a fight in a diner and "stabbed the kid, I don't know, 1,000 times with a fork." Inside another defendant's home and vehicle, agents found brass knuckles and a large knife that appeared to have blood on it.Among the notable names in last week's takedown were two longtime Gambino members, Andrew Campos and Richard Martino, who were once considered by Gotti to be rising stars in the Mafia, according to former officials."John was enamored by these guys," said Philip Scala, a retired FBI agent who supervised the squad investigating the Gambino family. "He couldn't believe what they were doing. These kids were making millions of dollars as entrepreneurs."In particular, Martino has long been viewed by mob investigators as somewhat of a white-collar crime genius, former officials said. Prosecutors have previously accused him of orchestrating the largest consumer fraud of the 1990s, which netted close to $1 billion. One part of that scheme involved a fake pornography website that lured users with the promise of a free tour and then charged their credit cards without their knowledge.Campos, 50, and Martino, 60, each pleaded guilty in 2005 to their role in the fraud and served time in federal prison.But as soon as they were released, the government said, they returned to the family business.Martino is now accused of hiding his wealth from the government to avoid paying the full $9.1 million forfeiture from his earlier case.After Martino's release from prison in 2014, he still controlled companies that conducted millions of dollars in transactions, using intermediaries to obscure his involvement, the government alleged. This included investments in pizzerias on Long Island and in Westchester County, according to a person familiar with the matter.Martino's lawyer, Maurice Sercarz, said his client fully paid the required forfeiture before reporting to prison. He added, "The suggestion that Mr. Martino concealed his ownership of businesses and bank accounts to avoid this obligation ignores or misrepresents his financial circumstances."Campos, meanwhile, climbed the ranks to become a captain inside the Gambino family, according to prosecutors.Henry E. Mazurek, a lawyer for Campos, said the government's photos and surveillance footage of his client were not evidence of a crime. "The government presents a trumped-up case that substitutes old lore for actual evidence," Mazurek said.After searching Campos' home in Scarsdale, New York, a wealthy suburb north of New York City, investigators found traces of a storied mob legacy. In his closet there were photos taken during his visits with Martino to see Frank Locascio, Gotti's former consigliere, or counselor, in prison.Locascio is serving a life sentence. He was convicted in 1992 alongside Gotti by the same U.S. attorney's office that brought last week's indictment. Gotti, who died in prison in 2002, was found guilty of, among other things, ordering the killing of Paul Castellano in 1985, the last time a Gambino boss was gunned down in the street.On March 14, the day after Cali's death, Campos drove into Manhattan around 5:50 p.m. to discuss the circumstances of the murder with Gambino family members, seemingly unaware that law enforcement was tracking his every move.He parked near a pizzeria on the Upper East Side, according to a person familiar with the matter. As the night progressed, he met with Gambino family captains on the Upper East Side and near a church in Brooklyn. They stood in the street, chatting openly, but law enforcement officials could not hear the conversations.Several days later, Campos and Fiore drove to Staten Island for a secret meeting. A group of about eight high-level Gambino lieutenants gathered to discuss Cali's murder, a court filing said. In a wiretapped call the next day, Fiore complained that he had stayed out past midnight.Fiore said on the call that a woman had been at Cali's home the night of his death, pointing to her as a possible connection. Court papers do not reveal the woman's identity.Nobody within the mob family seemed to suspect the person who was charged: a 25-year-old who appeared to have no clear motive.This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2019 The New York Times Company

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/2YXIu3L

[saadullah-faisal-world]

NEW YORK -- On a quiet night in March, a mob leader was executed in New York City for the first time since 1985. The body of Francesco Cali, a reputed boss of the Gambino crime family, lay crumpled outside his Staten Island home, pierced by at least six bullets.Hours later, two soldiers in the Gambino family talked on the phone. One of them, Vincent Fiore, said he had just read a "short article" about the "news," according to prosecutors.No tears were shed for their fallen leader. The murder was "a good thing," Fiore, 57, said on the call. The vacuum at the top meant that Andrew Campos, described by authorities as the Gambino captain who ran Fiore's crew, was poised to gain more power.Cali's death was just the beginning of surprises to come for the Gambino family.Last week, federal prosecutors in Brooklyn charged Fiore and 11 others in a sprawling racketeering scheme linked to the Gambinos, once the country's preeminent organized crime dynasty. The charges stemmed from a yearslong investigation involving wiretapped calls, physical surveillance and even listening devices installed inside an office where mob associates worked.As part of the case, the government released a court filing that offered an extremely rare glimpse at the reactions inside a Mafia family to the murder of their boss -- a curious mix of mourning and jockeying for power. The case showed that life in the mob can be just as petty as life in a corporate cubicle."Mob guys are the biggest gossips in the world," said James J. Hunt, the former head of the Drug Enforcement Administration's office in New York. "You think they're tough guys, but they're all looking out for themselves. The only way they get promoted is by a guy dying or going to jail."While Fiore initially plotted how Cali's death would help him and his faction, he adopted a different tone when calling his own ex-wife a few days later, prosecutors said. He warmly referred to Cali as "Frankie" and seemed to mourn the boss as a man who "was loved." He speculated about the killer's motive, saying he had watched the surveillance tape from Cali's home that captured the murder.Vincent Fiore appeared ambitious, court documents showed, eager to reveal his connections to other gangs and organized crime families. About two weeks after Cali's death, Fiore bragged in another wiretapped conversation about how he could take revenge on students who had hit his son at school, a government filing said.Fiore talked first about sending his daughter to beat the students up.But he also had other options, he said on the call. His ex-wife's father was a Latin King, her nephews were Bloods, and her cousin was a member of the Ching-a-Lings, the South Bronx motorcycle gang.Vincent Fiore and the other defendants have each pleaded not guilty to the charges. A lawyer for Fiore did not respond to a request for comment.Despite decades of declining influence in New York City, the Gambino family, led by the notoriously flashy John J. Gotti in the 1980s, is still raking in millions of dollars, according to the government. Prosecutors said they had evidence that the family had maintained its long-standing coziness with the construction industry, infiltrating high-end Manhattan properties.The indictments accused Gambino associates of bribing a real estate executive to skim hundreds of thousands of dollars from New York City construction projects, including the XI, a luxury building with two twisting towers being built along the High Line park in West Chelsea.At the height of their power in the 1980s and early 1990s, the Gambinos and other organized crime families had a stranglehold on New York City construction, through their control of construction unions and the concrete business.Some of the defendants charged last week operated a carpentry company called CWC Contracting Corp., which prosecutors said paid kickbacks to real estate developers in exchange for contracts.Despite the scramble after Cali's death in March, the Gambino crime family continued to thrive through fraud, bribery and extortion, investigators said.The wiretaps quoted in court papers hinted at the crime family's capacity for violence. One of the defendants was recorded in April claiming that he had a fight in a diner and "stabbed the kid, I don't know, 1,000 times with a fork." Inside another defendant's home and vehicle, agents found brass knuckles and a large knife that appeared to have blood on it.Among the notable names in last week's takedown were two longtime Gambino members, Andrew Campos and Richard Martino, who were once considered by Gotti to be rising stars in the Mafia, according to former officials."John was enamored by these guys," said Philip Scala, a retired FBI agent who supervised the squad investigating the Gambino family. "He couldn't believe what they were doing. These kids were making millions of dollars as entrepreneurs."In particular, Martino has long been viewed by mob investigators as somewhat of a white-collar crime genius, former officials said. Prosecutors have previously accused him of orchestrating the largest consumer fraud of the 1990s, which netted close to $1 billion. One part of that scheme involved a fake pornography website that lured users with the promise of a free tour and then charged their credit cards without their knowledge.Campos, 50, and Martino, 60, each pleaded guilty in 2005 to their role in the fraud and served time in federal prison.But as soon as they were released, the government said, they returned to the family business.Martino is now accused of hiding his wealth from the government to avoid paying the full $9.1 million forfeiture from his earlier case.After Martino's release from prison in 2014, he still controlled companies that conducted millions of dollars in transactions, using intermediaries to obscure his involvement, the government alleged. This included investments in pizzerias on Long Island and in Westchester County, according to a person familiar with the matter.Martino's lawyer, Maurice Sercarz, said his client fully paid the required forfeiture before reporting to prison. He added, "The suggestion that Mr. Martino concealed his ownership of businesses and bank accounts to avoid this obligation ignores or misrepresents his financial circumstances."Campos, meanwhile, climbed the ranks to become a captain inside the Gambino family, according to prosecutors.Henry E. Mazurek, a lawyer for Campos, said the government's photos and surveillance footage of his client were not evidence of a crime. "The government presents a trumped-up case that substitutes old lore for actual evidence," Mazurek said.After searching Campos' home in Scarsdale, New York, a wealthy suburb north of New York City, investigators found traces of a storied mob legacy. In his closet there were photos taken during his visits with Martino to see Frank Locascio, Gotti's former consigliere, or counselor, in prison.Locascio is serving a life sentence. He was convicted in 1992 alongside Gotti by the same U.S. attorney's office that brought last week's indictment. Gotti, who died in prison in 2002, was found guilty of, among other things, ordering the killing of Paul Castellano in 1985, the last time a Gambino boss was gunned down in the street.On March 14, the day after Cali's death, Campos drove into Manhattan around 5:50 p.m. to discuss the circumstances of the murder with Gambino family members, seemingly unaware that law enforcement was tracking his every move.He parked near a pizzeria on the Upper East Side, according to a person familiar with the matter. As the night progressed, he met with Gambino family captains on the Upper East Side and near a church in Brooklyn. They stood in the street, chatting openly, but law enforcement officials could not hear the conversations.Several days later, Campos and Fiore drove to Staten Island for a secret meeting. A group of about eight high-level Gambino lieutenants gathered to discuss Cali's murder, a court filing said. In a wiretapped call the next day, Fiore complained that he had stayed out past midnight.Fiore said on the call that a woman had been at Cali's home the night of his death, pointing to her as a possible connection. Court papers do not reveal the woman's identity.Nobody within the mob family seemed to suspect the person who was charged: a 25-year-old who appeared to have no clear motive.This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2019 The New York Times Company

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/2YXIu3L

[theloverofdragons]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i am SO ready for the release tomorrow 👀

(still wish alexander was vilmor tho sdfghjklhgds)

[alert5]

It’s just after lunch on a cold, dreary Wednesday in Eastern Ontario, Canada. A pristine lake with mist settled above the waters sits quietly, surrounded by densely-forested hills, cabins and cottages scattered around the shores. A dull noise in the distance approaches, turning quickly into a roar as two grey C-130J Super Hercules tactical airlift transports race over a hill at altitudes so low, you could probably touch their bellies if you raised your hands above your head.

In the cockpit of Burma 2-1, the lead Herc in this two-ship formation, we’re dodging missiles fired off by unseen enemy combatants on the ground. Captain Jeff Moorhouse calmly calls out missile launches as the two aircraft in Burma Flight maneuver in response. You can feel the G forces coming on as the Herc suddenly banks, its left wing aimed at the ground and the horizon turning into a rapidly decreasing obtuse angle. My 2 lb Canon camera somehow feels like it’s now 30 lbs, and I’m hefting it to my face, trying to grab a shot of the spectacular scene unfolding right in front of me as I sit in the jump seat behind the two pilots of Burma 2-1.

Of course, we’re not trying to outfox real missiles – this is just a drill, but a highly realistic mission nonetheless. Today, I get to fly with the best of Canada’s best on a training run in a C-130J (known as the CC-130J in Canadian military parlance) at altitudes that would make most ordinary pilots feel thoroughly uncomfortable, especially in an aircraft of this size. It’ll be a two-ship flight, meaning that two Super Hercs will fly this mission, always in close formation throughout the entire flight… even during takeoff. These two aircraft belong to one of the most storied Canadian transportation units in existence – 436 Transport Squadron of the Royal Canadian Air Force’s 8 Wing, based out of Canadian Forces Base Trenton.

436 Squadron traces its lineage back to the Second World War, where it was officially stood up in 1944 in India to serve as a forward-deployed logistics support element for Allied forces fighting the Imperial Japanese military in neighboring countries. 436 soon became known as “Canucks Unlimited”, and its pilots and crew earned a reputation for themselves thanks to their adoption of a spartan lifestyle and highly rigorous training methods. In order to save time between sorties, crew opted to eat dry meals instead of hot cooked meals, spurning a luxury widely available to aircrew at Allied bases. Maintenance methods were revamped by the squadron’s innovative engineering officer, who devised a way for crews to swap out their aircraft’s engines in two days instead of the usual three, returning grounded aircraft back to flight status quickly. Back then, Douglas C-47s, known as Dakotas in Canada, were 436’s workhorse of choice. In the years since, the highly-dependable C-130 filled that role. Today, we’re flying in the most advanced C-130s in the world, the Super Hercules.

Escorting me on-base today is Lieutenant Karyn Mazurek, a career military officer who formerly served on Canadian naval warships before her current job in public affairs. Lt. Mazurek and I are ushered into a briefing room upon reaching 436’s hangars. This room lined with computers hooked up to databases networks full of information which aircrew study intensely prior to a flight. We’re told to turn off our phones as we enter, and we quietly stand at a table. Everything is timed perfectly, and to that end, the officer leading the briefing calls out warnings prior to the start of the information session. Data sheets relevant to the training mission are handed out and everybody gets a copy. What we’re witnessing is actually called a “concept”, where everything the pilots and aircrew need to know about the mission they’ll soon fly is disseminated via ranking officers and critical personnel, like air traffic controllers and weather monitors. Today’s flight is a training exercise – two new pilots will be getting more hands-on time with the C-130J under the watchful eyes of experienced tactically-qualified pilots, while a pair of loadmasters will also be training, one as a new instructor, also observed by another experienced trainer.

Fin 601, aka “Senior”. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

Every flight is assigned a callsign, and the two aircraft flying today are labeled “Burma Flight”, a pointed reminder of the squadron’s history in the Asian theater of the Second World War. The lead aircraft will be dropping a pair of pallets, one on the ground in a COFF (Combat OFFload), and the other while in the air in a traditional airdrop. In combat situations, Hercules aircrew are expected to be fully proficient on these methods of battlefield supply delivery. The pallets we’ll be flying with are loaded down with weights to simulate an actual load; in battle, they’ll be chock full of ammunition, rations, gear, and other vital necessities for soldiers on the ground. Though C-130s are designed to land virtually anywhere, there are situations which require airdrops – cargo offloaded while in-flight through the rear main door of the aircraft – because landing the aircraft is simply out of the question for safety purposes. The RCAF has been doing this for years, ever since they bought their first C-130 legacy Hercs. Today, I’ll get to see them doing it with the newest technology available to them.

We’re bussed out the flight line, a neat row of dark gray C-130Js sitting quietly before us. I’m going to go up with Burma 2-1, the lead aircraft in the flight. For this run, 2-1 is assigned Fin 601, the very first C-130J delivered to the RCAF… so technically, I’m sitting on a piece of history. But before Fin 601 can be loaded up, it needs to be pre-flighted. As we’re technically flying with three loadmasters today, the three of them go about the preflight together with one observing and the other two executing. It’s rigorous and every minute detail is checked and rechecked. Nothing can be left to chance. It’s not just for the sake of those flying in the Herc, but it’s also for the sake of everyone they support on the ground. If an aircraft is disabled or incapacitated in any way, that puts the soldiers these aircraft are designed to support at a distinct disadvantage, and for the airmen of 436 Squadron, many of whom have and maintain ties to the Canadian Army’s infantry community, failure simply won’t do.

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After the loadmasters strap the cargo in using a forklift to help with the lift, a quick lunch and another pre-flight brief later, we’re now in the final prep stages for mission launch. Captains Joe Tufenkdjian and Jeff Moorhouse are Burma 2-1’s aircraft commander (left seat) and first officer (right seat) respectively. Now fully strapped into the jumpseat, it doesn’t take very long for a loud whine to fill the cockpit. We’ve switched to the aircraft’s auxiliary power unit and the ground power unit has been disconnected. A few short minutes later, the aircraft rumbles and vibrates noticeably – the first engine has been fired up and brought to idle. The pilots do the same for each engine in the startup sequence while communicating with air traffic control to get the necessary clearances and

“Burma 2-1, you’re cleared to Runway 06, hold till Burma 2-2 converges.”

Through the right-side windshield, we see Burma 2-2 holding short on a taxiway, ready for the formation takeoff. 2-2 will close in behind us on the runway, entering its takeoff roll when we’re all the way through ours. After lifting off, 2-1 and 2-2 will meet up and maintain that formation all the way through the flight. We begin banking away from Trenton on our climb, farmland falling away below us. But we don’t climb very high as today’s mission is meant to be flown at a low level. Most aircraft as big as the C-130 aren’t built to do this, but the Hercules excels at it. We’ll be flying through valleys, skirting hills and ridges, and we’re doing it through “bad guy country”. That means that everybody on the ground is hostile unless we’re informed otherwise, and they’re trying to kill us.

Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

For any farmers and spring vacationers out there who might’ve heard or seen Burma Flight fly over, don’t worry, you’re not actually hostile combatants. 2-1 and 2-2’s pilots need practice avoiding the most common threat they’d face overseas in a country like Afghanistan – man-portable air defense systems, or MANPADS for short. And in no time, we’re under attack. And like the professionals they are, 2-1 and 2-2’s pilots quickly and efficiently respond to these attacks with a variety of tricks up their sleeves, keeping their aircraft and the important cargo in their holds safe and sound, still on track for the drop. Even FedEx couldn’t get delivery done as well as Burma Flight’s about to do it. We fly on through Eastern Ontario, banking sharply low over lakes and rivers, rising over hills when the terrain avoidance system voices its concern with repeated “Terrain, terrain, pull up!” warnings. It’s thoroughly shocking and yet highly comforting at the same time that Capts. Tufenkdjian and Moorhouse are idly chatting about the weather, sports, snowmobiles and vacation home property values while we’re roaring low over Ontario, passing small towns and logging camps in the blink of an eye. Somewhere behind us, at our 5 or 6 o’clock position, is Burma 2-2 doing the same thing. These two pilots are so damned good at their jobs that they make today seem like just another walk in the park for them.

Capt. Joe Tufenkdjian at the helm of Burma 2-1 while en route to the training area for today’s flight. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

Over the ICS, I hear Capt. Moorhouse talk with one of the loadmasters on the flight. “Reporter wants to get some time on the ramp with his camera, let’s do it. Someone come get him.” He turns around and asks me if I’m okay with the change in plan – originally, we were considering me going out on the ramp after concluding the airdrop, but this plan works better. I flash him a thumbs up and respond affirmatively via the ICS. Hell yes, I’m ready! Having never done this before, I grab the helmet and make for the ladder before anybody changes their mind, not that they will. Master Corporal Jared “Jay” Conroy is there to greet me and get me harnessed-up.

I’m still getting my bearings, stumbling through the hold while we’re hitting turbulence every so often. One of the loadmasters helps me into a harness and I put a borrowed flight helmet on, replete with a tinted visor and microphone. Jay and I move to the back of the aircraft and we hook into the floor. Jay disappears from my line of sight to manipulate a set of controls. The ramp soon drops and I start to stumble towards the gaping maw in front of me, forests, rivers and lakes falling behind us quickly. But I don’t have time to be uneasy because I get to feast my eyes on an incredible sight… out of nowhere, Burma 2-2, the second C-130J in the flight swoops into sight, parrying with the winds assaulting it. I’ve never seen or experienced anything like this in my life and my first instinct is to grab my camera. Buffeting winds make taking pictures of the trailing aircraft nearly impossible but I grab a few shots. Jay motions to me to sit down, and I do. At times, we bank so steeply that I need to hold onto the rollers on the floor of the ramp to keep me from shifting down.

It’s awesome.

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We’re zipping along merrily, the second C-130 flying less than 1000 feet behind. The brilliance of the situation I’m in gets to me and I start laughing as though I’ve completely lost my sanity. There I am, sitting on an open-air ramp at the back of an aircraft traveling hundreds of miles an hour in turbulent skies, hooked up to a solitary nylon strap behind me… and I’m having the time of my life! Jay has served in the Canadian Forces for over sixteen years, having begun his career in the military as an enlisted armored infantry soldier in the Canadian Army Reserve; an open ramp of a C-130 is the last place you’d expect to find an armored crewman. However, I look over and I see him casually enjoying the view, a grin stretching from ear to ear. This is just another day at work for him, but the experience never gets old.

MCpl Jared “Jay” Conroy stands in front of Fin 601, one of two CC-130J-30 Super Hercules transporters on today’s mission. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

The job of a Hercules loadmaster is very involved and challenging. The aircraft essentially becomes the loadmaster’s baby for the duration of the mission. His or her responsibility ranges from helping power the aircraft up from its dormant stage by plugging it into a GPU (a ground power unit), checking the hydraulically-actuated cargo ramp, to calculating weight and balance and appropriately distributing the cargo load to help keep the aircraft at a stable attitude while in-flight. Conroy is known as a combat-qualified loadmaster, meaning that he’s capable of doing his job under the stresses of battle. In fact, he’s already deployed with the C-130J to Afghanistan, having flown strategic airlift missions out there in support of coalition forces on the ground. For him and other airmen, one of the biggest perks of the job isn’t just getting to see the world – which they do a lot of – but it’s getting to fly in ways no ordinary person could ever fathom. “We were over Portugal once, and we dropped the ramp… I was just sitting there admiring the view below me, it was incredible! You don’t see that on a civilian jet … just amazing!” recalls Jay of an RCAF mission that took him to Western Europe and beyond.

We eventually make it back into the hold of the aircraft and Jay closes up the ramp. The C-130J is very similar to every other Herc I’ve ever been in, yet incredibly different. The one I’m on today was one of 17 C-130J-30s purchased by the Canadian Forces in 2008 with deliveries beginning a few years later. The -30 is the longest iteration of the C-130 line, which got its start in the mid-1950s. It possesses a glass cockpit with an array of multifunction displays, two heads up displays (HUDs) which projects important data on a see-through screen in front of the pilots faces, allowing them to keep their eyes outside their aircraft instead of constantly pointed at the cockpit’s instruments, and it only needs a crew of three to function – two pilots and a loadmaster, instead of the older Hercules’s crew of five (a flight engineer and navigator were the other two roles required). It can essentially do everything its predecessors, known as “legacy” Hercs, can do, and more.

Loadmaster Jay Conroy preps a pallet for the CDS drop. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

I’m back in the cockpit and Capt. Moorhouse chimes in over the comms again: “How was it?” I yell back “Awesome! Can’t wait to do it again!” before I realize I didn’t key my microphone. Moorhouse laughs and resumes paying attention to flying. The C-130J is his first fleet flying assignment in the RCAF, and he’s been at it ever since the Super Hercules entered Canadian service. “It’s a great plane, love it, nothing like it and it’s perfect for the job” says Moorhouse when we land. Having served with the Canadian Forces since 2006, he encourages prospective pilots to consider flying with the RCAF and notes that flight experience has never really been a prerequisite, having never flown an aircraft himself before he joined up. “You get to see and do incredible things … things you would never get to do in a civilian airliner, we get to do in military aircraft. The experience is well worth it.” he says.

We’re still very low over the countryside, but it’s almost time for the highlight of today’s mission – the airdrop, also known as a Cargo Delivery System (CDS) drop. Behind us, in the hold, the loadmasters have rigged up the cargo and they’re ready to do the drop. I clamber back down and am seated towards the front of the hold while Jay and another loadmaster move to the back of the aircraft. The ramp opens and the outside world comes back into focus. We don’t have to wait long, the aircraft’s attitude changes and its nose lifts, angling the hold slightly. Once again, timing is everything and the aircraft commander coordinates with the loadmasters to ensure the drop occurs within seconds of reaching the drop zone, or DZ for short. A load snapping noise briefly permeates my helmet and the pallet rolls towards the mouth of the ramp. A line connecting a parachute rigged to its top surface and a “static line” hooked up inside the Herc plays out and then goes taut. The parachute billows out, arresting the descent of the heavy pallet full of supplies and who-knows-what destined for the DZ we’re now climbing away from. Burma 2-2 does the same and re-enters formation.

Soon after dropping the first pallet, as we bank away from the drop zone. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

It’s almost time for the second feature of today’s show, the COFF. A combat offload is basically what Herc crews do when there’s no forklift around to help unload the aircraft. Similar to the widebody civilian airliners I’ve worked on in the past, the C-130’s cargo hold has rollers on its floor to facilitate the movement of large pallets bearing all sorts of cargo. Crew push the pallets into place, then lock them down using sturdy chains and straps to keep them from shifting; load-shift while in-flight can bring down an aircraft, and that’s the last thing anybody wants. During a COFF, a crew will use Newton’s first law of motion: “An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” This basically means that any object sitting at rest will tend to stay that way unless a force is inflicted upon it. In the same way, a COFF involves using the inertia of the heavy pallet in the hold, a rapid forward movement and a sudden brake in order to drop the pallet out the rear, using the rollers to smoothen out the motion. This is exactly what we do upon landing and moving out to a taxiway. The pallet falls away from the C-130, and the ramp closes. In minutes, we’re back up in the air.

The remainder of the flight involves touch-and-go landing practice, which Burma 2-1 executes with ease and precision. We’ll later find out on the bus ride out of the flight line that 2-1 hit their DZ during the airborne drop with absolutely perfect aim – full points. Today, the crews of Burma 2-1 and 2-2 have flown at altitudes so low you can see your shadow chase after you on the ground, clear as day. They’ve outmaneuvered and warded off attacks by ghost teams of enemy combatants, dropped thousands of pounds out the back of the aircraft onto a drop zone with pinpoint accuracy, many feet below us, and hurled another thousand pounds out the back of the Hercules upon landing as though that’s a totally normal thing for any aircraft to be able to do. Today, Burma Flight has done things no ordinary aircraft or aircrew is capable of without even breaking a sweat. This is all in a day’s work for the highly professional aviators of Canada’s only Super Hercules tactical airlift squadron.

Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

A huge thanks to Lt. Karyn Mazurek of 8 Wing, the members of 436 Squadron, and the crews of Burma 2-1 and 2-2 for their graciousness in hosting me, entertaining my incessant questions with patience, and tolerating my constant photography! Allowing me to observe what you do in serve of your country was both an honor and a privilege!

Editor-in-Chief Ian D'Costa gets to go behind the scenes with the RCAF's 436 Squadron in a C-130J Super Hercules! Check out the full experience in the link. It's just after lunch on a cold, dreary Wednesday in Eastern Ontario, Canada. A pristine lake with mist settled above the waters sits quietly, surrounded by densely-forested hills, cabins and cottages scattered around the shores.

[hellyesaegames]

df releases → rhubarb victorious (talk like a pirate day 2014, pt 2)

Rhubarb: Ye put forth a good show, Cap'n! T' Autumn Wind be a fair sight when she unfurls her sails! Mazurek: Ye be a Cap'n worth yer salt, Rhubarb!

...

Mazurek: I tried me best, Tom.

[theloverofdragons]

The Void War

The stars in the deep purple sky of the Void winked down at Tomix as he leant over the railings of one of the balconies of the Void Ship. They were close, so close, to reaching Envy and he could finally complete his quest, even though that meant he had to…

The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn his head, and despite his sombre mood, his lips quirked up at the sight of the Hero. "Hey. How's Pandora?"

"She's…calmer," the Hero rubbed the back of their neck. "She's still pretty emotional after regaining her memories – and as she's the Elemental Spirit of Woe, she tends to feel that particular emotion pretty strongly – but she's determined to help us stop Envy."

"I'm glad to hear it," Tomix nodded, turning back to watch the sky.

The Hero bit their lip as they examined him, noting his paler skin and dimmer eyes, concern for the wellbeing of one of their closest friends welling up inside them. "How are you holding up?"

Tomix sighed deeply, hanging his head and closing his eyes. "I'm tired, Hero. I'm so very tired... I've been on this quest since I was just a kid. Thirteen years. Thirteen long years and my journey is finally at its end. He's the only one left." Opening his eyes, he raised his head again and inhaled deeply. "You know, I sometimes wonder what my life would be if I had not released them. The six corrupted spirits and... Aspar. I'd graduate from Edelia, travel the world, find a partner." His lips curved into a small smile. "We'd get married, open up a small weaving shop, age together, get fat and have many children."

The Hero snickered.

The smile vanished and Tomix sagged against the railing, looking as tired as he said he was. "And instead my life is a series of unfortunate events."

The Hero stepped forwards so they were alongside him. "Surely there must have been at least one good event?"

Tomix paused before turning to look at them. "You."

"Me?"

The small smile returned. "Yeah. After we met, during my hunt for Greed, I was always looking forward to your arrival in Ravenloss. I've really enjoyed adventures with you. It was good having someone else watch your back."

The Hero blushed slightly before grinning. "Hey now, we'll have many more new adventures ahead of us after we banish Envy!"

Tomix's expression dropped again and he turned back to face the Void before his eyes widened. "We're here!"

****

The Void Ship circled the strange building of towers and corridors, with the swirling purple and black Void Core situated in the middle, sending up a beam of lighter purple light. The ship was keeping its distance and Tomix had sent Aegis to have a look at the building's layout, so the crew could plan their next move.

A flash of icy blue light alerted the Soulweaver that his SoulAlly had returned. "Good, you're back! How are things?"

"Give me a second," Aegis raised his hand and began to draw a birds-eye map of the structure from ice, revealing several large corridors circling around the open centre, with the Void Ship at the entrance. "There. No one has spotted me, and I got a good view of the entire structure. This is how it looks like from the top." At Aegis's direction, the open centre began to glow softly. "The core is here." The square block in front of the centre began to glow. "The chamber is the only way leading to it." Next to glow was a block of ice connecting the ship and the chamber. "This corridor goes straight into the main chamber." The two corridors on either side of the main corridor lit up. "These two corridors on both sides do not connect to the main chamber itself, however...The door leading into the main chamber appears to be enchanted by Envy. It is engulfed by a weird, swirling green energy."

Aegis dissipated the map and turned the face the rest of the crew. "All the corridors are swarming with void creatures. And... that's not all. These two corridors that I've mentioned... there is an ‘unlocking mechanism’ at the end of each of them..."

Tomix frowned. "How can you possibly know this? Envy wouldn't be that daft."

Aegis sighed, his expression twisting slightly. "Because... it literally says 'unlocking mechanism' in big, bright letters...over the two human beings who are connected by this weird green energy to the door."

Izaac gasped, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh Avatars, I know what Envy did..."

"What?" Riadne asked in trepidation

"Seal of Ativa!" Izaac choked out. "He used the very existence of those two people in order to lock the door shut. The only way to unlock them is to– "

"–Kill those two people..." Tomix finished, expression tightening.

The Hero snarled. "That's sick!" Through their bond, they felt a pang of intense sadness from Pandora and they brushed their fingers over the cube by their side. ‘It's not your fault Pandora, I promise. He did this himself, and we will stop him!'

"There has to be another way to unlock it!" Riadne insisted.

Izaac shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Seal of Ativa is one of the few legendary and forbidden magics. Magics like this don't have any loopholes. You can't break their rules."

Tomix clenched his fists as Aegis rested his hand on his shoulder, sending support through their bond. "We are too close to back up now! I am aware that this whole situation is sick, but we have to do this... we are too close..."

" I will do it," Yashta intoned solemnly.

"Blimey! And so will I," Captain Mazurek added. "I did worse thin's than that."

Riadne whirled round to face them. "I... can't believe you people are even considering this! What's wrong with you?!"

Mazurek scowled. "Sweetie, leave sailing t' the sea legs."

"Stop fighting!" The Hero broke in. "We have to be united, now more than ever!" Once things had calmed down, they nodded and turned to Tomix. "Okay. We all need to do this together. Tomix, what's the plan?"

Tomix watched the building in the distance. "I'm fighting my way through the middle corridor to the door. Hero, Aegis, you're in?"

Aegis and the Hero nodded determinedly. "Absolutely."

****

As Aegis had promised, all three corridors were packed with Void spawn. Izaac, Riadne, Yashta and the Soulweavers had gone down the left hand corridor and Mazurek, her crew and Vaal had taken the right, leaving the Hero, the Dragon, Tomix and Aegis to go down the middle.

A Void elemental lunged at the Hero, but they dodged out of the way. "Oh you, stop ticking me!" they smirked before finishing the elemental off. Next to them, Tomix was completing his retribution attack to defeat a Decadere youngling.

A group of Void monsters decided to charge at once at the Hero, hoping to overwhelm them but in a flash of white and yellow light, Pandora appeared before them, armed with a large scythe with a rainbow blade and her sigil in the middle of it. Twirling the scythe in her grip, she proceeded to hurl in at the approaching enemies, with the scythe turning into a spinning disc that sliced through them all before returning to her grasp.

"Wow!" the Hero whistled appreciatively. "Nice moves, Pandora!" Their SoulAlly smiled in thanks and the Hero turned their head to check on Tomix before their eyes widened as another Decadere youngling tried to attack the Soulweaver's turned back. "Tomix, look out!"

Tomix whirled around but before the monster could attack him, Aegis appeared and batted the Void creature away with his shield. "Thanks, Aegis."

The elemental spirit grinned. "I've got your back!"

A flicker of pain passed over Tomix's face and he lowered his head as memories of when he and Aspar were bonded, when he thought his best friend had his back the way that Aegis did now, filled his head. Fortunately, he was jerked out of the painful trip down memory lane as one of the communication balls that Eirn had given them on the ship crackled into life.

"Hello? Is this working? Hello?"

"Yes!" Tomix replied. "Izaac?"

"Tomix, bad news. We lost a few Soulweavers and the majority of them are injured. Riadne's patching them up and Yashta is doing his best to keep us safe, but there are simply too many Void creatures. We have to go back!"

"Izaac, please... you can't..." Tomix implored. We're so close…we have to stop him…I have to…

"What's going on?" The Hero asked, fighting their way over to Tomix as Pandora and Aegis kept any approaching Void monsters from attacking while the two of them talked.

Tomix hung his head. "Yashta's team isn't doing well, Izaac wants to retreat."

The Hero glanced at the two elemental spirits. "Could Aegis help?"

Tomix exhaled shakily. "You're right; he could. Are you alright with that, Aegis?"

"Of course!"

Tomix nodded and turned back to the Hero. "I don't know why I didn't think of that…"

"You're under a lot of stress," the Hero reassured him. "You take a moment to catch your breath while I sort this out, then we can get back to fighting, okay?"

"Yes…thank you, Hero."

The Hero turned to the communication balls. "IZAAC, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Gaaah... yes!" Izaac yelped. "You don't have to yell!"

"Oh, okay. Listen, we're sending Aegis over to you, he'll make an ice wall between you and the creatures. You'll be able to rest and gather your strength."

"That would be very helpful master!" Yashta's voice sounded over the speakers.

The Hero scowled. "Stop calling me master!"

"Apologies. That would be helpful, Hero."

Aegis gave Tomix and the Hero a thumbs up before teleporting away with a flash of ice.

"Now, excuse me," the Hero turned to Tomix and grinned before calling their dragon. "Let's go!" The two of them charged towards the enemy lines and Tomix allowed himself a small smile before returning to the communication balls.

"Maz?"

"I be a wee busy dear."

Tomix frowned slightly. "How are things on your side? Is Vaal helping at all? Is he fighting?"

"Oh, he be fightin' alright..." Mazurek replied, sounding very amused. "But wit' his Soul Lass."

Tomix blinked. "His... what?"

From the background of the speakers he could just about hear a very irritated female voice. "...And you're summoning me after five years, expecting me to help you?!"

"Alee, this is NOT the right time for this!" Vaal protested. "I need Transcendence! I need my weapon to defend myself! Or would you rather let me die?!"

"I really don't care."

"TRANSCENDENCE!" Vaal bellowed.

Evidently, Vaal's SoulAlly acquiesced as Mazurek gave a hearty laugh. "Yarr, we be doin' great darlin'."

"Erm... alright," Tomix shook his head as his brain raced to catch up with what had happened. "Keep me updated." Allowing himself another small smile, he raced to catch up with the Hero as they continued to defeat the Void monsters with their Dragon and Pandora by their side.

"Everyone okay?"

"Yes; Aegis will help Izaac's team and Mazurek's team is good to fight together, now that Vaal has stopped squabbling with his 'Soul Lass', as Maz put it."

"I…see," the Hero raised their eyebrow before grinning. "You'd never catch me fighting with my Soul Lass, would we Pandora?"

For the first time since the island that held her memories, Pandora let out a tinkling laugh.

Tomix let out a small chuckle (how long had it been since he had laughed? Not since he had found out that…) as he and the Hero ran forwards together into battle. "We're halfway through, let's go."

****

They didn't know how long it took to defeat the rest of the Void creatures but eventually, Tomix and the Hero reached the doors to the chamber. Aegis had rejoined them a while back – with Pandora returning to her cube so her presence didn't cause any mishaps, although she would emerge every so often to deal with a group of Void creatures with her scythe – and Izaac and Mazurek had alerted them over the communication balls that the seals had been lifted, although Mazurek's message had come with the added problem that Vaal had run off.

"Tomix, the doors!" the Hero pointed as they paused to catch their breath. "They're open!"

Tomix hung his head sadly. "But at a cost of two innocent lives..."

The Hero placed their hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "They will be remembered, and they will be honoured. We can't save everybody. But their demise will not go unnoticed. Envy will pay for this, Tomix. He will."

"The Hero is right," Aegis nodded solemnly. " After all this is over, I can search for their souls and notify their families."

Tomix inhaled deeply, collecting himself, before raising his head again and adopting a look of determination. "Let's go–"

"You can't," a voice broke in, and three figures stepped into the doorway, blocking their path.

Tomix scowled. "More of Aspar's minions?!"

The Hero folded their arms. "Let me guess..." They looked at the dark green humanoid gargoyle, the one who had spoken. "You are Green..." Next they turned to what looked like a fusion of a basilisk and a human. "You are Brown-ish- Red..." Finally they turned to the final minion, a moglin with a human face. "And you arOHMYGOODNESSWHATAREYOU?!"

"I'm very sorry," Green intoed. "But we can't let you through."

Tomix snarled. "Well I'm sorry too, because I don't care!"

The battle that followed was long and hard – Envy had obviously prioritised fighting skills in his minions that made it very inconvenient for whomever they were fighting – but eventually they were defeated, Red and Blue having dissolved the way Yellow had.

Green had sunk to his knees. "I have failed...but it's okay..." A wry smile formed on his lips. "I'm free."

Tomix looked down as Green shattered into pieces. "Now we can go, come on!"

"Tomix, I think we should wait for the rest of the crew," the Hero cautioned. "We don't know how exactly strong Envy is..."

"I think that is wise," Aegis added. "I shall go and check to see how far away they are."

"Okay…" Tomix nodded reluctantly as Aegis vanished. "But we can't wait too– "

Before he could finish his sentence, the building shook with an ominous rumble.

The Hero glanced around them. "That doesn't sound good. The more of us there are to confront him, the more likely we are to be able to stop him."

Tomix's chest was heaving and his eyes flashed about wildly. "No…NO! AEGIS!"

A block of ice materialised and fell away to reveal Aegis, looking rather confused. "Is everything–?"

"Synchronisation!" Tomix yelled, desperation colouring the edges of his tone.

Aegis frowned in concern. "Tomix, we've never tried it. Besides in your current state, synchronisation would be very unwise…"

"PLEASE!" Tomix begged, his voice breaking.

Aegis met Tomix's eyes before bowing his head and nodding, resting his hand on Tomix's chest. There was a flash of icy blue light, as it looked like Aegis melted into Tomix's body before it cleared to reveal the Soulweaver standing there, eyes and hands glowing white and blue, a helmet like the one Aegis wore over his head, the colour back in his face but the corruption from his shattered SpiritLooms having worsened and spread down to his elbows.

"I don't care if there are more minions in my way," Tomix declared, voice echoing slightly and sounding like a mix of his normal voice and Aegis'. "I'M GOING!" With a flash, he shot off into the chamber, only leaving behind the faint blue glows of his figure.

"TOMIX!" the Hero yelled after their friend. "Damn…we need to go after him. Are you two with me?" The Dragon gave a determined chirp and Pandora murmured 'Always' over their bond. The Hero nodded before running after Tomix. "He doesn't have to do this alone."

****

Disclaimer: DragonFable is owned by Artix Entertainment. Dialogue taken from ‘Void War Intro’, ‘Halfway Through’ and ‘Through The Door’.

Also on AO3 and FFN

[theloverofdragons]

rip vaal