#d.o.t

[gastronominho]

Está acontecendo a 6ª edição do Bourbon Month da Woodford Reserve

Marca de whiskey reúne guests bartender especiais e drinks autorais em 13 bares da capital paulista

Marca de whiskey reúne guests bartender especiais e drinks autorais em 13 bares da capital paulista Celebrado nos Estados Unidos no mês de setembro, desde 2007, o Mês do Bourbon, ou National Bourbon Heritage Month, chegou ao Brasil em 2019, pela Woodford Reserve. No dia 19 de setembro (às 20h), Woodford Reserve chega ao Castelo Oculto, novo speakeasy recém inaugurado em SP. A noite será…

[scrumptiousfanbasement]

I GOT TO SEE THE ACTUAL BARN BURNER AND D.O.T 3!!

Aaaaaaaahhhhh 😭🥺💞

[valyrra]

NAURETH // MK OC kombat set // a bit mixed between 11/12 games

Reference sheet:

Fighting style: Mid range. Summoner, decay sorcerer, necromancer, swordsman

Special abilities:

Ability 1: Tombstone. Invoking curses she summons a sword-wielding skeleton that appears from beneath the ground and attacks the enemy 1 time.

Ability 2. Pestilence. With her free hand she casts a ray of decay magic to the signed direction, D.O.T. Improved vers: summons a bigger ray, which makes more damage

Ability 3. Knight's pact. summons 3 ghost swords of the dead warriors which fly to the signed direction. Improved vers: summons 6 swords.

Ability 4. Plaguebringer. Calls for Moz, four legged demon that pounces on the enemy from behind.

Close range style: wide, aggressive, reckless, strong attacks. Really reminds me of Kylo Ren's fighting style.

Defence: Naureth holds the blade of the sword with her other hand and defends herself with it.

OST Music:

Vígundr - Loddfáfnir

Announcer:

"The Necromancer"

"Naureth"

Johnny Cage Announcer Nicknames:

"Crazy cat-lady"

"Commander edge"

"Can I pet that dog?" LOL

End of round taunts:

"Anther addition to the army."

*swirls her sword* "Weak."

*raises the sword* "This is almost entertaining!"

*chuckles* "You can do better."

X-Ray:

Harbringer: With a wide swing, Naureth's sword hits her opponent's shoulder, slicing it down to his chest, then with her free hand she places a hand on her opponent's head, green magic penetrating through her fingers into the opponent's eyes and nostrils, shattering his skull.

Fatality:

EPIDEMIC: Naureth casts a curse on her opponent and afflicts him with a blight. His limbs begin to decay. When there is only a skeleton left, Naureth subdues it as well and forces it to kneel.

Fatal blow:

EXECUTIONER: Summons arms of skeletons that fly at the opponent. If they hit, fatal blow starts. After kameo, Naureth curses the ground beneath the opponent, and skeletons begin to appear from it and grab his legs. Then 4 ghostly swords fly into him, cutting off his limbs. After the opponent falls, Naureth finally chops off his head with the sword.

Brutality:

Naureth whistles, behind her slowly walks Moz, who jumps on her opponent and eats his face. UwU

Friendship:

Naureth sighs, upset, then looks down, surprised to feel Moz nuzzle against her legs. She chuckles, sits down on the ground and hugs the demon as he licks her face.

p.s. I hope it's not too edgy anyways sorry for typos and be minded that I might add some things in the future, this is like wip inspiration for the sheet, as always: @scentedcandleibex @theelderhazelnut love yah

[quicktosimp]

Phasmophilia

A/N: Here we go Day 6!!! There's only one day left of Survive the Night!!! So here I decided to do something a little different, this is actually a crossover of Avatar and Phasmophobia, I hope you all enjoy it 💓

Warnings: 18+, Aged Up Characters, Kidnapping, Hunting, Phasmophillia, NonCon, Major Character Death, Humiliation

Jake sat around one of the large communal fires, the new generation sitting around with him. They had all become adults years ago. Many of them had mates and their own children who were sitting on their laps. Neteyam had his own five children running around. Tuk’s youngest daughter was sitting on her Grandfather’s lap, enjoying the small bits of food Jake would cut up for her.

Spider sat with them. He had always enjoyed the old ghost stories that Jake had told. Hearing the scary stories told by humans back on Earth was one of the few things that Spider enjoyed about human culture.

“-and there I was at Sunny Medows, an abandoned mental institution. The foyer was dark; the power hadn’t been turned on. Which wasn’t unusual; many ghosts hated the light, thriving in the darkness,” Jake paused momentarily when the toddler in his lap whined for more food.

Biting off another piece of meat, Jake used his fingers to feed it to his youngest grandchild before continuing, “It was a small team, only myself and one other; going there with only a team of two was idiocy, but we were young 19-year-olds and eager to prove ourselves. We received the map and saw that the breaker was near the entrance. The lights made it a bit easier to navigate, but that didn’t make it any safer for us.” 

Jake looked off to the side as if checking his 6; the first thing we noticed while walking around was the temperature. Even without the power, the building was pretty warm; none of the rooms had even the slightest temperature decrease on the upper levels. There was nothing on EMF, and we were surprised; even as we checked around the alter someone had made, covered in blood, the candles already lit despite no one being there, but we found nothing. Cursing at our luck, we headed back to the van; I noticed that my partner was looking around; he turned to me and asked if I heard that. I was confused. I hadn’t heard anything; we both shrugged it off and made our way to the van, changing out our gear.”

Ao’nung and his pregnant mate joined us, curious about the story.

“The basement was treacherous, with little escape rooms, so we went in prepared; I had a writing book, a camera situation on a tripod, and a D.O.T. S. Projector; my partner went in with a UV light, a Spirit Box, and an EMF reader just in case,” Jake looked deep into the fire seemingly mourning.

Tonowari and Ronal joined the group, their third child now on the brink of adulthood and another little one with them.

Jake nodded in greeting before continuing, “Maybe if I had checked our sanity, maybe if I had grabbed the parabolic microphone, maybe if I had listened to his concerns, he’d still be here, but I-we didn’t. We went back into the building, cocky that we’d find the bastard and get out. We were arrogant and stupid and charged into the basement, not caring that the halls were narrow, leaving scarce room for escape.”

Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Spider all tensed; spatial awareness is something that Jake drilled into them harshly; even the mentions of this place were making them overly aware of their surroundings.

“My partner brought out the Spirit Box and started to ask it questions, for it to open the door, to flip a light switch, what their name was, how they died, and he kept repeating those questions over and over again. Until finally, a door slammed nearby.”

They may not have been used to or even seen the standard doors from Earth, but they imagined that they could hear the bang as the door hit the wall.

Jake shook his head, “It didn’t take us long to find the door. My partner quickly brought out the UV light, and there it was, a bright glowing handprint. We were so excited, our first piece of evidence right in our faces. It was right then that we found some EMF, only level 2, but it was something.” Jake released a long sigh.

“Confidant we had found the room, I opened the door and looked around; it was nothing more than an overturned room like all the others. So I placed the D.O.T.S., making sure it overlooked the whole room and set up the camera on the tripod. I was so fucking giddy, I tossed the writing book into the ground in the middle of the room,” Jake huffed out a bitter laugh, “And that’s when it went to hell.”

Neytiri’s ears folded back as she placed a hand on her mate's shoulder.

Spider looks at them oddly; this was just a ghost story, right? Jake’s just using himself to help sell the story… there’s no such thing as human ghosts.

“That’s when I heard it, it was soft and gentle, women singing. The lights weren’t flickering, but we knew the ghost was close. There were a couple of tables that had been turned over, so we hid behind them. I remember cursing myself for not having the camera in my hand, wanting to see if I could get a decent sighting. I didn’t even notice my partner's face. The humming got louder, but I didn’t see anything. Finally, it stopped; I laughed, thinking we had duped it. Until I turned to my partner, only to see his face as white as the walls once were. His eyes filled with fear as he pointed to the spot right in front of us. It was right there, and I was laughing, thinking we were fine. I rolled my eyes, thinking he was being over dramatic; I slapped him on the shoulder before standing up and heading back to the room. It wasn’t cold enough to even warrant bringing in a thermometer, and the book had been chucked to the other side of the room.” 

The group leaned closer, intrigued with the new information.

“I was ecstatic with the information; I took out my journal and crossed off ghostwriting and freezing temps. With the previous information, I knew there were only four types of ghosts left. I looked at my partner, telling him to leave the EMF reader on the floor and to try again with the spirit box, so he did; no matter how much he talked, it wouldn’t respond. Frustrated, we decided to return to the bus; the moment we left the room, the lights shut off, leaving us in darkness, and the singing returned. And this time, it was hunting us.” Jake’s eyes glazed over as he spoke the next part.

“The halls were so narrow we could barely run side by side, and with the debris all over the floor, it was a mess, I couldn’t see shit. It didn’t take long for me to trip over something. I landed flat on my face; some of the broken glass embedded itself into my face and arm, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I could feel my blood dripping out of my wounds and onto the floor, but I could see it; I could see her. Blinking as it came towards me, her singing became louder and louder until she was right in front of me. She chilled the air around her, and I waited; I waited for death, but it never came. She moved right past me; I wasn’t her target. I felt a moment of relief before,” Jake choked, “Before he started screaming.”

Gasps and soft curses filled the area as they understood what happened.

“My partner begged me to help him, but I couldn’t find him; it was too dark. I shakily crawled, trying to get to my feet, the glass entering my skin as I pushed myself up. And that’s when I heard it, a choked-off rasp, and then nothing. I was too late; I knew he was dead. There was nothing else I could do but haul my ass out of there. I stumbled out, bleeding, as I made my way to the bus. Honestly, I don’t know if I was crying or not, just that my partner was dead and that I was next. And to make things worse, I found out what it was that killed my partner on the bus. I watched the cameras; I was first greeted by his face, stark and pale, fear etched into his face… The floating orb was easy to spot in the dark room. That left two ghost types, and I had a feeling I knew which one. Then there it was, her silhouette in the D.O.T.S., a banshee, a fucking banshee.” Jake's sudden anger surprised the group.

All along, the bitch had been following us, scaring my partner, dwindling his sanity down to nothing; she targeted him the whole time. But I didn’t fucking listen, and now he’s dead. I logged the ghost type in and left.”

Jake slowly looked everyone in the eye, ensuring he had their attention, “Human ghosts have not yet been spotted on Pandora, but that doesn’t mean they won't be here. Too many humans have died painful deaths; we will see them sooner or later.” 

The Metkayina looked horrified, wondering how the vrrtep could still cause such damage even in death. 

That was until Lo’ak busted out laughing, “Good try; I have to say these ghost stories get better every time,” Lo’ak said, standing up, his mates and kids following him. 

Neteyam chuckled as he followed his brother, and soon, the group dispersed. Looking back, Neytiri was still there comforting Jake as he stared deep into the fire. But no one noticed, not even Spider.

They all made their way to their respective marui, besides Spider, who lives further out in one of the metal husks that allows oxygen to flow. He hates the damn thing, but hey, he can breathe.

Spider continued into the small forestry area on the island where his shack rests, his shoulders tense after hearing Jake’s ghost story and just how seriously he took it. He also didn’t laugh at the end like he usually does.

Spider was knocked out of his thoughts by the sound of singing softly and filled with mourning; he spun around, looking every which way, trying to find the source. 

“Come on, guys, this isn’t funny,” He laughed slightly.

But the humming only got louder.

Spider looked around, bedding over, trying to see them through the thicket, “Kiri? Is that you? Come on, this is ridiculous,” He laughed, shaking his head, “Lo’ak, I swear if you put your kids up to this, your ass is mine the next time we spar.”

He shook his head as he turned around, and his scream broke off when he was face to face with a transparent human woman.

The next thing Spider knew, he was in a dark shack; the wood had crumbled long ago, and the glass windows had shattered. He stood shakily to his feet, wondering where he was; this shack didn’t look like anything he had seen on the island. 

A thump sounded nearby, “Hello? Is someone there?” Spider asked concernedly before his self-preservation instincts kicked in, and he was behind a table. 

“Yes,” A soft voice whispered. 

Spider looked around, seeing nothing; he was alone in the room. He stood up, walking around the room, the old floorboards creaking underneath him, “Are you in the room?” He asked again, fear clouding his vision; something wasn’t right.

“Here,” The same voice whispered. 

Spider hopped over some of the broken furniture, still seeing nothing, not even a speaker for the voice to have come from.

He huffed out irritably but not daring to do anything more to antagonize his captor; he had learned something since the last time he was kidnapped all those years ago.

Crouching down for better leverage, he asks calmly, “Well then, where are you?”

Something was behind him, and he couldn’t get away “Behind,” Spider turned around to see the same transparent woman from before.

The shock of seeing her knocked him off balance; he landed on his ass as he tried to back away because Jake was right! Jake tried to tell them the truth, and they had all laughed it off! And now Spider would pay the price. 

Tears pricked at Spider’s eyes; it was already too close, there was no escape. Yet it didn’t seem to be aggressive, simply returning to its humming while following him; her grotesque smile sent a wave of nausea through him as he continued to back away. 

The shack was small; it didn’t take long for Spider to be backed into a corner. She seemed pleased by this, now that she was able to close in on her target.

“Please stop! Why are you doing this?” Spider begs as her hands wrap around his face.

She gently wipes the tears off his face, “Alone,” her soft voice says before crashing their lips together.

Her hums were soft and happy as she kissed Spider. The same could not be said for him; Spider screwed his eyes shut as her cold lips met his; they were chapped and tasted like blood; slowly, her hands traveled downward, feeling his muscular shoulders and biceps. She smiled appreciatively as she felt Spider’s body before pulling away.

Spider opened his eyes hesitantly, trying to look away from where her hands rested on his chest. She giggled slightly before forcing him to stand. 

“Hey! What’s that for?” He blurted out, unable to hold back his mouth.

Thankfully for him, she didn’t take offense, “Fun,” She responded, letting her hands travel even lower. 

Spider’s eyes widened as he backed away, hitting the wall, “No, no, no, we’re not doing this.”

She narrowed her eyes before making a wailing like sound. She charged at him, her body pinning him there as she ripped off his tewng, making sure there were no salvageable pieces. 

“NO!” Spider screamed, pushing her off.

His chest felt tight as the tears returned, using one of his hands to cover himself. 

She wailed again before stalking off, “Mine!” Was the last thing she said before disappearing. 

With her gone, Spider ran, not caring about his nudity; he just needed to get out. Jake was right humans were becoming ghosts on Pandora, and they were fucking insane!

The trees and brush moved past Spider with ease as he continued to run. He didn’t stop, never tiring as he ran for hours, the adrenaline keeping him going. 

The sun had begun to rise when he finally heard it: Kiri’s voice!

“Kiri! Are you there? Where are you?” He yelled, trying to pinpoint her location. 

Kiri’s voice mixed with others, along with the sounds of sniffles.

“Guys, what’s wrong? I need your help! Jake was right! The ghost grabbed me, and I think it’s going to come back!” Spider shouted as he made his way towards the noise, yet no one answered him.

Lo’ak’s head finally came into view.

Spider began to get angry, forgetting that he was nude. He stormed up to Lo’ak, “What the fuck, bro! I need your help, and you can’t even-” He stopped himself as he saw Lo’ak’s face; it was swollen and covered in tears.

Looking around, everyone had a similar expression.

Spider deflated as he realized what happened, his heart pounding out of his chest, “Who did it kill? I know it must have taken someone.”

But again, there was no answer.

Hesitantly, Spider walked forward to the circle of people, trying to peek in and see the body.

Spider’s voice caught in his throat as he looked down.

Tonowari spoke up, “I have never seen a death like this, Sully; what could have caused this?”

Jake looked heartbroken as he looked down at the body; its face had the same look as his partner who died long ago, “I’ve seen this before; I’ll grab the tools from my marui. It won't attack again until eclipse.” He muttered blandly, his voice void of emotion.

“No, no, no, it’s not true, I’m- I’m, I’m not,” Spider choked out, only to feel two arms wrapped around his waist.

She smiled against his bare back, “Mine,” She cooed happily.

Spider couldn’t respond as he stared at his own body. Limp on the ground, his expression filled with nothing but fear.

Because Jake Sully was right. Human ghosts came to Pandora, and Spider was the first victim.

Banners by: @cafekitsune

Taglist: @xylianasblog, @eywaite, @tallulah477, @hotdsworlda

[bracketsoffear]

Director Lee Harvey Oswald (The Department of Truth) "In The Department of Truth, the protagonist’s boss (and the director of the titular department) is a much older Lee Harvey Oswald, though it’s not explicitly known which version of him he is. As in, what story of the assassination is true? Is he the CIA stooge? The innocent patsy? The lone gunman? Our protagonist muses this question in the second issue and can only conclude: “He’s probably not the one killed by Jack Ruby.” And looking at the picture the comic paints of who he is now, he seems much more the type to spend his time in Howard Hunt’s circles than Kerry Thornley’s, if you know what I mean. He has become the image of the perfect Cold War-era fed with his browline glasses, dark suit, quips about a new generation gone soft, and an ever-present cigarette. And that’s because he always has been that. He joined the Department as an agent when he was 19, working to counter the Soviets and gain information on their country’s equivalent of the D.o.T. And we, the reader, do not know what happened on November day in Dallas, but neither does he, it seems. Kennedy stood against the Department and it was his job to take him out, but in that book depository, he saw the Scarlet Woman (see the Extinction poll) holding a sniper rifle, ready to tear apart the country’s sense of truth with a bullet. (Well, three.) But as the story of the assassination spread, so did the idea of Lee Harvey Oswald, the concept of the shadowy assassin that was seen on the front pages, the conflicting theories and paranoias made manifest. To quote Hawk Harrison (another character), “the living embodiment of every horrible thing people think the government is capable of, filled up into a man-shaped thing.” No matter how human he may or may not be, he might as well be American paranoia personified in function. He’s a man desperate to do whatever it takes to uphold the ideal of what America is supposed to be, that Shining City on a Hill; a man fighting in a war of propaganda and information and disinformation, a war of stories and ideas. To quote Indrid Cold, he’s simply a “dream this country is having.” 

History is, of course, written by the victors, and facts can be rewritten by them as well. After Lee’s “death”, the previous Director (Frank Capra) put him in the Department’s archives to try and figure out who the Scarlet Woman was, only for him to use the research to find a new way of doing things, a way to shift reality through manipulating what people believe to be true on a large scale through media, and symbolic imagery, and simple lies that serve to reinforce what the public wants to believe about this country, and for that, Richard Nixon appointed him to the job we know him in, Director of the D.o.T. Director Capra was a naïve idealist who truly believed that the American Dream was not only real but could be achieved through hard work. Lee knows that the American Dream is a lie, but my god, he will do what it takes to make it real, no matter how underhanded the tactics. If you can control the narrative, you can control the Truth. 

For most of his tenure, it was the height of the Cold War, there was a distinct enemy to push against. It was a conflict of countries, of ideologies, of two superpowers trying to keep their way of life at the expense of the other, and it was the U.S. that won out. There is another version of the 20th century, the one that was once real, where the founding ideals of the USSR were much closer to being realized within its border, it was something better than what it became, but the U.S. won the propaganda war and what was once simply a fact had become a hazy fiction that never happened. And so the victor rewrites history. 

And how does one become the victor? Through whatever means necessary, from fabricating events that later became real, to assassinations, to media manipulation, to the creation of the Satanic Panic itself, playing off paranoia and Christian nationalism to strengthen the idea that America is something that exists, that the American Dream is worth fighting for. (And of course, in the case of the latter, to deflect media attention from the whole Iran-Contra Deal.)

Finally, I leave you with this monologue: “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t care. I’ve done enough bad shit, and spent the last sixty years of my life lying through my teeth every goddamn day. I don’t need you to trust me. But I need to trust you to know that the ends justify the means. You’re sour over your star-faced man. Hawk told you that he stoked the fire there, tried to make it seem realer than it was. That we had a vested interest in people believing that Satan was lurking behind every corner. I was younger then. I was stepping boldly. I was trying to defend the dream of what America was supposed to be. Not let those Russian fucks dictate our future. I’ve done many things that haunt me, more than you can imagine.”

This description has been abridged. Click link for Director Oswald's full description.

Vriska Serket (Homestuck) "First of all, she has the spider theme, like she has vision eightfold, her trolltag is ArachnidsGrip, her guardian was a gigantic spider and her typing quirk is spider themed (types her emojis with eight eyes, uses 8 to replace b and the sound "eight") She can also manipulate people with her mind, taking away their free will, which is a big Web thing. She’s also just overall a manipulative person."

[c-rowlesdraws]

Trick or treat?

a perfect halloween cat! Here is a special treat for both of you:

Dry Ice Labels UN1845 Class 9 - D.O.T. HAZMAT LABELS, WAREHOUSE LABELS

500 Labels

6 Inch Square

Semi-Gloss Paper

Permanent Adhesive

Eco-Friendly Print

Made in the U.S.A.

[chaosmicjelly]

Without warning, D.O.T. began to scan [insert name of your muse here].

[hatedmaggot]

the plan -> sleep in, wash some dishes, library to d.o.t. to discount store to grocery store to work, get him 2 drive me home, then he stays the night & we get thru however many scream movies i can stay awake for

[lawain-dimensional-heroes]

Just had the last bonus planar sphere/link rope from HSR for this bonus event today and I've gotta say I got some good first spheres for my team, especially for my D.O.T units

as well as this funky piece--

[berlysbandcamp]

Trumpeter, composer, bandleader & producer, Nick Walters delivers his 2nd studio album of the year for D.O.T. Records, an exquisite mix of jazz fusion, electronic and traditional Indian sounds. Padmāsana is inspired and constructed from experiences and samples he encountered whilst travelling around the Indian subcontinent.  Each of the tracks on this album are built around samples recorded on the streets of India.

‘Padmāsana’ is a celebration of the richness of Indian culture, and the warmth and generosity of the people living there. The album is named after the Sanskrit word for the classic lotus position in yoga - an ancient position commonly used for meditation in the Hindu, Buddhist and Jain traditions. The album cover depicts the white lotus flower beautifully painted by Lorna Robertson, in a style inspired by the visual aesthetic of traditional Indian artwork. The intricate pattern on the back cover is taken from a wooden carved stamp purchased in the sprawling market of Jaipur.

[burlveneer-music]

Nick Walters - Padm​ā​sana

Trumpeter, composer, bandleader & producer, Nick Walters delivers his 2nd studio album of the year for D.O.T. Records, an exquisite mix of jazz fusion, electronic and traditional Indian sounds. Padmāsana is inspired and constructed from experiences and samples he encountered whilst travelling around the Indian subcontinent. It was all pieced together at his studio in East London, featuring live contributions from Tenderlonious on flute, Kieran McLeod on trombone, Tim Carnegie on drums, and Walters himself on trumpet and synthesisers. Padmāsana was mixed by Sam Interface at More Time Studios. ‘Padmāsana’ is an album inspired by the sights, sounds and smells of a trip travelling around the Indian subcontinent. Nick was lucky enough to travel around India on two separate occasions (2017 and 2019), both times carrying with him a portable sound recorder to document some of the interesting sounds he encountered. Each of the tracks on this album are built around samples recorded on the streets of India.

Above all ‘Padmāsana’ is a celebration of the richness of Indian culture, and the warmth and generosity of the people living there. The album is named after the Sanskrit word for the classic lotus position in yoga - an ancient position commonly used for meditation in the Hindu, Buddhist and Jain traditions. The album cover depicts the white lotus flower beautifully painted by Lorna Robertson, in a style inspired by the visual aesthetic of traditional Indian artwork. The intricate pattern on the back cover is taken from a wooden carved stamp purchased in the sprawling market of Jaipur. Nick Walters - trumpet, synths, percussion Tenderlonious - flute (tracks 2, 3, 5 + 6) Kieran McLeod - trombone (tracks 2, 5 + 6) Tim Carnegie - drums (track 5)

[pinbackoffcell]

I think that the CGP Grey U.S. D.O.T. girl is autistic. Honestly. I think we would be friends!

[ptagtrucking]

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[bracketsoffear]

Spiders-Man (Marvel) "He’s a collection of sentient spiders that are Peter Parker and took his identity. They are spiders, but they also manage to maintain the role of spiderman, keeping control over New York City, and probably terrorizing more than one person with the fact that they can disassemble themselves and crawl all over people."

Director Lee Harvey Oswald (The Department of Truth) "In The Department of Truth, the protagonist’s boss (and the director of the titular department) is a much older Lee Harvey Oswald, though it’s not explicitly known which version of him he is. As in, what story of the assassination is true? Is he the CIA stooge? The innocent patsy? The lone gunman? Our protagonist muses this question in the second issue and can only conclude: “He’s probably not the one killed by Jack Ruby.” And looking at the picture the comic paints of who he is now, he seems much more the type to spend his time in Howard Hunt’s circles than Kerry Thornley’s, if you know what I mean. He has become the image of the perfect Cold War-era fed with his browline glasses, dark suit, quips about a new generation gone soft, and an ever-present cigarette. And that’s because he always has been that. He joined the Department as an agent when he was 19, working to counter the Soviets and gain information on their country’s equivalent of the D.o.T. And we, the reader, do not know what happened on November day in Dallas, but neither does he, it seems. Kennedy stood against the Department and it was his job to take him out, but in that book depository, he saw the Scarlet Woman (see the Extinction poll) holding a sniper rifle, ready to tear apart the country’s sense of truth with a bullet. (Well, three.) But as the story of the assassination spread, so did the idea of Lee Harvey Oswald, the concept of the shadowy assassin that was seen on the front pages, the conflicting theories and paranoias made manifest. To quote Hawk Harrison (another character), “the living embodiment of every horrible thing people think the government is capable of, filled up into a man-shaped thing.”

And we don’t know which one was saved and which one was killed. And neither does he. He’s left contemplating whether or not he’s truly real or simply another fiction, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Reality is relative, he’s no less real than this country is. No matter how human he may or may not be, he might as well be American paranoia personified in function. He’s a man desperate to do whatever it takes to uphold the ideal of what America is supposed to be, that Shining City on a Hill; a man fighting in a war of propaganda and information and disinformation, a war of stories and ideas. To quote Indrid Cold, he’s simply a “dream this country is having.”

For a brief moment though, he tried to escape from what he is in the way so many privileged young people of the 1960s did: growing his hair out and running away to San Francisco in search of drugs, free love, and an answer to his problems and existential malaise. He found the first two, the last is debatable. He finds himself in bed with an unnamed woman with whom he shares his fears about his nonexistence, about the country's nonexistence, only to pull a gun on her when he realizes that she laced his blunt with LSD. ‘Who the hell are you, and who do you work for?’ He asks, pointing the weapon in her face. “Do you know who I am?” She simply answers: “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m just a pawn in a bigger game. A patsy.” She knows. Of course, she does, she’s Company, a CIA agent involved with MKULTA, the agency’s infamous failed attempt at brainwashing its own citizens. “Was it you?” he asks, “Did you pull the trigger?” She tells him that they’re not the ones in control, that “Everyone misses the real conspiracy, don’t they? We’re the little shadow puppets they control. We do what they tell us to do. Some very smart, very dumb people thought they could control what America was without getting blood on their hands. They thought they were storytellers. They thought they were selling Coca-Cola and Chevrolet and hot dogs. They wanted to tell America that “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and they wanted America to believe it. Isn’t that right, Lee? But it’s not a wonderful life. People know that. People don’t want to get along. They want to fuck and feel good and feel righteous. The Department of Truth is selling America its own version of The Truth. Telling everyone Why We Fight. Why We Buy. Why We Believe. But it’s not working, is it? You know it’s not working. You can see the cracks forming all around us. You can see the fracturing. The Counterculture… It’s such a perfect little weapon. These kids think they’re fighting against some big war in Asia, but they’re on the front lines right here in Haight-Ashbury. They eat the lotus flower and they see themselves as little gods, and see their desires as something larger than they are. They sing their little protest songs, but they’ll be voting Republican before their first grays come in. I’m just a pawn. A patsy. I feed the kids the drugs and my bosses tell me that it’s to wash their minds, to see if we can push them, control who they are and what they think. It’s not working… This whole MKULTRA thing… Not how the men in suits want it to work, but me and the kids on the ground, we’ve been seeing it. They do it all on their own. They brainwash themselves. They become rancid, and bloodthirsty, and we have to feed them the blood they want.” “I don’t understand,” asks Lee. “Who killed Kennedy?” “You’re so fucked up that you can’t even how funny that is…” she continues, “Is it my bosses in Langley? Eisenhower’s military-industrial complex? The big bad commie-hating war machine, not willing to back down in the fight against the hammer and sickle, even if means having to kill our best and brightest? Is it Queen J. Edgar Hoover and his black-suited goon squad terrified that the kids are going to rise up and shoot their parents in their sleep? Is it the Italian mob, and Hoffa, and all their mobsters and teamsters angry that they’re losing their foothold,” No, she says. “It’s the same as it was in ‘63. It wasn’t any of them. It was you. It was me. It was all those kids smoking reefer on the street and thinking about free love. You can’t just tell them that things are going to be better forever like your idiot bosses thought. The kids want to fight for themselves. They want to own it for themselves. You need to let them taste glory.”

Lee wakes up with a campaign button in his hand: “NIXON’S THE ONE!” The next time we see him, he’s meeting the new president in the oval office, once again wearing a suit with his hair cut short. He has become almost exactly what the unnamed agent described, with one major difference. He succeeds.

History is, of course, written by the victors, and facts can be rewritten by them as well. After his “death”, the previous Director (Frank Capra, director of It’s a Wonderful Life) put him in the Department’s archives to try and figure out who the Scarlet Woman was, only for him to use the research to find a new way of doing things, a way to shift reality through manipulating what people believe to be true on a large scale through media, and symbolic imagery, and simple lies that serve to reinforce what the public wants to believe about this country, and for that, Richard Nixon appointed him to the job we know him in, Director of the D.o.T. Director Capra was a naïve idealist who truly believed that the American Dream was not only real but could be achieved through hard work. Lee knows that the American Dream is a lie, but my god, he will do what it takes to make it real, no matter how underhanded the tactics. If you can control the narrative, you can control the Truth.

For most of his tenure, it was the height of the Cold War, there was a distinct enemy to push against. It was a conflict of countries, of ideologies, of two superpowers trying to keep their way of life at the expense of the other, and it was the U.S. that won out. There is another version of the 20th century, the one that was once real, where the founding ideals of the USSR were much closer to being realized within its border, it was something better than what it became, but the U.S. won the propaganda war and what was once simply a fact had become a hazy fiction that never happened. And so the victor rewrites history. And how does one become the victor? Through whatever means necessary, from fabricating events that later became real, to assassinations, to media manipulation, to the creation of the Satanic Panic itself, playing off paranoia and Christian nationalism to strengthen the idea that America is something that exists, that the American Dream is worth fighting for. (And of course, in the case of the latter, to deflect media attention from the whole Iran-Contra Deal.)

And what did this victory get him? A hell of a lot of guilt and a shattered, post-truth society that he’s left trying to clean up the pieces of. The Department is no longer fighting an ideological battle against an equally matched enemy, they’re floundering against the misinformation and conspiracies they once spread, desperately trying to keep reality from falling into the hands of far-right reactionaries using their own methods (and in Lee’s case, his own stories) to try and rewrite reality in their favor. The D.o.T. is rotten to its core, an organization founded to uphold American hegemony, but now, they’re the closest thing to the heroes of this story simply because the other side is so, so much worse. Like Pandora desperately trying to stuff the evils she released back into the box, they’re trying to contain the lies they wrought upon society.

The phrase “post-truth society” is often thrown around concerning the present political moment, but the comic posits that this isn’t new. There has never been a unified societal truth. But it sure as hell is worse now when any internet fascist can go and rant about whatever fucking bigoted conspiracy they stake their brand on and sway thousands to their side. And we need to fight that at all costs. But preserving the status quo is not the way; I mean, look where attempting to do that left us. No, there’s another way. And that’s coming clean about everything. No more secrets, no more attempts to shape the narrative towards your ideal, the public needs to know. (And that’s the power of government transparency and the Fourth Estate, babey!)

Finally, I leave you with this monologue: “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t care. I’ve done enough bad shit, and spent the last sixty years of my life lying through my teeth every goddamn day. I don’t need you to trust me. But I need to trust you to know that the ends justify the means. You’re sour over your star-faced man. Hawk told you that he stoked the fire there, tried to make it seem realer than it was. That we had a vested interest in people believing that Satan was lurking behind every corner. I was younger then. I was stepping boldly. I was trying to defend the dream of what America was supposed to be. Not let those Russian fucks dictate our future. I’ve done many things that haunt me, more than you can imagine.”

[bxbakery]

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