#exploit database

[techdirectarchive]

Sign-in options for Windows: Ditch Password for Enhanced Security

Since I will be publishing a guide on how to setup the revamped Windows Hello available for the Windows 11 Insider Preview Build 27754 (Canary Channel). I will focus on Windows Hello sign-in options which is a more personal and secure way to sign in to your Windows device. Instead of using a password, with Windows Hello you can sign in using facial recognition, fingerprint, or security key or a…

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[4chan]

Still standing

On the afternoon of April 14th, a hacker using a UK IP address exploited an out-of-date software package on one of 4chan's servers, via a bogus PDF upload. With this entry point, they were eventually able to gain access to one of 4chan's servers, including database access and access to our own administrative dashboard. The hacker spent several hours exfiltrating database tables and much of 4chan's source code. When they had finished downloading what they wanted, they began to vandalize 4chan at which point moderators became aware and 4chan's servers were halted, preventing further access.

Over the following days, 4chan's development team surveyed the damage, which to be frank, was catastrophic. While not all of our servers were breached, the most important one was, and it was due to simply not updating old operating systems and code in a timely fashion. Ultimately this problem was caused by having insufficient skilled man-hours available to update our code and infrastructure, and being starved of money for years by advertisers, payment providers, and service providers who had succumbed to external pressure campaigns.

We had begun a process of speccing new servers in late 2023. As many have suspected, until that time 4chan had been running on a set of servers purchased second-hand by moot a few weeks before his final Q&A, as prior to then we simply were not in a financial position to consider such a large purchase. Advertisers and payment providers willing to work with 4chan are rare, and are quickly pressured by activists into cancelling their services. Putting together the money for new equipment took nearly a decade.

In April of 2024 we had agreed on specs and began looking for possible suppliers. Money is always tight for us, and few companies were willing to sell us servers, so actually buying the hardware wasn’t a trivial problem. We managed to finalize a purchase in June, and had the new servers racked and online in July. Over the next few months we slowly moved functionality onto the new servers, but we had still been relying on the old servers for key functions. Everything about this process took much longer than intended, which is a recurring theme in this debacle. The free time that 4chan's development team had available to dedicate to 4chan was insufficient to update our software and infrastructure fast enough, and our luck ran out.

However, we have not been idle during our nearly two weeks of downtime. The server that was breached has been replaced, with the operating system and code updated to the latest versions. PDF uploads have been temporarily disabled on those boards that supported them, but they will be back in the near future. One slow but much beloved board, /f/ - Flash, will not be returning however, as there is no realistic way to prevent similar exploits using .swf files. We are bringing on additional volunteer developers to help keep up with the workload, and our team of volunteer janitors & moderators remains united despite the grievous violations some have suffered to their personal privacy.

4chan is back. No other website can replace it, or this community. No matter how hard it is, we are not giving up.

[soon-palestine]

𝗨.𝗦. 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗧 𝗖𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗛 𝗚𝗜𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗢 𝗔𝗕𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗦

Not guilty.

That's the verdict of a US federal appeals court in a case involving five tech companies accused of benefitting from child labour in Congolese mines. On 5th March, 2024, the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia made a 3-0 decision in favour of (Google’s parent company) Alphabet, Microsoft, Dell, Tesla and Apple Inc. in a case filed by 16 former Congolese child miners and their guardians.

The plaintiffs accused the companies of "deliberately obscuring" their dependence on child labour, in effect abetting the exploitation of many children to ensure steady supplies of cobalt. Some of the complainants were the guardians of children who’d been killed in cobalt-mining operations.

The court ruled that buying cobalt in the global supply chain did not amount to "participation in a venture," and there was no proof that the tech giants had anything more than a buyer-seller relationship with suppliers or had the power to stop the use of child labour.

Cobalt is in high demand as competition for market leadership in Electric Vehicle sales kicks into high gear. Nearly two-thirds of the world's cobalt is mined in DR Congo. The country has 2-million artisanal miners working under horrible conditions, according to DelveDatabase, an online database. Four critical minerals - copper, nickel, cobalt and lithium - will generate $16 trillion in the next 25 years, according to the IMF.

DR Congo's vast wealth is the key reason for the country's long history of exploitation and conflict - from Belgian King Leopold II running the country as his private estate to Western tech firms churning out high-end goods using Congolese minerals.

Help raise awareness of the exploitation of Congolese children by sharing this video widely.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter twelve: what i've become

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part coming soon

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you and caleb prepare for the professor's meeting. when you see each other again, caleb is unsettled by what he sees.

word count: 14.2k words

warnings: please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings before proceeding. lightly proofread...it ain't perfect!

author's note: thank you all so much for 10k hits on ao3! i love and appreciate you all so much! it means the world to me! <3

oh and remember...the narrative isn't completely objective!

trigger warning: death/murder, bodily harm, manipulation, self deprecating thoughts, experimentation, exploitation, self loathing, angst, professor lucius is a sadist, gun violence, lucius is a creep if you squint, slight suicidal thoughts, let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @lemonwithstupidity

Caleb stares at the computer, his foot tapping against the ground. Something inside of his chest urges him forward, to close the distance between him and the small machine. He wears his Colonel uniform, the hat hanging on a hook on his bedroom door. He sits on the bed and his gaze never breaks away from the laptop, his foot slowly coming to a stop.

It’s a bad idea to try and access the database twice.

It’s an even worse idea to use Josephine’s login information to get inside.

Caleb has always played it safe. He has always followed orders like the good soldier he was trained to be. As the Colonel, he rarely ever questions his higher ups, except for the Professor, and always takes the time to figure out which route is the safest for him and his men. He drags his feet over any and all mission plans that he has but when it comes to you…he wants to be reckless. He knows that the Professor will be expecting a calculated plan to extradite you, to pluck you from amidst the chaos, so the last thing he will be anticipating is chaos.

Professor Lucius knows that Colonel Xia plays it safe, so what will he think when the boy whose flame he tried to smother as a child is the one to come up with the plan?

The Colonel inches towards the computer. The screen illuminates right as he sits down, the fabric of his uniform constricting his body, pushing into his flesh as if he is being held down by chains and restraints. His hands feel heavy as he navigates himself back to Ever’s database, leather gloves protecting him from the keyboard and its desire to dig deeper into Ever’s plans. He plugs in Josephine’s login information, staring at the screen, his heart thumping loudly inside his chest despite its slow beat, and watches as the server processes his information.

The screen refreshes and he is met with V-03’s project file — your project file — right in front of him, exactly where he left it. Caleb slowly draws in a breath, his shoulders growing tense as he navigates the folders, his eyes scanning the screen and plethora of files to see if any of them are new. His skin tingles from beneath the Colonel’s uniform, the weight of his role and rank causing his mind to splinter, forced to play it safe in this moment as to not cause any kind of alarm.

One of them are new. It is labeled For His Eyes Only and it sits at the very bottom of the list, almost as if it were hidden in plain sight.

Did Caleb miss this from before? He could have swore that the file wasn’t with the rest before, it has to be new.

The label, though, feels like some sick and twisted calling card, and invitation to look upon the mess that he has inadvertently created. Just another reminder to never leave your side once he gets you back.

He still clicks on the folder. He knows he has to see what he allowed to happen. He must look upon the actions of his consequences. 

Has the Professor truly gone mad? Has he pushed you past the boundaries of morality and ethics, succumbing you to a fate far worse than death? Has he contorted your face beyond belief, turning you into a creature that children will have nightmares about?

Has the Professor turned you into Wanderer?

The screen is black. Caleb hesitates moving out of the folder, waiting for something to happen, his ears and back of his neck growing hot from shame and displeasure. He is about to move out of the folder when the video boots up, a small loading screen flickering to life before disappearing.

The screen transforms into the image of a cell with a lump hidden beneath thin blankets. A sire blares through the speakers, a sound that Caleb knows all too well. The mass from beneath the blankets begin to move, a pair of legs swinging over the edge of the bed, your tired face and messy hair being displayed to the camera that hangs in the corner of the cell.

You look exhausted, hunched over, clutching your stomach with closed eyes. Pain is carved into your face, a remainder that it is Caleb’s fault for you living and pushing through the worst of the worst.

If Caleb could remember what his time was like at Ever, only just a kid who had to look after himself and her, he bets that you have it worse than he did. He was just a kid, after all, or maybe the Professor is just a sick fuck who experiments on whoever walks through the doors or he deems to be interesting.

But you? You were caught in the crossfire, a loose end that Professor Lucius needed to tie, to eradicate your existence so you do not burn down what he has worked so hard to create and build for himself these past few decades.

Caleb leans towards the screen, his fingers sliding across the glass of the computer. He traces the small appearance of your face, his heart twisting and churning inside his chest, trembling at the idea of you being forever changed because of the professor’s evil ways.

You open your eyes and look around, a small yawn escaping your lips.

Oh, how Caleb misses watching you wake up, slowly processing that you aren’t asleep anymore. You’d look around the room while stretching out your body, letting out a big yawn while he laid in bed beside you, waiting patiently because he wanted to start his day when you start yours. You’d turn to him and have that cute, tired smile on your face, calling him a stalker for watching you sleep despite finding it annoyingly romantic. He would have pulled you back down with him and slowly covered your face in kisses while you tried to escape.

Escape…

Caleb shudders. You don’t stretch or look around. You look forward and straighten your posture. Your face remains stoic, void of any and all emotion, once the sleep has finally slipped from your body. You remain as still as possible, becoming just another one of Ever’s dolls that sits upon a shelf, forever waiting to see if the Professor wants to play with you today or if you’ll be spared of the pain and agony that comes with his games.

“Soon,” Caleb murmurs to the computer screen, speaking as if you can hear him, “you’ll be back in my arms soon.”

Your head twitches, slowly turning your chin up as you look straight into the camera.

The room is colder than you anticipated. One of the nurses were nice enough to gift you an extra blanket as the snowstorm raged outside Ever’s hidden base. You watched the snowflakes pass by your cell’s tiny window. It was one of the few ways to pass the time at the Ever facility, really. It was either that, being experimented on, or interacting with Viper alongside others in the common areas when you were allowed out of your cell.

To interact with others is a privilege, after all, a privilege that one earns. That is what the Professor taught you.

The blinking red light caught your attention first. One you were out of sleep’s haze, you couldn’t help but noticing the flickering light. It’s slow pulses luring you in. You turn your gaze towards it, tilting your head to the side. You push off of the bed and approach the corner of the room, looking up as the camera follows your movement. You slowly reach out for the camera, standing up on your toes, knowing that it is a losing battle to fight.

Aren’t all war consisted of small skirmishes? Perhaps this is one you are meant to lose, one that you know that you will not come back from. Or maybe, just maybe, this final battle will be decisive and show you what is in store for you and your future.

A piece of you wishes for a quick and clean death, to slip away into the darkness of permanent sleep so that you do not have to fight for your right to live.

Another part of you has a desire to live, to see through the pain and torture so that you will be able to have your revenge on the Professor and Ever for all of the things that they have done to you and others.

The red light shuts off. You let out a quiet sigh and lower yourself back onto the ground. The sound of dragging boots against concrete floors catches your attention. You lean back on your heels, eyes looking outside the close proximity of your cell. You push through the pain that resides inside of your stomach, the intense burning feeling as your intestines slowly stitch themselves back together, your intestinal lining returning to its previous healthy state.

You absolutely detest how your body puts itself back together. You hate how you can feel each and every one of your ripped muscles and tendons reach for each other, connecting in a fiery heat that can only be described as pure agony and pain.

You should be used to it by now. You know exactly what is to come when you wake up from the forced slumber, your dreams haunting your every waking moment as you remain curled up in your cell, your sobs and cries bouncing off of the concrete walls, deafening to those who listen.

The Professor claims that he is doing this to protect you, to prepare you for what the real world has to offer. He told you that the pain you feel will make you stronger, better, for the times when you will meed it the most. He says that you have been blind for so long, for allowing yourself to fall in love with an animal who needs to be caged.

You didn’t believe him at first, holding onto that hope that your loyal boyfriend, a lethal weapon who you have loved for so long, would burst through Ever’s doors and steal you away, saving you from eternal torture and leaping into paradise.

But he didn’t come.

The days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. About to be eight months to the day, to be exact.

Every day that Caleb did not save you, you were beaten and screamed at, berated for being a fool who thinks that she will be saved. So, what did the Professor graciously do?

He made you better. Upgraded you, evolved you into someone that you can barely recognize.

Sure, you are able to heal yourself at incredible speeds, a mere paper cut is gone within seconds and you can grow a finger back just a day after it has been chopped off. Your skin may remain the same color, your old scars having disappeared, fading into nothingness. You’re stronger now, too, reaction times hitting you at super speed. He’s made you better, yes, and has turned you into someone who can take care of themselves. At least, that’s what he wants the public to see.

But you know the truth. You know the ugliness that hides beneath your skin, the way your muscles are perpetually aching, the way your body is constantly in fight or flight, having to defend yourself from the environment that Ever has set in place among its test subjects. You know that no matter how much you bleed, you blood will come back just in time before you die of blood loss. You know that whenever you heal yourself, or others for that matter, that your sanity and mind fractures itself, the glass of your mind stressed beyond belief as you survive through the days. You are on the verge of a breakdown, your mental state hanging in a delicate state, teetering the line between remaining sane and the pure bliss of your animalistic instincts.

An animal that will obey Professor Lucius, of course.

What was it that the Professor said? Whenever an animal is trapped, it will chew off its own leg to escape?

It’s all thanks to him that you’ll be able to grow a new one.

You remember the first time they beat you. You were helpless, strapped to a chair. You begged the Professor and other scientists to let you go, that this is all one big mistake and that if they were to release you, you’d claim that nothing happened and 

You silently return to your bed, sitting down with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You stare straight ahead, your eyes focusing on the bars that keep you inside the small cage.

A maniacal cackle echoes down the concrete hallway. Boots drag against the concrete floor, the sounds of its scrapes putting you on edge. Your eye twitches, your hands fumbling with the corner of the blanket, plucking at the leftover strings, trying to busy yourself and your mind before he comes.

Viper is one ugly son of a bitch. His scaled skin has always left you feeling uneasy, his black forked tongue getting a little too close for comfort when he comes near you, invading your personal space. His laughter is never welcoming or warm. It is a sign that bad things are to come, that the Professor is about to put you through another night of extreme pain.

Your eyes flicker to the camera, silently wondering who it was that was watching you.

A small sliver of hope strikes your chest, hoping that he watched. To see where you are, to make sure that you’re okay. You hold onto that small tiny speck of hope and hold it close to yourself. Sure enough, that speck dies every time. It dies whenever you remember that it has been eight months since you’ve seen him.

Eight months of experimentation.

Eight months of torture.

Eight months of crying yourself to sleep as your arm grows back.

Eight months of shedding your old skin and stepping into your new body, a weapon that the Professor can use at his beck and call.

Eight months of losing every bit of yourself despite being able to remember every single fucking thing that they have done to you.

Eight months of your own Evol fighting against the Toring Chip that was implanted at the base of your neck, ready to send electric shocks throughout your body whenever you misbehave or disobey orders.

Eight months of falling out of love with the person who vowed to protect you.

“So,” Viper’s exaggerated ’s’ sounds are like nails being dragged against a chalkboard, shivers running down your spine, all of the hair on your body shooting up. He comes into view and stands before you, tilting his head to the side as his lips curl into a smirk. “What did he do to you this time?”

You don’t immediately respond. You blink at him, your fingers stopping when your eyes meet. He relaxes himself onto the bars of your cell, an open display for all to see the Professor’s latest success. His thin pupils irk you, the way his eyes dart back and forth, constantly taking in new information before striking.

“Come on,” Viper quietly cackles, pushing his face up against the metal bars. Your blood runs cold. “What did he do to you? You took a long time to die. Made me lose a bet with Frank.”

“Arsenic poisoning,” you respond, voice strong and definitive. You narrow your gaze on Viper, watching as his body shudders from his laughter. “He wanted to see what happens on the inside of a body.”

The high pitched screeches, the low chuckles when he tries to catch his breath…oh how he was mocking you.

“Next time, die quicker for me?” Viper’s laughter instantly dies, turning serious as he grabs the bars of your enclosure. “You’d save me a whole lot of money.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down before giving him a nod. The quicker you die, the quicker you can get the pain of healing yourself over with…and so Viper can get the measly twenty diamonds he recklessly bets.

“Breakfast,” he slips open the slot at the bottom of the metal door and kicks the tray through.

Food — well, slop is a better word for it — sprays the walls, sticking to the dark gray cement, slowly dripping and rolling down the sides as gravity tugs it down. You wipe your cheek where some of the slop hit you, the awful stench filling your nostrils. You turn your head away and hug the blanket closer to your body.

You don’t even take a bite out of the food or lick the excess off of the pad of your thumb. You don’t feel like being poisoned again so you’ll starve yourself until you give into the hunger that claws the inside of your stomach.

“The Professor has a surprise for you,” Viper continues and watches you with a close eye. Your gazes meet and he chuckles, his hands pushing through the barrier of the bars. “He finally gets to show you off, his special soldier…”

There is contempt behind Viper’s voice. You pay it no attention, though, always knowing that Viper lives off of the Professor’s constantly validation. He hates being out of the spotlight, inhabiting the darkness of the crowd, a place where you are so desperate to be. To Viper, you are in his place and he will be so happy when you eventually crash out and the Professor finds a way to permanently kill you.

Silence fills the cell. You look away and out the window, the snow coming down harder than you anticipated. It will be another freezing night. Two thin blankets are the only thing you have to defend yourself from the cold. Perhaps the Professor’s next experiment is to see the effects of frost bite on the body. Maybe he’ll throw you outside and see how long it takes for you to freeze to death.

“You’re quiet today,” Viper comments with a sadistic giggle, “is it because I’m not as handsome as the Colonel?”

You freeze.

“Are my eyes not the perfect shade of purple? It’s a shame they’re yellow instead,” Viper tilts his head, tongue swiping over the piercings that hang from his lips, the mechanical parts of his skull catching your eye. “I wonder…how will you react when you see him today?”

You do not respond. You stare out the window again and stare at the morning sun as it moves above the horizon, floating into the sky.

Do you even want to see him?

You do not know how to react whenever Caleb comes up. Whenever your mind drifts to him, you become so overwhelmed with emotions.

Anger. Hatred. Love. Yearning. Desire. Sadness. Lust. Resentment. Confusion. Desperation.

The Professor has beaten you countless times and has used him as the reason for why you are so broken, why you were chosen to be his special subject. If it weren’t for Caleb, you would have never been in this mess. If it weren’t fort for Caleb, you would not have died so many god damn times and be forced to feel your body rebuild itself after the Professor has destroyed it.

A piece of you knows that Caleb never wanted this to happen. You know that he has tried so hard to keep you away from the Professor, especially after the meeting the Professor forced you to translate not too long ago. Deep down, you know that Caleb Xia would never hurt you.

So where is he? Why is he not here to protect you from the people he has deemed to be the scum of the earth? Where is the man who vowed to protect you after endless nights together, the man who promised to put his life on the line to keep you away from the hands of men like the Professor?

Maybe Professor Lucius is right. Maybe he did want to hurt you, payback for when you shut him out as an angsty teenager, for running away after you promised to go back inside, for letting him in so easily after all of these years of desperately pushing away the boy you fell head over heels for in your childhood.

You’re weak. You’re so fucking pathetic.

Caleb Xia never loved you, did he? His sweet words have been deceptive from the beginning. Besides, the entire time of your clearly fake relationship, he has been so enamored with her that you have been an afterthought.

And yet, you still feel sympathy for the man. He himself was in the same position you are. He probably walked along these halls and touched the same parts of the wall you did. Caleb probably dreams of this place, being subjected to the atrocities that he endured as a child.

At the end of the day, though, your overwhelming emotions can only make you feel one thing: numb.

The funny thing about the whole experimentation and Toring Chip process is that you are forced to remember everything. Your body simply will not let you forget what has been done to you. Unlike the other beings who were subjected to the Toring Chip, Caleb included, their minds and memories have been wiped clean, a fresh start to Ever to imprint their beliefs onto.

But you? You remember.

In the beginning it worked. You could barely remember a thing when the chip was first implanted into the back of your neck. You didn’t even remember your name when you first came out of your sleep, the Professor had to remind you of your own identity what what your purpose is at Ever. You blindly believed him, allowed him to poke hundreds of needles into your skin, to tear your body apart layer by bloody layer.

When your body evolved, though…that’s when it hit you.

All of the memories flooded your brain, a painful relapse of everything that you have ever been through. You could feel your Evol, your power, fighting against the Toring Chip. The machines did not register this change. All it saw was that your body was putting itself back together again.

How could the Professor have missed the fact that your Evol helped repair your hippocampus? It completely undone all of his work to make you his beloved soldier, a weapon that he can use whenever he wishes. He simply cannot experiment on you and then press the erase button on the trigger, that doesn’t work anymore.

You are smart, though. Cunning. Adaptable. You learned very quickly that the only way to survive this place is to pretend that you are as clueless and blank as they wish for you to be.

That, my friend, is the truth. It is the cruelest punishment that will ever be dealt to you in the game of life.

You scoff and turn to look at Viper. His hands hang through the bars of your enclosure, mocking you that he can leave whenever he pleases despite still being under Professor Lucius’ thumb. You slowly approach the bars and the reptilian man does not move, he doesn’t even flinch as you give him a warm smile, luring him into a false sense of security.

You take his hands. Your fingertips glide across the scales of his hands, scales that morph into human skin. It unsettles you, the coolness of his body to your warm touch. Can’t let it show, though. You keep quiet, basking in the silence of your plan as Viper slowly pushes into your touch. Your eyes flicker to his, a teasing smile crossing your lips.

He must feel as lonely as you do in here. He probably has never felt the respectable touch of a caring person before, having been subjected to countless experiments and indoctrination before you ever arrived.

“Do you still wish to protect him?” Viper asks, his tongue poking out from between his lips before darting back inside. “Do you still love him?”

You grip on his hands begins to tighten. Slowly, you raise your gaze from your connected limbs, traveling up his body piece by piece, taking in the leather of his outfit, the snake skin that he proudly wears, before finally landing on the green and yellow hues of his eyes. Viper begins to struggle against your grip. At first, he begins to try and pull away but you don’t let him. He tries to take a step back but you keep him close, drawing him right back into the cell bars. His breathing grows frantic, eyes flickering between you and your connected hands.

“Love is such a funny concept,” you whisper to yourself, a small grin spreading across your face as you use all of the force you can muster up, snapping Viper’s wrists.

You go through the same routine when the scientists come to collect you. Alarms begin to blare out and soldiers line up outside your cell with their guns pointed at you, guns that are meant to kill Wanderers and Evoled humans, not normal people like you once were. You turn and face the wall with your hands behind your head, the clanging bars of the cell sliding to the side as a scientist cautiously approaches. They slap handcuffs around your wrists, the blue lights flickering from deep inside the darkened metal. The cuffs are a mere formality, a way to keep you in check instead of actually holding you back.

What you were truly afraid of were the soldiers. At any moment, they can unleash pure hellfire upon you, the metal bullets ripping through your body, tearing you apart with such ease.

It’s not like you can’t die. You’ll revive just a few hours later, sobbing and trembling as your aching and burning muscles reattach, your nerves on fire as it registers every single process of healing.

They move you from your cell and parade you down the hallway where all of the other experiments that the Professor has tucked away can see. They hoot and holler as you pass by. They launch taunts and threats at you, their words seeping into your skin despite you not showing them just how much it unnerves you.

To them, you are Professor Lucius’ most prized possession. The one person they should aspire to be. The toy that he plays with every single day. The one person they dream about killing so they can take your seat under Professor Lucius’ gentle eye. They wish to tear you limb from limb, ripping your beating heart out of your chest so that they are spared a sliver of the same kindness that he shows to you.

Little do they know that your existence is pure torture. Every breath you take is noted, jotted down in a scientist’s notes just in case you decided to strangle yourself inside your cell. They watch you at all hours of the day. The cameras in your cell and main areas are perpetually on, the red light slowly blinking — breathing — as you are forced to undergo the Professor’s sick and twisted fantasies.

He has put you inside a cell for all to see. Scientists and soldiers can pass you by at any time of the day, laughing and snickering at your plight. Some days, the days that Professor Lucius decides to punish you by starving you, they walk by with bits and pieces of food. Freshly basked bread, rations from the solider’s emergency food supplies. They wave it in front of your face, watching as you reach out to pluck the scraps from their hands before they pull it away, laughing at the idea of you begging.

Ever has changed you. Will it be for the better? Or will you completely transform into a monster that you never asked to become?

The door to the holding cell slides open. The echoes of the other experiments’ yells and cries are now muffled from the distance as you step inside, slightly nodding your head at the scientists who sit inside. The usual scent of bleach and chemicals stings the inside of your nostrils. It makes you nauseous as the memories of previous deaths flood your mind, the scientists already beginning to clean the room as you’re curled up into a ball on the floor, sobbing as pain overtakes your body. The door slams shut behind you and the handcuffs are taken off, your wrists sore from how tight they always are. 

“V-03, you know the drill,” the first scientist says.

You suck in a breath and nod, knowing that if you speak you will be slapped or tased. You circle around the table and glance at what it holds: a Fleet uniform, hat, and a single gun. A shiver runs down your spine, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

You bite back the questions that fill your mind. You do not say a word and sit in the metal chair. The thin material of your pants is not thick enough to combat the chill that seeps into your skin, putting you even more on edge than you already are. You try to steady your heartbeat, eyes flickering around the room until they settle onto the corner where the camera sits.

The scientists are at your sides. They begin to strap you into the chair, the restraints tight and coarse against your skin. The sensation is familiar to you. You two are no longer strangers. Your skin has adjusted to the constant restraints and is much thicker now but your trembling heart remains the same.

The red light slowly blinks. You draw in a breath, the red light grows brighter. You slowly exhale, and the light dies.

Are you watching me? You think to yourself. Do you see what you have done to me?

“Good morning, V-03,” Professor Lucius’ voice echoes from behind.

Your posture immediately straightens, the muscle memory of his particular routine settling into your bones, your eyes set to look straight forward and at the door of the holding cell. Your eyes do not move as he enters. He passes off a folder to one of the scientists and waves them away, mumbling something you can barely hear. They leave with a small nod, the door slamming shut behind them.

The Professor settles into the chair in front of you. There is a small, sick smirk on his face. There always is. It is unsettling, always making you feel as if there is something that he knows about you that you do not even know about yourself.

“Good morning, Professor Lucius,” you respond in a monotone voice. You have to be sure to keep it level, not too happy but not too sad…obedient. Just the way he likes.

“We have big plans for you today, V-03,” the Professor’s smiles, his yellowed and rotten teeth flashing at you. He leans back into his chair, his knees moving far apart as he spreads his legs, getting comfortable. “Do you remember your friend from the Farspace Fleet? The General?”

Your heart lurches in your chest. The blood in your veins grows hot, your ears warming as you try your best to keep your composure. All you can bring yourself to do is nod in response, slowly blinking as your body struggles to stay in place.

In the back of your mind you think about the time you were in middle school. You and Caleb were running away from a teacher after you decided to cut class early. The two of you hid inside the janitor’s closet, tucked away behind the brooms and mops, using the sponges and bottles of soap as a way to hide. The teacher passed by the closet and hesitated, the two of you breathing so quietly, faces close together as you hid behind one of the hanging towels. Caleb had the biggest smile on his face but you were so terrified, never having broken a rule before. He promised to keep you safe, that he will take all of the blame off of your shoulders and tell the teachers he dragged you away with him in case the two of you got caught.

Thankfully, you never did.

“You are deep in thought, V-03. Would you care to enlighten me what you’re thinking about?” Professor Lucius adjusts himself in his seat, his dark eyes trained on you.

You don’t make a sound and simply look around the room when your eyes on the camera. The red light fades for a moment before coming back to life. You match your breaths with its pace.

Are you going to help me get out of this one too?

“The camera,” you begin, slowly speaking the words as if you are under the influence of the Toring Chip, an image that you have perfect over the last eight months since arriving at the facility, “is it you watching me? Or is somebody else wanting to take a look?”

The Professor lets out an amused chuckle, turning around to stare at the camera that sits up in the corner behind him. He does not immediately respond, taking his time in turning back around and formulating a response inside of his head. You know that this is him buying time. He is trying to figure out a response that will satisfy you — well, his loyal and obedient solider.

“There is a guest who has been checking in on you,” each word sends chills down your spine, your heart pounding to every single word, squeezing and contracting in and out, contorting itself inside your chest. “You will be seeing him soon. He will take part in the…demonstration that we will put on for the General.”

A demonstration…what could he possibly mean by that?

“Do not worry, V-03, you are safe here, nobody is going to hurt you,” the Professor calmly states.

As much as you hate to admit it, you believe in what he says. You know that he is the enemy, but he has kept you safe from the outside world, keeping you hidden behind concrete walls that will never seem to fall.

Despite knowing how much he has hurt you, you know that your mind is fractured beyond belief. Grief and trauma absorb your actions and emotions. You have become just like the animal that he spoke to you about. It is just a matter of time until you gnaw off your limbs in order to escape from this place.

“Your baseline,” the Professor speaks.

“Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish,” you act on instinct, knowing that if you were to hesitate or push back that Professor Lucius will hurt you again. You try to keep your heartbeat as slow as possible, to keep your eyes still and steady, to not give away the erratic emotions and turmoil that crash throughout your body and mind.

“A dog with no purpose is as good as dead. Are you a pet? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

You stare into the camera and take a deep breath, watching as the camera gets closer, inspecting your eyes with a close look.

“What is it like to hold the hand of someone you love? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

Your heart skips a beat. You think about Caleb and the first time you held hands. The Professor scribbles something into his notebook.

“Your baseline.”

“Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish.”

You blink. Your hands grow clammy.

“Do you feel like something is missing from your life? Companionship? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

You heart yearns for a man that you do not wish to know anymore.

“Repeat after me: the void is dark and there is no one else there to help me.”

“The void is dark and there is no one else to help me.”

Where are you, Caleb? Why haven’t you found me yet?

“You are an integral part to the system. System. Interlinked.”

“System. Interlinked.”

Professor Lucius pauses. He does not speak. He leans forward, the camera moving with him, as they stare deep into your eyes. You try not to falter, remaining as still as humanly possible. You do not pull away from them, knowing that it will be a challenge to escape out of. Adding time onto your already lengthy sentence.

“Both baselines, V-03.”

“Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish. The void is dark and there is no one else to help me,” the words burn themselves into your memory, into your tongue. An invisible way of Professor Lucius branding you as his, marking his territory.

The two of you know that if you were to somehow escape his grasp, to flee from the prison he holds you inside of, he will be able to bring you back to him with those two simple sentences. You will revery back into the shell of a human being you are now, forever chained to him and his crimes, another casualty in the bloody massacre he has participated in as the ring leader.

The room falls silent, the whirring from the camera no longer filling your ears like an unpalatable white noise that you cannot escape from. Even in your dreams you hear the sound of his quiet interrogator, an unfeeling machine that will rip you to shreds the moment it gets the chance.

You truly are alone in this world, aren’t you?

The Professor snaps his fingers. The doors open and a single scientist enters the room. They hand him a date pad, one that you have only seen a handful of times before in the past couple of weeks. You gently bite the inside of your cheek, just enough of it so they will not be able to notice, and watch as the person leaves, the door slamming shut behind them.

“V-03, I will be regaining control of your body now. We will need to undergo a few last…measures to ensure that our demonstration for the Farspace Fleet goes as smoothly as possible. You can understand why we cannot allow ourselves to have any mistakes in front of the General, seeing how he is our most valuable customer,” the Professor speaks while typing away on the clear tablet.

You close your eyes, just for a brief moment, and slowly fill your lungs with as much air as possible. The taps of the Professor’s fingertips coming to a slow pause. You open your eyes.

A rush of ice covers your skin. Your consciousness is submerged beneath the shadows of your mind, your bodily autonomy being snatched from your very hands as it feels like you are forced to remain on a sinking ship in the arctic. You are forced to watch as your body scan is pulled up on the screen of his tablet, your once loose and relaxed limbs growing rigid and tough to move.

Your face relaxes and you can feel your lips curl up into a fake and plastic smile. The professor stands up and sets the tablet down. He extends his hands towards the restraints that hold you down. He slowly releases them from your body and you can feel the sensation of pins and needles stabbing into your skin as the material falls off of your body.

As much as you try to fight against the Toring Chip’s control, you are unable to move your body. Now that your tormentor has released you from the restraints, you are faced to reckon with the numbness of your hands and limbs, the way your brain has been detached from calling the shots and instead being replaced by a machine.

The Professor picks up the clear tablet and flicks his finger across the screen. Your body stands and takes a step forward.

“Good job, V-03,” his words make you scream but no sound comes out.

You are helplessly trapped inside of your own body. You will be forced to watch and bear witness to the acts he will make you commit, the sins of his actions being thrust onto your hands. The blood of his crimes staining your skin, leaving a mark as you cry on the inside of your mind, begging for release from this madness.

You know that your Toring Chip is different than Caleb’s. He explained it to you the night you two first came together during the summit. The two of you laid together in bed, his arm wrapped around you while you listened to his steady heartbeat. His chest was bare — a piece of significant jewelry absent from his neck — and he slowly explained to you the effects of his Toring Chip. He has one of the earliest version, which is inevitably bound to have flaws in its design. While the Professor can see his emotions through his bodily reactions, he could only persuade his emotions to complete missions. To suggest and give Caleb the push he needed to say yes to dire circumstances and jobs.

The Professor had no control over Caleb’s body. He can wipe away the cheeriness in Caleb’s eyes and try to erase the playful and fiery spirit that sits inside his chest, but he will never have full control over the Colonel. All he can do is give Caleb the push, to bend his emotions and cause his brain to rewire itself to do as he says.

You…you are a puppet while Caleb maintains some of his bodily autonomy.

The Professor stands close to you. A little too close. Despite not having control of your body, you still feel your body’s instinct to pull away, the nausea that festers inside of your stomach. He leans in, his oddly cold shoulder pressing into yours, the man fully turning to face you. He leans down and his nose grazes against your cheek.

You can’t close your hides. You have to watch from your peripheral vision as he closes the distance.

His breath his putrid. Teeth rotted, decaying inside his own mouth. He places a hand on your shoulder. Your body doesn’t react but you let out a blood curdling scream from inside your head.

“You are…magnificent, V-03,” he speaks, the words rolling off of his tongue like butter. It scares you. “You are my finest creation yet.”

He places the tips of his fingers on your collarbone and begins to slowly drag them across your shoulder and down your bicep, switching from the pads of his fingers to his nails, the somehow brittle lengths pushing into your skin. It teeters between the line of admiration and something more, something ravenous and lustful.

You know that Professor Lucius does not lust after you. He lusts after the power you hold inside of your body. He lusts after the influence that your presence will give him in the room full of high ranking military officers and officials, making him even more powerful and dominant than he could ever imagine.

After all, you are his most prized possession.

Not person.

Object.

A thing for him to play with. A doll for him to literally dress how he sees fit.

He’s done it before in the past, used the Toring Chip to have you come into his office, to put on dresses and clothes that he claimed was for his young daughter at home.

His office did not have any photos of his family. Not even a wife or portrait they took in the early years of their family life. Perhaps he did not want them to witness the ugliness he pours his life and heart into. Maybe he does not want to look upon their faces and come to realization that just like them — just like you — his experiments have souls and people who love them just as much as he loves his wife and kids.

“We need you to look the part for the Farspace Fleet,” the Professor continues to speak. He pulls his hand away from your arm and takes a step in front of you. He nods his head in the direction of the table where the Farspace Fleet uniform sits. “The General wants to see his shining translator transform into someone new…someone worthwhile and noteworthy. Someone…someone dangerous.”

Professor Lucius steps to the side and his nails drag against the metal table, quietly scraping before he flicks his fingers against the screen. He turns to look at you once again, the sickening smirk returning to his face.

Your body moves on its own, forced to look away as you hands reach up for the top button of your shirt. You listen to the Professor’s footsteps, the loud echoes coming to a close as he settles himself into one of the chairs. Your movements are robotic as you slip the shirt from your body, folding it, and place it onto the table.

Is it a blessing or a curse that you do not have to face him while you change. Many times before, especially after one of his experiments to see just how cruelly he can kill you and get away with it, he and other scientists take their time to examine your naked body, watching it heal, to see if there are any remaining scars to act as evidence of their crimes against you.

You push your pants off of your body. His footsteps move closer to you.

“Stop.”

You obey his command.

Professor Lucius’ fingertips press the bottom of your head, right where your hair ends and where the scar from the Toring Chip surgery remains. He drags his fingers down, tracing the fine, the line of your darkened and scarred skin from the very first surgery you underwent. It was way before your Evol blossomed and came into fruition. They inspected your spine, moving apart the nerves, rerouting them, obliterating your ability to walk before they fixed it.

“I’ll see if I can find a way to heal your skin,” the Professor whispers into your ear, sending chills across your body. He takes notice and chuckles, thinking that it is a positive reaction rather than one made out of pure repulsion and rejection. “Continue.”

You reach for the Farspace Fleet uniform. Your heart twitches inside your chest, disregarding the Professor’s control over your body as you feel the weight of the uniform in your hands. Professor Lucius continues to touch your body. He inspects every inch of your exposed skin, murmuring and humming to himself.

It is so utterly dehumanizing.

You slip the white pants onto your body and fasten the belt, the black holster strapped to your thigh. Next, you put on the black dress shirt, fastening the buttons with precision and ease before strapping the tie around your neck.

While your body moves, you think about the slow mornings you spent with Caleb just as the sun began to rise from above the horizon. He has been up for far longer than you. He worked out and showered, placing his clothes onto the bench at the foot of the bed.

You slowly woke up from the depths of sleep, a yawn escaping from your lips. Caleb always smiled at you. He slowly walked to your side of the bed and would sit on the edge, the mattress dipping down which made you roll towards him. He caught you in his arms and lifted you up, melting into his chest as he placed a kiss to the top of your head before he met your lips with his.

Caleb was in charge of making breakfast while you showered and got ready. He stayed in his sweatpants, shirtless just as you liked him to be, and brought the plates inside just as you finished putting your last shoe on.

The two of you would eat and talk about that day’s plans. He would ask if you were up for a date out or if you wanted to stay inside. You always joked that you needed to ask your boyfriend and see if it was okay with him. The two of you would share a laugh, the sounds of his chuckles forever echoing inside what is left of your crumbling sanity.

You would clean up the plates and quickly wash them, setting them to the side of the sink before moving back to the bedroom where Caleb stands, assembling his Colonel persona piece by piece. You watched from the doorway, waiting for the right moment to step in and assume your daily task of helping him with his shirt buttons.

It was always silent between you two. Silent, but comfortable. Safe. A time where the two of you can be you and Caleb, a moment of domesticity in your chaotic and demanding lives. As soon as you fastened the last button, he would sheepishly ask you for help with his tie, always ending his question with a kiss to butter you up.

The truth is that Caleb knows how to tie his tie. You knew it, he knew it, but it never failed to make you smile and make an off-handed comment about him being so co-dependent on you, asking him what he’s going to do when you aren’t there to help put him together.

Oh, the irony.

You slip the heeled knee high boots over your feet and pants, your body lengthening by a handful of centimeters. Of course the men of Ever and the Farspace Fleet chose for you, a woman, to wear heeled boots. No matter what aspect of life you are in — a cold war or in an office — their idea of a strong woman must always come with their idea of femininity, which is almost always laced in with impracticality.

The Farspace Fleet’s jacket is heavier than you anticipated. You have felt the weight of Caleb’s in the past, having wearing it around his apartment as he cooked dinner, a smile on your face as you tipped his own Colonel’s hat to him.

This…this feels different.

This is the weight of your own world on your shoulders of the life you have left behind. The constant reminders of him running through your mind no matter where you look or try to hide from. He always finds you.

You slip your arms through the sleeves and feel as Professor Lucius flattens out the wrinkles of the jacket from behind, smoothing out the shoulders and getting rid of any imperfections he may find. The leather gloves slip on like butter and you reach up to fix your tie, your movement causing it to tighten it tighter than you anticipated. A gasp slips through your slips and your hands fall to your side.

The Professor moves around you. You take a step back, your body receiving subliminal and silent orders from the man himself. His eyes never meet yours as his hands take liberties with you. He touches your stomach and his hands move up to your neck, grabbing your chin, and tilting it left and right so he can see is there is anything else he needs to change about you. Your hair is neatly put into a bun at the base of your neck, one to hide the nasty scar from the Toring Chip insertion. He brushes your hair out of the way and takes a step backwards, his gaze darkening the more and more he looks at you.

“Perfect,” he whispers, “you are…perfect.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek. The droplet has broken through the Toring Chip’s hold on your body’s agency, slipping through the cracks. The Professor is quick to catch it, though, since your hands are glued to your sides, unable to move as your soul and consciousness sob inside your fragile mind.

“Ah,” he breathes out, disappointment laced within his tone. Your body shudders as you begin to gain control of your body back from him.

Your once ice cold limbs begin to warm, thawing out as you wiggle your fingers. The Professor reaches up and wipes you tear away, observing the teardrop on the pad of his thumb. He turns back to you and lets out a huff of air, amused by your emotions.

“I see that you’re not as easily controlled. We’ll fix that,” the Professor whispers, leaning in. His rotten breath surrounds your mouth and nose, giving you nowhere to escape. He reaches for the tablet. You swallow the lump in your throat. He presses a button and everything fades to black.

Caleb clears his throat as soon as he exits the elevator while on route to the General’s office. It sits on the very top floor of the Fleet’s headquarters, just below the helipads on the roof of the building. Despite being so close to the top and where many of the Farspace Fleet’s aircrafts sit, the floor is surprisingly quiet. All that Caleb can hear is the click of his shiny leather boots against the freshly waxed floor as he travels down the hallway.

The top floor consists of the highest vetted employees. The General’s secretary is a Captain in his own right, earning his rank from within the Farspace Fleet before landing the job of a lifetime. Well, that’s what some people like to think.

Caleb has never found fulfillment in his duty as the Farspace Fleet Colonel. Sure, he has been able to find someone to fight for, someone to give him purpose as to why he is still with the Farspace Fleet, but now that you’re gone, the job has become, well, monotonous.

Maybe it is because he’s lost his purpose with you out of his life.

The Colonel raises his fist up to the door, waiting for a beat, before knocking. It is three loud knocks in a row, quick and decisive, that of a Farspace Fleet officer.

“Enter,” the General’s gravelly voice calls out. Caleb does as he is told, entering inside the office. The General spots him and smiles, leaning back into his hair. “Ah, Colonel Xia, what a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” Caleb responds, his voice having a hint of charm to it while his face remains neutral. 

He closes the door behind him and the tail of his coat fights with his legs as he enters the heart of the room. He stands in the center and stands in attention, his hands stiff at his sides. The General pushes away from his desk and wave his hand at Caleb. The man immediately relaxes, folding his leather clad hands behind his back.

“Sir, the plane is ready for departure,” Caleb informs the General.

The old man, whose hair has become significantly more white than gray in the passing months, rounds his desk. He used to be the same height as Caleb in the prime of his life. With his old age, though, he has lost a few centimeters and now the top of his head sits just below Caleb’s eye level.

“Ready so soon?” The General asks. Caleb simply nods in return. The older man grunts to himself, nodding his head as his gaze moves away from Caleb’s.

Caleb watches him with a close eye. His Colonel’s hat covers his eyes just barely enough for the cameras not to see his gaze turn deadly when the General looks away. His eyes darken from his glare.

He remembers the day you left. He remembers exactly how the General smiled at you, how he lured you in with false pretenses of allowing you to leave before ordering his men — the Professor’s men — to capture you. Was it his idea to drug you? Or was he the sick fuck who offered your body up as a sacrifice for Professor Lucius to pick apart?

When the General turns back to him, the light comes back to Caleb’s eyes. The corners of his lips tug up, a mirage to make the General think that he actually takes pleasure in being his personal chauffeur to the meeting with Ever. The older man smiles back, a small chuckle vibrating his throat, as he passes by the young man, patting him on the shoulder.

“Come on, kid, let’s be the first ones there.”

The walk to the elevator is one taken in silence, at least it was on Caleb’s part. He stayed behind the Genral, allowing him to be the one to guide him up the stairs and to the dark asphalt of the roof where one of the Fleet’s aircrafts sit. As they walk, people stop what it is that they are doing and speak with the General. Their gazes flicker to Caleb, who narrows his eyes in return, and they look away before breaking free from the duo’s flight path.

They walk across the roof’s tarmac, the loud roar of nearby jet engines filling their ears. As soon as they approach their designated craft, a whole set of the deck crew scatter from the plane. Caleb inputs his code and the back door opens, slowly lowering itself towards the ground. They enter inside and Caleb assumes the pilot’s seat, taking his hat off and hanging it on a nearby hook.

The front glass is tinted, blocking out as much of the sun as possible. Caleb still reaches for his jacket pocket, plucking a pair of black aviators, setting them on the bridge of his nose.

“I saw that you were one of the best pilots that the DAA has ever had,” the General boasts from behind. He pats Caleb shoulder once again and leans down, laughing, “if we don’t make it there in under an hour, then I’ll have to give a stern talking to someone at the DAA about their qualifications of what a good pilot is.”

Caleb lets out a fake chuckle, one that sounds just real enough to anyone who is listening. The General moves to one of the back seats as Caleb’s Adjutant, Liam, enters the aircraft. He sits across from the General just as Caleb closes the back door, engines roaring to life.

Caleb places a headset over his ears. The aircraft is a passenger jet, made for transportation of government and city officials rather than one for Deepspace Tunnel missions or dog fights with other countries. It is still heavily armed and  dangerous to those who think they can oppose it but lacks its agility and swift maneuvering abilities.

With Caleb behind the throttle, though, who knows what can happen.

Caleb flicks many of the switches and the aircraft’s engine roars to life, the body of the plane humming and vibrating. The engines begin to warm up as the passengers buckle in. Liam and Caleb share a quick glance with one another, nodding in sync, before turning back to their individual spaces. The General puts on his headset and begins to spew one of his many stories from his own pilot days, laughing their ears off as the aircraft begins to move.

Caleb’s pilot instincts take over. He maneuvers the aircraft out of its spot, docking it at the end of the tarmac. The runway is clear with the deck crew giving the thumbs up. Once Caleb receives the go ahead from the tower, the aircraft lurches forward, the throttle being pushed to the max.

In a matter of seconds, the aircraft takes flight, slicing through the air at top notch speeds. The General’s laugh echoes throughout the headsets but Caleb tunes it out, his sole focus on getting close to you as fast as possible.

Caleb lands the plane after forty five minutes. The once blue skies and endless green fields below have turned into dusk and a desert below. The plane, all thanks to Caleb's piloting, caught a tailwind and accelerated the flight. They even broke the sound barrier, the sly becoming silky smooth with nothing holding them back. The plane passed over hundreds of miles of land, crossing through different territories and countries.

They landed in Athas, a desert city far away from Skyhaven and Linkon, outside of the boundaries of any country’s jurisdiction. A place where everyone can be equals with no laws to abide by or rules to follow.

The aircraft screeches against the tarmac, Ever’s deck crew guiding Caleb and his plane on where to go after he lands. He follows their directions, sunglasses now off of his face, as he parks the plane close to a base built out of cement, a recent construction all thanks to Ever and the Farspace Fleet. Caleb was able to catch a glimpse of the contract while poking his head around during his search for you. He cannot believe that it is what led him here.

He shuts the engines off, listening to them cool down and feeling the vibrations cease to exist. He stands from the pilot’s seat, slightly stretching out his body, as he glances at the General. He makes his way down the length of the airplane, placing his Colonel’s hat back on the top of his head, covering his dark locks from the world.

“Colonel,” the General laughs with his entire belly, slapping him on the back just as he approaches, “that was one hell of a flight!”

Caleb feigns a smile, sheepishly chuckling. The General’s compliments mean absolutely nothing to him. They are meaningless, fake niceties that he must push through in order to get to you.

The back door drops open and the hot desert air wafts into the aircraft. Liam takes Caleb’s side, handing him a small note written on paper. The Adjutant follows after the General, leaving Caleb behind. He hesitates to walk, taking a quick glance at the note in his hand.

She’s the demonstration.

Caleb’s back stiffens. He crumbles the note between his fingers and slips into one of the crevices of his uniform, tucking it away where the world cannot see the truth that Liam has unveiled for him.

He knew that you were going to be at the center of it all. He held out for a sliver of hope, though, that you would be in the background, hidden from the eyes of bloodthirsty killers from other countries. He can’t even fathom just how exposed you will be, his mind wandering to all of the possibilities of what the Professor will have you do for a demonstration.

“Colonel!” The General yells over the sound of landing planes and the restless wind that creates havoc in the sky. His head turns to look at the man, eyes narrowing from the darkness of the craft. “This way.”

Colonel Xia nods, letting out a huff of air, and forces his legs to move, the aching sensation as the realization that you will be in the same room as him finally hitting. He passes by Liam and gives him a nod, the Adjutant remaining in the aircraft.

Caleb thought that he would feel lighter than air when he first sees you again. He dreamt of you floating down from the heavens, descending into his arms like one would see in in a vision from an otherworldly being. He knows that the idea of you literally floating down is ridiculous, but he wishes that it were that easy to get you back into his arms.

The cement building is taller than he expected. The closer the duo walks towards it, the higher and higher it pierces into the sky. It blocks out the setting sun and casts long and dramatic shadows across the freshly made tarmac. He follows behind the General, the Farspace Fleet duo the first of a handful of groups to approach the building. The General swings open the door, his course strong and unmoving. The other groups hang behind, speaking amongst each other as Caleb slips inside the building.

The lights are unusually bright. There is no decoration nor are there any other type of items to make the place feel like it has been worked in. Caleb and the General walk down winding hallways, descending deeper and deeper beneath the depths of the sand, the temperature dropping dramatically with every step down the stairs. The echoes of footsteps fills the cement stairwell, the exasperated huffs of air from the General being thrown into the mix.

It goes on like this for a couple of minutes until the stairwell reaches its end. Caleb pushes through the metal doors, holding it open for his superior officer, before moving inside himself.

Inside is a large hanger, larger than one would ever expect to be beneath the sands of the desert. It is a grotesque showcase of power, extravagant yet there is a sense of maliciousness in its constriction. A warning to those that would dare to oppose Ever with their advances of weaponry, transportation, and private militia.

The balcony overlooks the hangar. There are two lines on the side of the walls, large aircrafts meant for large transportation of goods — or soldiers — mixed in with fighter jets and even remote operated stealth jets made for reconnaissance and spying. Caleb saw a few of them in action while at the DAA, having shadowed a few of the pilots who flew them from hundred of miles away inside the Deepspace Tunnel.

In the middle of the hangar sits a large table. A small group of people sit below with a two soldiers standing off to the side. One of the men holds a cane, the Professor, as he speaks with people in white lab coats. Caleb is too far away to see what the soldiers look like, his eyes floating to the shorter one standing on the right in a black and white uniform, one that the Farspace Fleet dons, and an unsettling feeling ferments in his stomach, making him queasy, his feet dragging against the ground.

The General leads them down cement steps. They inch closer and closer to the table, finally gaining the Professor’s attention as he dismisses the scientists. They scurry away and flock the soldiers.

One of them looks remarkably similiar to you.

Caleb’s heart stops beating. He continues to walk but his purple eyes never leave your face. You stare off into the distance with your hands folded behind your back. You wear the Farspace Fleet uniform and the brim of the hat, donned with the Fleet’s insignia, shadows your eyes, concealing your full expression from his gaze. He clears his throat and looks away, following the General who approaches the Professor with a joyful smile.

“Lucius!” he exclaims, his hand slapping into the elder man’s, excitedly shaking his hand. “The day has finally come!”

“It has!” Professor Lucius smiles. Caleb holds back a wince at the sight of his yellowed teeth. “I am so honored to have you here, General.”

“The honor is all mine,” he responds. He turns to Caleb and waves him forward. Caleb obeys. “I brought Colonel Xia just like you requested.”

Caleb’s eyes meet the Professor’s. The old man places the entirety of his weight into his metal cane, leaning against it for support as his one excited grin turns sadistic in the blink of an eye. Caleb nods his head at the man.

“Colonel Xia…” the Professor’s voice drops an octave. Caleb’s eyes move away for a brief second, unconsciously moving to your face. The Professor snaps, catching his attention. “Eyes here, boy.”

Caleb’s back straightens. His fists ball at his side, eyes slowly darkening, narrowing.

“Good solider,” Professor Lucius comments and turns to the General, “always obeying orders.”

“The best of the best,” the General adds.

“I hope you will accept my invitation to be a part of the demonstration tonight…X-02,” Lucius smirks. Caleb’s body runs cold. He stiffly nods, clenching his jaw. Professor Lucius nods back. He turns to the General and the same aloofness he had before returns. “Please, take a seat. Have the Colonel stand behind you. We only have so many seats. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Without another word, the Professor turns around and wobbles away. Caleb stays where he is, his superior officer pushing past him with a soft chuckle. His jaw is set, stuck in its tense positioning, when he turns his head towards you.

You’re staring at him. Your eyes meet his purple gaze. Your face does not change. You do not flinch, remaining as still as a stone statue. Caleb moves backwards but his eyes remain trained on you. Your eyes follow him, refusing to back down, as he tales his place behind the General. The rest of the room settles, the other Generals and Colonels and Captains taking their seats at the table. 

Caleb is the only one left standing. It is all a part of the Professor’s design.

“Welcome,” Professor Lucius begins, greeting the table. “I hope your journey was well and had no complications. I humbly thank you all for joining us, especially the Farspace Fleet for proving the materials necessary to set up a meeting place for us to gather.”

Nobody claps. Nobody cheers or greets the man back. They simply stare at the Professor, tilting their heads.

Caleb’s eyes flicker around the room. Many of the men inside have guns holstered to their hips and thighs. He can assume that the older man, such as the General, have guns inside their jackets and, well, the Professor has his super soldiers prepared and ready to protect him…including you.

“I know that my messages about what is to be unveiled tonight have been vague…they have been less than desirable, am I right?” There are a few nods across the table’s inhabitants. “Tonight, I have the honor to show to you the next phase of soldiers.”

The Professor holds his hand up and snaps his fingers. The sound echoes across the hangar. It captures the table’s attention, their eyes moving towards you and the soldier who stands beside you. Caleb recognizes the man beside you. He was in Caleb’s Farspace Fleet’s wing for awhile before he was honorably discharged, the reason unknown. He looks at him with a close eye, slowly breathing in, his chest puffing out, before exhaling.

You remain where you are, frozen in space yet again. Caleb’s heart aches for you. He has to hold back the urge to storm across the distance and pull you into his arms, to cry into your hair, and apologize for the sins that he has committed. He desperately wants to feel your skin against his. To feel the spark of your short-lived love for one another, to give him a reason worth fighting for.

“This is Staff Sergeant Hardy. He was one of the few lucky soldiers who received Toring Chip Version 2.0,” the Professor speaks. He holds his hand out to Caleb, the room’s attention turning to him. “This is Colonel Xia. He currently has Toring Chip Version 1.8 inside of him.”

You suddenly step forward. The sound of your step enamors the room, the deadly look on your face silencing the murmurs that sounded from around the table.

“And this…this is V-03. Her name isn’t important. She currently has the latest Toring Chip inside of her neck. Version 3.9 to be exact. She is the most advanced out of all of the soldiers here and she is here to redefine the way we look at and compete in war.”

Chills run down Caleb’s spine. His ears begin to ring as the Professor continues to speak. His mouth goes dry and he is unable to look away from the darkness that is inside of your eyes, the way you scan the room as if you are searching for your next victim.

From behind, the scientists roll up a large white board, one that towers over the people inside the room. A man towards the back tosses a newer and smaller version of OTTO into the air. Its wings buzz and it floats up, light flooding from its lens, projecting images onto the white board with vibrant colors.

“The Toring Chip initiative was a way for Ever to help governments and private militias to control their soldiers as well as yield their obedience. Ever since its origins, it has blossomed into something powerful, a tool that only men like us — men in power — are able to have control over,” the Professor addresses the room.

Their attention remains on him, their energy beginning to burst at the seams, wondering what he has in store.

“The first wave of Toring Chips proved that we are able to monitor a soldier’s emotions through their cognitive and cardiovascular charts. By using this information, it allowed its users to be swayed to complete missions and goals, making them think that what they are doing is for the good of mankind and not self serving purposes. It also allowed us to their memories, giving us leverage over their life by hanging their memories over their heads…a push in the right direction to do what is best for their minds and lives.”

Caleb swallows the lump that forms in his throat. He watches the Professor with a close eye, barely even paying attention to the images and words on the board. He notices an image of himself but does not pay attention, focusing on your face instead.

His eyes dip below the surface of your bust and he notices the gun that is strapped to your leg. It is sleek yet chunky, the barrel long and unforgiving.

“With the second version of the Toring Chip, we were able to hone in the skills from the previous version, allowing us to refine where we messed up and reign in our soldiers, keeping them on a much shorter leash so they have much more to lose…”

Caleb drowns out the Professor’s voice. He watches as your face twitches, eyes blinking rapidly, taking away the gloss that reflected the lights coming out of OTTO.

“With the third version…we were able to increase our reach over the soldier’s agency,” Lucius speaks, his voice not faltering, not one bit, as he holds it hand out. You step to his side and place a glass tablet into his hand. He holds it up into the air as you resume your spot on the other side of the board. “Unlike the others, it must be surgically inserted into the neck, unable to be dissolved, so they are forced to live with it for the rest of their lives. If you wish to remove it, well, it will have to be cut out from their bodies. Thank you, V-03. This is a data pad that holds all of her information. From it, I can control almost all of her bodily functions. Her consciousness is simply sedated, asleep while we take the wheel. I can tell her to stop breathing and she will obey. I can tell her when and what to eat, what to drink…she does it without question.”

A few of the men and officers at the table lean forward. Men from countries that are constantly at war with each other, ready to soak the ground beneath their feet with the blood of their enemies.

“Using this tablet allows me full access to her cognitive functions. I am able to fully control her…she is my puppet to use how I see fit,” Professor Lucius’ eyes move to Caleb. He stands still, unmoving as he listens to the way that the Professor has removed all of your autonomy with a smug smirk. “Whoever holds the leash is in control. They hold all of the power. They hold a soldier’s so called ‘free will’ in their hands.”

“Wait,” the General speaks up, “you are able to control her?”

“That is correct, yes,” Professor Lucius confirms. “She is fully mine to use. With the new Toring Chip, we have taken out all possibilities of rebellion or disobedience. She will complete whatever task is set in front of her.”

“Tasks such as…?” a man from the far end of the table asks.

“Who would want to play god?” a man murmurs from under his breath. “It is inhumane.”

“Is there a limit?” another one chimes in.

The Professor chuckles, shaking his head. The sound echoes inside of Caleb’s ears, the color draining from his face as the old man flicks his fingers across the screen.

In an instant, your body moves, hand reaching for the gun that is secure on your thigh. You pull it from its place and lift it into the air, aiming at Staff Sergeant Hardy. You pull the trigger, his neck exploding as blood bursts across the immediate area, splattering along the white board that sits behind you and the Professor. The Professor smirks, turning back to the men who dared to question him while you holstered your gun.

“Does that answer your question?”

The men remain silent.

“What makes V-03 special, though, is not the Toring Chip that is inside of her neck. No, no,” the Professor’s eyes darken. His chuckle is cold, heartless. He moves to the next image of his presentation.

A picture of your body is displayed on the screen. It is dated to a couple of months ago, the first day you were experimented on. You stand in the middle of the room with soldiers surrounding you, their frames massive and bulky compared to your small and fragile state  — which angers Caleb beyond belief but he refuses to let it show — and the video begins.

The men surround you. They begin to beat you senseless, your cries filling and echoing across the grand aircraft hangar. Caleb flinches ever so slightly. Your head snaps to him, your glare burning into the side of his face.

Professor Lucius clicks to the next video. In this one, you’re being cut open while awake, no sedation or morphine to be used to ease the pain. You scream out for help, for them to show you mercy.

In the next slide sits a set of photos. You are dead on a lab table, face bruised and bloodied, disfigured beyond belief. There’s a lump on your neck from where it broke, your death slow and painful as you slowly suffocated to death.

“From a young age, I have been interested in the evolution of the human race. When Evolvers came about, entering our society with Evols and powers that surpass a normal person’s capability, I couldn’t help but wonder what the human genome can hold. What made Evolvers so special whereas men like me and you, you who sit around the table, are stuck with no ability to show or protect ourselves?” Professor Lucius pauses, the question seeping into the minds of the men around the room. “The key is in our DNA.”

He moves to the next slide that showcases the DNA sequences that belong to you. On one side is when you were normal. On the other sits your new DNA sequence, one with your Evol present.

“There was no way for me arrange V-03’s DNA, that is simply a fact. So I had to look back in our world’s history and do some research, needing to find the answer to this question…that’s when it hit me,” the elderly man leans to look behind him, staring at the still warm corpse on the ground. He turns back to the room, offering them a simple shrug and smile, “Survival.”

“Survival?” The General asks, leaning forward. The Professor nods. “Lucius, what did you do?”

“I forced the Evol out of her. I forced her to evolve into the superhuman she was meant to be,” he lets out a breathy laugh, a maniacal one that unsettles the entirety of the room. “If we stress out the human body enough, it will be forced with a choice: death or survival. She chose to survive and the DNA sequence she needed to evolve was forced out of her. It was once asleep inside her body — herblood — but it is now awakened and her Evol is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen!”

“Well…what is it?” the General asks, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“X-02, come forward,” the Professor waves Caleb over.

The room turns to look at Caleb. He hesitates to move, heart pounding inside his ears and chest. After a few seconds, he moves, walking around the long metal table as every single person in the room watches. The click of his boots is faint, the tip of his shoes dragging across the cement floor. You move and meet him in the middle, standing on the right side of the Professor while Caleb stands on the left, towering over you.

You look up at him, all of the color that was once in your eyes a dull gray, a cloud of fog overtaking it. It makes Caleb’s skin crawl at the sight. His eyes quickly examine your face, trying to see if you have been hurt or is there is a way for him to break you out of the haze.

His eyes flit to the tablet in the Professor’s hands. With that…he will get you back. It is the only way for you to escape and break free from his hellscape.

“V-03, if you would be so kind,” the Professor gestures his hand between you and Caleb.

Your movement is smooth yet there is a lack of humanity in it. You have fully been transformed into a robot, a servant for the Professor to use as he pleases. Your hand moves to the gun in your holster. You slip it out, a few specks of Staff Sergeant Hardy’s blood prominent along the silver metal. The gun spins in your hand, the barrel slipping into your hand, holding the gun out to Caleb.

He heart goes still. White noise fills his ears as he stares down at the gun. Caleb’s eyes move up your body. He stares at the Farspace Fleet uniform that you wear, a costume that you were undoubtedly forced into. It looks so foreign on you, the colors not fitting nor the shape of the jacket complimenting your body.

This…this is not you.

Has Caleb truly lost the love of his life? Has your soul been forced out of your body? Have you shed your skin and moved onto the next life?

“X-02,” the Professor says in a low and dangerous voice, “shoot her in the head.”

The air leaves Caleb’s lungs. His purple eyes slowly track up your body, observing the skin of your neck, watching as your chest slowly rises and falls, your breathing steady. When his eyes move back to your face, that is when he notices the sadistic smile on your face, your greyed out eyes making you look like someone he cannot even recognize anymore.

Caleb doesn’t ready for the gun.

The Professor huffs and swipes the weapon from your hands, forcing into Caleb’s. He moves to the side and lifts up Caleb’s arm. The Colonel’s soul has left his body, completely dissociating, drowning out the world that surrounds him.

Caleb did this to you. This is all of his fault.

The muzzle rests in the center of your forehead. Professor Lucius steps away. Both hands rest on his cane now, his eyes dark and lowered. His body vibrates from excitement. The room is silent.

“Do it,” Professor Lucius spits, “pull the trigger.”

Caleb’s finger rests on the trigger of your gun. The smile remains on your face. He can feel his body heat up, pulsating across his skin as his anxiety flares up, his heartbeat racing inside of his chest. Caleb’s breathing grows shallow, unable to keep up with just how fast his heart speeds inside his body. His ears ring, white noise the only thing he can hear besides the Professor’s voice.

Caleb stares into your eyes. He searches for any kind of humanity that you have left, wishing that you would give him a sign, anything to help him turn the gun towards Professor Lucius and blow his brains out instead. That would result in his death but it would be worth it if it meant giving you back your agency and autonomy.

“X-02! Pull the trigger!”

Caleb whispers your name, tears forming in his eyes.

To him, you are not V-03. You are your own person, someone worthy of love and admiration and not endless torture and despair.

He whispers your name, the sound ringing inside your ears. You try to fight against the Toring Chip, your screams only sounding off inside the confines of your own consciousness and mind. You beg and sob, wishing for him to break you free from this place while your world slowly crumbles from all around you.

“X-02! I order you to pull the trigger! Kill her!”

Caleb whispers your name.

You blink in response.

“X-02!”

Caleb becomes overwhelmed. He hears your joyous laughter in his head, the scent of your spiced apple perfume filling his nose. Memories of your lazy mornings together attack him. His eyes move down to your tie. He wonders if you needed help with it like he always does. Caleb shudders as the men in the room scream and shout at him, defying their orders.

You take a step forward, pushing your head into the muzzle, forcing him backwards. Caleb flinches.

BANG!

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

i <3 commenters

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[nottslove]

— HACKER!THEO X SPY!READER

WARNING: 18+, exploitation, voyeurism, not for minors.

spy!reader lives a rather calm and uneventful life when she's not working. but when she is working and undercover? fuck. that's a dangerous profession. carrying around weapons strapped all over her body, she has to manage to look pretty and innocent at the same time, so as not to arouse any suspicion. she has to constantly flirt with men, and befriend women in order to get any information out of them before reporting it all to her superiors. naturally, her life is rather valuable. as a result, she needs top-notch security at her house, and cameras in every, single corner. its a real pity her enemies hired the best hacker to enter her home security database.

hacker!theo knew he was screwed the moment he entered her home security system. one glance of her through the camera displayed on his screen and he knew he was a goner. but it was too late to back out of this job now, he had already signed the contract. he knows almost everything about her just through observation and hacking into her devices— her missions, her allies, her enemies... it's a real pity for his employers that he ended up falling for her after a month of merely observing her.

i. am. so. fucking. excited.

tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse

profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - March 18

1. FDA to Finally Outlaw Soda Ingredient Prohibited Around The World

An ingredient once commonly used in citrus-flavored sodas to keep the tangy taste mixed thoroughly through the beverage could finally be banned for good across the US. BVO, or brominated vegetable oil, is already banned in many countries, including India, Japan, and nations of the European Union, and was outlawed in the state of California in October 2022.

2. AI makes breakthrough discovery in battle to cure prostate cancer

Scientists have used AI to reveal a new form of aggressive prostate cancer which could revolutionise how the disease is diagnosed and treated.

A Cancer Research UK-funded study found prostate cancer, which affects one in eight men in their lifetime, includes two subtypes. It is hoped the findings could save thousands of lives in future and revolutionise how the cancer is diagnosed and treated.

3. “Inverse vaccine” shows potential to treat multiple sclerosis and other autoimmune diseases

A new type of vaccine developed by researchers at the University of Chicago’s Pritzker School of Molecular Engineering (PME) has shown in the lab setting that it can completely reverse autoimmune diseases like multiple sclerosis and type 1 diabetes — all without shutting down the rest of the immune system.

4. Paris 2024 Olympics makes history with unprecedented full gender parity

In a historic move, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has distributed equal quotas for female and male athletes for the upcoming Olympic Games in Paris 2024. It is the first time The Olympics will have full gender parity and is a significant milestone in the pursuit of equal representation and opportunities for women in sports.

Biased media coverage lead girls and boys to abandon sports.

5. Restored coral reefs can grow as fast as healthy reefs in just 4 years, new research shows

Planting new coral in degraded reefs can lead to rapid recovery – with restored reefs growing as fast as healthy reefs after just four years. Researchers studied these reefs to assess whether coral restoration can bring back the important ecosystem functions of a healthy reef.

“The speed of recovery we saw is incredible,” said lead author Dr Ines Lange, from the University of Exeter.

6. EU regulators pass the planet's first sweeping AI regulations

The EU is banning practices that it believes will threaten citizens' rights. "Biometric categorization systems based on sensitive characteristics" will be outlawed, as will the "untargeted scraping" of images of faces from CCTV footage and the web to create facial recognition databases.

Other applications that will be banned include social scoring; emotion recognition in schools and workplaces; and "AI that manipulates human behavior or exploits people’s vulnerabilities."

7. Global child deaths reach historic low in 2022 – UN report

The number of children who died before their fifth birthday has reached a historic low, dropping to 4.9 million in 2022.

The report reveals that more children are surviving today than ever before, with the global under-5 mortality rate declining by 51 per cent since 2000.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[malsmind]

➸ hacker!matt telling popular!reader about coding & hacking ❥

you and matt sit at his computer, the glow of the screen casting a soft light over his face. his fingers flying across the keyboard as he explains something about networks and firewalls.

“so, basically, if you know what you’re doing, you can find vulnerabilities in a system and exploit them,” he says, his voice full of excitement. “but, like, ethically, you use it to test security. penetration testing, you know?”

you hum, only half following along, more focused on the way he talks—his voice animated, hands moving as he types, the slight furrow in his brows when he’s focused. you shift slightly in his lap, and he tightens his arms around your waist, absentmindedly resting his chin on your shoulder.

“okay, look,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “i’ll show you something simple.” he pulls up a window full of code, and you squint at it, trying to make sense of the seemingly random letters, numbers, and symbols.

“this looks like gibberish,” you say, and he lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“it’s not! this—” he points to a specific line— “is a script i wrote to check for weak passwords in a database. like, if someone uses ‘password123,’ i can see it’s vulnerable.”

you raise an eyebrow. “so you can just hack into anything?”

he smirks. “technically? yeah. but i wouldn’t. it’s illegal.”

“right, because you’re such a law-abiding citizen,” you tease.

he rolls his eyes but grins, his hands settling on your waist. “i just think it’s cool. like, understanding how systems work, breaking them down, and figuring out how to make them stronger.”

you watch his screen as he types out a few commands, explaining what each one does. you’re still not fully grasping it, but you love hearing him talk, love how passionate he gets about this stuff.

“you’re kind of a nerd,” you say, resting your head against his.

he huffs. “and yet, here you are, sitting in my lap, listening to me ramble about hacking.”

you smile. “yeah, because i like you.”

his hands squeeze your waist, and he tilts his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “lucky me, then.”

you watch the lines of code scroll across the screen, feeling his warmth against you, the steady sound of his typing filling the room. you might not understand everything he’s saying, youprobably never will, it's just not your world. but you don’t mind. as long as it’s him talking, you’ll listen.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3

—

series link

taglist

—

@backwardshatnick @sturniolosymphony @sturns-mermaid @realzula @courta13 @sturnzzlovee @chrissweetheart @sturniolosymphony @sturniolo1trips @freshsturnzx @sturnslutz @rcklessheavn

[a-very-tired-jew]

More JVP Shenanigans

TLDR; JVP's Haggadah was put together by goys and their tax filings show they have no intent to help and/or represent Jews. We all know JVP is the Autism Speaks of the Jewish community. They exploit Jews and try to present themselves as a Jewish organization concerned with systemic discrimination, Palestinian rights, antisemitism, and much more. Hell, you can go look at their core values on their website and a lot of us would agree that these are good things.

JVP uses all that as misdirection. It uses Judaism as set dressing for its own agenda and exploits people’s ignorance. However, if you have just a little bit of knowledge you can tell that JVP is not only exploiting Judaism, but it is an organization that has wholly embraced Jew face and does not know what it’s doing.

Take a look at their Haggadah.

Their Haggadah was clearly put together by goys who didn’t know what they were doing. Many of the translations for their blessings are wrong or were clearly put through google translate. Other blessings are slapdash put together or grabbed from other Seders. Take a look at this blessing:

Baruch atah adonai eloheynu melech ha’olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel (Shabbat v’shel) yom tov. Blessed is the spirit of freedom in whose honor we kindle the lights of this holiday, Passover, the season of Freedom.

Do you see the issue? For those who don't know, there is no mention of Passover in the blessing at all. So why is it in the translation? They also didn't include any of the extra words for Shabbat in the translation as well. If you have the patience, go through and read it. It omits the story of Passover, dismisses the importance of the holiday, and just changes the entire thing for their agenda. Edit: Above is about last year's haggadah as someone pointing out in the replies. Below is the link to this year's and it's just as bad, but this time they have a lot of tokenization to justify why they change the entire holiday to support their agenda. It literally asks you to write to the NY Times at one point...

“But it’s a Jewish organization, I swear!”

Well let’s look at their tax filing where they as a 501(c)3 have to describe what their organization is and their intent.

That's weird. A Jewish organization that states it fights against antisemitism and is committed to Jewish communities has nothing on their filing about Judaism or Jews in any capacity. It's mission is regarding education about Palestinians. Some of you might say "what's wrong with that?" There's nothing inherently wrong with that mission statement. What is wrong is that JVP hides its intent, bigotry, and antisemitism behind a veil of Jew face. It claims to be a Jewish organization, but it can't even get basic translations of prayers right. It omits, misleads, and misinforms about our culture, history, and traditions in such a heinous way that it's downright disgraceful. JVP does not represent the Jewish community and at this point it's clear that they're Jewish in name only.

[botanicalsword]

Love Aligned ⌘ Are You Two Meant to Be? ⌘ Astro Observations

In Vedic astro observations, these indications can also be applied to friendships or other non-romantic relationships in general.

To find your Nakshatra using the tool on : >> https://vedicrishi.in/kundli/nakshatra-finder 

Enter Your Birth Details

Click on "Find Nakshatra"

You should be able to accurately find your Nakshatra

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

Full Tutorial : >> How to check your compatibility (Tarabala) with them

E.g. 

Your Nakshatra :  'Ashwini 婁' (Red highlights)

 Their Nakshatra : 'Rohini 畢' (Blue highlights)

You are their 'Naidhana | Obstacles' ; They are your 'Kshema | Protecting'

Your relationship with them : Kshema - Naidhana (安壞) | Well & Calamity

⇩

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

♡ Janma - Janma (命之星) | Similarity

similar to a sibling relationship

a bond that transcends lifetimes and is deeply rooted in shared experiences and familial connection

a special connection that extends beyond this lifetime

♡ Sampat - Parama-mitra (榮親) | Wealth & Companion

similar to a couple falling in love

experiencing the excitement and joy of a romantic relationship

the initial stages of a romantic connection where two of them are drawn to each other and develop strong feelings of love and affection

♡ Vipat - Mitra (衰友) | Obstacles & Friendship

navigating the challenges of a relationship that has ended

can depict a scenario where one person is pursuing another who is not interested or is leading them on

highlighting the complexities of unrequited love or mismatched feelings

♡ Kshema - Naidhana (安壞) | Well & Calamity

an unbalanced relationship - drawing parallels to a parent-child dynamic

it reflects the selfless sacrifices a parent makes for their child's well-being in a healthy sense

it also mirrors a parasitic relationship where one exploits the other for personal gain in an unhealthy sense

♡ Pratyak - Sadhana (危成) | Danger & Achievement

a mentoring relationship, akin to a parent guiding and correcting a misbehaving child or a teacher helping a struggling student understand a difficult concept

emphasizes the role of a mentor in providing guidance, support, and correction to facilitate growth and learning in the mentee

♡ Anujanma - Trijanma (業胎) | Karma

soulmate experience

2 of them tend to be too much alike and stubborn - makes them less attracted to each other over time

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

>> Career / Core Identity ✴︎ What Inspires You The Most >> Relationship • Connection between Composite and Natal Chart (Based on Observations) >> Life Purpose ✧ Lost in Life? revealing the direction we've been searching for (In-depth)

>> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

Quick Access to : ❥ Astro / Asteroid Indicators ❥ Synastry / Composite Chart Observations ❥ House Stellium Observations ❥ Astro basic info / Brief reads ❥ Asteroid database ❥ Personal studies ✧ spiritual journal

Exclusive access : Patreon

/ instagram : @le.sinex / @botanicalsword

[comic-art-showcase]

hello fellow comic art fans.

i am the goblin who runs this here blog. otherwise known as @jondoe297

i am extremely bummed that when i do come out and adress the followers of this blog directly it will be with this news. well. here goes:

Comic Art Showcase will indefinitely stop sharing our favorite artists' works until further notice due to the deal tumblr's owner is making with A.I. companies to sell data,enabling the theft of the works of the platform's users to scrape to train their A.I.

and here is a good article about what's going on

while for the over 5 years(!!) now that i have run this page and shared the love of comic art i am so passionate about,through ups and downs,i have kept this page strictly for doing so. not presenting any topics or ideas or even showing my own personality or linking my personal blog(even though i have been flirting with the idea recently. well i guess now is as good a time as any) i feel that if nothing else i have to use this specific platform i have,as it is,to address this topic as it is intrinsic and intertwined with this page's theme or activity. and i will not have it be an open buffet for these greedy corporations to scrape for data to feed the A.I. with which they seek to replace the very artists that i love and admire! even though it may be too late as we don't really know how long they've been doing this. well the inevitable came. and if this page is not deleted it will at least not be posted on for the time being. while we figure out what to do next.

in the meantime we can and have to all do what we can to fight for artists' and creatives' rights. if nothing else by not being a part of the theft and exploitation of them an their work. please do not use any generative A.I. programs for images or text. they work by scraping from databases of artists' and creatives' works without any permission,credit or compensation.

for now we can at least 'opt out' of having our content be shared with the A.I. companies in the settings.

keep in mind this seems to be only available on the web version and not on the app for now!

go to your blog settings from the corner here

ID/image description: a screenshot of the tumblr blog with a red arrow pointed at the options button. end description.

then go to 'blog settings'

ID/image description: a screenshot of tumblr blog settings with a red arrow pointing at the 'blog settings' option. end description.

then go to visibility. and turn ON the 'prevent third-party sharing' option. make sure to turn it ON not off.

ID/image description: screenshot of tumblr's visibility settings with the 'prevent third-party sharing' option turned on. end description.

and you have to do this for each blog and sideblog individually so make sure to do that!

and artists make sure to use Nightshade and Glaze to protect your artwork and images!!!!

here's a link to Nightshade

here's a link to Glaze

the best combination is to use Nightshade first then Glaze on your images.

Glaze creates a protective layer on the image to prevent A.I. from copying it. while Nightshade poisons the A.I. sotfware.

stay safe friends an i will see you around❤

[transmutationisms]

in addition to being prone to an obvious naturalistic fallacy, the oft-repeated claim that various supplements / herbs / botanicals are being somehow suppressed by pharmaceutical interests seeking to protect their own profits ('they would rather sell you a pill') belies a clear misunderstanding of the relationship between 'industrial' pharmacology and plant matter. bioprospecting, the search for plants and molecular components of plants that can be developed into commercial products, has been one of the economic motivations and rationalisations for european colonialism and imperialism since the so-called 'age of exploration'. state-funded bioprospectors specifically sought 'exotic' plants that could be imported to europe and sold as food or materia medica—often both, as in the cases of coffee or chocolate—or, even better, cultivated in 'economic' botanical gardens attached to universities, medical schools, or royal palaces and scientific institutions.

this fundamental attitude toward the knowledge systems and medical practices of colonised people—the position, characterising eg much 'ethnobotany', that such knowledge is a resource for imperialist powers and pharmaceutical manufacturers to mine and profit from—is not some kind of bygone historical relic. for example, since the 1880s companies including pfizer, bristol-myers squibb, and unilever have sought to create pharmaceuticals from african medicinal plants, such as strophanthus, cryptolepis, and grains of paradise. in india, state-created databases of valuable 'traditional' medicines have appeared partly in response to a revival of bioprospecting since the 1980s, in an increasingly bureaucratised form characterised by profit-sharing agreements between scientists and local communities that has nonetheless been referred to as "biocapitalism". a 1990 paper published in the proceedings of the novartis foundation symposium (then the ciba foundation symposium) spelled out this form of epistemic colonialism quite bluntly:

Ethnobotany, ethnomedicine, folk medicine and traditional medicine can provide information that is useful as a 'pre-screen' to select plants for experimental pharmacological studies.

there is no inherent oppositional relationship between pharmaceutical industry and 'natural' or plant-based cures. there are of course plenty of examples of bioprospecting that failed to translate into consumer markets: ginseng, introduced to europe in the 17th century through the mercantile system and the east india company, found only limited success in european pharmacology. and there are cases in which knowledge with potential market value has actually been suppressed for other reasons: the peacock flower, used as an abortifacient in the west indies, was 'discovered' by colonial bioprospectors in the 18th century; the plant itself moved easily to europe, but knowledge of its use in reproductive medicine became the subject of a "culturally cultivated ignorance," resulting from a combination of funding priorities, national policies, colonial trade patterns, gender politics, and the functioning of scientific institutions. this form of knowledge suppression was never the result of a conflict wherein bioprospectors or pharmacists viewed the peacock flower as a threat to their own profits; on the contrary, they essentially sacrificed potential financial benefits as a result of the political and social factors that made abortifacient knowledge 'unknowable' in certain state and commercial contexts.

exploitation of plant matter in pharmacology is not a frictionless or infallible process. but the sort of conspiratorial thinking that attempts to position plant therapeutics and 'big pharma' as oppositional or competitive forces is an ahistorical and opportunistic example of appealing to nominally anti-capitalist rhetoric without any deeper understanding of the actual mechanisms of capitalism and colonialism at play. this is of course true whether or not the person making such claims has any personal financial stake in them, though it is of course also true that, often, they do hold such stakes.

[cinnamonest]

I assume this is because I criticized Kamala Harris in my last post.

I want to address this because it's important to me and frustrations currently consuming my life, and I'm very emotionally unwell right now. I want to share my experiences and make a point I feel is important at this time.

Once again, this is very unfitting of the smut fanfiction blog and will be deleted later, even though I'm sure this is a huge follower-losing post, but whatever.

Forgive me for rambling so much, but I encourage you and people who think like this to read in entirety.

I realize things are tense right now in the US.

Part of the reason for my inactivity the past while (besides multiple hospitalizations) is that I'm glued to my screen every night now because I'm very scared. I've been spending all my time researching, watching videos from economists, etc.

(Preemptively, sources for everything I'm about to say: the FEMA Privacy Act Statement itself, the official CPB database, Helene People Finder, United States Council of Foreign Relations, Samaritan's Purse, NYC.gov, Starlink, Politico, ABC, CNBC, georgia.gov, nc.gov, tn.gov, my own life)

The US is an extremely high-tension, polarized political climate, largely due to the bipartisan system.

However, no one should be immune from criticism.

All politicians should be criticized when they do harm. I am allowed to criticize her, and I will.

Criticizing one candidate is not the same thing as endorsing/supporting their opposition.

3,000+ Appalachians are missing. The current death toll makes this the deadliest single event in the US since 1862. A higher death toll than Hurricane Katrina, a higher death toll than the events of 9/11/2001, a higher death toll than any mass shooting.

However, it is largely going completely ignored, and mainstream news media has barely acknowledged it, in part due to elections, but largely because the people who live in Appalachia are poor, rural people. And the harsh reality is that poor people's lives are not treated with the same value as people of higher classes.

FEMA continues to do nothing, and the feds are now threatening to take children away from homeless parents... yet they blocked donations of trailers and campers from nearby areas that would help those people to, you know, not be homeless. A kind group of Amish have come down from Pennsylvania to build shelters, and FEMA may tear them down too since they don't have "permits."

Harris had the opportunity to do something, and has the authority to order FEMA agents to act differently, but she chose to exploit the situation for publicity, then leave and otherwise ignore them. She then went on to pay Beyonce $10,000,000 to speak for 5 minutes.

That deserves to be criticized.

Her campaign continues to claim a good economy and job market, when inflation and cost of living has peaked, and just this month, their policies actually have officially led to one of the worst employment outcomes the United States has seen since the Great Depression, disproportionately affecting low-income workers.

That deserves to be criticized.

She has a bad track record during her time in the judicial system for the way her actions harshly affected underprivileged people, especially Jamal Trulove, who was terribly wronged.

That deserves to be criticized.

Furthermore, the reason FEMA/the government does not have money for Appalachia is for a few reasons, all of which were ordered, facilitated or allowed by the current administration:

1) we've sent over $100 BILLION to the IDF so they can keep blowing up hospitals and kindergartens,

2) we sent $175 BILLION to Zelensky so he can keep sending young men into violent deaths even if its against their will,

3) we just sent $100+ million to Lebanon even after the hurricane crisis, meaning the federal government explicitly chose to prioritize foreign aid over its own people,

4) money was taken directly from FEMA reserves for crises like ours, and used as part of a whopping $150,000,000,000 spent on mass migration — including free flights, a $20 million welcome center with a free-use "game room" with dozens of Xboxes plus free food/lodging, and in NY, an average of $1400 prepaid debit card per individual each month.

Meanwhile, Appalachians get a one-time $750 per family, and if you have insurance to cover anything, it's a LOAN you have to pay back (many "fact-checkers" are claiming this is false when its literally in the FEMA eligibility statement). Many of the independent line workers FEMA hired for repairs are reporting they have not been paid AT ALL since starting.

In other words, the money that was specifically reserved for saving lives in times of crisis was spent on video games and free money handouts.

That, holy hell, deserves to be criticized.

Secondly, I want to address the message itself.

I realize that a lot of the american tumblr userbase is 1) people young enough that they're still partially financially dependent on parents and/or 2) are, like most of the US statistically, earning middle-class incomes, and live in fairly population-dense environments.

Most people outside the US, on the other hand, are getting their perceptions of life, politics, etc in the US from the posts/narratives of people within the aforementioned groups, popular culture, and their own local media, so their perspective is often quite limited, to no fault of their own. I'm sure my perspective of life in other countries is also very limited.

Most of you live in places other than where I live, and live very different lives from mine. As humans, we are naturally prone to subconsciously assuming the lives of others are not too different from our own, and do not naturally stop to consider how various factors might affect people's lives and decisions.

We are social beings, prone to adopting the beliefs of others who have the same experiences and thereby the same limited perspectives as us, especially in ideologically homogenous environments.

However, I have just as much of a voice as anyone else.

My hope is that I can use my words and experience to foster empathy for one another between different people in a very polarized climate at a very tense time.

I'm originally from a fairly rural community of about 8,000 people, largely low-income, low-education, evangelical blue-collar workers and farmers, in the Bible Belt.

It is well-known that this demographic overwhelmingly voted for Trump. I don't deny that. I visit home a lot, I see the yard signs everywhere, flags hanging from pickup trucks and farm fenceposts, lots of red hats.

There is a reason for that.

The administration of the past four years has utterly destroyed many rural, low-income communities.

It caused a huge spike in job layoffs, leading to homelessness, drug abuse, hunger and poverty for many already low-income people, and for select communities, violent crime.

I'm fortunate enough to have had parents better off than most of the community, but I'm self-sufficient now, and I am in the bottom 20% of incomes in the US, even with a degree. I could write endless paragraphs on how hard it is to get by, but to summarize for the sake of shortening — it's very, very rough.

Everything has become drastically more expensive, very rapidly over the course of a few years. Groceries are 3x their 2021 prices. I had to get a guarantor for a one-bedroom apartment.

Many rural families resort to drastic measures to get by. Small farmers are being financially strangled out of their way of life.

The actions of the Biden-Harris administration is the reason a huge portion of my extended family was laid off and now face total destitution, as there are simply no jobs left available.

The Biden-Harris border and crime policies are responsible for the brutal rape of a significant number of women and girls in this geographic region. Statistically, these rapes have quadrupled compared to the previous administration.

A woman was raped and stabbed to death about a mile from where I live.

Our nearby neighbor, a cow farmer back home, was attacked on his own property.

I have personally faced multiple instances of sexual harassment and aggression, some of which were very frightening. I know other girls nearby experienced the same or worse.

Alcoholism and hard drugs due to the spike in unemployment and poverty has ruined many lives, and help is often hard to access in rural regions.

A woman my mom was acquainted with ended her own life in 2023 because her children were taken from her due to her drug addiction and poverty. People I played with on the church playground as kids are now unemployed heroin addicts.

I've watched my mom driven to tears after realizing how drastically her income tax increased, and how little she has left after them despite working around the clock.

All of these can be traced back to the policies and actions of the current administration, and the current Harris-Walz platform's proposals will drastically increase it all — largely voted for by people who live in economic situations and locations as such that they are fairly unaffected by these consequences, so they may not understand how it affects these people.

I could write endless paragraphs of all the people I know who have been at best negatively affected, at worst utterly ruined, by the current administration.

Since I have the unique background of understanding these people whilst having more liberal values as an individual, with a broad range of people I interact with now, I have tried to have discussions on this over the last year or so, in real life and virtually. I believed that raising awareness would make people on the left-leaning side empathize with them, and inspire dialogue to work to implement ways to account for the concerns and needs of the rural poor, and incorporate that into their existing proposals.

I was incorrect. I've been very polite and respectful in how I address others in these discussions. In the vast majority of interactions, I was not given the same in return.

A few were receptive, which I appreciate, but in most of my experiences, the same group that is known for encouraging empathy, apparently doesn't apply that philosophy to people they dislike — no matter how I presented it, they immediately rushed to demonize, censor, humiliate, shame and gaslight me, and expressed callous apathy at best, if not active contempt, for my people.

They say "that doesn't happen," and I think they genuinely believe that due to limited perspective — but the reality is that they're simply in a position of privilege as such that it isn't happening to them.

Similarly, what you have to understand is that from the perspective of many rural people in red areas, their experience is that more privileged people inflicted this suffering on them by voting for it, then silence and shame them for speaking out about it.

Likewise, they also have a limited perspective — for them, the issue I see is that they adamantly believe the "other side" is already well-aware of the effects their choices have on others. I don't think this is true, I think many on the other end are unaware of these issues.

This dual lack of understanding creates mutual resentment and bitterness, which fuels tension.

I will say that trying to explain how girls in my community were assaulted or my own harassment, only to have it spammed with replies along the lines of "don't care" or "deserved" or calling me a liar, seeing posts mocking or wishing harm on people like my family accumulate tens of thousands of likes, having people I care about referred to as "trailer trash," passive-aggressive statements implying I'm too unattractive for a man to harass — this, along with other distasteful actions I've seen, has pushed me away from the left as a community, and I don't think that's unreasonable.

Similarly, labeling people you know nothing about as bad people, without making any effort to understand their circumstances or what they actually believe and why, will drive people away and make them resentful.

My community is multiracial, women are highly valued in southern culture for various reasons, and they themselves are marginalized and underprivileged. They're kind people who have been good to me.

I haven't really met any people who are hateful, nor is hate the reason for their votes — they're all voting as they do because they are scared, exhausted, grieving and desperate. A lot of people in the area never voted before, but are now registering to vote in droves because they feel their backs are against the wall, so to speak.

Moreover, Orange Man himself redirected $14 million dollars to Appalachia, continues to raise awareness for them in speeches, and Musk, who is associated with him, has a team working to help Appalachians. He's also the only noteworthy figure that has acknowledged certain issues affecting them.

They realize that the situation in Appalachia could just as easily be them in the future, that they'd be given the same treatment.

This has resulted in a lot of rural poor people feeling that he cares more for their lives, compared to Biden/Harris who more or less neglected them. Which, considering that, is a fairly reasonable conclusion on their end.

Finally, it is true that blue voters tend to be in favor of abolishing or ruining crucial aspects of our way of life that, I say this politely, they do not fully understand, while the people here want to preserve their way of life.

So, while I have more liberal values that differ from most people back home, I don't believe they are bad people. They are reacting very reasonably to the circumstances they're in.

All I ask of others is to consider, no matter where you are or what beliefs you align with, and no matter what happens tomorrow, that the "other side" to your own may not be the evil people you have been led to believe they are, but are humans whose lives are simply different from yours, and they are acting in accordance to their experiences, circumstances, and fears.

The growing trend of demonizing political opposition with no attempt at empathy, only creates more pain in the world. I hope this has helped to foster better understanding, and that people can be kind to one another.

That is all I wanted to say.

[antisextrade]

True Sex Positivity Stands Against Pornography and Prostitution

I want to share my thoughts on why being anti-porn and anti-prostitution is sex-positive.

At its core, sex positivity seeks to challenge and overcome societal stigmas, shame, and negativity surrounding sexuality. However, pornography falls short of this ideal by perpetuating unrealistic standards and objectifying participants. It often involves the shaming of women, calling them terms like 'dirty sl*ts' and using racial slurs, which is decidedly not (sex-)positive.

In a sex-positive framework, consent is paramount. However, the power dynamics inherent in commercial sex transactions compromise the concept of freely given and informed consent. Sex trafficking is widespread in the sex trade and not a peripheral phenomenon, with the grooming of children, teens and young women into porn and prostitution presenting a significant problem.

Studies reveal that women in pornography production come from similar adverse backgrounds as women in prostitution. They are typically young, financially strapped, suffering from poor mental health, and victims of sexualized abuse during their childhood or young adult years. Pimps and pornographers target these marginalized women and girls who are more easily groomed, manipulated, controlled, silenced, and exploited.

The vulnerability and lack of bargaining power of these women allow pornographers, johns, and porn watchers to breach their personal boundaries. To sustain themselves financially, many women are forced to offer sex services they wouldn't otherwise or produce content more frequently, often containing greater levels of violence and humiliation. Consequently, female actors and prostituted women endure everything from cuts and bruises to vaginal and throat tears and anal relapses. Many are on drugs and painkillers to cope. Studies indicate that most prostituted women experience PTSD due to prostitution, whether they work in a country where it's legal or not.

Pornography and prostitution also normalize the demand for male access to women's bodies and violence in sexual acts, portraying women as objects to be used and hurt. Numerous studies have shown that pornography has a negative effect on men's attitudes toward women and not only that. There are more than a hundred studies proving the harm of porn (check out Truth About Porn website, it's ever-growing database dedicated to the research on the harmful effects of pornography). Something that is harmful cannot be positive!

We really should reclaim the term "sex-positive" and make it our own. Words wield considerable power, and those in favor of the sex trade recognize this, using it to their advantage. By labeling opponents of the sex trade as sex-negative, they effectively discourage critical thought about our stance. After all, most people aspire to be seen as "sex-positive". This not only sounds more appealing but also insinuates that those who aren't considered sex-positive are inherently sexist, prudish, and backwards—a stereotype frequently perpetuated.

However, taking an anti-prostitution and anti-porn stance allows us to promote and focus more on alternatives that empower individuals, focusing on comprehensive sex education, mental health support, and economic opportunities. This approach prioritizes agency, ensuring that individuals can make choices aligning with their own desires and well-being. This embodies genuine sex-positivity.

Furthermore, pornography not only perpetuates traditional gender roles and reinforces harmful stereotypes but also predominantly caters to men, prioritizing their pleasure and contributing to the reinforcement of inequality. A content analysis of best-selling pornographic videos revealed that 88% of scenes portrayed physical violence, 48% of scenes portrayed verbal aggression (e.g., insulting, threatening, and using coercive language), and 94% of aggressive scenes portrayed women as targets of aggression. Taking an anti-porn and anti-prostitution stance involves challenging these patriarchal structures. It's about fostering a more egalitarian society where individuals, regardless of gender, can experience fulfilling sexual relationships free from the constraints of rigid norms.